the girl from the marsh croft by selma lagerlöf author of "the story of gösta berling," "the miracles of antichrist," "invisible links," etc. _translated from the swedish_ by velma swanston howard garden city new york doubleday, page & company _copyright, , by_ doubleday, page & company _all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages._ prefatory note readers of miss lagerlöf will observe that in this, her latest book, "the girl from the marsh croft," the swedish author has abandoned her former world of romanticism and has entered the field of naturalism and realism. this writer's romantic style is most marked, perhaps, in her first successful work, "gösta berling." how "the story of gösta berling" grew, and the years required to perfect it, is told in the author's unique literary autobiography, "the story of a story," which is embodied in the present volume. in "the girl from the marsh croft" miss lagerlöf has courageously chosen a girl who had gone astray as the heroine of her love story, making her innate honesty and goodness the redemptive qualities which win for her the love of an honest man and the respect and esteem of all. to the kindness of the publishers of _good housekeeping_, i am indebted for permission to include "the legend of the christmas rose" in this volume. this book is translated and published with the sanction of the author, selma lagerlöf. contents i. the girl from the marsh croft ii. the silver mine iii. the airship iv. the wedding march v. the musician vi. the legend of the christmas rose vii. a story from jerusalem viii. why the pope lived to be so old ix. the story of a story the girl from the marsh croft i it took place in the court room of a rural district. at the head of the judges' table sits an old judge--a tall and massively built man, with a broad, rough-hewn visage. for several hours he has been engaged in deciding one case after another, and finally something like disgust and melancholy has taken hold of him. it is difficult to know if it is the heat and closeness of the court room that are torturing him or if he has become low-spirited from handling all these petty wrangles, which seem to spring from no other cause than to bear witness to people's quarrel-mania, uncharitableness, and greed. he has just begun on one of the last cases to be tried during the day. it concerns a plea for help in the rearing of a child. this case had already been tried at the last court session, and the protocols of the former suit are being read; therefore one learns that the plaintiff is a poor farmer's daughter and the defendant is a married man. moreover, it says in the protocol, the defendant maintains that the plaintiff has wrongfully, unjustly, and only with the desire of profiting thereby, sued the defendant. he admits that at one time the plaintiff had been employed in his household, but that during her stay in his home he had not carried on any intrigue with her, and she has no right to demand assistance from him. the plaintiff still holds firmly to her claim, and after a few witnesses have been heard, the defendant is called to take the oath and show cause why he should not be sentenced by the court to assist the plaintiff. both parties have come up and are standing, side by side, before the judges' table. the plaintiff is very young and looks frightened to death. she is weeping from shyness and with difficulty wipes away the tears with a crumpled handkerchief, which she doesn't seem to know how to open out. she wears black clothes, which are quite new and whole, but they fit so badly that one is tempted to think she has borrowed them in order to appear before the court of justice in a befitting manner. as regards the defendant, one sees at a glance that he is a prosperous man. he is about forty and has a bold and dashing appearance. as he stands before the court, he has a very good bearing. one can see that he does not think it a pleasure to stand there, but he doesn't appear to be the least concerned about it. as soon as the protocols have been read, the judge turns to the defendant and asks him if he holds fast to his denials and if he is prepared to take the oath. to these questions the defendant promptly answers a curt yes. he digs down in his vest pocket and takes out a statement from the clergyman who attests that he understands the meaning and import of the oath and is qualified to take it. all through this the plaintiff has been weeping. she appears to be unconquerably bashful, and doggedly keeps her eyes fixed upon the floor. thus far she has not raised her eyes sufficiently to look the defendant in the face. as he utters his "yes," she starts back. she moves a step or two nearer the court, as if she had something to say to the contrary, and then she stands there perplexed. it is hardly possible, she seems to say to herself; he cannot have answered yes. i have heard wrongly. meanwhile the judge takes the clergyman's paper and motions to the court officer. the latter goes up to the table to find the bible, which lies hidden under a pile of records, and lays it down in front of the defendant. the plaintiff hears that some one is walking past her and becomes restless. she forces herself to raise her eyes just enough to cast a glance over the table, and she sees then how the court officer moves the bible. again it appears as though she wished to raise some objection, and again she controls herself. it isn't possible that he will be allowed to take the oath. surely the judge must prevent him! the judge is a wise man and knows how people in her home district think and feel. he knew, very likely, how severe all people were as soon as there was anything which affected the marriage relation. they knew of no worse sin than the one she had committed. would she ever have confessed anything like this about herself if it were not true? the judge must understand the awful contempt that she had brought down upon herself, and not contempt only, but all sorts of misery. no one wanted her in service--no one wanted her work. her own parents could scarcely tolerate her presence in their cabin and talked all the while of casting her out. oh, the judge must know that she would never have asked for help from a married man had she no right to it. surely the judge could not believe that she lied in a case like this; that she would have called down upon herself such a terrible misfortune if she had had any one else to accuse than a married man. and if he knows this, he must stop the oath-taking. she sees that the judge reads through the clergyman's statements a couple of times and she begins to think he intends to interfere. true, the judge has a wary look. now he shifts his glance to the plaintiff, and with that his weariness and disgust become even more marked. it appears as though he were unfavorably disposed toward her. even if the plaintiff is telling the truth, she is nevertheless a bad woman and the judge cannot feel any sympathy for her. sometimes the judge interposes in a case, like a good and wise counsellor, and keeps the parties from ruining themselves entirely. but to-day he is tired and cross and thinks only of letting the legal process have its course. he lays down the clergyman's recommendation and says a few words to the defendant to the effect that he hopes he has carefully considered the consequences of a perjured oath. the defendant listens to him with the calm air which he has shown all the while, and he answers respectfully and not without dignity. the plaintiff listens to this in extreme terror. she makes a few vehement protests and wrings her hands. now she wants to speak to the court. she struggles frightfully with her shyness and with the sobs which prevent her speaking. the result is that she cannot get out an audible word. then the oath will be taken! she must give it up. no one will prevent him from swearing away his soul. until now, she could not believe this possible. but now she is seized with the certainty that it is close at hand--that it will occur the next second. a fear more overpowering than any she has hitherto felt takes possession of her. she is absolutely paralyzed. she does not even weep more. her eyes are glazed. it is his intention, then, to bring down upon himself eternal punishment. she comprehends that he wants to swear himself free for the sake of his wife. but even if the truth were to make trouble in his home, he should not for that reason throw away his soul's salvation. there is nothing so terrible as perjury. there is something uncanny and awful about that sin. there is no mercy or condonation for it. the gates of the infernal regions open of their own accord when the perjurer's name is mentioned. if she had then raised her eyes to his face, she would have been afraid of seeing it stamped with damnation's mark, branded by the wrath of god. as she stands there and works herself into greater and greater terror, the judge instructs the defendant as to how he must place his fingers on the bible. then the judge opens the law book to find the form of the oath. as she sees him place his fingers on the book, she comes a step nearer, and it appears as though she wished to reach across the table and push his hand away. but as yet she is restrained by a faint hope. she thinks he will relent now--at the last moment. the judge has found the place in the law book, and now he begins to administer the oath loudly and distinctly. then he makes a pause for the defendant to repeat his words. the defendant actually starts to repeat, but he stumbles over the words, and the judge must begin again from the beginning. now she can no longer entertain a trace of hope. she knows now that he means to swear falsely--that he means to bring down upon himself the wrath of god, both for this life and for the life to come. she stands wringing her hands in her helplessness. and it is all her fault because she has accused him! but she was without work; she was starving and freezing; the child came near dying. to whom else should she turn for help? never had she thought that he would be willing to commit such an execrable sin. the judge has again administered the oath. in a few seconds the thing will have been done: the kind of thing from which there is no turning back--which can never be retrieved, never blotted out. just as the defendant begins to repeat the oath, she rushes forward, sweeps away his outstretched hand, and seizes the bible. it is her terrible dread which has finally given her courage. he must not swear away his soul; he must not! the court officer hastens forward instantly to take the bible from her and to bring her to order. she has a boundless fear of all that pertains to a court of justice and actually believes that what she has just done will bring her to prison; but she does not let go her hold on the bible. cost what it may, he cannot take the oath. he who would swear also runs up to take the bible, but she resists him too. "you shall not take the oath!" she cries, "you shall not!" that which is happening naturally awakens the greatest surprise. the court attendants elbow their way up to the bar, the jurymen start to rise, the recording clerk jumps up with the ink bottle in his hand to prevent its being upset. then the judge shouts in a loud and angry tone, "silence!" and everybody stands perfectly still. "what is the matter with you? what business have you with the bible?" the judge asks the plaintiff in the same hard and severe tone. since, with the courage of despair, she has been able to give utterance to her distress, her anxiety has decreased so that she can answer, "he must not take the oath!" "be silent, and put back the book!" demands the judge. she does not obey, but holds the book tightly with both hands. "he cannot take the oath!" she cries fiercely. "are you so determined to win your suit?" asks the judge sharply. "i want to withdraw the suit," she shrieks in a high, shrill voice. "i don't want to force him to swear." "what are you shrieking about?" demands the judge. "have you lost your senses?" she catches her breath suddenly and tries to control herself. she hears herself how she is shrieking. the judge will think she has gone mad if she cannot say what she would say calmly. she struggles with herself again to get control of her voice, and this time she succeeds. she says slowly, earnestly, and clearly, as she looks the judge in the face: "i wish to withdraw the suit. he is the father of the child. i am still fond of him. i don't wish him to swear falsely." she stands erect and resolute, facing the judges' table, all the while looking the judge square in the face. he sits with both hands resting on the table and for a long while does not take his eyes off from her. while the judge is looking at her, a great change comes over him. all the ennui and displeasure in his face vanishes, and the large, rough-hewn visage becomes beautiful with the most beautiful emotion. "ah, see!" he thinks--"ah, see! such is the mettle of my people. i shall not be vexed at them when there is so much love and godliness even in one of the humblest." suddenly the judge feels his eyes fill up with tears; then he pulls himself together, almost ashamed, and casts a hasty glance about him. he sees that the clerks and bailiffs and the whole long row of jurymen are leaning forward and looking at the girl who stands before the judges' table with the bible hugged close to her. and he sees a light in their faces, as though they had seen something very beautiful, which had made them happy all the way into their souls. then the judge casts a glance over the spectators, and he sees that they all breathe a quick sigh of relief, as if they had just heard what they had longed above everything to hear. finally, the judge looks at the defendant. now it is _he_ who stands with lowered head and looks at the floor. the judge turns once more to the poor girl. "it shall be as you wish," he says. "the case shall be stricken from the calendar,"--this to the recording clerk. the defendant makes a move, as though he wished to interpose an objection. "well, what now?" the judge bellows at him. "have you anything against it?" the defendant's head hangs lower and lower, and he says, almost inaudibly, "oh, no, i dare say it is best to let it go that way." the judge sits still a moment more, and then he pushes the heavy chair back, rises, and walks around the table and up to the plaintiff. "thank you!" he says and gives her his hand. she has laid down the bible and stands wiping away the tears with the crumpled up handkerchief. "thank you!" says the judge once more, taking her hand and shaking it as if it belonged to a real man's man. ii let no one imagine that the girl who had passed through such a trying ordeal at the bar of justice thought that she had done anything praiseworthy! on the contrary, she considered herself disgraced before the whole court room. she did not understand that there was something honorable in the fact that the judge had gone over and shaken hands with her. she thought it simply meant that the trial was over and that she might go her way. nor did she observe that people gave her kindly glances and that there were several who wanted to press her hand. she stole by and wanted only to go. there was a crush at the door. the court was over and many in their hurry to get out made a rush for the door. she drew aside and was about the last person to leave the court room because she felt that every one else ought to go before her. when she finally came out, gudmund erlandsson's cart stood in waiting at the door. gudmund was seated in the cart, holding the reins, and was apparently waiting for some one. as soon as he saw her among all the people who poured out of the court room, he called to her: "come here, helga! you can ride with me since we are going in the same direction." although she heard her name, she could not believe that it was she whom he was calling. it was not possible that gudmund erlandsson wanted to ride with her. he was the most attractive man in the whole parish, young and handsome and of good family connections and popular with every one. she could not imagine that he wished to associate with her. she was walking with the head shawl drawn far down on her forehead, and was hastening past him without either glancing up or answering. "don't you hear, helga, that you can ride with me?" said gudmund, and there was a friendly note in his voice. but she couldn't grasp that gudmund meant well by her. she thought that, in one way or another, he wished to make sport of her and was only waiting for those who stood near by to begin tittering and laughing. she cast a frightened and indignant glance at him, and almost ran from the court house grounds to be out of earshot when the laughter should start in. gudmund was unmarried at that time and lived at home with his parents. his father was a farm-owner. his was not a large farm and he was not rich, but he made a good living. the son had gone to the court house to fetch some deeds for his father, but as there was also another purpose in the trip, he had groomed himself carefully. he had taken the brand-new trap with not a crack in the lacquering, had rubbed up the harness and curried the horse until he shone like satin. he had placed a bright red blanket on the seat beside him, and himself he had adorned with a short hunting-jacket, a small gray felt hat, and top boots, into which the trousers were tucked. this was no holiday attire, but he probably knew that he looked handsome and manly. gudmund was seated alone in the cart when he drove from home in the morning, but he had agreeable things to think of and the time had not seemed long to him. when he had arrived about half-way, he came across a poor young girl who was walking very slowly and looked as though she were scarcely able to move her feet because of exhaustion. it was autumn and the road was rain-soaked, and gudmund saw how, with every step, she sank deeper into the mud. he stopped and asked where she was going. when he learned that she was on her way to the court house, he invited her to ride. she thanked him and stepped up on the back of the cart to the narrow board where the hay sack was tied, as though she dared not touch the red blanket beside gudmund. nor was it his meaning that she should sit beside him. he didn't know who she was, but he supposed her to be the daughter of some poor backwoodsman and thought the rear of the cart was quite good enough for her. when they came to a steep hill and the horse began to slow up, gudmund started talking. he wanted to know her name and where she was from. when he learned that her name was helga, and that she came from a backwoods farm called big marsh, he began to feel uneasy. "have you always lived at home on the farm or have you been out to service?" he asked. the past year she had been at home, but before this she had been working out. "where?" asked gudmund hastily. he thought it was a long while before the answer was forthcoming. "at the west farm, with per mårtensson," she said finally, sinking her voice as if she would rather not have been heard. but gudmund heard her. "indeed! then it is you who--" said he, but did not conclude his meaning. he turned from her, and sat up straight in his seat and said not another word to her. gudmund gave the horse rap upon rap and talked loudly to himself about the wretched condition of the road and was in a very bad humor. the girl sat still for a moment; presently gudmund felt her hand upon his arm. "what do you wish?" he asked without turning his head. oh, he was to stop, so she could jump out. "why so?" sneered gudmund. "aren't you riding comfortably?" "yes, thank you, but i prefer to walk." gudmund struggled a little with himself. it was provoking that he should have bidden a person of helga's sort to ride with him to-day of all days! but he thought also that since he had taken her into the wagon, he could not drive her out. "stop, gudmund!" said the girl once again. she spoke in a very decided tone, and gudmund drew in the reins. "it is she, of course, who wishes to step down," thought he. "i don't have to force her to ride against her will." she was down on the road before the horse had time to stop. "i thought you knew who i was when you asked me to ride," she said, "or i should not have stepped into the cart." gudmund muttered a short good-bye and drove on. she was doubtless right in thinking that he knew her. he had seen the girl from the marsh croft many times as a child, but she had changed since she was grown up. at first he was very glad to be rid of the travelling companion, but gradually he began to feel displeased with himself. he could hardly have acted differently, yet he did not like being cruel to any one. shortly after gudmund had parted from helga, he turned out of the road and up a narrow street, and came to a large and fine estate. as gudmund drew up before the gate, the house door opened and one of the daughters appeared. gudmund raised his hat; at the same time a faint flush covered his face. "wonder if the juryman is at home?" said he. "no, father has gone down to the court house," replied the daughter. "oh, then he has already gone," said gudmund. "i drove over to ask if the juryman would ride with me. i'm going to the court house." "father is always so punctual!" bewailed the daughter. "it doesn't matter," said gudmund. "father would have been pleased, i dare say, to ride behind such a fine horse and in such a pretty cart as you have," remarked the girl pleasantly. gudmund smiled a little when he heard this commendation. "well, then, i must be off again," said he. "won't you step in, gudmund?" "thank you, hildur, but i'm going to the court house, you know. it won't do for me to be late." now gudmund takes the direct road to the court house. he was very well pleased with himself and thought no more of his meeting with helga. it was fortunate that only hildur had come out on the porch and that she had seen the cart and blanket, the horse and harness. she had probably taken note of everything. this was the first time gudmund had attended a court. he thought that there was much to see and learn, and remained the whole day. he was sitting in the court room when helga's case came up; saw how she snatched the bible and hugged it close, and saw how she defied both court attendants and judge. when it was all over and the judge had shaken hands with helga, gudmund rose quickly and went out. he hurriedly hitched the horse to the cart and drove up to the steps. he thought helga had been brave, and now he wished to honor her. but she was so frightened that she did not understand his purpose, and stole away from his intended honor. the same day gudmund came to the marsh croft late in the evening. it was a little croft, which lay at the base of the forest ridge that enclosed the parish. the road leading thither was passable for a horse only in winter, and gudmund had to go there on foot. it was difficult for him to find his way. he came near breaking his legs on stumps and stones, and he had to wade through brooks which crossed the path in several places. had it not been for the bright moonlight, he could not have found his way to the croft. he thought it was a very hard road that helga had to tramp this day. big marsh croft lay on the clearing about half-way up the ridge. gudmund had never been there before, but he had often seen the place from the valley and was sufficiently familiar with it to know that he had gone aright. all around the clearing lay a hedge of brushwood, which was very thick and difficult to get through. it was probably meant to be a kind of defence and protection against the whole wilderness that surrounded the croft. the cabin stood at the upper edge of the enclosure. before it stretched a sloping house-yard covered with short, thick grass; and below the yard lay a couple of gray outhouses and a larder with a moss-covered roof. it was a poor and humble place, but one couldn't deny that it was picturesque up there. the marsh, from which the croft had derived its name, lay somewhere near and sent forth mists which rose, beautiful, splendid, and silvery, in the moonlight, forming a halo around the marsh. the highest peak of the mountain loomed above the mist, and the ridge, prickly with pines, was sharply outlined against the horizon. over the valley shone the moon. it was so light that one could distinguish fields and orchards and a winding brook, over which the mists curled, like the faintest smoke. it was not very far down there, but the peculiar thing was that the valley lay like a world apart, with which the forest and all that belonged to it seemed to have nothing in common. it was as if the people who lived here in the forest must ever remain under the shadow of these trees. they might find it quite as hard to feel contented down in the valley as woodcock and eagle-owl and lynx and star-flowers. gudmund tramped across the open grass-plot and up to the cabin. there a gleam of firelight streamed through the window. as there were no shades at the windows, he peeped into the cabin to see if helga was there. a small lamp burned on the table near the window, and there sat the master of the house, mending old shoes. the mistress was seated farther back in the room, close to the fireplace, where a slow fire burned. the spinning-wheel was before her, but she had paused in her work to play with a little child. she had taken it up from the cradle, and gudmund heard how she prattled to it. her face was lined and wrinkled and she looked severe. but, as she bent over the child, she had a mild expression and she smiled as tenderly at the little one as his own mother might have done. gudmund peered in, but could not see helga in any corner of the cabin. then he thought it was best to remain outside until she came. he was surprised that she had not reached home. perhaps she had stopped on the way somewhere to see an acquaintance and to get some food and rest? at all events, she would have to come back soon if she wished to be indoors before it was very late at night. gudmund stood still a moment and listened for footsteps. he thought that never before had he sensed such stillness. it was as though the whole forest held its breath and stood waiting for something extraordinary to happen. no one tramped in the forest, no branch was broken, and no stone rolled down. "surely, helga won't be long in coming! i wonder what she will say when she sees that i'm here?" thought gudmund. "perhaps she will scream and rush into the forest and will not dare come home the whole night!" at the same time it struck him as rather strange that now, all of a sudden, he had so much business with that marsh croft girl! on his return from the court house to his home, he had, as usual, gone to his mother to relate his experiences of the day. gudmund's mother was a sensible and broad-minded woman who had always understood how to treat her son, and he had as much confidence in her now as when he was a child. she had been an invalid for several years and could not walk, but sat all day in her chair. it was always a good hour for her when gudmund came home from an outing and brought her the news. when gudmund had told his mother about helga from big marsh, he observed that she became thoughtful. for a long while she sat quietly and looked straight ahead. "there seems to be something good in that girl still," she remarked. "it will never do to condemn a person because she has once met with misfortune. she might be very grateful to any one who helped her now." gudmund apprehended at once what his mother was thinking of. she could no longer help herself, but must have some one near her continually, and it was always difficult to find anybody who cared to remain in that capacity. his mother was exacting and not easy to get on with, and, moreover, all young folk preferred other work where they could have more freedom. now, it must have occurred to his mother that she ought to take helga from big marsh into her service, and gudmund thought this a capital idea. helga would certainly be very devoted to his mother. "it will be hard for the child," remarked the mother after a little, and gudmund understood that she was thinking seriously of the matter. "surely the parents would let it stay with them?" said gudmund. "it does not follow that she wants to part with it." "she will have to give up thinking of what she wants or doesn't want. i thought that she looked starved out. they can't have much to eat at the croft," said the son. to this his mother made no reply, but began to talk of something else. it was evident that some new misgivings had come to her, which hindered her from coming to a decision. then gudmund told her of how he had found a pretext for calling at the juryman's at Älvåkra and had met hildur. he mentioned what she had said of the horse and wagon, and it was easily seen that he was pleased with the meeting. his mother was also very much pleased. where she sat in the cottage, unable to move from her chair, it was her constant occupation to spin plans for her son's future, and it was she who had first hit upon the idea that he should try and set his cap for the pretty daughter of the juryman. it was the finest match he could make. the juryman was a yeoman farmer. he owned the largest farm in the parish and had much money and power. it was really absurd to hope that he would be satisfied with a son-in-law with no more wealth than gudmund, but it was also possible that he would conform to his daughter's wishes. that gudmund could win hildur if he so wished, his mother was certain. this was the first time gudmund had betrayed to his mother that her thought had taken root in him, and they talked long of hildur and of all the riches and advantages that would come to the chosen one. soon there was another lull in the conversation, for his mother was again absorbed in her thoughts. "couldn't you send for this helga? i should like to see her before taking her into my service," said the mother finally. "it is well, mother, that you wish to take her under your wing," remarked gudmund, thinking to himself that if his mother had a nurse with whom she was satisfied, his wife would have a pleasanter life here. "you'll see that you will be pleased with the girl," he continued. "then, too, it would be a good deed to take her in hand," added the mother. as it grew dusk, the invalid retired, and gudmund went out to the stable to tend the horses. it was beautiful weather, with a clear atmosphere, and the whole tract lay bathed in moonlight. it occurred to him that he ought to go to big marsh to-night and convey his mother's greeting. if the weather should continue clear on the morrow, he would be so busy taking in oats that neither he nor any one else would find time to go there. now that gudmund was standing outside the cabin at big marsh croft listening, he certainly heard no footsteps. but there were other sounds which at short intervals pierced through the stillness. he heard a soft weeping, a very low and smothered moaning, with now and then a sob. gudmund thought that the sounds came from the outhouse lane, and he walked toward it. as he was nearing, the sobs ceased; but it was evident that some one moved in the woodshed. gudmund seemed to comprehend instantly who was there. "is it you, helga, who sit here and weep?" asked gudmund, placing himself in the doorway so that the girl could not rush away before he had spoken with her. again it was perfectly still. gudmund had guessed rightly that it was helga who sat there and wept; but she tried to smother the sobs, so that gudmund would think he had heard wrongly and go away. it was pitch dark in the woodshed, and she knew that he could not see her. but helga was in such despair that evening it was not easy for her to keep back the sobs. she had not as yet gone into the cabin to see her parents. she hadn't had the courage to go in. when she trudged up the steep hill in the twilight and thought of how she must tell her parents that she was not to receive any assistance from per mårtensson in the rearing of her child, she began to fear all the harsh and cruel things she felt they would say to her and thought of burying herself in the swamp. and in her terror she jumped up and tried to rush past gudmund; but he was too alert for her. "oh, no! you sha'n't get by before i have spoken with you." "only let me go!" she said, looking wildly at him. "you look as though you wanted to jump into the river," said he; for now she was out in the moonlight and he could see her face. "well, what matters it if i did?" said helga, throwing her head back and looking him straight in the eye. "this morning you didn't even care to have me ride on the back of your cart. no one wants to have anything to do with me! you must surely understand that it is best for a miserable creature like me to put an end to herself." gudmund did not know what to do next. he wished himself far away, but he thought, also, that he could not desert a person who was in such distress. "listen to me! only promise that you will listen to what i have to say to you; afterwards you may go wherever you wish." she promised. "is there anything here to sit on?" "the chopping-block is over yonder." "then go over there and sit down and be quiet!" she went very obediently and seated herself. "and don't cry any more!" said he, for he thought he was beginning to get control over her. but he should not have said this, for immediately she buried her face in her hands and cried harder than ever. "stop crying!" he said, ready to stamp his foot at her. "there are those, i dare say, who are worse off than you are." "no, no one can be worse off!" "you are young and strong. you should see how my mother fares! she is so wasted from suffering that she cannot move, but she never complains." "she is not abandoned by everybody, as i am." "you are not abandoned, either. i have spoken with my mother about you." there was a pause in the sobs. one heard, as it were, the great stillness of the forest, which always held its breath and waited for something wonderful. "i was to say to you that you should come down to my mother to-morrow that she might see you. mother thinks of asking if you would care to take service with us." "did she think of asking _me_?" "yes; but she wants to see you first." "does she know that--" "she knows as much about you as all the rest do." the girl leaped up with a cry of joy and wonderment, and the next moment gudmund felt a pair of arms around his neck. he was thoroughly frightened, and his first impulse was to break loose and run; but he calmed himself and stood still. he understood that the girl was so beside herself with joy that she didn't know what she was doing. at that moment she could have hugged the worst ruffian, only to find a little sympathy in the great happiness that had come to her. "if she will take me into her service, i can live!" said she, burying her head on gudmund's breast and weeping again. "you may know that i was in earnest when i wished to go down into the swamp," she said. "you deserve thanks for coming. you have saved my life." until then gudmund had been standing motionless, but now he felt that something tender and warm was beginning to stir within him. he raised his hand and stroked her hair. then she started, as if awakened from a dream, and stood up straight as a rod before him. "you deserve thanks for coming," she repeated. she had become flame-red in the face, and he too reddened. "well, then, you will come home to-morrow," he said, putting out his hand to say good-bye. "i shall never forget that you came to me to-night!" said helga, and her great gratitude got the mastery over her shyness. "oh, yes, it was well perhaps that i came," he said quite calmly, and he felt rather pleased with himself. "you will go in now, of course?" "yes, now i shall go in." gudmund suddenly felt himself rather pleased with helga too--as one usually is with a person whom one has succeeded in helping. she lingered and did not want to go. "i would like to see you safely under shelter before i leave." "i thought they might retire before i went in." "no, you must go in at once, so that you can have your supper and rest yourself," said he, thinking it was agreeable to take her in hand. she went at once to the cabin, and he accompanied her, pleased and proud because she obeyed him. when she stood on the threshold, they said good-bye to each other again; but before he had gone two paces, she came after him. "remain just outside the door until i am in. it will be easier for me if i know that you are standing without." "yes," said he, "i shall stand here until you have come over the worst of it." then helga opened the cabin door, and gudmund noticed that she left it slightly ajar. it was as if she did not wish to feel herself separated from her helper who stood without. nor did he feel any compunction about hearing all that happened within the cabin. the old folks nodded pleasantly to helga as she came in. her mother promptly laid the child in the crib, and then went over to the cupboard and brought out a bowl of milk and a bread cake and placed them on the table. "there! now sit down and eat," said she. then she went up to the fireplace and freshened the fire. "i have kept the fire alive, so you could dry your feet and warm yourself when you came home. but eat something first! it is food that you need most." all the while helga had been standing at the door. "you mustn't receive me so well, mother," she said in a low tone. "i will get no money from per. i have renounced his help." "there was some one here from the court house this evening who had been there and heard how it turned out for you," said the mother. "we know all." helga was still standing by the door, looking out, as if she knew not which was in or out. then the farmer put down his work, pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and cleared his throat for a speech of which he had been thinking the whole evening. "it is a fact, helga," said he, "that mother and i have always wanted to be decent and honorable folk, but we have thought that we had been disgraced on your account. it was as though we had not taught you to distinguish between good and evil. but when we learned what you did to-day, we said to each other--mother and i--that now folks could see anyway that you have had a proper bringing up and right teaching, and we thought that perhaps we might yet be happy in you. and mother did not want that we should go to bed before you came that you might have a hearty welcome home." iii helga from the marsh croft came to närlunda, and there all went well. she was willing and teachable and grateful for every kind word said to her. she always felt herself to be the humblest of mortals and never wanted to push herself ahead. it was not long until the household and the servants were satisfied with her. the first days it appeared as if gudmund was afraid to speak to helga. he feared that this croft girl would get notions into her head because he had come to her assistance. but these were needless worries. helga regarded him as altogether too fine and noble for her even to raise her eyes to. gudmund soon perceived that he did not have to keep her at a distance. she was more shy of him than of any one else. the autumn that helga came to närlunda, gudmund paid many visits to Älvåkra, and there was much talk about the good chance he stood of being the prospective son-in-law of this estate. that the courtship had been successful all were assured at christmas. then the juryman, with his wife and daughter, came over to närlunda, and it was evident that they had come there to see how hildur would fare if she married gudmund. this was the first time that helga saw, at close range, her whom gudmund was to marry. hildur ericsdotter was not yet twenty, but the marked thing about her was that no one could look at her without thinking what a handsome and dignified mistress she would be some day. she was tall and well built, fair and pretty, and apparently liked to have many about her to look after. she was never timid; she talked much and seemed to know everything better than the one with whom she was talking. she had attended school in the city for a couple of years and wore the prettiest frocks helga had ever seen, but yet she didn't impress one as being showy or vain. rich and beautiful as she was, she might have married a gentleman at any time, but she always declared that she did not wish to be a fine lady and sit with folded hands. she wanted to marry a farmer and look after her own house, like a real farmer's wife. helga thought hildur a perfect wonder. never had she seen any one who made such a superb appearance. nor had she ever dreamed that a person could be so nearly perfect in every particular. to her it seemed a great joy that in the near future she was to serve such a mistress. everything had gone off well during the juryman's visit. but whenever helga looked back upon that day, she experienced a certain unrest. it seems that when the visitors had arrived, she had gone around and served coffee. when she came in with the tray, the juryman's wife leaned forward and asked her mistress if she was not the girl from the marsh croft. she did not lower her voice much, and helga had distinctly heard the question. mother ingeborg answered yes, and then the other had said something which helga couldn't hear. but it was to the effect that she thought it singular they wanted a person of that sort in the house. this caused helga many anxious moments. she tried to console herself with the thought that it was not hildur, but her mother, who had said this. one sunday in the early spring helga and gudmund walked home together from church. as they came down the slope, they were with the other church people; but soon one after another dropped off until, finally, helga and gudmund were alone. then gudmund happened to think that he had not been alone with helga since that night at the croft, and the memory of that night came forcibly back to him. he had thought of their first meeting often enough during the winter, and with it he had always felt something sweet and pleasant thrill through his senses. as he went about his work, he would call forth in thought that whole beautiful evening: the white mist, the bright moonlight, the dark forest heights, the light valley, and the girl who had thrown her arms round his neck and wept for joy. the whole incident became more beautiful each time that it recurred to his memory. but when gudmund saw helga going about among the others at home, toiling and slaving, it was hard for him to think that it was she who had shared in this. now that he was walking alone with her on the church slope, he couldn't help wishing for a moment that she would be the same girl she was on that evening. helga began immediately to speak of hildur. she praised her much: said she was the prettiest and most sensible girl in the whole parish, and congratulated gudmund because he would have such an excellent wife. "you must tell her to let me remain always at närlunda," she said. "it will be a pleasure to work for a mistress like her." gudmund smiled at her enthusiasm, but answered only in monosyllables, as though he did not exactly follow her. it was well, of course, that she was so fond of hildur, and so happy because he was going to be married. "you have been content to be with us this winter?" he asked. "indeed i have! i cannot begin to tell you how kind mother ingeborg and all of you have been to me!" "have you not been homesick for the forest?" "oh, yes, in the beginning, but not now any more." "i thought that one who belonged to the forest could not help yearning for it." helga turned half round and looked at him, who walked on the other side of the road. gudmund had become almost a stranger to her; but now there was something in his voice, his smile, that was familiar. yes, he was the same man who had come to her and saved her in her greatest distress. although he was to marry another, she was certain that he wanted to be a good friend to her, and a faithful helper. she was very happy to feel that she could confide in him, as in none other, and thought that she must tell him of all that had happened to her since they last talked together. "i must tell you that it was rather hard for me the first weeks at närlunda," she began. "but you mustn't speak of this to your mother." "if you want me to be silent, i'll be silent." "fancy! i was so homesick in the beginning that i was about to go back to the forest." "were you homesick? i thought you were glad to be with us." "i simply could not help it," she said apologetically. "i understood, of course, how well it was for me to be here; you were all so good to me, and the work was not so hard but that i could manage with it, but i was homesick nevertheless. there was something that took hold of me and wanted to draw me back to the forest. i thought that i was deserting and betraying some one who had a right to me, when i wanted to stay here in the village." "it was perhaps--" began gudmund, but checked himself. "no, it was not the boy i longed for. i knew that he was well cared for and that mother was kind to him. it was nothing in particular. i felt as though i were a wild bird that had been caged, and i thought i should die if i were not let out." "to think that you had such a hard time of it!" said gudmund smiling, for now, all at once, he recognized her. now it was as if nothing had come between them, but that they had parted at the forest farm the evening before. helga smiled again, but continued to speak of her torments. "i didn't sleep a single night," said she, "and as soon as i went to bed, the tears started to flow, and when i got up of a morning, the pillow was wet through. in the daytime, when i went about among all of you, i could keep back the tears, but as soon as i was alone my eyes would fill up." "you have wept much in your time," said gudmund without looking the least bit sympathetic as he pronounced the words. helga thought that he was laughing to himself all the while. "you surely don't comprehend how hard it was for me!" she said, speaking faster and faster in her effort to make him understand her. "a great longing took possession of me and carried me out of myself. not for a moment could i feel happy! nothing was beautiful, nothing was a pleasure; not a human being could i become attached to. you all remained just as strange to me as you were the first time i entered the house." "but didn't you say a moment ago that you wished to remain with us?" said gudmund wonderingly. "of course i did!" "then, surely, you are not homesick now?" "no, it has passed over. i have been cured. wait, and you shall hear!" as she said this, gudmund crossed to the other side of the road and walked beside her, laughing to himself all the while. he seemed glad to hear her speak, but probably he didn't attach much importance to what she was relating. gradually helga took on his mood, and she thought everything was becoming easy and light. the church road was long and difficult to walk, but to-day she was not tired. there was something that carried her. she continued with her story because she had begun it, but it was no longer of much importance to her to speak. it would have been quite as agreeable to her if she might have walked silently beside him. "when i was the most unhappy," she said, "i asked mother ingeborg one saturday evening to let me go home and remain over sunday. and that evening, as i tramped over the hills to the marsh, i believed positively that i should never again go back to närlunda. but at home father and mother were so happy because i had found service with good and respectable people, that i didn't dare tell them i could not endure remaining with you. then, too, as soon as i came up into the forest all the anguish and pain vanished entirely. i thought the whole thing had been only a fancy. and then it was so difficult about the child. mother had become attached to the boy and had made him her own. he wasn't mine any more. and it was well thus, but it was hard to get used to." "perhaps you began to be homesick for us?" blurted gudmund. "oh, no! on monday morning, as i awoke and thought of having to return to you, the longing came over me again. i lay crying and fretting because the only right and proper thing for me to do was to go back to närlunda. but i felt all the same as though i were going to be ill or lose my senses if i went back. suddenly i remembered having once heard some one say that if one took some ashes from the hearth in one's own home and strewed them on the fire in the strange place, one would be rid of homesickness." "then it was a remedy that was easy to take," said gudmund. "yes, but it was supposed to have this effect also: afterwards one could never be content in any other place. if one were to move from the homestead to which one had borne the ashes, one must long to get back there again just as much as one had longed before to get away from there." "couldn't one carry ashes along wherever one moved to?" "no, it can't be done more than once. afterwards there is no turning back, so it was a great risk to try anything like that." "i shouldn't have taken chances on a thing of that kind," said gudmund, and she could hear that he was laughing at her. "but i dared, all the same," retorted helga. "it was better than having to appear as an ingrate in your mother's eyes and in yours, when you had tried to help me. i brought a little ashes from home, and when i got back to närlunda i watched my opportunity, when no one was in, and scattered the ashes over the hearth." "and now you believe it is ashes that have helped you?" "wait, and you shall hear how it turned out! immediately i became absorbed in my work and thought no more about the ashes all that day. i grieved exactly as before and was just as weary of everything as i had been. there was much to be done that day, both in the house and out of it, and when i finished with the evening's milking and was going in, the fire on the hearth was already lighted." "now i'm very curious to hear what happened," said gudmund. "think! already, as i was crossing the house yard, i thought there was something familiar in the gleam from the fire, and when i opened the door, it flashed across my mind that i was going into our own cabin and that father and mother would be sitting by the hearth. this flew past like a dream, but when i came in, i was surprised that it looked so pretty and homelike in the cottage. to me your mother and the rest of you had never appeared as pleasant as you did in the firelight. it seemed really good to come in, and this was not so before. i was so astonished that i could hardly keep from clapping my hands and shouting. i thought you were all so changed. you were no longer strangers to me and i could talk to you about all sorts of things. you can understand, of course, that i was happy, but i couldn't help being astonished. i wondered if i had been bewitched, and then i remembered the ashes i had strewn over the hearth." "yes, it was marvellous," said gudmund. he did not believe the least little bit in witchcraft and was not at all superstitious; but he didn't dislike hearing helga talk of such things. "now the wild forest girl has returned," thought he. "can anybody comprehend how one who has passed through all that she has can still be so childish?" "of course it was wonderful!" said helga. "and the same thing has been coming back all winter. as soon as the fire on the hearth was burning, i felt the same confidence and security as if i had been at home. but there must be something extraordinary about this fire--not with any other kind of fire, perhaps--only that which burns on a hearth, with all the household gathered around it, night after night. it gets sort of acquainted with one. it plays and dances for one and talks to one, and sometimes it is ill-humored. it is as if it had the power to create comfort and discomfort. i thought now that the fire from home had come to me and that it gave the same glow of pleasure to every one here that it had done back home." "what if you had to leave närlunda?" said gudmund. "then i must long to come back again all my life," said she. and the quiver in her voice betrayed that this was spoken in profound seriousness. "well, i shall not be the one to drive you away!" said gudmund. although he was laughing, there was something warm in his tone. they started no new subject of conversation, but walked on in silence until they came to the homestead. now and then gudmund turned his head to look at her who was walking at his side. she had gathered strength after her hard time of the year before. her features were delicate and refined; her hair was like an aureole around her head, and her eyes were not easy to read. her step was light and elastic, and when she spoke, the words came readily, yet modestly. she was afraid of being laughed at, still she had to speak out what was in her heart. gudmund wondered if he wished hildur to be like this, but he probably didn't. this helga would be nothing special to marry. a fortnight later helga heard that she must leave närlunda in april because hildur ericsdotter would not live under the same roof with her. the master and mistress of the house did not say this in so many words, but the mistress hinted that when the new daughter-in-law came, they would in all probability get so much help from her they would not require so many servants. on another occasion she said she had heard of a good place where helga would fare better than with them. it was not necessary for helga to hear anything further to understand that she must leave, and she immediately announced that she would move, but she did not wish any other situation and would return to her home. it was apparent that it was not of their own free will they were dismissing helga from närlunda. when she was leaving, there was a spread for her. it was like a party, and mother ingeborg gave her such heaps of dresses and shoes that she, who had come to them with only a bundle under her arm, could now barely find room enough in a chest for her possessions. "i shall never again have such an excellent servant in my house as you have been," said mother ingeborg. "and do not think too hard of me for letting you go! you understand, no doubt, that it is not my will, this. i shall not forget you. so long as i have any power, you shall never have to suffer want." she arranged with helga that she was to weave sheets and towels for her. she gave her employment for at least half a year. gudmund was in the woodshed splitting wood the day helga was leaving. he did not come in to say good-bye, although his horse was at the door. he appeared to be so busy that he didn't take note of what was going on. she had to go out to him to say farewell. he laid down the axe, took helga's hand, and said rather hurriedly, "thank you for all!" and began chopping again. helga had wanted to say something about her understanding that it was impossible for them to keep her and that it was all her own fault. she had brought this upon herself. but gudmund chopped away until the splinters flew around him, and she couldn't make up her mind to speak. but the strangest thing about this whole moving affair was that the master himself, old erland erlandsson, drove helga up to the marsh. gudmund's father was a little weazened man, with a bald pate and beautiful and knowing eyes. he was very timid, and so reticent at times that he did not speak a word the whole day. so long as everything went smoothly, one took no notice of him, but when anything went wrong, he always said and did what there was to be said and done to right matters. he was a capable accountant and enjoyed the confidence of every man in the township. he executed all kinds of public commissions and was more respected than many a man with a large estate and great riches. erland erlandsson drove helga home in his own wagon, and he wouldn't allow her to step down and walk up any of the hills. when they arrived at the marsh croft, he sat a long while in the cabin and talked with helga's parents, telling them of how pleased he and mother ingeborg had been with her. it was only because they did not need so many servants that they were sending her home. she, who was the youngest, must go. they had felt that it was wrong to dismiss any of those who were old in their service. erland erlandsson's speech had the desired effect, and the parents gave helga a warm welcome. when they heard that she had received such large orders that she could support herself with weaving, they were satisfied, and she remained at home. iv gudmund thought that he had loved hildur until the day when she exacted from him the promise that helga should be sent away from närlunda; at least up to that time there was no one whom he had esteemed more highly than hildur. no other young girl, to his thinking, could come up to her. it had been a pleasure for him to picture a future with hildur. they would be rich and looked up to, and he felt instinctively that the home hildur managed would be good to live in. he liked also to think that he would be well supplied with money after he had married her. he could then improve the land, rebuild all the tumble-down houses, extend the farm, and be a real landed proprietor. the same sunday that he had walked home from church with helga, he had driven over to Älvåkra in the evening. then hildur had started talking about helga and had said that she wouldn't come to närlunda until that girl was sent away. at first gudmund had tried to dismiss the whole matter as a jest, but it was soon obvious that hildur was in earnest. gudmund pleaded helga's cause exceedingly well and remarked that she was very young when first sent out to service and it was not strange that things went badly when she came across such a worthless fellow as per mårtensson. but since his mother had taken her in hand, she had always conducted herself well. "it can't be right to push her out," said he. "then, perhaps, she might meet with misfortune again." but hildur would not yield. "if that girl is to remain at närlunda, then i will never come there," she declared. "i cannot tolerate a person of that kind in my home." "you don't know what you are doing," said gudmund. "no one understands so well as helga how to care for mother. we have all been glad that she came to us. before she came, mother was often peevish and depressed." "i shall not compel you to send her away," said hildur, but it was clear that if gudmund were to take her at her word, in this instance, she was ready to break the engagement. "it will probably have to be as you wish," said gudmund. he did not feel that he could jeopardize his whole future for helga's sake, but he was very pale when he acquiesced, and he was silent and low-spirited the entire evening. it was this which had caused gudmund to fear that perhaps hildur was not altogether what he had fancied her. he did not like, i dare say, that she had pitted her will against his. but the worst of it was that he could not comprehend anything else than that she was in the wrong. he felt that he would willingly have given in to her had she been broad-minded, but instead, it seemed to him, she was only petty and heartless. once his doubts were awakened, it was not long before he perceived one thing and another which were not as he wished. "doubtless she is one of those who think first and foremost of themselves," he muttered every time he parted from her, and he wondered how long her love for him would last if it were put to the test. he tried to console himself with the idea that all people thought of themselves first, but instantly helga flashed into his mind. he saw her as she stood in the court room and snatched the bible, and heard how she cried out: "i withdraw the suit. i am still fond of him and i don't want him to swear falsely." it was thus he would have hildur. helga had become for him a standard by which he measured people. though certainly there were many who were equal to her in affection! day by day he thought less of hildur, but it did not occur to him that he should relinquish his prospective bride. he tried to imagine his discouragement was simply an idle whim. only a few weeks ago he regarded her as the best in the world! had this been at the beginning of the courtship, he would have withdrawn, perhaps, but now the banns were already published and the wedding day fixed, and in his home they had begun repairing and rebuilding. nor did he wish to forfeit the wealth and the good social position which awaited him. what excuse could he offer for breaking the engagement? that which he had to bring against hildur was so inconsequential that it would have turned to air on his lips had he attempted to express it. but the heart of him was often heavy, and every time he had an errand down to the parish or the city he bought ale or wine at the shops to drink himself into a good humor. when he had emptied a couple of bottles, he was again proud of the marriage and pleased with hildur. then he didn't understand what it was that pained him. gudmund often thought of helga and longed to meet her. but he fancied that helga believed him a wretch because he had not kept the promise which he voluntarily made her, but had allowed her to go away. he could neither explain nor excuse himself, therefore he avoided her. one morning, when gudmund was walking up the road, he met helga, who had been down in the village to buy milk. gudmund turned about and joined her. she didn't appear to be pleased with his company and walked rapidly, as if she wished to get away from him, and said nothing. gudmund, too, kept still because he didn't quite know how he should begin the conversation. a vehicle was seen on the road, far behind. gudmund was absorbed in thought and did not mark it, but helga had seen it and turned abruptly to him: "it is not worth your while to be in my company, gudmund, for, unless i see wrongly, it is the juryman from Älvåkra and his daughter who come driving back there." gudmund glanced up quickly, recognized the horse, and made a movement as if to turn back; but the next instant he straightened up and walked calmly at helga's side until the vehicle had passed. then he slackened his pace. helga continued to walk rapidly, and they parted company without his having said a word to her. but all that day he was better satisfied with himself than he had been in a long while. v it was decided that gudmund and hildur's wedding should be celebrated at Älvåkra the day following palm sunday. on the friday before, gudmund drove to town to make some purchases for the home-coming banquet, which was to be held at närlunda the day after the wedding. in the village he happened across a number of young men from his parish. they knew it was his last trip to the city before the marriage and made it the occasion for a carouse. all insisted that gudmund must drink, and they succeeded finally in getting him thoroughly intoxicated. he came home on saturday morning so late that his father and the men servants had already gone out to their work, and he slept on until late in the afternoon. when he arose and was going to dress himself, he noticed that his coat was torn in several places. "it looks as though i had been in a fight last night," said he, trying to recall what he had been up to. he remembered this much: he had left the public tavern at eleven o'clock in company with his comrades; but where they had gone afterwards, he couldn't remember. it was like trying to peer into a great darkness. he did not know if they had only driven around on the streets or if they had been in somebody's home. he didn't remember whether he or some one else had harnessed the horse and had no recollection whatever of the drive home. when he came into the living-room of the cottage, it was scoured and arranged for the occasion. all work was over for the day, and the household were having coffee. no one spoke of gudmund's trip. it seemed to be a matter agreed upon that he should have the freedom of living as he chose these last weeks. gudmund sat down at the table and had his coffee like the others. as he sat pouring it from the cup into the saucer and back into the cup again to let it cool, mother ingeborg, who had finished with hers, took up the newspaper, which had just arrived, and began reading. she read aloud column after column, and gudmund, his father, and the rest sat and listened. among other things which she read, there was an account of a fight that had taken place the night before, on the big square, between a gang of drunken farmers and some laborers. as soon as the police turned up, the fighters fled, but one of them lay dead on the square. the man was carried to the police station, and when no outward injury was found on him, they had tried to resuscitate him. but all attempts had been in vain, and at last they discovered that a knife-blade was imbedded in the skull. it was the blade of an uncommonly large clasp-knife that had pierced the brain and was broken off close to the head. the murderer had fled with the knife-handle, but as the police knew perfectly well who had been in the fight, they had hopes of soon finding him. while mother ingeborg was reading this, gudmund set down the coffee-cup, stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out a clasp-knife, and glanced at it carelessly. but almost immediately he started, turned the knife over, and poked it into his pocket as quickly as though it had burned him. he did not touch the coffee after that, but sat a long while, perfectly still, with a puzzled expression on his face. his brows were contracted, and it was apparent that he was trying with all his might to think out something. finally he stood up, stretched himself, yawned, and walked leisurely toward the door. "i'll have to bestir myself. i haven't been out of doors all day," he said, leaving the room. about the same time erland erlandsson also arose. he had smoked out his pipe, and now he went into the side room to get some tobacco. as he was standing in there, refilling his pipe, he saw gudmund walking along. the windows of the side room did not, like those of the main room, face the yard, but looked out upon a little garden plot with a couple of tall apple trees. beyond the plot lay a bit of swamp land where in the spring of the year there were big pools of water, but which were almost dried out in the summer. toward this side it was seldom that any one went. erland erlandsson wondered what gudmund was doing there, and followed him with his eyes. then he saw that the son stuck his hand into his pocket, drew out some object, and flung it away in the morass. thereupon he walked back across the little garden plot, leaped a fence, and went down the road. as soon as his son was out of sight, erland, in his turn, betook himself, as he should have done, to the swamp. he waded out into the mire, bent down, and picked up something his foot had touched. it was a large clasp-knife with the biggest blade broken off. he turned it over and over and examined it carefully while he still stood in the water. then he put it into his pocket, but he took it out again and looked at it before returning to the house. gudmund did not come home until the household had retired. he went immediately to bed without touching his supper, which was spread in the main room. erland erlandsson and his wife slept in the side room. at daybreak erland thought he heard footsteps outside the window. he got up, drew aside the curtain, and saw gudmund walking down to the swamp. he stripped off stockings and shoes and waded out into the water, tramping back and forth, like one who is searching for something. he kept this up for a long while, then he walked back to dry land, as if he intended to go away, but soon turned back to resume his search. a whole hour his father stood watching him. then gudmund went back to the house again and to bed. on palm sunday gudmund was to drive to church. as he started to hitch up the horse, his father came out. "you have forgotten to polish the harness to-day," he said, as he walked by; for both harness and cart were muddy. "i have had other things to think of," said gudmund listlessly, and drove off without doing anything in the matter. after the service gudmund accompanied his betrothed to Älvåkra and remained there all day. a number of young people came to celebrate hildur's last evening as a maid, and there was dancing till far into the night. intoxicants were plentiful, but gudmund did not touch them. the whole evening he had scarcely spoken a word to any one, but he danced wildly and laughed at times, loudly and stridently, without any one's knowing what he was so amused over. gudmund did not come home until about two in the morning, and when he had stabled the horse he went down to the swamp back of the house. he took off his shoes and stockings, rolled up his trousers, and waded into the water and mud. it was a light spring night, and his father was standing in the side room behind the curtain, watching his son. he saw how he walked bending over the water and searching as on the previous night. he went up on land between times, but after a moment or two he would wade again through the mud. once he went and fetched a bucket from the barn and began dipping water from the pools, as if he intended to drain them, but really found it unprofitable and set the bucket aside. he tried also with a pole-net. he ploughed through the entire swamp-ground with it, but seemed to bring up nothing but mud. he did not go in until the morning was so well on that the people in the house were beginning to bestir themselves. then he was so tired and spent that he staggered as he walked, and he flung himself upon the bed without undressing. when the clock struck eight, his father came and waked him. gudmund lay upon the bed, his clothing covered with mud and clay, but his father did not ask what he had been doing. he simply said, "it is time now to get up," and closed the door. after a while gudmund came down stairs, dressed in his wedding clothes. he was pale, and his eyes wore a troubled expression, but no one had ever seen him look so handsome. his features were as if illumined by an inner light. one felt that one was looking upon something no longer made up of flesh and blood,--only of soul and will. it was solemnly ceremonious down in the main room. his mother was in black, and she had thrown a pretty silk shawl across her shoulders, although she was not to be at the wedding. fresh birch leaves were arranged in the fireplace. the table was spread, and there was a great quantity of food. when they had breakfasted, mother ingeborg read a hymn and something from the bible. then she turned to gudmund, thanked him for having been a good son, wished him happiness in his new life, and gave him her blessing. mother ingeborg could arrange her words well, and gudmund was deeply moved. the tears welled to his eyes time and again, but he managed to choke them back. his father, too, said a few words. "it will be hard for your parents to lose you," he said, and again gudmund came near breaking down. all the servants came forward and shook hands with him and thanked him for the past. tears were in his eyes all the while. he pulled himself together and made several attempts to speak, but could scarcely get a word past his lips. his father was to accompany him to the wedding and be one of the party. he went out and harnessed the horse, after which he came back and announced that it was time to start. when gudmund was seated in the cart, he noticed that it was cleansed and burnished. everything was as bright and shiny as he himself always wished it to be. at the same time he saw, also, how neat everything about the place looked. the driveway had been laid with new gravel; piles of old wood and rubbish, which had lain there all his life, were removed. on each side of the entrance door stood a birch branch, as a gate of honor. a large wreath of blueberry hung on the weather-vane, and from every aperture peeped light green birch-leaves. again gudmund was ready to burst into tears. he grasped his father's hand hard when he was about to start; it was as though he wished to prevent his going. "is there something--?" said the father. "oh, no!" said gudmund. "it is best, i dare say, that we go ahead." gudmund had to say one more farewell before he was very far from the homestead. it was helga from big marsh, who stood waiting at the hedge, where the foliage path leading from her home opened into the highway. the father was driving and stopped when he saw helga. "i have been waiting for you, as i wanted to wish you happiness to-day," said helga. gudmund leaned far out over the cart and shook hands with helga. he thought that she had grown thin and that her eyelids were red. very probably she had lain awake and cried all night and was homesick for närlunda. but now she tried to appear happy and smiled sweetly at him. again he felt deeply moved but could not speak. his father, who was reputed never to speak a word until it was called forth by extreme necessity, joined in: "that good wish, i think, gudmund will be more glad over than any other." "yes, of that you may be sure!" said gudmund. he shook hands with helga once more, and then they drove on. gudmund leaned back in the cart and looked after helga. when she was hidden from view by a couple of trees, he hastily tore aside the apron of the carriage, as if he wished to jump out. "is there anything more you wish to say to helga?" asked his father. "no, oh, no!" answered gudmund and turned round again. suddenly gudmund leaned his head against his father's shoulder and burst out crying. "what ails you?" asked erland erlandsson, drawing in the reins so suddenly that the horse stopped. "oh, they are all so good to me and i don't deserve it." "but you have never done anything wrong, surely?" "yes, father, i have." "that we can't believe." "i have killed a human being!" the father drew a deep breath. it sounded almost like a sigh of relief, and gudmund raised his head, astonished, and looked at him. his father set the horse in motion again; then he said calmly, "i'm glad you have told of this yourself." "did you know it already, father?" "i surmised last saturday evening that there was something wrong. and then i found your knife down in the morass." "so it was you who found the knife!" "i found it and i noticed that one of the blades had been broken off." "yes, father, i'm aware that the knife-blade is gone, but still i cannot get it into my head that i did it." "it was probably done in the drunkenness and delirium." "i know nothing; i remember nothing. i could see by my clothes that i had been in a fight and i knew that the knife-blade was missing." "i understand that it was your intention to be silent about this," said the father. "i thought that perhaps the rest of the party were as irresponsible as myself and _i_ couldn't remember anything. there was perhaps no other evidence against me than the knife, therefore i threw it away." "i comprehend that you must have reasoned in that way." "you understand, father, that i do not know who is dead. i had never seen him before, i dare say. i have no recollection of having done it. i didn't think i ought to suffer for what i had not done knowingly. but soon i got to thinking that i must have been mad to throw the knife into the marsh. it dries out in summer, and then any one might find it. i tried last night and the night before to find it." "didn't it occur to you that you should confess?" "no! yesterday i thought only of how i could keep it a secret, and i tried to dance and be merry, so that no one would mark any change in me." "was it your intention to go to the bridal altar to-day without confessing? you were assuming a grave responsibility. didn't you understand that if you were discovered you would drag hildur and her kin with you into misery?" "i thought that i was sparing them most by saying nothing." they drove now as fast as possible. the father seemed to be in haste to arrive, and all the time he talked with his son. he had not said so much to him in all his life before. "i wonder how you came to think differently?" said he. "it was because helga came and wished me luck. then there was something hard in me that broke. i was touched by something in her. mother, also, moved me this morning, and i wanted to speak out and tell her that i was not worthy of your love; but then the hardness was still within me and made resistance. but when helga appeared, it was all over with me. i felt that she really ought to be angry with me who was to blame for her having to leave our home." "now i think you are agreed with me that we must let the juryman know this at once," said the father. "yes," answered gudmund in a low tone. "why, certainly!" he added almost immediately after, louder and firmer. "i don't want to drag hildur into my misfortune. this she would never forgive me." "the Älvåkra folk are jealous of their honor, like the rest," remarked the father. "and you may as well know, gudmund, that when i left home this morning i was thinking that i must tell the juryman your position if you did not decide to do so yourself. i never could have stood silently by and let hildur marry a man who at any moment might be accused of murder." he cracked the whip and drove on, faster and faster. "this will be the hardest thing for you," said he, "but we'll try and have it over with quickly. i believe that, to the juryman's mind, it will be right for you to give yourself up, and they will be kind to you, no doubt." gudmund said nothing. his torture increased the nearer they approached Älvåkra. the father continued talking to keep up his courage. "i have heard something of this sort before," said he. "there was a bridegroom once who happened to shoot a comrade to death during a hunt. he did not do it intentionally, and it was not discovered that he was the one who had fired the fatal shot. but a day or two later he was to be married, and when he came to the home of the bride, he went to her and said: 'the marriage cannot take place. i do not care to drag you into the misery which awaits me.' but she stood, dressed in bridal wreath and crown, and took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room, where the guests were assembled and all was in readiness for the ceremony. she related in a clear voice what the bridegroom had just said to her. 'i have told of this, that all may know you have practised no deceit on me.' then she turned to the bridegroom. 'now i want to be married to you at once. you are what you are, even though you have met with misfortune, and whatever awaits you, i want to share it equally with you.'" just as the father had finished the narrative, they were on the long avenue leading to Älvåkra. gudmund turned to him with a melancholy smile. "it will not end thus for us," he said. "who knows?" said the father, straightening in the cart. he looked upon his son and was again astonished at his beauty this day. "it would not surprise me if something great and unexpected were to come to him," thought he. there was to have been a church ceremony, and already a crowd of people were gathered at the bride's home to join in the wedding procession. a number of the juryman's relatives from a distance had also arrived. they were sitting on the porch in their best attire, ready for the drive to church. carts and carriages were strung out in the yard, and one could hear the horses stamping in the stable as they were being curried. the parish fiddler sat on the steps of the storehouse alone, tuning his fiddle. at a window in the upper story of the cottage stood the bride, dressed and waiting to have a peep at the bridegroom before he had time to discover her. erland and gudmund stepped from the carriage and asked immediately for a private conference with hildur and her parents. soon they were all standing in the little room which the juryman used as his study. "i think you must have read in the papers of that fight in town last saturday night, where a man was killed," said gudmund, as rapidly as if he were repeating a lesson. "oh, yes, i've read about it, of course," said the juryman. "i happened to be in town that night," continued gudmund. now there was no response. it was as still as death. gudmund thought they all glared at him with such fury that he was unable to continue. but his father came to his aid. "gudmund had been invited out by a few friends. he had probably drunk too much that night, and when he came home he did not know what he had been doing. but it was apparent that he had been in a fight, for his clothes were torn." gudmund saw that the dread which the others felt increased with every word that was said, but he himself was growing calmer. there awoke in him a sense of defiance, and he took up the words again: "when the paper came on saturday evening and i read of the fight and of the knife-blade which was imbedded in the man's skull, i took out my knife and saw that a blade was missing." "it is bad news that gudmund brings with him," said the juryman. "it would have been better had he told us of this yesterday." gudmund was silent; and now his father came to the rescue again. "it was not so easy for gudmund. it was a great temptation to keep quiet about the whole affair. he is losing much by this confession." "we may be glad that he has spoken now, and that we have not been tricked and dragged into this wretched affair," said the juryman bitterly. gudmund kept his eyes fixed on hildur all the while. she was adorned with veil and crown, and now he saw how she raised her hand and drew out one of the large pins which held the crown in place. she seemed to do this unconsciously. when she observed that gudmund's glance rested upon her, she stuck the pin in again. "it is not yet fully proved that gudmund is the slayer," said his father, "but i can well understand that you wish the wedding postponed until everything has been cleared up." "it is not worth while to talk of postponement," said the juryman. "i think that gudmund's case is clear enough for us to decide that all is over between him and hildur now." gudmund did not at once reply to this judgment. he walked over to his betrothed and put out his hand. she sat perfectly still and seemed not to see him. "won't you say farewell to me, hildur?" then she looked up, and her large eyes stared coldly at him. "was it with that hand you guided the knife?" she asked. gudmund did not answer her, but turned to the juryman. "now i am sure of my case," he said. "it is useless to talk of a wedding." with this the conference was ended, and gudmund and erland went their way. they had to pass through a number of rooms and corridors before they came out, and everywhere they saw preparations for the wedding. the door leading to the kitchen was open, and they saw many bustling about in eager haste. the smell of roasts and of baking penetrated the air; the whole fireplace was covered with large and small pots and pans, and the copper saucepans, which usually decorated the walls, were down and in use. "fancy, it is for my wedding that they are puttering like this!" thought gudmund, as he was passing. he caught a glimpse, so to speak, of all the wealth of this old peasant estate as he wandered through the house. he saw the dining-hall, where the long tables were set with a long row of silver goblets and decanters. he passed by the clothes-press, where the floor was covered with great chests and where the walls were hung with an endless array of wearing apparel. when he came out in the yard, he saw many vehicles, old and new, and fine horses being led out from the stable, and gorgeous carriage robes placed in the carriages. he looked out across a couple of farms with cow-sheds, barns, sheep-folds, storehouses, sheds, larders, and many other buildings. "all this might have been mine," he thought, as he seated himself in the cart. suddenly he was seized with a sense of bitter regret. he would have liked to throw himself out of the cart and go in and say that what he had told them was not true. he had only wished to joke with them and frighten them. it was awfully stupid of him to confess. of what use had it been to him to confess? the dead was dead. no, this confession carried nothing with it save his ruin. these last weeks he had not been very enthusiastic over this marriage. but now, when he must renounce it, he realized what it was worth to him. it meant much to lose hildur ericsdotter and all that went with her. what did it matter that she was domineering and opinionated? she was still the peer of all in these regions, and through her he would have come by great power and honor. it was not only hildur and her possessions he was missing, but minor things as well. at this moment he should have been driving to the church, and all who looked upon him would have envied him. and it was to-day that he should have sat at the head of the wedding table and been in the thick of the dancing and the gayety. it was his great luck-day that was going from him. erland turned time and again to his son and looked at him. now he was not so handsome or transfigured as he had been in the morning, but sat there listless and heavy and dull-eyed. the father wondered if the son regretted having confessed and meant to question him about it, but thought it best to be silent. "where are we driving to now?" asked gudmund presently. "wouldn't it be as well to go at once to the sheriff?" "you had better go home first and have a good sleep," said the father. "you have not had much sleep these last nights, i dare say." "mother will be frightened when she sees us." "she won't be surprised," answered the father, "for she knows quite as much as i do. she will be glad, of course, that you have confessed." "i believe mother and the rest of you at home are glad to get me into prison," snarled gudmund. "we know that you are losing a good deal in acting rightly," said the father. "we can't help but be glad because you have conquered yourself." gudmund felt that he could not endure going home and having to listen to all who would commend him because he had spoiled his future. he sought some excuse that he might escape meeting any one until he had recovered his poise. then they drove by the place where the path led to big marsh. "will you stop here, father? i think i'll run up to see helga and have a talk with her." willingly the father reined in the horse. "only come home as quickly as you can, that you may rest yourself," said he. gudmund went into the woods and was soon out of sight. he did not think of seeking helga; he was only thinking of being alone, so that he wouldn't have to control himself. he felt an unreasonable anger toward everything, kicked at stones that lay in his path, and paused sometimes to break off a big branch only because a leaf had brushed his cheek. he followed the path to big marsh, but walked past the croft and up the hill which lay above it. he had wandered off the path, and in order to reach the hill-top he must cross a broad ridge of sharp, jagged rocks. it was a hazardous tramp over the sharp rock edges. he might have broken both arms and legs had he made a misstep. he understood this perfectly, but went on as if it amused him to run into danger. "if i were to fall and hurt myself, no one can find me up here," thought he. "what of it? i may as well die here as to sit for years within prison walls." all went well, however, and a few moments later he was up on high peak. once a forest fire had swept the mountain. the highest point was still bare, and from there one had a seven-mile outlook. he saw valleys and lakes, dark forest tracts and flourishing towns, churches and manors, little woodland crofts and large villages. far in the distance lay the city, enveloped in a white haze from which a pair of gleaming spires peeped out. public roads wound through the valleys, and a railway train was rushing along the border of the forest. it was a whole kingdom that he saw. he flung himself upon the ground, all the while keeping his eyes riveted upon the vast outlook. there was something grand and majestic about the landscape before him, which made him feel himself and his sorrows small and insignificant. he remembered how, when a child, he had read that the tempter led jesus up to a high mountain and showed him all the world's glories, and he always fancied that they had stood up here on great peak, and he repeated the old words: "all these things will i give thee if thou wilt fall down and worship me." all of a sudden he was thinking that a similar temptation had come to him these last days. certainly the tempter had not borne him to a high mountain and shown him all the glories and powers of this world! "only be silent about the evil which you think you have done," said he, "and i will give you all these things." as gudmund thought on this, a grain of satisfaction came to him. "i have answered no," he said, and suddenly he understood what it had meant for him. if he had kept silent, would he not have been compelled to worship the tempter all his life? he would have been a timid and faint-hearted man; simply a slave to his possessions. the fear of discovery would always have weighed upon him. nevermore would he have felt himself a free man. a great peace came over gudmund. he was happy in the consciousness that he had done right. when he thought back to the past days, he felt that he had groped his way out of a great darkness. it was wonderful that he had come out right finally. he asked himself how he had ever happened to go astray. "it was because they were so kind to me at home," he thought, "and the best help was that helga came and wished me happiness." he lay up there on the mountain a little longer, but presently he felt that he must go home to his father and mother and tell them that he was at peace with himself. when he rose to go, he saw helga sitting on a ledge a little farther down the mountain. where she sat, she had not the big, broad outlook which he enjoyed; only a little glint of the valley was visible to her. this was in the direction where närlunda lay, and possibly she could see a portion of the farm. when gudmund discovered her, he felt that his heart, which all the day before had labored heavily and anxiously, began to beat lightly and merrily; at the same time such a thrill of joy ran through him that he stood still and marvelled at himself. "what has come over me? what is this?" he wondered, as the blood surged through his body and happiness gripped him with a force that was almost painful. at last he said to himself in a surprised tone: "why, it is she that i'm fond of! think, that i did not know it until now!" it took hold of him with the strength of a loosened torrent. he had been bound the whole time he knew her. all that had drawn him to her he had held back. now, at last, he was freed from the thought of marrying some one else--free to love her. "helga!" he cried, rushing down the steep to her. she turned round with a terrified shriek. "don't be frightened! it is only i." "but are you not at church being married?" "no, indeed! there will be no wedding to-day. she doesn't want me--she--hildur." helga rose. she placed her hand on her heart and closed her eyes. at that moment she must have thought it was not gudmund who had come. it must be that her eyes and ears were bewitched in the forest. yet it was sweet and dear of him to come, if only in a vision! she closed her eyes and stood motionless to keep this vision a few seconds longer. gudmund was wild and dizzy from the great love that had flamed up in him. as soon as he came down to helga, he threw his arms around her and kissed her, and she let it happen, for she was absolutely stupefied with surprise. it was too wonderful to believe that he, who should now be standing in church beside his bride, actually could have come here to the forest. this phantom or ghost of him that had come to her may as well kiss her. but while gudmund was kissing helga, she awoke and pushed him from her. she began to shower him with questions. was it really he? what was he doing in the forest? had any misfortune happened to him? why was the wedding postponed? was hildur ill? did the clergyman have a stroke in church? gudmund had not wished to talk to her of anything in the world save his love, but she forced him to tell her what had occurred. while he was speaking she sat still and listened with rapt attention. she did not interrupt him until he mentioned the broken blade. then she leaped up suddenly and asked if it was his clasp-knife, the one he had when she served with them. "yes, it was just that one," said he. "how many blades were broken off?" she asked. "only one," he answered. then helga's head began working. she sat with knit brows trying to recall something. wait! why, certainly she remembered distinctly that she had borrowed the knife from him to shave wood with the day before she left. she had broken it then, but she had never told him of it. he had avoided her, and at that time he had not wished to hold any converse with her. and of course the knife had been in his pocket ever since and he hadn't noticed that it was broken. she raised her head and was about to tell him of this, but he went on talking of his visit that morning to the house where the wedding was to have been celebrated, and she wanted to let him finish. when she heard how he had parted from hildur, she thought it such a terrible misfortune that she began upbraiding him. "this is your own fault," said she. "you and your father came and frightened the life out of her with the shocking news. she would not have answered thus had she been mistress of herself. i want to say to you that i believe she regrets it at this very moment." "let her regret it as much as she likes, for all of me!" said gudmund. "i know now that she is the sort who thinks only of herself. i am glad i'm rid of her!" helga pressed her lips, as if to keep the great secret from escaping. there was much for her to think about. it was more than a question of clearing gudmund of the murder; the wretched affair had also dragged with it enmity between gudmund and his sweetheart. perhaps she might try to adjust this matter with the help of what she knew. again she sat silent and pondered until gudmund began telling that he had transferred his affections to her. but to her this seemed to be the greatest misfortune he had met with that day. it was bad that he was about to miss the advantageous marriage, but still worse were he to woo a girl like herself. "no, such things you must not say to me," she said, rising abruptly. "why shouldn't i say this to you?" asked gudmund, turning pale. "perhaps it is with you as with hildur--you are afraid of me?" "no, that's not the reason." she wanted to explain how he was seeking his own ruin, but he was not listening to her. "i have heard said that there were women-folk in olden times who stood side by side with men when they were in trouble; but that kind one does not encounter nowadays." a tremor passed through helga. she could have thrown her arms around his neck, but remained perfectly still. to-day it was she who must be sensible. "true, i should not have asked you to become my wife on the day that i must go to prison. you see, if i only knew that you would wait for me until i'm free again, i should go through all the hardship with courage. every one will now regard me as a criminal, as one who drinks and murders. if only there were some one who could think of me with affection!--this would sustain me more than anything else." "you know, surely, that i shall never think anything but good of you, gudmund." helga was so still! gudmund's entreaties were becoming almost too much for her. she didn't know how she should escape him. he apprehended nothing of this, but began thinking he had been mistaken. she could not feel toward him as he did toward her. he came very close and looked at her, as though he wanted to look through her. "are you not sitting on this particular ledge of the mountain that you may look down to närlunda?" "yes." "don't you long night and day to be there?" "yes, but i'm not longing for any person." "and you don't care for me?" "yes, but i don't want to marry you." "whom do you care for, then?" helga was silent. "is it per mårtensson?" "i have already told you that i liked him," she said, exhausted by the strain of it all. gudmund stood for a moment, with tense features, and looked at her. "farewell, then! now we must go our separate ways, you and i," said he. with that he made a long jump from this ledge of the mountain down to the next landing and disappeared among the trees. vi gudmund was hardly out of sight when helga rushed down the mountain in another direction. she ran past the marsh without stopping and hurried over the wooded hills as fast as she could and down the road. she stopped at the first farmhouse she came to and asked for the loan of a horse and car to drive to Älvåkra. she said that it was a matter of life and death and promised to pay for the help. the church folk had already returned to their homes and were talking of the adjourned wedding. they were all very much excited and very solicitous and were eager to help helga, since she appeared to have an important errand to the home of the bride. at Älvåkra hildur ericsdotter sat in a little room on the upper floor where she had dressed as a bride. her mother and several other peasant women were with her. hildur did not weep; she was unusually quiet, and so pale that she looked as though she might be ill at any moment. the women talked all the while of gudmund. all blamed him and seemed to regard it as a fortunate thing that she was rid of him. some thought that gudmund had shown very little consideration for his parents-in-law in not letting them know on palm sunday how matters stood with him. others, again, said that one who had had such happiness awaiting him should have known how to take better care of himself. a few congratulated hildur because she had escaped marrying a man who could drink himself so full that he did not know what he was doing. amid this, hildur was losing her patience and rose to go out. as soon as she was outside the door, her best friend, a young peasant girl, came and whispered something to her. "there is some one below who wants to speak with you." "is it gudmund?" asked hildur, and a spark of life came into her eyes. "no, but it may be a messenger from him. she wouldn't divulge the nature of her errand to any one but yourself, she declared." hildur had been sitting thinking all day that some one must come who could put an end to her misery. she couldn't comprehend that such a dreadful misfortune should come to her. she felt that something ought to happen that she might again don her crown and wreath, so they could proceed with the wedding. when she heard now of a messenger from gudmund, she was interested and immediately went out to the kitchen hall and looked for her. hildur probably wondered why gudmund had sent helga to her, but she thought that perhaps he couldn't find any other messenger on a holiday, and greeted her pleasantly. she motioned to helga to come with her into the dairy across the yard. "i know no other place where we can be alone," she said. "the house is still full of guests." as soon as they were inside, helga went close up to hildur and looked her square in the face. "before i say anything more, i must know if you love gudmund." hildur winced. it was painful for her to be obliged to exchange a single word with helga, and she had no desire to make a confidant of her. but now it was a case of necessity, and she forced herself to answer, "why else do you suppose i wished to marry him?" "i mean, do you still love him?" hildur was like stone, but she could not lie under the other woman's searching glance. "perhaps i have never loved him so much as to-day," she said, but she said this so feebly that one might think it hurt her to speak out. "then come with me at once!" said helga. "i have a wagon down the road. go in after a cloak or something to wrap around you; then we'll drive to närlunda." "what good would it do for me to go there?" asked hildur. "you must go there and say you want to be gudmund's, no matter what he may have done, and that you will wait faithfully for him while he is in prison." "why should i say this?" "so all will be well between you." "but that is impossible. i don't want to marry any one who has been in prison!" helga staggered back, as though she had bumped against a wall, but she quickly regained her courage. she could understand that one who was rich and powerful, like hildur, must think thus. "i should not come and ask you to go to närlunda did i not know that gudmund was innocent," said she. now it was hildur who came a step or two towards helga. "do you know this for certain, or is it only something which you imagine?" "it will be better for us to get into the cart immediately; then i can talk on the way." "no, you must first explain what you mean; i must know what i'm doing." helga was in such a fever of excitement that she could hardly stand still; nevertheless she had to make up her mind to tell hildur how she happened to know that gudmund was not the murderer. "didn't you tell gudmund of this at once?" "no, i'm telling it now to hildur. no one else knows of it." "and why do you come to me with this?" "that all may be well between you two. he will soon learn that he has done no wrong; but i want you to go to him as if of your own accord, and make it up." "sha'n't i say that i know he is innocent?" "you must come entirely of your own accord and must never let him know i have spoken to you; otherwise he will never forgive you for what you said to him this morning." hildur listened quietly. there was something in this which she had never met with in her life before, and she was striving to make it clear to herself. "do you know that it was i who wanted you to leave närlunda?" "i know, of course, that it was not the folk at närlunda who wished me away." "i can't comprehend that you should come to me to-day with the desire to help me." "only come along now, hildur, so all will be well!" hildur stared at helga, trying all the while to reason it out. "perhaps gudmund loves you?" she blurted out. and now helga's patience was exhausted. "what could i be to him?" she said sharply. "you know, hildur, that i am only a poor croft girl, and that's not the worst about me!" the two young women stole unobserved from the homestead and were soon seated in the cart. helga held the reins, and she did not spare the horse, but drove at full speed. both girls were silent. hildur sat gazing at helga. she marvelled at her and was thinking more of her than of anything else. as they were nearing the erlandsson farm, helga gave the reins to hildur. "now you must go alone to the house and talk with gudmund. i'll follow a little later and tell that about the knife. but you mustn't say a word to gudmund about my having brought you here." gudmund sat in the living-room at närlunda beside his mother and talked with her. his father was sitting a little way from them, smoking. he looked pleased and said not a word. it was apparent that he thought everything was going now as it should and that it was not necessary for him to interfere. "i wonder, mother, what you would have said if you had got helga for a daughter-in-law?" ventured gudmund. mother ingeborg raised her head and said in a firm voice, "i will with pleasure welcome any daughter-in-law if i only know that she loves you as a wife should love her husband." this was barely spoken when they saw hildur ericsdotter drive into the yard. she came immediately into the cottage and was unlike herself in many respects. she did not step into the room with her usual briskness, but it appeared almost as though she were inclined to pause near the door, like some poor beggarwoman. however, she came forward finally and shook hands with mother ingeborg and erland. then she turned to gudmund: "it is with you that i would have a word or two." gudmund arose, and they went into the side room. he arranged a chair for hildur, but she did not seat herself. she blushed with embarrassment, and the words dropped slowly and heavily from her lips. "i was--yes, it was much too hard--that which i said to you this morning." "we came so abruptly, hildur," said gudmund. she grew still more red and embarrassed. "i should have thought twice. we could--it would of course--" "it is probably best as it is, hildur. it is nothing to speak of now, but it was kind of you to come." she put her hands to her face, drew a breath as deep as a sigh, then raised her head again. "no!" she said, "i can't do it in this way. i don't want you to think that i'm better than i am. there was some one who came to me and told me that you were not guilty and advised me to hurry over here at once and make everything right again. and i was not to mention that i already knew you were innocent, for then you wouldn't think it so noble of me to come. now i want to say to you that i wish i had thought of this myself, but i hadn't. but i have longed for you all day and wished that all might be well between us. whichever way it turns out, i want to say that i am glad you are innocent." "who advised you to do this?" asked gudmund. "i was not to tell you that." "i am surprised that any one should know of it. father has but just returned from the sheriff. he telegraphed to the city, and an answer has come that the real murderer has already been found." as gudmund was relating this, hildur felt that her legs were beginning to shake, and she sat down quickly in the chair. she was frightened because gudmund was so calm and pleasant, and she was beginning to perceive that he was wholly out of her power. "i can understand that you can never forget how i behaved to you this forenoon." "surely i can forgive you that," he said in the same even tone. "we will never speak of the matter again." she shivered, dropped her eyes, and sat as though she were expecting something. "it was simply a stroke of good fortune, hildur," he said, coming forward and grasping her hand, "that it is over between us, for to-day it became clear to me that i love another. i think i have been fond of her for a long time, but i did not know it until to-day." "whom do you care for, gudmund?" came in a colorless voice from hildur. "it doesn't matter. i shall not marry her, as she does not care for me, nor can i marry anyone else." hildur raised her head. it was not easy to tell what was taking place in her. at this moment she felt that she, the rich farmer's daughter, with all her beauty and all her possessions, was nothing to gudmund. she was proud and did not wish to part from him without teaching him that she had a value of her own, apart from all the external things. "i want you to tell me, gudmund, if it is helga from big marsh whom you love." gudmund was silent. "it was she who came to me and taught me what i should do that all might be well between us. she knew you were innocent, but she did not say so to you. she let me know it first." gudmund looked her steadily in the eyes. "do you think this means that she has a great affection for me?" "you may be sure of it, gudmund. i can prove it. no one in the world could love you more than she does." he walked rapidly across the floor and back, then he stopped suddenly before hildur. "and you--why do you tell me this?" "surely i do not wish to stand beneath helga in magnanimity!" "oh, hildur, hildur!" he cried, placing his hands on her shoulders and shaking her to give vent to his emotion. "you don't know, oh, you don't know how much i like you at this moment! you don't know how happy you have made me!" helga sat by the roadside and waited. with her cheek resting on her hand, she sat and pictured hildur and gudmund together and thought how happy they must be now. while she sat thus, a servant from närlunda came along. he stopped when he saw her. "i suppose you have heard that affair which concerns gudmund?" she had. "it was not true, fortunately. the real murderer is already in custody." "i knew it couldn't be true," said helga. thereupon the man went, and helga sat there alone, as before. so they knew it already down there! it was not necessary for her to go to närlunda and tell of it. she felt herself so strangely shut out! earlier in the day she had been so eager. she had not thought of herself--only that gudmund and hildur's marriage should take place. but now it flashed upon her how alone she was. and it was hard not to be something to those of whom one is fond. gudmund did not need her now, and her own child had been appropriated by her mother, who would hardly allow her to look at it. she was thinking that she had better rise and go home, but the hills appeared long and difficult to her. she didn't know how she should ever be able to climb them. a vehicle came along now from the direction of närlunda. hildur and gudmund were seated in the cart. now they were probably on their way to Älvåkra to tell that they were reconciled. to-morrow the wedding would take place. when they discovered helga, they stopped the horse. gudmund handed the reins to hildur and jumped down. hildur nodded to helga and drove on. gudmund remained standing on the road and facing helga. "i am glad you are sitting here, helga," he said. "i thought that i would have to go up to big marsh to meet you." he said this abruptly, almost harshly; at the same time he gripped her hand tightly. and she read in his eyes that he knew now where he had her. now she could no more escape from him. the silver mine king gustaf the third was travelling through dalecarlia. he was pressed for time, and all the way he wanted to drive like lightning. although they drove with such speed that the horses were extended like stretched rubber bands and the coach cleared the turns on two wheels, the king poked his head out of the window and shouted to the postilion: "why don't you go ahead? do you think you are driving over eggs?" since they had to drive over poor country roads at such a mad pace, it would have been almost a miracle had the harness and wagon held together! and they didn't, either; for at the foot of a steep hill the pole broke--and there the king sat! the courtiers sprang from the coach and scolded the driver, but this did not lessen the damage done. there was no possibility of continuing the journey until the coach was mended. when the courtiers looked round to try and find something with which the king could amuse himself while he waited, they noticed a church spire looming high above the trees in a grove a short distance ahead. they intimated to the king that he might step into one of the coaches in which the attendants were riding and drive up to the church. it was a sunday, and the king might attend service to pass the time until the royal coach was ready. the king accepted the proposal and drove toward the church. he had been travelling for hours through dark forest regions, but here it looked more cheerful, with fairly large meadows and villages, and with the dal river gliding on, light and pretty, between thick rows of alder bushes. but the king had ill-luck to this extent: the bellringer took up the recessional chant just as the king was stepping from the coach on the church knoll and the people were coming out from the service. but when they came walking past him, the king remained standing, with one foot in the wagon and the other on the footstep. he did not move from the spot--only stared at them. they were the finest lot of folk he had ever seen. all the men were above the average height, with intelligent and earnest faces, and the women were dignified and stately, with an air of sabbath peace about them. the whole of the preceding day the king had talked only of the desolate tracts he was passing through, and had said to his courtiers again and again, "now i am certainly driving through the very poorest part of my kingdom!" but now, when he saw the people, garbed in the picturesque dress of this section of the country, he forgot to think of their poverty; instead his heart warmed, and he remarked to himself: "the king of sweden is not so badly off as his enemies think. so long as my subjects look like this, i shall probably be able to defend both my faith and my country." he commanded the courtiers to make known to the people that the stranger who was standing amongst them was their king, and that they should gather around him, so he could talk to them. and then the king made a speech to the people. he spoke from the high steps outside the vestry, and the narrow step upon which he stood is there even to-day. the king gave an account of the sad plight in which the kingdom was placed. he said that the swedes were threatened with war, both by russians and danes. under ordinary circumstances it wouldn't be such a serious matter, but now the army was filled with traitors, and he did not dare depend upon it. therefore there was no other course for him to pursue than to go himself into the country settlements and ask his subjects if they would be loyal to their king and help him with men and money, so he could save the fatherland. the peasants stood quietly while the king was speaking, and when he had finished they gave no sign either of approval or disapproval. the king himself thought that he had spoken very well. the tears had sprung to his eyes several times while he was speaking. but when the peasants stood there all the while, troubled and undecided, and could not make up their minds to answer him, the king frowned and looked displeased. the peasants understood that it was becoming monotonous for the king to wait, and finally one of them stepped out from the crowd. "now, you must know, king gustaf, that we were not expecting a royal visit in the parish to-day," said the peasant, "and therefore we are not prepared to answer you at once. i advise you to go into the vestry and speak with our pastor, while we discuss among ourselves this matter which you have laid before us." the king apprehended that a more satisfactory response was not to be had immediately, so he felt that it would be best for him to follow the peasant's advice. when he came into the vestry, he found no one there but a man who looked like a peasant. he was tall and rugged, with big hands, toughened by labor, and he wore neither cassock nor collar, but leather breeches and a long white homespun coat, like all the other men. he arose and bowed to the king when the latter entered. "i thought i should find the parson in here," said the king. the man grew somewhat red in the face. he thought it annoying to mention the fact that he was the parson of this parish, when he saw that the king had mistaken him for a peasant. "yes," said he, "the parson is usually on hand in here." the king dropped into a large armchair which stood in the vestry at that time, and which stands there to-day, looking exactly like itself, with this difference: the congregation has had a gilded crown attached to the back of it. "have you a good parson in this parish?" asked the king, who wanted to appear interested in the welfare of the peasants. when the king questioned him in this manner, the parson felt that he couldn't possibly tell who he was. "it's better to let him go on believing that i'm only a peasant," thought he, and replied that the parson was good enough. he preached a pure and clear gospel and tried to live as he taught. the king thought that this was a good commendation, but he had a sharp ear and marked a certain doubt in the tone. "you sound as if you were not quite satisfied with the parson," said the king. "he's a bit arbitrary," said the man, thinking that if the king should find out later who he was, he would not think that the parson had been standing here and blowing his own horn, therefore he wished to come out with a little fault-finding also. "there are some, no doubt, who say the parson wants to be the only one to counsel and rule in this parish," he continued. "then, at all events, he has led and managed in the best possible way," said the king. he didn't like it that the peasant complained of one who was placed above him. "to me it appears as though good habits and old-time simplicity were the rule here." "the people are good enough," said the curate, "but then they live in poverty and isolation. human beings here would certainly be no better than others if this world's temptations came closer to them." "but there's no fear of anything of the sort happening," said the king with a shrug. he said nothing further, but began thrumming on the table with his fingers. he thought he had exchanged a sufficient number of gracious words with this peasant and wondered when the others would be ready with their answer. "these peasants are not very eager to help their king," thought he. "if i only had my coach, i would drive away from them and their palaver!" the pastor sat there troubled, debating with himself as to how he should decide an important matter which he must settle. he was beginning to feel happy because he had not told the king who he was. now he felt that he could speak with him about matters which otherwise he could not have placed before him. after a while the parson broke the silence and asked the king if it was an actual fact that enemies were upon them and that the kingdom was in danger. the king thought this man ought to have sense enough not to trouble him further. he simply glared at him and said nothing. "i ask because i was standing in here and could not hear very well," said the parson. "but if this is really the case, i want to say to you that the pastor of this congregation might perhaps be able to procure for the king as much money as he will need." "i thought you said just now that every one here was poor," said the king, thinking that the man didn't know what he was talking about. "yes, that is true," replied the rector, "and the parson has no more than any of the others. but if the king would condescend to listen to me for a moment, i will explain how the pastor happens to have the power to help him." "you may speak," said the king. "you seem to find it easier to get the words past your lips than your friends and neighbors out there, who never will be ready with what they have to tell me." "it is not so easy to reply to the king! i'm afraid that, in the end, it will be the parson who must undertake this on behalf of the others." the king crossed his legs, folded his arms, and let his head sink down on his breast. "you may begin now," he said in the tone of one already asleep. "once upon a time there were five men from this parish who were out on a moose hunt," began the clergyman. "one of them was the parson of whom we are speaking. two of the others were soldiers, named olaf and eric svärd; the fourth man was the innkeeper in this settlement, and the fifth was a peasant named israel per persson." "don't go to the trouble of mentioning so many names," muttered the king, letting his head droop to one side. "those men were good hunters," continued the parson, "who usually had luck with them; but that day they had wandered long and far without getting anything. finally they gave up the hunt altogether and sat down on the ground to talk. they said there was not a spot in the whole forest fit for cultivation; all of it was only mountain and swamp land. 'our lord has not done right by us in giving us such a poor land to live in,' said one. 'in other localities people can get riches for themselves in abundance, but here, with all our toil and drudgery, we can scarcely get our daily bread.'" the pastor paused a moment, as if uncertain that the king heard him, but the latter moved his little finger to show that he was awake. "just as the hunters were discussing this matter, the parson saw something that glittered at the base of the mountain, where he had kicked away a moss-tuft. 'this is a queer mountain,' he thought, as he kicked off another moss-tuft. he picked up a shiver of stone that came with the moss and which shone exactly like the other. 'it can't be possible that this stuff is lead,' said he. then the others sprang up and scraped away the turf with the butt end of their rifles. when they did this, they saw plainly that a broad vein of ore followed the mountain. 'what do you think this might be?' asked the parson. the men chipped off bits of stone and bit into them. 'it must be lead, or zinc at least,' said they. 'and the whole mountain is full of it,' added the innkeeper." when the parson had got thus far in his narrative, the king's head was seen to straighten up a little and one eye opened. "do you know if any of those persons knew anything about ore and minerals?" he asked. "they did not," replied the parson. then the king's head sank and both eyes closed. "the clergyman and his companions were very happy," continued the speaker, without letting himself be disturbed by the king's indifference; "they fancied that now they had found that which would give them and their descendants wealth. 'i'll never have to do any more work,' said one. 'now i can afford to do nothing at all the whole week through, and on sundays i shall drive to church in a golden chariot!' they were otherwise sensible men, but the great find had gone to their heads and they talked like children. still they had enough presence of mind to put back the moss-tufts and conceal the vein of ore. then they carefully noted the place where it was, and went home. before they parted company, they agreed that the parson should travel to falun and ask the mining expert what kind of ore this was. he was to return as soon as possible, and until then they promised one another on oath not to reveal to a single soul where the ore was to be found." the king's head was raised again a trifle, but he did not interrupt the speaker with a word. it appeared as though he was beginning to believe that the man actually had something of importance he wished to say to him, since he didn't allow himself to be disturbed by his indifference. "then the parson departed with a few samples of ore in his pocket. he was just as happy in the thought of becoming rich as the others were. he was thinking of rebuilding the parsonage, which at present was no better than a peasant's cottage, and then he would marry a dean's daughter whom he liked. he had thought that he might have to wait for her many years! he was poor and obscure and knew that it would be a long while before he should get any post that would enable him to marry. "the parson drove over to falun in two days, and there he had to wait another whole day because the mining expert was away. finally, he ran across him and showed him the bits of ore. the mining expert took them in his hand. he looked at them first, then at the parson. the parson related how he had found them in a mountain at home in his parish, and wondered if it might not be lead. "'no, it's not lead,' said the mining expert. "'perhaps it is zinc, then?' asked the parson. "'nor is it zinc,' said the mineralogist. "the parson thought that all the hope within him sank. he had not been so depressed in many a long day. "'have you many stones like these in your parish?' asked the mineralogist. "'we have a whole mountain full,' said the parson. "then the mineralogist came up closer, slapped the parson on the shoulder, and said, 'let us see that you make such good use of this that it will prove a blessing both to yourselves and to the country, for this is silver.' "'indeed?' said the parson, feeling his way. 'so it is silver!' "the mineralogist began telling him how he should go to work to get legal rights to the mine and gave him many valuable suggestions; but the parson stood there dazed and didn't listen to what he was saying. he was only thinking of how wonderful it was that at home in his poor parish stood a whole mountain of silver ore, waiting for him." the king raised his head so suddenly that the parson stopped short in his narrative. "it turned out, of course, that when he got home and began working the mine, he saw that the mineralogist had only been fooling him," said the king. "oh, no, the mineralogist had not fooled him," said the parson. "you may continue," said the king, as he settled himself more comfortably in the chair to listen. "when the parson was at home again and was driving through the parish," continued the clergyman, "he thought that first of all he should inform his partners of the value of their find. and as he drove alongside the innkeeper sten stensson's place, he intended to drive up to the house to tell him they had found silver. but when he stopped outside the gate, he noticed that a broad path of evergreen was strewn all the way up to the doorstep. "'who has died in this place?' asked the parson of a boy who stood leaning against the fence. "'the innkeeper himself,' answered the boy. then he let the clergyman know that the innkeeper had drunk himself full every day for a week. 'oh, so much brandy, so much brandy has been drunk here!' "'how can that be?' asked the parson. 'the innkeeper used never to drink himself full.' "'oh,' said the boy, 'he drank because he said he had found a mine. he was very rich. he should never have to do anything now but drink, he said. last night he drove off, full as he was, and the wagon turned over and he was killed.' "when the parson heard this, he drove homeward. he was distressed over what he had heard. he had come back so happy, rejoicing because he could tell the great good news. "when the parson had driven a few paces, he saw israel per persson walking along. he looked about as usual, and the parson thought it was well that fortune had not gone to his head too. him he would cheer at once with the news that he was a rich man. "'good day!' said per persson. 'do you come from falun now?' "'i do,' said the parson. 'and now i must tell you that it has turned out even better than we had imagined. the mineralogist said it was silver ore that we had found.' "that instant per persson looked as though the ground under him had opened! 'what are you saying, what are you saying? is it silver?' "'yes,' answered the parson. 'we'll all be rich men now, all of us, and can live like gentlemen.' "'oh, is it silver!' said per persson once again, looking more and more mournful. "'why, of course it is silver,' replied the parson. 'you mustn't think that i want to deceive you. you mustn't be afraid of being happy.' "'happy!' said per persson. 'should i be happy? i believed it was only glitter that we had found, so i thought it would be better to take the certain for the uncertain: i have sold my share in the mine to olaf svärd for a hundred dollars.' he was desperate, and when the parson drove away from him, he stood on the highway and wept. "when the clergyman got back to his home, he sent a servant to olaf svärd and his brother to tell them that it was silver they had found. he thought that he had had quite enough of driving around and spreading the good news. "but in the evening, when the parson sat alone, his joy asserted itself again. he went out in the darkness and stood on a hillock upon which he contemplated building the new parsonage. it should be imposing, of course, as fine as a bishop's palace. he stood out there long that night; nor did he content himself with rebuilding the parsonage! it occurred to him that, since there were such riches to be found in the parish, throngs of people would pour in and, finally, a whole city would be built around the mine. and then he would have to erect a new church in place of the old one. towards this object a large portion of his wealth would probably go. and he was not content with this, either, but fancied that when his church was ready, the king and many bishops would come to the dedication. then the king would be pleased with the church, but he would remark that there was no place where a king might put up, and then he would have to erect a castle in the new city." just then one of the king's courtiers opened the door of the vestry and announced that the big royal coach was mended. at the first moment the king was ready to withdraw, but on second thought he changed his mind. "you may tell your story to the end," he said to the parson. "but you can hurry it a bit. we know all about how the man thought and dreamed. we want to know how he acted." "but while the parson was still lost in his dreams," continued the clergyman, "word came to him that israel per persson had made away with himself. he had not been able to bear the disappointment of having sold his share in the mine. he had thought, no doubt, that he could not endure to go about every day seeing another enjoying the wealth that might have been his." the king straightened up a little. he kept both eyes open. "upon my word," he said, "if i had been that parson, i should have had enough of the mine!" "the king is a rich man," said the parson. "he has quite enough, at all events. it is not the same thing with a poor curate who possesses nothing. the unhappy wretch thought instead, when he saw that god's blessing was not with his enterprise: 'i will dream no more of bringing glory and profit to myself with these riches; but i can't let the silver lie buried in the earth! i must take it out, for the benefit of the poor and needy. i will work the mine, to put the whole parish on its feet.' "so one day the parson went out to see olaf svärd, to ask him and his brother as to what should be done immediately with the silver mountain. when he came in the vicinity of the barracks, he met a cart surrounded by armed peasants, and in the cart sat a man with his hands tied behind him and a rope around his ankles. "when the parson passed by, the cart stopped, and he had time to regard the prisoner, whose head was tied up so it wasn't easy to see who he was. but the parson thought he recognized olaf svärd. he heard the prisoner beg those who guarded him to let him speak a few words with the parson. "the parson drew nearer, and the prisoner turned toward him. 'you will soon be the only one who knows where the silver mine is,' said olaf. "'what are you saying, olaf?' asked the parson. "'well, you see, parson, since we have learned that it was a silver mine we had found, my brother and i could no longer be as good friends as before. we were continually quarrelling. last night we got into a controversy over which one of us five it was who first discovered the mine. it ended in strife between us, and we came to blows. i have killed my brother and he has left me with a souvenir across the forehead to remember him by. i must hang now, and then you will be the only one who knows anything about the mine; therefore i wish to ask something of you.' "'speak out!' said the parson. 'i'll do what i can for you.' "'you know that l am leaving several little children behind me,' began the soldier, but the parson interrupted him. "'as regards this, you can rest easy. that which comes to your share in the mine, they shall have, exactly as if you yourself were living.' "'no,' said olaf svärd, 'it was another thing i wanted to ask of you. don't let them have any portion of that which comes from the mine!' "the parson staggered back a step. he stood there dumb and could not answer. "'if you do not promise me this, i cannot die in peace,' said the prisoner. "'yes,' said the parson slowly and painfully. 'i promise you what you ask of me.' "thereupon the murderer was taken away, and the parson stood on the highway thinking how he should keep the promise he had given him. on the way home he thought of the wealth which he had been so happy over. but if it really were true that the people in this community could not stand riches?--already four were ruined, who hitherto had been dignified and excellent men. he seemed to see the whole community before him, and he pictured to himself how this silver mine would destroy one after another. was it befitting that he, who had been appointed to watch over these poor human beings' souls, should let loose upon them that which would be their destruction?" all of a sudden the king sat bolt upright in his chair. "i declare!" said he, "you'll make me understand that a parson in this isolated settlement must be every inch a man." "nor was it enough with what had already happened," continued the parson, "for as soon as the news about the mine spread among the parishioners, they stopped working and went about in idleness, waiting for the time when great riches should pour in on them. all the ne'er-do-wells there were in this section streamed in, and drunkenness and fighting were what the parson heard talked of continually. a lot of people did nothing but tramp round in the forest searching for the mine, and the parson marked that as soon as he left the house people followed him stealthily to find out if he wasn't going to the silver mountain and to steal the secret from him. "when matters were come to this pass, the parson called the peasants together to vote. to start with, he reminded them of all the misfortunes which the discovery of the mountain had brought upon them, and he asked them if they were going to let themselves be ruined or if they would save themselves. then he told them that they must not expect him, who was their spiritual adviser, to help on their destruction. now he had decided not to reveal to any one where the silver mine was, and never would he himself take riches from it. and then he asked the peasants how they would have it henceforth. if they wished to continue their search for the mine and wait upon riches, then he would go so far away that not a hearsay of their misery could reach him; but if they would give up thinking about the silver mine and be as heretofore, he would remain with them. 'whichever way you may choose,' said the parson, 'remember this, that from me no one shall ever know anything about the silver mountain!'" "well," said the king, "how did they decide?" "they did as their pastor wished," said the parson. "they understood that he meant well by them when he wanted to remain poor for their sakes. and they commissioned him to go to the forest and conceal the vein of ore with evergreen and stone, so that no one would be able to find it--neither they themselves nor their posterity." "and ever since the parson has been living here just as poor as the rest?" "yes," answered the curate, "he has lived here just as poor as the rest." "he has married, of course, and built himself a new parsonage?" said the king. "no, he couldn't afford to marry, and he lives in the old cabin." "it's a pretty story that you have told me," said the king. after a few seconds he resumed: "was it of the silver mountain that you were thinking when you said that the parson here would be able to procure for me as much money as i need?" "yes," said the other. "but i can't put the thumb-screws on him," said the king. "or how would you that i should get such a man to show me the mountain--a man who has renounced his sweetheart and all the allurements of life?" "oh, that's a different matter," said the parson. "but if it's the fatherland that is in need of the fortune, he will probably give in." "will you answer for that?" asked the king. "yes, that i will answer for," said the clergyman. "doesn't he care, then, what becomes of his parishioners?" "that can rest in god's hand." the king rose from the chair and walked over to the window. he stood for a moment and looked upon the group of people outside. the longer he looked, the clearer his large eyes shone, and his figure seemed to grow. "you may greet the pastor of this congregation, and say that for sweden's king there is no sight more beautiful than to see a people such as this!" then the king turned from the window and looked at the clergyman. he began to smile. "is it true that the pastor of this parish is so poor that he removes his black clothes as soon as the service is over and dresses himself like a peasant?" asked the king. "yes, so poor is he," said the curate, and a crimson flush leaped into his rough-hewn face. the king went back to the window. one could see that he was in his best mood. all that was noble and great within him had been quickened into life. "you must let that mine lie in peace," said the king. "inasmuch as you have labored and starved a lifetime to make this people such as you would have it, you may keep it as it is." "but if the kingdom is in danger?" said the parson. "the kingdom is better served with men than with money," remarked the king. when he had said this, he bade the clergyman farewell and went out from the vestry. without stood the group of people, as quiet and taciturn as they were when he went in. as the king came down the steps, a peasant stepped up to him. "have you had a talk with our pastor?" said the peasant. "yes," said the king. "i have talked with him." "then of course you have our answer?" said the peasant. "we asked you to go in and talk with our parson, that he might give you an answer from us." "i have the answer," said the king. the airship father and the boys are seated one rainy october evening in a third-class railway coach on their way to stockholm. the father is sitting by himself on one bench, and the boys sit close together directly opposite him, reading a jules verne romance entitled "six weeks in a balloon." the book is much worn. the boys know it almost by heart and have held endless discussions on it, but they always read it with the same pleasure. they have forgotten everything else to follow the daring sailors of the air all over africa, and seldom raise their eyes from the book to glance at the swedish towns they are travelling through. the boys are very like each other. they are the same height, are dressed alike, with blue caps and gray overcoats, and both have large dreamy eyes and little pug noses. they are always good friends, always together, do not bother with other children, and are forever talking about inventions and exploring expeditions. in point of talent they are quite unlike. lennart, the elder, who is thirteen, is backward in his studies at the high school and can hardly keep up with his class in any theme. to make up for this, he is very handy and enterprising. he is going to be an inventor and works all the time on a flying-machine which he is constructing. hugo is a year younger than lennart, but he is quicker at study and is already in the same grade as his brother. he doesn't find studying any special fun, either; but, on the other hand, he is a great sportsman--a ski-runner, a cyclist, and a skater. he intends to start out on voyages of discovery when he is grown up. as soon as lennart's airship is ready, hugo is going to travel in it in order to explore what is still left of this globe to be discovered. their father is a tall thin man with a sunken chest, a haggard face, and pretty, slender hands. he is carelessly dressed. his shirt bosom is wrinkled and the coat band pokes up at the neck; his vest is buttoned wrongly and his socks sag down over his shoes. he wears his hair so long at the neck that it hangs on his coat collar. this is due not to carelessness, but to habit and taste. the father is a descendant of an old musical family from far back in a rural district, and he has brought with him into the world two strong inclinations, one of which is a great musical talent; and it was this that first came into the light. he was graduated from the academy in stockholm and then studied a few years abroad, and during these study years made such brilliant progress that both he and his teacher thought he would some day be a great and world-renowned violinist. he certainly had talent enough to reach the goal, but he lacked grit and perseverance. he couldn't fight his way to any sort of standing out in the world, but soon came home again and accepted a situation as organist in a country town. at the start he felt ashamed because he had not lived up to the expectations of every one, but he felt, also, that it was good to have an assured income and not be forced to depend any longer upon the charity of others. shortly after he had got the appointment, he married, and a few years later he was perfectly satisfied with his lot. he had a pretty little home, a cheerful and contented wife, and two little boys. he was the town favorite, feted, and in great demand everywhere. but then there came a time when all this did not seem to satisfy him. he longed to go out in the world once more and try his luck; but he felt bound down at home because he had a wife and children. more than all, it was the wife who had persuaded him to give up this journey. she had not believed that he would succeed any better now than before. she felt they were so happy that there was no need for him to strive after anything else. unquestionably she made a mistake in this instance, but she also lived to regret it bitterly, for, from that time on, the other family trait showed itself. when his yearning for success and fame was not satisfied, he tried to console himself with drinking. now it turned out with him, as was usual with folk of his family--he drank inordinately. by degrees he became an entirely different person. he was no longer charming or lovable, but harsh and cruel; and the greatest misfortune of all was that he conceived a terrible hatred for his wife and tortured her in every conceivable way, both when he was drunk and when he wasn't. so the boys did not have a good home, and their childhood would have been very unhappy had they not been able to create for themselves a little world of their own, filled with machine models, exploring schemes, and books of adventure. the only one who has ever caught a glimpse of this world is the mother. the father hasn't even a suspicion of its existence, nor can he talk with the boys about anything that interests them. he disturbs them, time and again, by asking if they don't think it will be fun to see stockholm; if they are not glad to be out travelling with father, and other things in that way, to which the boys give brief replies, in order that they may immediately bury themselves in the book again. nevertheless the father continues to question the boys. he thinks they are charmed with his affability, although they are too bashful to show it. "they have been too long under petticoat rule," he thinks. "they have become timid and namby-pamby. there will be some go in them now, when i take them in hand." father is mistaken. it is not because the boys are bashful that they answer him so briefly; it simply shows that they are well brought up and do not wish to hurt his feelings. if they were not polite, they would answer him in a very different manner. "why should we think it fun to be travelling with father?" they would then say. "father must think himself something wonderful, but we know, of course, that he is only a poor wreck of a man. and why should we be glad to see stockholm? we understand very well that it is not for our sakes that father has taken us along, but only to make mother unhappy!" it would be wiser, no doubt, if the father were to let the boys read without interrupting them. they are sad and apprehensive, and it irritates them to see him in a good humor. "it is only because he knows that mother is sitting at home crying that he is so happy to-day," they whisper to each other. father's questions finally bring matters to this pass: the boys read no more, although they continue to sit bent over the book. instead, their thoughts begin in bitterness to embrace all that they have had to endure on their father's account. they remember the time when he drank himself full in the morning and came staggering up the street, with a crowd of school boys after him, who poked fun at him. they recall how the other boys teased them and gave them nicknames because they had a father who drank. they have been put to shame for their father. they have been forced to live in a state of constant anxiety for his sake, and as soon as they were having any enjoyment, he always came and spoiled their fun. it is no small register of sins that they are setting down against him! the boys are very meek and patient, but they feel a greater and greater wrath springing up in them. he should at least understand that, as yet, they cannot forgive him for the great wrong he did them yesterday. this was by far the worst wrong he had ever done them. it seems that, last year, mother and the boys decided to part from father. for a number of years he had been persecuting and torturing her in every possible way, but she was loath to part from him and remained, so that he wouldn't go altogether to rack and ruin. but now, at last, she wanted to do it for the sake of her boys. she had noticed that their father made them unhappy, and realized that she must take them away from this misery and provide them with a good and peaceable home. when the spring school-term was over, she sent them to her parents in the country, and she herself went abroad in order to obtain a divorce in the easiest way possible. she regretted that, by going about it in this way, it would appear as though it were her fault that the marriage was dissolved; but that she must submit to. she was even less pleased when the courts turned the boys over to the father because she was a run-away wife. she consoled herself with the thought that he couldn't possibly wish to keep the children; but she had felt quite ill at ease. as soon as the divorce was settled, she came back and took a small apartment where she and the boys were to live. in two days she had everything in readiness, so that they could come home to her. it was the happiest day the boys had experienced. the entire apartment consisted of one large living-room and a big kitchen, but everything was new and pretty, and mother had arranged the place so cosily. the big room she and they were to use daytimes as a work-room, and nights they were to sleep there. the kitchen was light and comfortable. there they would eat, and in a little closet off the kitchen mother had her bed. she had told them that they would be very poor. she had secured a place as singing-teacher at the girls' school, and this was all they had to live upon. they couldn't afford to keep a servant, but must get along all by themselves. the boys were in ecstasies over everything--most of all, because they might help along. they volunteered to carry water and wood. they were to brush their own shoes and make their own beds. it was only fun to think up all that they were going to do! there was a little wardrobe, in which lennart was to keep all his mechanical apparatus. he was to have the key himself, and no one but hugo and he should ever go in there. but the boys were allowed to be happy with their mother only for a single day. afterwards their father spoiled their pleasure, as he had always done as far back as they could remember. mother told them she had heard that their father had received a legacy of a few thousand kronor, and that he had resigned from his position as organist and was going to move to stockholm. both they and mother were glad that he was leaving town, so they would escape meeting him on the streets. and then a friend of father's had called on mother to tell her that father wanted to take the boys with him to stockholm. mother had wept and begged that she might keep her boys, but father's messenger had answered her that her husband was determined to have the boys under his guardianship. if they did not come willingly, he would let the police fetch them. he bade mother read through the divorce papers, and there it said plainly that the boys would belong to their father. this, of course, she already knew. it was not to be gainsaid. father's friend had said many nice things of father and had told her of how much he loved his sons, and for this reason he wanted them to be with him. but the boys knew that father was taking them away solely for the purpose of torturing mother. she would have to live in a state of continual anxiety for them. the whole thing was nothing but malice and revenge! but father had his own way, and here they were now, on their way to stockholm. and right opposite them their father sits, rejoicing in the thought that he has made their mother unhappy. with every second that passes, the thought of having to live with father becomes more repellent. are they then wholly in his power? will there be no help for this? father leans back in his seat, and after a bit he falls asleep. immediately the boys begin whispering to each other very earnestly. it isn't difficult for them to come to a decision. the whole day they have been sitting there thinking that they ought to run away. they conclude to steal out on the platform and to jump from the train when it goes through a big forest. then they will build them a hut in the most secluded spot in the forest, and live all by themselves and never show themselves to a human being. while the boys are laying their plans, the train stops at a station, and a peasant woman, leading a little boy by the hand, comes into the coupé. she is dressed in black, with a shawl on her head, and has a kind and friendly appearance. she removes the little one's overcoat, which is wet from the rain, and wraps a shawl around him. then she takes off his shoes and stockings, dries his little cold feet, takes from a bundle dry shoes and stockings and puts them on him. then she gives him a stick of candy and lays him down on the seat with his head resting on her lap, that he might sleep. first one boy, then the other casts a glance over at the peasant woman. these glances become more frequent, and suddenly the eyes of both boys fill with tears. then they look up no more, but keep their eyes obstinately lowered. it seems that when the peasant woman entered some one else--some one who was invisible and imperceptible to all save the boys--came into the coupé. the boys fancied that she came and sat down between them and took their hands in hers, as she had done late last night, when it was settled that they must leave her; and she was talking to them now as she did then. "you must promise me that you will not be angry with father for my sake. father has never been able to forgive me for preventing him from going abroad. he thinks it is my fault that he has never amounted to anything and that he drinks. he can never punish me enough. but you mustn't be angry at him on that account. now, when you are to live with father, you must promise me that you will be kind to him. you mustn't quarrel with him and you are to look after his needs as well as you can. this you must promise me, otherwise i don't know how i can ever let you go." and the boys promised. "you mustn't run away from father, promise me that!" mother had said. that they had also promised. the boys are as good as their word, and the instant they happen to think that they had given mother these promises, they abandon all thought of flight. father sleeps all the while and they remain patiently in their places. then they resume their reading with redoubled zeal, and their friend, the good jules verne, soon takes them away from many heavy sorrows to africa's happy wonder world. far out on the south side of the city, father has rented two rooms and a kitchen on the ground floor, with an entrance from the court and an outlook over a narrow yard. the apartment has long been in use; it has gone from family to family, without ever having been renovated. the wall paper is full of tears and spots; the ceilings are sooty; a couple of window-panes are cracked, and the kitchen floor is so worn that it is full of ruts. expressmen have brought the furniture cases from the railway station and have left them there, helter skelter. father and the boys are now unpacking. father stands with axe raised to hack open a box. the boys are taking out glass and porcelain ware from another box, and are arranging them in a wall cupboard. they are handy and work eagerly, but the father never stops cautioning them to be careful, and forbids their carrying more than one glass or plate at a time. meanwhile it goes slowly with father's own work. his hands are fumbly and powerless, and he works himself into a sweat without getting the lock off the box. he lays down the axe, walks around the box, and wonders if it's the bottom that is uppermost. then one of the boys takes hold of the axe and begins to bend the lock, but father pushes him aside. "that lock is nailed down too hard. surely you don't imagine that you can force the lock when father couldn't do it? only a regular workman can open that box," says father, putting on his hat and coat to go and fetch the janitor. father is hardly outside the door when an idea strikes him. instantly he understands why he has no strength in his hands. it is still quite early in the morning and he has not consumed anything which could set the blood in motion. if he were to step into a café and have a cognac, he would get back his strength and could manage without help. this is better than calling the janitor. then father goes into the street to try and hunt up a café. when he returns to the little apartment on the court, it is eight o'clock in the evening. in father's youth, when he attended the academy, he had lived at the south end of the city. he was then a member of a double quartette, mostly made up of choristers and petty tradesmen, who used to meet in a cellar near mosebacke. father had taken a notion to go and see if the little cellar was still there. it was, in fact, and father had the luck to run across a pair of old comrades who were seated there having their breakfast. they had received him with the greatest delight, had invited him to breakfast, and had celebrated his advent in stockholm in the friendliest way possible. when the breakfast was over, finally, father wanted to go home and unpack his furniture, but his friends persuaded him to remain and take dinner with them. this function was so long drawn out that he hadn't been able to go home until around eight o'clock. and it had cost him more than a slight effort to tear himself away from the lively place that early. when father comes home, the boys are in the dark, for they have no matches. father has a match in his pocket, and when he has lighted a little stump of a candle, which luckily had come along with their furnishings, he sees that the boys are hot and dusty, but well and happy and apparently very well pleased with their day. in the rooms the furniture is arranged alongside the walls, the boxes have been removed and straw and papers have been swept away. hugo is just turning down the boys' beds in the outer room. the inner room is to be father's bedroom, and there stands his bed, turned down with as great care as he could possibly wish. now a sudden revulsion of feeling possesses him. when he came home, he was displeased with himself because he had gone away from his work and had left the boys without food; but now, when he sees that they are in good spirits and not in any distress, he regrets that, for their sakes, he should have left his friends; and he becomes irritable and quarrelsome. he sees, no doubt, that the boys are proud of all the work they have accomplished and expect him to praise them; but this he is not at all inclined to do. instead, he asks who has been here and helped them, and begs them to remember that here in stockholm one gets nothing without money, and that the janitor must be paid for all he does. the boys answer that they have had no assistance and have got on by themselves. but father continues to grumble. it was wrong of them to open the big box. they might have hurt themselves on it. had he not forbidden them to open it? now they would have to obey him. he is the one who must answer for their welfare. he takes the candle, goes out into the kitchen, and peeps into the cupboards. the scanty supply of glass and porcelain is arranged on the shelves in an orderly manner. he scrutinizes everything very carefully to find an excuse for further complaint. all of a sudden he catches sight of some leavings from the boys' supper, and begins immediately to grumble because they have had chicken. where did they get it from? do they think of living like princes? is it his money they are throwing away on chicken? then he remembers that he had not left them any money. he wonders if they have stolen the chicken and becomes perturbed. he preaches and admonishes, scolds and fusses, but now he gets no response from the boys. they do not bother themselves about telling him where they got the chicken, but let him go on. he makes long speeches and exhausts his forces. finally he begs and implores. "i beseech you to tell me the truth. i will forgive you, no matter what you have done, if you will only tell me the truth!" now the boys can hold in no longer. father hears a spluttering sound. they throw off the quilts and sit up, and he notices that they are purple in the face from suppressed laughter. and as they can laugh now without restraint, lennart says between the paroxysms, "mother put a chicken in the food sack which she gave us when we left home." father, draws himself up, looks at the boys, wants to speak, but finds no suitable words. he becomes even more majestic in his bearing, looks with withering scorn at them, and goes to his room without further parley. * * * * * it has dawned upon father how handy the boys are, and he makes use of this fact to escape hiring servants. mornings he sends lennart into the kitchen to make coffee and lets hugo lay the breakfast-table and fetch bread from the baker's. after breakfast he sits down on a chair and watches how the boys make up the beds, sweep the floors, and build a fire in the grate. he gives endless orders and sends them from one task to another, only to show his authority. when the morning chores are over, he goes out and remains away all the forenoon. the dinner he lets them fetch from a cooking-school in the neighborhood. after dinner he leaves the boys for the evening, and exacts nothing more of them than that his bed shall be turned down when he comes home. the boys are practically alone almost the entire day and can busy themselves in any way they choose. one of their most important tasks is to write to their mother. they get letters from her every day, and she sends them paper and postage, so that they can answer her. mother's letters are mostly admonitions that they shall be good to their father. she writes constantly of how lovable father was when she first knew him, of how industrious and thrifty he was at the beginning of his career. they must be tender and kind to him. they must never forget how unhappy he is. "if you are very good to father, perhaps he may feel sorry for you and let you come home to me." mother tells them that she has called to see the dean and the burgomaster to ask if it were not possible to get back the boys. both of them had replied that there was no help for her. the boys would have to stay with their father. mother wants to move to stockholm that she may see her boys once in a while, at least, but every one advises her to have patience and abide her time. they think father will soon tire of the boys and send them home. mother doesn't quite know what she should do. on the one hand she thinks it dreadful that the boys are living in stockholm with no one to look after them, and on the other hand she knows that if she were to leave her home and her work, she could not take them and support them, even if they were freed. but for christmas, at all events, mother is coming to stockholm to look after them. the boys write and tell her what they do all day, hour by hour. they let mother know that they cook for father and make his bed. she apprehends that they are trying to be kind to him for her sake, but she probably perceives that they like him no better now than formerly. her little boys appear to be always alone. they live in a large city, where there are lots of people, but no one asks after them. and perhaps it is better thus. who can tell what might happen to them were they to make any acquaintances? they always beg of her not to be uneasy about them. they tell how they darn their stockings and sew on their buttons. they also intimate that lennart has made great headway with his invention and say that when this is finished all will be well. mother lives in a state of continual fear. night and day her thoughts are with her boys. night and day she prays god to watch over her little sons, who live alone in a great city, with no one to shield them from the temptations of the destroyer, and to keep their young hearts from the desire for evil. * * * * * father and the boys are sitting one morning at the opera. one of father's old comrades, who is with the royal orchestra, has invited him to be present at a symphony rehearsal, and father has taken the boys along. when the orchestra strikes up and the auditorium is filled with tone, father is so affected that he can't control himself, and begins to weep. he sobs and blows his nose and moans aloud, time and again. he puts no restraint upon his feelings, but makes such a noise that the musicians are disturbed. a guard comes along and beckons him away, and father takes the boys by the hand and slinks out without a word of protest. all the way home his tears continue to flow. father is walking on, with a boy on each side, and he has kept their hands in his all the while. suddenly the boys start crying. they understand now for the first time how much father has loved his art. it was painful for him to sit there, besotten and broken, and listen to others playing. they feel sorry for him who had never become what he might have been. it was with father as it might be with lennart were he never to finish his flying-machine, or with hugo if he were not to make any voyages of discovery. think if they should one day sit like old good-for-nothings and see fine airships sailing over their heads which they had not invented and were not allowed to pilot! * * * * * the boys were sitting one morning on opposite sides of the writing-table. father had taken a music roll under his arm and gone out. he had mumbled something about giving a music lesson, but the boys had not for a moment been tempted into believing this true. father is in an ugly mood as he walks up the street. he noticed the look the boys exchanged when he said that he was going to a music lesson. "they are setting themselves up as judges of their father," he thinks. "i am too indulgent toward them. i should have given them each a sound box on the ear. it's their mother, i dare say, who is setting them against me. suppose i were to keep an eye on the fine gentlemen?" he continues. "it would do no harm to find out how they attend to their lessons." he turns back, walks quietly across the court, opens the door very softly, and stands in the boys' room without either of them having heard him coming. the boys jump up, red in the face, and lennart quickly snatches a bundle of papers which he throws into the table drawer. when the boys had been in stockholm a day or two, they had asked which school they were to attend, and the father had replied that their school-going days were over now. he would try and procure a private tutor who would teach them. this proposition he had never carried into effect, nor had the boys said anything more about going to school. but in less than a week a school chart was discovered hanging on the wall in the boys' room. the school books had been brought forth, and every morning they sat on opposite sides of an old writing-table and studied their lessons aloud. it was evident that they had received letters from their mother counselling them to try and study, so as not to forget entirely what they had learned. now, as father unexpectedly comes into the room, he goes up to the chart first and studies it. he takes out his watch and compares. "wednesday, between ten and eleven, geography." then he comes up to the table. "shouldn't you have geography at this hour?" "yes," the boys reply, growing flame-red in the face. "have you the geography and the map?" the boys glance over at the book shelf and look confused. "we haven't begun yet," says lennart. "indeed!" says father. "you must have been up to something else." he straightens up, thoroughly pleased with himself. he has an advantage, which he doesn't care to let go until he has browbeaten them very effectually. both boys are silent. ever since the day they accompanied father to the opera, they have felt sympathy for him, and it has not been such an effort for them to be kind to him as it was before. but, naturally, they haven't for a moment thought of taking father into their confidence. he has not risen in their estimation although they are sorry for him. "were you writing letters?" father asks in his severest tone. "no," say both boys at the same time. "what were you doing?" "oh, just talking." "that isn't true. i saw that lennart hid something in the drawer of the table." now both boys are mum again. "take it out!" shouts the father, purple with rage. he thinks the sons have written to his wife, and, since they don't care to show the letter, of course there is something mean about him in it. the boys do not stir, and father raises his hand to strike lennart, who is sitting before the table drawer. "don't touch him!" cries hugo. "we were only talking over something which lennart has invented." hugo pushes lennart aside, opens the drawer, and pulls out the paper, which is scrawled full of airships of the most extraordinary shapes. "last night lennart thought out a new kind of sail for his airship. it was of this we were speaking." father wouldn't believe him. he bends over, searches in the drawer, but finds only sheets of paper covered with drawings of balloons, parachutes, flying-machines, and everything else appertaining to air-sailing. to the great surprise of the boys, father does not cast this aside at once, nor does he laugh at their attempts, but examines closely sheet after sheet. as a matter of fact, father, too, has a little leaning toward mechanics, and was interested in things of this sort in days gone by, when his brain was still good for something. soon he begins to ask questions as to the meaning of one thing and another, and inasmuch as his words betray that he is deeply interested and understands what he sees, lennart fights his bashfulness, and answers him, hesitatingly at first and then more willingly. soon father and boys are absorbed in a profound discussion about airships and air-sailing. after they are fairly well started, the boys chatter unreservedly and give father a share in their plans and dreams of greatness. and while the father comprehends, of course, that the boys cannot fly very far with the airship which they have constructed, he is very much impressed. his little sons talk of aluminum motors, aeroplanes, and balancers, as though they were the simplest things in the world. he had thought them regular blockheads because they didn't get on very fast at school. now, all at once, he believes they are a pair of little scientists. the high-soaring thoughts and aspirations father understands better than anything else; he cognizes them. he himself has dreamed in the same way, and he has no desire to laugh at such dreams. father doesn't go out again that morning, but sits and chats with the boys until it is time to fetch the food for dinner and set the table. and at that meal father and the boys are real good friends, to their great and mutual astonishment. * * * * * the hour is eleven at night, and father is staggering up the street. the little boys are walking on either side of him, and he holds their hands tightly clasped in his all the while. they have sought him out in one of his haunts, where they have stationed themselves just inside the door. father sits by himself at a table with a big brown toddy in front of him, and listens to a ladies' orchestra which is playing at the other end of the hall. after a moment's hesitancy he rises reluctantly and goes over to the boys. "what is it?" he asks. "why do you come here?" "father was to come home," they say. "this is the fifth of december. father promised--" then he remembers that lennart had confided to him that it was hugo's birthday and that he had promised him to come home early. but this he had entirely forgotten. hugo was probably expecting a birthday present from him, but he had not remembered to get him one. at any rate, he has gone with the boys and is walking along, displeased with them and with himself. when he comes home, the birthday table is laid. the boys had wished to give a little party. lennart had creamed some pancakes, which are now a few hours old and look like pieces of leather. they had received a little money from their mother, and with this they had bought nuts, raisins, and a bottle of soda-water. this fine feast they did not care to enjoy all by themselves, and they had been sitting and waiting for father to come home and share it with them. now, since they and father have become friends, they cannot celebrate such a big event without him. father understands it all, and the thought of being missed flatters him and puts him in a fairly good humor. half full as he is, he plumps himself down at the table. just as he is about to take his place he stumbles, clutches at the table-cloth, falls, and draws down on the floor everything on the table. as he raises himself, he sees how the soda flows out over the floor and pickles and pancakes are strewn about among bits of porcelain and broken glass. father glances at the boys' long faces, rips out an oath, and makes a rush for the door, and he doesn't come back home until on towards morning. * * * * * one morning in february, the boys are coming up the street with their skates dangling from their shoulders. they are not quite like themselves. they have grown thin and pale and look untidy and uncared for. their hair is uncut; they are not well washed and they have holes in both stockings and shoes. when they address each other, they use a lot of street-boy expressions, and one and another oath escapes from their lips. a change has taken place in the boys. it had its beginning on the evening when their father forgot to come home to help celebrate hugo's birthday. it was as if until that time they had been kept up by the hope that soon their father would be a changed man. at first they had counted on his tiring of them and sending them home. later, they had fancied that he would become fond of them and give up drinking for their sakes, and they had even imagined that mother and he might become reconciled and that all of them would be happy. but it dawned upon them that night that father was impossible. he could love nothing but drink. even if he were kind to them for a little while, he didn't really care for them. a heavy hopelessness fell upon the boys; nothing would ever be changed for them. they should never get away from father. they felt as though they were doomed to sit shut in a dark prison all their lives. not even their great plans for the future could comfort them. in the way that they were bound down, these plans could never be carried out. only think, they were not learning anything! they knew enough of the histories of great men to know that he who wants to accomplish anything noteworthy must first of all have knowledge. still the hardest blow was that mother did not come to them at christmas. in the beginning of december she had fallen down stairs and broken her leg, and was forced to lie in a hospital during the christmas holidays, therefore she could not come to stockholm. now that mother was up, her school had begun again. apart from this, she had no money with which to travel. the little that she had saved was spent while she lay ill. the boys felt themselves deserted by the whole world. it was obvious that it never would be any better for them, no matter how good they were! so, gradually, they ceased to exert themselves with the sort of things that were tiresome. they might just as well do that which amused them. the boys began to shirk their morning studies. no one heard their lessons, so what was the use of their studying? there had been good skating for a couple of days and they might as well play truant all day. on the ice there were always throngs of boys, and they had made the acquaintance of a number who also preferred skating to being shut in the house with their books. it has turned out to be such a fine day that it is impossible to think of staying indoors. the weather is so clear and sunny that the school children have been granted skating leave. the whole street is filled with children, who have been home to get their skates and are now hurrying down to the ice. the boys, as they move among the other children, appear solemn and low-spirited. not a smile lights up their faces. their misfortune is so heavy that they cannot forget it for a second. when they come down on the ice, it is full of life and movement. all along the edges it is bordered with a tight mass of people; farther out, the skaters circle around one another, like gnats, and still farther out, solitary black specks that float along at lightning speed are seen. the boys buckle on their skates and join the other skaters. they skate very well, and as they glide out on the ice, full speed, they get color in their cheeks and their eyes sparkle, but not for a moment do they appear happy, like other children. all of a sudden, as they are making a turn toward land, they catch sight of something very pretty. a big balloon comes from the direction of stockholm and is sailing out toward salt lake. it is striped in reds and yellows, and when the sun strikes it it glitters like a ball of fire. the basket is decorated with many-hued flags, and as the balloon does not fly very high the bright color-play can be seen quite plainly. when the boys spy the balloon, they send up a shriek of delight. it is the first time in their lives that they have seen a big balloon sailing through the air. all the dreams and plans which have been their consolation and joy during the many trying days come back to them when they see it. they stand still that they may observe how the ropes and lines are fastened; and they take note of the anchor and the sand bags on the edge of the car. the balloon moves with good speed over the ice-bound fiord. all the skaters, big and little, dart around one another, laughing and hooting at it when it first comes into sight, and then they bound after it. they follow it out to sea, in a long swaying line, like a drag line. the air-sailors amuse themselves by scattering handfuls of paper strips in a variety of colors, which come circling down slowly through the blue air. the boys are foremost in the long line that is chasing after the balloon. they hurry forward, with heads thrown back, and gaze steadily turned upward. their eyes dance with delight for the first time since they parted from their mother. they are beside themselves with excitement over the airship and think of nothing else than to follow it as long as possible. but the balloon moves ahead rapidly, and one has to be a good skater not to be left behind. the crowd chasing after it thins down, but in the lead of those who keep up the pursuit the two little boys are seen. afterwards people said there was something strange about them. they neither laughed nor shouted, but on their upturned faces there was a look of transport--as though they had seen a heavenly vision. the balloon also affects the boys like a celestial guide, who has come to lead them back to the right path and teach them how to go forward with renewed courage. when the boys see it, their hearts bound with longing to begin work again on the great invention. once more they feel confident and happy. if only they are patient, they'll probably work their way toward success. a day will surely come when they can step into their own airship and soar aloft in space. some day _they_ will be the ones who travel up there, far above the people, and _their_ airship will be more perfect than the one they now see. theirs shall be an airship that can be steered and turned, lowered and raised, sail against wind and without wind. it shall carry them by day and by night, wherever they may wish to travel. they shall descend to the highest mountain peaks, travel over the dreariest deserts, and explore the most inaccessible regions. they shall behold all the glories of the world. "it isn't worth while to lose heart, hugo," says lennart. "we'll have a fine time if we can only finish it!" father and his ill-luck are things which do not concern them any more. one who has something as great to strive for as they have cannot let himself be hindered by anything so pitiable! the balloon gains in speed the farther out it comes. the skaters have ceased following it. the only ones who continue the chase are the two little boys. they move ahead as swiftly and lightly as if their feet had taken on wings. suddenly the people who stand on the shore and can look far out across the fiord send up a great cry of horror and fear. they see that the balloon, pursued all the while by the two children, sails away toward the fairway, where there is open sea. "open sea! it is open sea out there!" the people shout. the skaters down on the ice hear the shouts and turn their eyes toward the mouth of the fiord. they see how a strip of water shimmers in the sunlight yonder. they see, also, that two little boys are skating toward this strip, which they do not notice because their eyes are fixed on the balloon; and not for a second do they turn them toward earth. the people are calling out with all their might and stamping on the ice. fast runners are hurrying on to stop them; but the little ones mark nothing of all this, where they are chasing after the airship. they do not know that they alone are following it. they hear no cries back of them. they do not hear the splash and roar of the water ahead of them. they see only the balloon, which as it were carries them with it. lennart already feels his own airship rising under him, and hugo soars away over the north pole. the people on the ice and on the shore see how rapidly they are nearing the open sea. for a second or two they are in such breathless suspense that they can neither move nor cry out. it seems as if the two children are under a magic spell--in their chase after a shining heavenly vision. the air-sailors up in the balloon have also caught a glimpse of the little boys. they see that they are in danger and scream at them and make warning gestures; but the boys do not understand them. when they notice that the air-sailors are making signs at them, they think they want to take them up into the car. they stretch their arms toward them, overjoyed in the hope of accompanying them through the bright upper regions. at this moment the boys have reached the sailing channel, and, with arms uplifted, they skate down into the water and disappear without a cry for help. the skaters, who have tried to reach them in time, are standing a couple of seconds later on the edge of the ice, but the current has carried their bodies under the ice, and no helping hand can reach them. the wedding march now i'm going to tell a pretty story. a good many years ago there was to be a very big wedding at svartsjö parish in vermland. first, there was to be a church ceremony and after that three days of feasting and merrymaking, and every day while the festivities lasted there was to be dancing from early morning till far into the night. since there was to be so much dancing, it was of very great importance to get a good fiddler, and juryman nils olafsson, who was managing the wedding, worried almost more over this than over anything else. the fiddler they had at svartsjö he did not care to engage. his name was jan Öster. the juryman knew, to be sure, that he had quite a big name; but he was so poor that sometimes he would appear at a wedding in a frayed jacket and without shoes to his feet. the juryman didn't wish to see such a ragtag at the head of the bridal procession, so he decided to send a messenger to a musician in jösse parish, who was commonly called fiddler mårten, and ask him if he wouldn't come and play at the wedding. fiddler mårten didn't consider the proposition for a second, but promptly replied that he did not want to play at svartsjö, because in that parish lived a musician who was more skilled than all others in vermland. while they had him, there was no need for them to call another. when nils olafsson received this answer, he took a few days to think it over, and then he sent word to a fiddler in big kil parish, named olle in säby, to ask him if he wouldn't come and play at his daughter's wedding. olle in säby answered in the same way as fiddler mårten. he sent his compliments to nils olafsson, and said that so long as there was such a capable musician as jan Öster to be had in svartsjö, he didn't want to go there to play. nils olafsson didn't like it that the musicians tried in this way to force upon him the very one he did not want. now he considered that it was a point of honor with him to get another fiddler than jan Öster. a few days after he had the answer from olle in säby, he sent his servant to fiddler lars larsson, who lived at the game lodge in ullerud parish. lars larsson was a well-to-do man who owned a fine farm. he was sensible and considerate and no hotspur, like the other musicians. but lars larsson, like the others, at once thought of jan Öster, and asked how it happened that he was not to play at the wedding. nils olafsson's servant thought it best to say to him that, since jan Öster lived at svartsjö, they could hear him play at any time. as nils olafsson was making ready to give a grand wedding, he wished to treat his guests to something a little better and more select. "i doubt if you can get any one better," said lars larsson. "now you must be thinking of answering in the same way as fiddler mårten and olle in säby did," said the servant. then he told him how he had fared with them. lars larsson paid close attention to the servant's story, and then he sat quietly for a long while and pondered. finally he answered in the affirmative: "tell your master that i thank him for his invitation and will come." the following sunday lars larsson journeyed down to svartsjö. he drove up to the church knoll just as the wedding guests were forming into line to march to the church. he came driving in his own chaise and with a good horse and dressed in black broadcloth. he took out his fiddle from a highly polished box. nils olafsson received him effusively, thinking that here was a fiddler of whom he might be proud. immediately after lars larsson's arrival, jan Öster, too, came marching up to the church, with his fiddle under his arm. he walked straight up to the crowd around the bride, exactly as if he were asked to come and play at the wedding. jan Öster had come in the old gray homespun jacket which they had seen him wearing for ages. but, as this was to be such a grand wedding, his wife had made an attempt at mending the holes at the elbow by sewing big green patches over them. jan Öster was a tall handsome man, and would have made a fine appearance at the head of the bridal procession, had he not been so shabbily dressed, and had his face not been so lined and seamed by worries and the hard struggle with misfortune. when lars larsson saw jan Öster coming, he seemed a bit displeased. "so you have called jan Öster, too," he said under his breath to the juryman nils olafsson, "but at a grand wedding there's no harm in having two fiddlers." "i did not invite him, that's certain!" protested nils olafsson. "i can't comprehend why he has come. just wait, and i'll let him know that he has no business here!" "then some practical joker must have bidden him," said lars larsson. "but if you care to be guided by my counsel, appear as if nothing were wrong and go over and bid him welcome. i have heard said that he is a quick-tempered man, and who knows but he may begin to quarrel and fight if you were to tell him that he was not invited?" this the juryman knew, too! it was no time to begin fussing when the bridal procession was forming on the church grounds; so he walked up to jan Öster and bade him be welcome. thereupon the two fiddlers took their places at the head of the procession. the bridal pair walked under a canopy, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen marched in pairs, and after them came the parents and relatives; so the procession was both imposing and long. when everything was in readiness, a groomsman stepped up to the musicians and asked them to play the wedding march. both musicians swung their fiddles up to their chins, but beyond that they did not get. and thus they stood! it was an old custom in svartsjö for the best fiddler to strike up the wedding march and to lead the music. the groomsman looked at lars larsson, as though he were waiting for him to start; but lars larsson looked at jan Öster and said, "it is you, jan Öster, who must begin." it did not seem possible to jan Öster that the other fiddler, who was as finely dressed as any gentleman, should not be better than himself, who had come in his old homespun jacket straight from the wretched hovel where there were only poverty and distress. "no, indeed!" said he. "no, indeed!" he saw that the bridegroom put forth his hand and touched lars larsson. "larsson shall begin," said he. when jan Öster heard the bridegroom say this, he promptly lowered his fiddle and stepped aside. lars larsson, on the other hand, did not move from the spot, but remained standing in his place, confident and pleased with himself. nor did he raise the bow. "it is jan Öster who shall begin," he repeated stubbornly and resistingly, as one who is used to having his own way. there was some commotion among the crowds over the cause of the delay. the bride's father came forward and begged lars larsson to begin. the sexton stepped to the door of the church and beckoned to them to hurry along. the parson stood waiting at the altar. "you can ask jan Öster to begin, then," said lars larsson. "we musicians consider him to be the best among us." "that may be so," said a peasant, "but we peasants consider you the best one." then the other peasants also gathered around them. "well, begin, why don't you?" they said. "the parson is waiting. we'll become a laughing-stock to the church people." lars larsson stood there quite as stubborn and determined as before. "i can't see why the people in this parish are so opposed to having their own fiddler placed in the lead." nils olafsson was perfectly furious because they wished in this way to force jan Öster upon him. he came close up to lars larsson and whispered: "i comprehend that it is you who have called hither jan Öster, and that you have arranged this to do him honor. but be quick, now, and play up, or i'll drive that ragamuffin from the church grounds in disgrace and by force!" lars larsson looked him square in the face and nodded to him without displaying any irritation. "yes, you are right in saying that we must have an end of this," said he. he beckoned to jan Öster to return to his place. then he himself walked forward a step or two, and turned around that all might see him. then he flung the bow far from him, pulled out his case-knife, and cut all four violin strings, which snapped with a sharp twang. "it shall not be said of me that i count myself better than jan Öster!" said he. it appears that for three years jan Öster had been musing on an air which he couldn't get out over the strings because at home he was bound down by dull, gray cares and worries, and nothing ever happened to him, either great or small, to lift him above the daily grind. but when he heard lars larsson's strings snap, he threw back his head and filled his lungs. his features were rapt, as though he were listening to something far away; and then he began to play. and the air which he had been musing over for three years became all at once clear to him, and as the tones of it vibrated he walked with proud step down to the church. the bridal procession had never before heard an air like that! it carried them along with such speed that not even nils olafsson could think of staying back. and every one was so pleased both with jan Öster and with lars larsson that the entire following entered the church, their eyes brimming with tears of joy. the musician no one in ullerud could say anything of fiddler lars larsson but that he was both meek and modest in his later years. but he had not always been thus, it seems. in his youth he had been so overbearing and boastful that people were in despair about him. it is said that he was changed and made over in a single night, and this is the way it happened. lars larsson went out for a stroll late one saturday night, with his fiddle under his arm. he was excessively gay and jovial, for he had just come from a party where his playing had tempted both young and old to dance. he walked along, thinking that while his bow was in motion no one had been able to sit still. there had been such a whirl in the cabin that once or twice he fancied the chairs and tables were dancing too! "i verily believe they have never before had a musician like me in these parts," he remarked to himself. "but i had a mighty rough time of it before i became such a clever chap!" he continued. "when i was a child, it was no fun for me when my parents put me to tending cows and sheep and when i forgot everything else to sit and twang my fiddle. and just fancy! they wouldn't so much as give me a real violin. i had nothing to play on but an old wooden box over which i had stretched some strings. in the daytime, when i could be alone in the woods, i fared rather well; but it was none too cheerful to come home in the evening when the cattle had strayed from me! then i heard often enough, from both father and mother, that i was a good-for-nothing and never would amount to anything." in that part of the forest where lars larsson was strolling a little river was trying to find its way. the ground was stony and hilly, and the stream had great difficulty in getting ahead, winding this way and that way, rolling over little falls and rapids--and yet it appeared to get nowhere. the path where the fiddler walked, on the other hand, tried to go as straight ahead as possible. therefore it was continually meeting the sinuous stream, and each time it would dart across it by using a little bridge. the musician also had to cross the stream repeatedly, and he was glad of it. he thought it was as though he had found company in the forest. where he was tramping it was light summer-night. the sun had not yet come up, but its being away made no difference, for it was as light as day all the same. still the light was not quite what it is in the daytime. everything had a different color. the sky was perfectly white, the trees and the growths on the ground were grayish, but everything was as distinctly visible as in the daytime, and when lars larsson paused on any of the numerous bridges and looked down into the stream, he could distinguish every ripple on the water. "when i see a stream like this in the wilderness," he thought, "i am reminded of my own life. as persistent as this stream have i been in forcing my way past all that has obstructed my path. father has been my rock ahead, and mother tried to hold me back and bury me between moss-tufts, but i stole past both of them and got out in the world. hay-ho, hi, hi! i think mother is still sitting at home and weeping for me. but what do i care! she might have known that i should amount to something some day, instead of trying to oppose me!" impatiently he tore some leaves from a branch and threw them into the river. "look! thus have i torn myself loose from everything at home," he said, as he watched the leaves borne away by the water. "i am just wondering if mother knows that i'm the best musician in vermland?" he remarked as he went farther. he walked on rapidly until he came across the stream again. then he stopped and looked into the water. here the river went along in a struggling rapid, creating a terrible racket. as it was night, one heard from the stream sounds quite different from those of the daytime, and the musician was perfectly astonished when he stood still and listened. there was no bird song in the trees and no music in the pines and no rustling in the leaves. no wagon wheels creaked in the road and no cow-bells tinkled in the wood. one heard only the rapid; but because all the other things were hushed, it could be heard so much better than during the day. it sounded as though everything thinkable and unthinkable was rioting and clamoring in the depths of the stream. first, it sounded as if some one were sitting down there and grinding grain between stones, and then it sounded as though goblets were clinking in a drinking-bout; and again there was a murmuring, as when the congregation had left the church and were standing on the church knoll after the service, talking earnestly together. "i suppose this, too, is a kind of music," thought the fiddler, "although i can't find anything much in it! i think the air that i composed the other day was much more worth listening to." but the longer lars larsson listened to the music of the rapid, the better he thought it sounded. "i believe you are improving," he said to the rapid. "it must have dawned upon you that the best musician in vermland is listening to you!" the instant he had made this remark, he fancied he heard a couple of clear metallic sounds, as when some one picks a violin string to hear if it is in tune. "but see, hark! the water-sprite himself has arrived. i can hear how he begins to thrum on the violin. let us hear now if you can play better than i!" said lars larsson, laughing. "but i can't stand here all night waiting for you to begin," he called to the water. "now i must be going; but i promise you that i will also stop at the next bridge and listen, to hear if you can cope with me." he went farther and, as the stream in its winding course ran into the wood, he began thinking once more of his home. "i wonder how the little brooklet that runs by our house is getting on? i should like to see it again. i ought to go home once in a while, to see if mother is suffering want and hardship since father's death. but busy as i am, it is almost impossible. as busy as i am just now, i say, i can't look after anything but the fiddle. there is hardly an evening in the week that i am at liberty." in a little while he met the stream again, and his thoughts were turned to something else. at this crossing the river did not come rushing on in a noisy rapid, but glided ahead rather quietly. it lay perfectly black and shiny under the night-gray forest trees, and carried with it one and another patch of snow-white scum from the rapids above. when the musician came down upon the bridge and heard no sound from the stream but a soft swish now and then, he began to laugh. "i might have known that the water-sprite wouldn't care to come to the meeting," he shouted. "to be sure, i have always heard that he is considered an excellent performer, but one who lies still forever in a brook and never hears anything new can't know very much! he perceives, no doubt, that here stands one who knows more about music than he, therefore he doesn't care to let me hear him." then he went farther and lost sight of the river again. he came into a part of the forest which he had always thought dismal and bleak to wander through. there the ground was covered with big stone heaps, and gnarled pine stumps lay uprooted among them. if there was anything magical or fearsome in the forest, one would naturally think that it concealed itself here. when the musician came in among the wild stone blocks, a shudder passed through him, and he began to wonder if it had not been unwise of him to boast in the presence of the water-sprite. he fancied the large pine roots began to gesticulate, as if they were threatening him. "beware, you who think yourself cleverer than the water-sprite!" it seemed as if they wanted to say. lars larsson felt how his heart contracted with dread. a heavy weight bore down upon his chest, so that he could scarcely breathe, and his hands became ice-cold. then he stopped in the middle of the wood and tried to talk sense to himself. "why, there's no musician in the waterfall!" said he. "such things are only superstition and nonsense! it's of no consequence what i have said or haven't said to him." as he spoke, he looked around him, as if for some confirmation of the truth of what he said. had it been daytime, every tiny leaf would have winked at him that there was nothing dangerous in the wood; but now, at night, the leaves on the trees were closed and silent and looked as though they were hiding all sorts of dangerous secrets. lars larsson grew more and more alarmed. that which caused him the greatest fear was having to cross the stream once more before it and the road parted company and went in different directions. he wondered what the water-sprite would do to him when he walked across the last bridge--if he might perhaps stretch a big black hand out of the water and drag him down into the depths. he had worked himself into such a state of fright that he thought of turning back. but then he would meet the stream again. and if he were to turn out of the road and go into the wood, he would also meet it, the way it kept bending and winding itself! he felt so nervous that he didn't know what to do. he was snared and captured and bound by that stream, and saw no possibility of escape. finally he saw before him the last bridge crossing. directly opposite him, on the other side of the stream, stood an old mill, which must have been abandoned these many years. the big mill-wheel hung motionless over the water. the sluice-gate lay mouldering on the land; the mill-race was moss-grown, and its sides were lined with common fern and beard-moss. "if all had been as formerly and there were people here," thought the musician, "i should be safe now from all danger." but, at all events, he felt reassured in seeing a building constructed by human hands, and, as he crossed the stream, he was scarcely frightened at all. nor did anything dreadful happen to him. the water-sprite seemed to have no quarrel with him. he was simply amazed to think he had worked himself into a panic over nothing whatever. he felt very happy and secure, and became even happier when the mill door opened and a young girl came out to him. she looked like an ordinary peasant girl. she had a cotton kerchief on her head and wore a short skirt and full jacket, but her feet were bare. she walked up to the musician and said to him without further ceremony, "if you will play for me, i'll dance for you." "why, certainly," said the fiddler, who was in fine spirits now that he was rid of his fear. "that i can do, of course. i have never in my life refused to play for a pretty girl who wants to dance." he took his place on a stone near the edge of the mill-pond, raised the violin to his chin, and began to play. the girl took a few steps in rhythm with the music; then she stopped. "what kind of a polka are you playing?" said she. "there is no vim in it." the fiddler changed his tune; he tried one with more life in it. the girl was just as dissatisfied. "i can't dance to such a draggy polka," said she. then lars larsson struck up the wildest air he knew. "if you are not satisfied with this one," he said, "you will have to call hither a better musician than i am." the instant he said this, he felt that a hand caught his arm at the elbow and began to guide the bow and increase the tempo. then from the violin there poured forth a strain the like of which he had never before heard. it moved in such a quick tempo he thought that a rolling wheel couldn't have kept up with it. "now, that's what i call a polka!" said the girl, and began to swing round. but the musician did not glance at her. he was so astonished at the air he was playing that he stood with closed eyes, to hear better. when he opened them after a moment, the girl was gone. but he did not wonder much at this. he continued to play on, long and well, only because he had never before heard such violin playing. "it must be time now to finish with this," he thought finally, and wanted to lay down the bow. but the bow kept up its motion; he couldn't make it stop. it travelled back and forth over the strings and jerked the hand and arm with it; and the hand that held the neck of the violin and fingered the strings could not free itself, either. the cold sweat stood out on lars larsson's brow, and he was frightened now in earnest. "how will this end? shall i sit here and play till doomsday?" he asked himself in despair. the bow ran on and on, and magically called forth one tune after another. always it was something new, and it was so beautiful that the poor fiddler must have known how little his own skill was worth. and it was this that tortured him worse than the fatigue. "he who plays upon my violin understands the art. but never in all my born days have i been anything but a bungler. now for the first time i'm learning how music should sound." for a few seconds he became so transported by the music that he forgot his evil fate; then he felt how his arm ached from weariness and he was seized anew with despair. "this violin i cannot lay down until i have played myself to death. i can understand that the water-sprite won't be satisfied with less." he began to weep over himself, but all the while he kept on playing. "it would have been better for me had i stayed at home in the little cabin with mother. what is all the glory worth if it is to end in this way?" he sat there hour after hour. morning came on, the sun rose, and the birds sang all around him; but he played and he played, without intermission. as it was a sunday that dawned, he had to sit there by the old mill all alone. no human beings tramped in this part of the forest. they went to church down in the dale, and to the villages along the big highway. forenoon came along, and the sun stepped higher and higher in the sky. the birds grew silent, and the wind began to murmur in the long pine needles. lars larsson did not let the summer day's heat deter him. he played and played. at last evening was ushered in, the sun sank, but his bow needed no rest, and his arm continued to move. "it is absolutely certain that this will be the death of me!" said he. "and it is a righteous punishment for all my conceit." far along in the evening a human being came wandering through the wood. it was a poor old woman with bent back and white hair, and a countenance that was furrowed by many sorrows. "it seems strange," thought the player, "but i think i recognize that old woman. can it be possible that it is my mother? can it be possible that mother has grown so old and gray?" he called aloud and stopped her. "mother, mother, come here to me!" he cried. she paused, as if unwillingly. "i hear now with my own ears that you are the best musician in vermland," said she. "i can well understand that you do not care any more for a poor old woman like me!" "mother, mother, don't pass me by!" cried lars larsson. "i'm no great performer--only a poor wretch. come here that i may speak with you!" then the mother came nearer and saw how he sat and played. his face was as pale as death, his hair dripped sweat, and blood oozed out from under the roots of his nails. "mother, i have fallen into misfortune because of my vanity, and now i must play myself to death. but tell me, before this happens, if you can forgive me, who left you alone and poor in your old age!" his mother was seized with a great compassion for the son, and all the anger she had felt toward him was as if blown away. "why, surely i forgive you!" said she. and as she saw his anguish and bewilderment and wanted him to understand that she meant what she said, she repeated it in the name of god. "in the name of god our redeemer, i forgive you!" and when she said this, the bow stopped, the violin fell to the ground, and the musician arose saved and redeemed. for the enchantment was broken, because his old mother had felt such compassion for his distress that she had spoken god's name over him. the legend of the christmas rose robber mother, who lived in robbers' cave up in göinge forest, went down to the village one day on a begging tour. robber father, who was an outlawed man, did not dare to leave the forest, but had to content himself with lying in wait for the wayfarers who ventured within its borders. but at that time travellers were not very plentiful in southern skåne. if it so happened that the man had had a few weeks of ill luck with his hunt, his wife would take to the road. she took with her five youngsters, and each youngster wore a ragged leathern suit and birch-bark shoes and bore a sack on his back as long as himself. when robber mother stepped inside the door of a cabin, no one dared refuse to give her whatever she demanded; for she was not above coming back the following night and setting fire to the house if she had not been well received. robber mother and her brood were worse than a pack of wolves, and many a man felt like running a spear through them; but it was never done, because they all knew that the man stayed up in the forest, and he would have known how to wreak vengeance if anything had happened to the children or the old woman. now that robber mother went from house to house and begged, she came one day to Övid, which at that time was a cloister. she rang the bell of the cloister gate and asked for food. the watchman let down a small wicket in the gate and handed her six round bread cakes--one for herself and one for each of the five children. while the mother was standing quietly at the gate, her youngsters were running about. and now one of them came and pulled at her skirt, as a signal that he had discovered something which she ought to come and see, and robber mother followed him promptly. the entire cloister was surrounded by a high and strong wall, but the youngster had managed to find a little back gate which stood ajar. when robber mother got there, she pushed the gate open and walked inside without asking leave, as it was her custom to do. Övid cloister was managed at that time by abbot hans, who knew all about herbs. just within the cloister wall he had planted a little herb garden, and it was into this that the old woman had forced her way. at first glance robber mother was so astonished that she paused at the gate. it was high summertide, and abbot hans' garden was so full of flowers that the eyes were fairly dazzled by the blues, reds, and yellows, as one looked into it. but presently an indulgent smile spread over her features, and she started to walk up a narrow path that lay between many flower-beds. in the garden a lay brother walked about, pulling up weeds. it was he who had left the door in the wall open, that he might throw the weeds and tares on the rubbish heap outside. when he saw robber mother coming in, with all five youngsters in tow, he ran toward her at once and ordered them away. but the beggar woman walked right on as before. she cast her eyes up and down, looking now at the stiff white lilies which spread near the ground, then on the ivy climbing high upon the cloister wall, and took no notice whatever of the lay brother. he thought she had not understood him, and wanted to take her by the arm and turn her toward the gate. but when the robber woman saw his purpose, she gave him a look that sent him reeling backward. she had been walking with back bent under her beggar's pack, but now she straightened herself to her full height. "i am robber mother from göinge forest; so touch me if you dare!" and it was obvious that she was as certain she would be left in peace as if she had announced that she was the queen of denmark. and yet the lay brother dared to oppose her, although now, when he knew who she was, he spoke reasonably to her. "you must know, robber mother, that this is a monks' cloister, and no woman in the land is allowed within these walls. if you do not go away, the monks will be angry with me because i forgot to close the gate, and perhaps they will drive me away from the cloister and the herb garden." but such prayers were wasted on robber mother. she walked straight ahead among the little flower-beds and looked at the hyssop with its magenta blossoms, and at the honeysuckles, which were full of deep orange-colored flower clusters. then the lay brother knew of no other remedy than to run into the cloister and call for help. he returned with two stalwart monks, and robber mother saw that now it meant business! with feet firmly planted she stood in the path and began shrieking in strident tones all the awful vengeance she would wreak on the cloister if she couldn't remain in the herb garden as long as she wished. but the monks did not see why they need fear her and thought only of driving her out. then robber mother let out a perfect volley of shrieks, and, throwing herself upon the monks, clawed and bit at them; so did all the youngsters. the men soon learned that she could overpower them, and all they could do was to go back into the cloister for reinforcements. as they ran through the passage-way which led to the cloister, they met abbot hans, who came rushing out to learn what all this noise was about. then they had to confess that robber mother from göinge forest had come into the cloister and that they were unable to drive her out and must call for assistance. but abbot hans upbraided them for using force and forbade their calling for help. he sent both monks back to their work, and although he was an old and fragile man, he took with him only the lay brother. when abbot hans came out in the garden, robber mother was still wandering among the flower-beds. he regarded her with astonishment. he was certain that robber mother had never before seen an herb garden; yet she sauntered leisurely between all the small patches, each of which had been planted with its own species of rare flower, and looked at them as if they were old acquaintances. at some she smiled, at others she shook her head. abbot hans loved his herb garden as much as it was possible for him to love anything earthly and perishable. wild and terrible as the old woman looked, he couldn't help liking that she had fought with three monks for the privilege of viewing the garden in peace. he came up to her and asked in a mild tone if the garden pleased her. robber mother turned defiantly toward abbot hans, for she expected only to be trapped and overpowered. but when she noticed his white hair and bent form, she answered peaceably, "first, when i saw this, i thought i had never seen a prettier garden; but now i see that it can't be compared with one i know of." abbot hans had certainly expected a different answer. when he heard that robber mother had seen a garden more beautiful than his, a faint flush spread over his withered cheek. the lay brother, who was standing close by, immediately began to censure the old woman. "this is abbot hans," said he, "who with much care and diligence has gathered the flowers from far and near for his herb garden. we all know that there is not a more beautiful garden to be found in all skåne, and it is not befitting that you, who live in the wild forest all the year around, should find fault with his work." "i don't wish to make myself the judge of either him or you," said robber mother. "i'm only saying that if you could see the garden of which i am thinking you would uproot all the flowers planted here and cast them away like weeds." but the abbot's assistant was hardly less proud of the flowers than the abbot himself, and after hearing her remarks he laughed derisively. "i can understand that you only talk like this to tease us. it must be a pretty garden that you have made for yourself amongst the pines in göinge forest! i'd be willing to wager my soul's salvation that you have never before been within the walls of an herb garden." robber mother grew crimson with rage to think that her word was doubted, and she cried out: "it may be true that until to-day i had never been within the walls of an herb garden; but you monks, who are holy men, certainly must know that on every christmas eve the great göinge forest is transformed into a beautiful garden, to commemorate the hour of our lord's birth. we who live in the forest have seen this happen every year. and in that garden i have seen flowers so lovely that i dared not lift my hand to pluck them." the lay brother wanted to continue the argument, but abbot hans gave him a sign to be silent. for, ever since his childhood, abbot hans had heard it said that on every christmas eve the forest was dressed in holiday glory. he had often longed to see it, but he had never had the good fortune. eagerly he begged and implored robber mother that he might come up to the robbers' cave on christmas eve. if she would only send one of her children to show him the way, he could ride up there alone, and he would never betray them--on the contrary, he would reward them, in so far as it lay in his power. robber mother said no at first, for she was thinking of robber father and of the peril which might befall him should she permit abbot hans to ride up to their cave. at the same time the desire to prove to the monk that the garden which she knew was more beautiful than his got the better of her, and she gave in. "but more than one follower you cannot take with you," said she, "and you are not to waylay us or trap us, as sure as you are a holy man." this abbot hans promised, and then robber mother went her way. abbot hans commanded the lay brother not to reveal to a soul that which had been agreed upon. he feared that the monks, should they learn of his purpose, would not allow a man of his years to go up to the robbers' cave. nor did he himself intend to reveal his project to a human being. and then it happened that archbishop absalon from lund came to Övid and remained through the night. when abbot hans was showing him the herb garden, he got to thinking of robber mother's visit, and the lay brother, who was at work in the garden, heard abbot hans telling the bishop about robber father, who these many years had lived as an outlaw in the forest, and asking him for a letter of ransom for the man, that he might lead an honest life among respectable folk. "as things are now," said abbot hans, "his children are growing up into worse malefactors than himself, and you will soon have a whole gang of robbers to deal with up there in the forest." but the archbishop replied that he did not care to let the robber loose among honest folk in the villages. it would be best for all that he remain in the forest. then abbot hans grew zealous and told the bishop all about göinge forest, which, every year at yuletide, clothed itself in summer bloom around the robbers' cave. "if these bandits are not so bad but that god's glories can be made manifest to them, surely we cannot be too wicked to experience the same blessing." the archbishop knew how to answer abbot hans. "this much i will promise you, abbot hans," he said, smiling, "that any day you send me a blossom from the garden in göinge forest, i will give you letters of ransom for all the outlaws you may choose to plead for." the lay brother apprehended that bishop absalon believed as little in this story of robber mother's as he himself; but abbot hans perceived nothing of the sort, but thanked absalon for his good promise and said that he would surely send him the flower. * * * * * abbot hans had his way. and the following christmas eve he did not sit at home with his monks in Övid cloister, but was on his way to göinge forest. one of robber mother's wild youngsters ran ahead of him, and close behind him was the lay brother who had talked with robber mother in the herb garden. abbot hans had been longing to make this journey, and he was very happy now that it had come to pass. but it was a different matter with the lay brother who accompanied him. abbot hans was very dear to him, and he would not willingly have allowed another to attend him and watch over him; but he didn't believe that he should see any christmas eve garden. he thought the whole thing a snare which robber mother had, with great cunning, laid for abbot hans, that he might fall into her husband's clutches. while abbot hans was riding toward the forest, he saw that everywhere they were preparing to celebrate christmas. in every peasant settlement fires were lighted in the bath-house to warm it for the afternoon bathing. great hunks of meat and bread were being carried from the larders into the cabins, and from the barns came the men with big sheaves of straw to be strewn over the floors. as he rode by the little country churches, he observed that each parson, with his sexton, was busily engaged in decorating his church; and when he came to the road which leads to bösjo cloister, he observed that all the poor of the parish were coming with armfuls of bread and long candles, which they had received at the cloister gate. when abbot hans saw all these christmas preparations, his haste increased. he was thinking of the festivities that awaited him, which were greater than any the others would be privileged to enjoy. but the lay brother whined and fretted when he saw how they were preparing to celebrate christmas in every humble cottage. he grew more and more anxious, and begged and implored abbot hans to turn back and not to throw himself deliberately into the robber's hands. abbot hans went straight ahead, paying no heed to his lamentations. he left the plain behind him and came up into desolate and wild forest regions. here the road was bad, almost like a stony and burr-strewn path, with neither bridge nor plank to help them over brooklet and rivulet. the farther they rode, the colder it grew, and after a while they came upon snow-covered ground. it turned out to be a long and hazardous ride through the forest. they climbed steep and slippery side paths, crawled over swamp and marsh, and pushed through windfall and bramble. just as daylight was waning, the robber boy guided them across a forest meadow, skirted by tall, naked leaf trees and green fir trees. back of the meadow loomed a mountain wall, and in this wall they saw a door of thick boards. now abbot hans understood that they had arrived, and dismounted. the child opened the heavy door for him, and he looked into a poor mountain grotto, with bare stone walls. robber mother was seated before a log fire that burned in the middle of the floor. alongside the walls were beds of virgin pine and moss, and on one of these beds lay robber father asleep. "come in, you out there!" shouted robber mother without rising, "and fetch the horses in with you, so they won't be destroyed by the night cold." abbot hans walked boldly into the cave, and the lay brother followed. here were wretchedness and poverty! and nothing was done to celebrate christmas. robber mother had neither brewed nor baked; she had neither washed nor scoured. the youngsters were lying on the floor around a kettle, eating; but no better food was provided for them than a watery gruel. robber mother spoke in a tone as haughty and dictatorial as any well-to-do peasant woman. "sit down by the fire and warm yourself, abbot hans," said she; "and if you have food with you, eat, for the food which we in the forest prepare you wouldn't care to taste. and if you are tired after the long journey, you can lie down on one of these beds to sleep. you needn't be afraid of oversleeping, for i'm sitting here by the fire keeping watch. i shall awaken you in time to see that which you have come up here to see." abbot hans obeyed robber mother and brought forth his food sack; but he was so fatigued after the journey he was hardly able to eat, and as soon as he could stretch himself on the bed, he fell asleep. the lay brother was also assigned a bed to rest upon, but he didn't dare sleep, as he thought he had better keep his eye on robber father to prevent his getting up and capturing abbot hans. but gradually fatigue got the better of him, too, and he dropped into a doze. when he woke up, he saw that abbot hans had left his bed and was sitting by the fire talking with robber mother. the outlawed robber sat also by the fire. he was a tall, raw-boned man with a dull, sluggish appearance. his back was turned to abbot hans, as though he would have it appear that he was not listening to the conversation. abbot hans was telling robber mother all about the christmas preparations he had seen on the journey, reminding her of christmas feasts and games which she must have known in her youth, when she lived at peace with mankind. "i'm sorry for your children, who can never run on the village street in holiday dress or tumble in the christmas straw," said he. at first robber mother answered in short, gruff sentences, but by degrees she became more subdued and listened more intently. suddenly robber father turned toward abbot hans and shook his clenched fist in his face. "you miserable monk! did you come here to coax from me my wife and children? don't you know that i am an outlaw and may not leave the forest?" abbot hans looked him fearlessly in the eyes. "it is my purpose to get a letter of ransom for you from archbishop absalon," said he. he had hardly finished speaking when the robber and his wife burst out laughing. they knew well enough the kind of mercy a forest robber could expect from bishop absalon! "oh, if i get a letter of ransom from absalon," said robber father, "then i'll promise you that never again will i steal so much as a goose." the lay brother was annoyed with the robber folk for daring to laugh at abbot hans, but on his own account he was well pleased. he had seldom seen the abbot sitting more peaceful and meek with his monks at Övid than he now sat with this wild robber folk. suddenly robber mother rose. "you sit here and talk, abbot hans," she said, "so that we are forgetting to look at the forest. now i can hear, even in this cave, how the christmas bells are ringing." the words were barely uttered when they all sprang up and rushed out. but in the forest it was still dark night and bleak winter. the only thing they marked was a distant clang borne on a light south wind. "how can this bell ringing ever awaken the dead forest?" thought abbot hans. for now, as he stood out in the winter darkness, he thought it far more impossible that a summer garden could spring up here than it had seemed to him before. when the bells had been ringing a few moments, a sudden illumination penetrated the forest; the next moment it was dark again, and then the light came back. it pushed its way forward between the stark trees, like a shimmering mist. this much it effected: the darkness merged into a faint daybreak. then abbot hans saw that the snow had vanished from the ground, as if some one had removed a carpet, and the earth began to take on a green covering. then the ferns shot up their fronds, rolled like a bishop's staff. the heather that grew on the stony hills and the bog-myrtle rooted in the ground moss dressed themselves quickly in new bloom. the moss-tufts thickened and raised themselves, and the spring blossoms shot upward their swelling buds, which already had a touch of color. abbot hans' heart beat fast as he marked the first signs of the forest's awakening. "old man that i am, shall i behold such a miracle?" thought he, and the tears wanted to spring to his eyes. again it grew so hazy that he feared the darkness would once more cover the earth; but almost immediately there came a new wave of light. it brought with it the splash of rivulet and the rush of cataract. then the leaves of the trees burst into bloom, as if a swarm of green butterflies came flying and clustered on the branches. it was not only trees and plants that awoke, but crossbeaks hopped from branch to branch, and the woodpeckers hammered on the limbs until the splinters fairly flew around them. a flock of starlings from up country lighted in a fir top to rest. they were paradise starlings. the tips of each tiny feather shone in brilliant reds, and, as the birds moved, they glittered like so many jewels. again, all was dark for an instant, but soon there came a new light wave. a fresh, warm south wind blew and scattered over the forest meadow all the little seeds that had been brought here from southern lands by birds and ships and winds, and which could not thrive elsewhere because of this country's cruel cold. these took root and sprang up the instant they touched the ground. when the next warm wind came along, the blueberries and lignon ripened. cranes and wild geese shrieked in the air, the bullfinches built nests, and the baby squirrels began playing on the branches of the trees. everything came so fast now that abbot hans could not stop to reflect on how immeasurably great was the miracle that was taking place. he had time only to use his eyes and ears. the next light wave that came rushing in brought with it the scent of newly ploughed acres, and far off in the distance the milkmaids were heard coaxing the cows--and the tinkle of the sheep's bells. pine and spruce trees were so thickly clothed with red cones that they shone like crimson mantles. the juniper berries changed color every second, and forest flowers covered the ground till it was all red, blue, and yellow. abbot hans bent down to the earth and broke off a wild strawberry blossom, and, as he straightened up, the berry ripened in his hand. the mother fox came out of her lair with a big litter of black-legged young. she went up to robber mother and scratched at her skirt, and robber mother bent down to her and praised her young. the horned owl, who had just begun his night chase, was astonished at the light and went back to his ravine to perch for the night. the male cuckoo crowed, and his mate stole up to the nests of the little birds with her egg in her mouth. robber mother's youngsters let out perfect shrieks of delight. they stuffed themselves with wild strawberries that hung on the bushes, large as pine cones. one of them played with a litter of young hares; another ran a race with some young crows, which had hopped from their nest before they were really ready; a third caught up an adder from the ground and wound it around his neck and arm. robber father was standing out on a marsh eating raspberries. when he glanced up, a big black bear stood beside him. robber father broke off an osier twig and struck the bear on the nose. "keep to your own ground, you!" he said; "this is my turf." then the huge bear turned around and lumbered off in another direction. new waves of warmth and light kept coming, and now they brought with them seeds from the star-flower. golden pollen from rye fields fairly flew in the air. then came butterflies, so big that they looked like flying lilies. the bee-hive in a hollow oak was already so full of honey that it dripped down on the trunk of the tree. then all the flowers whose seeds had been brought from foreign lands began to blossom. the loveliest roses climbed up the mountain wall in a race with the blackberry vines, and from the forest meadow sprang flowers as large as human faces. abbot hans thought of the flower he was to pluck for bishop absalon; but each new flower that appeared was more beautiful than the others, and he wanted to choose the most beautiful of all. wave upon wave kept coming until the air was so filled with light that it glittered. all the life and beauty and joy of summer smiled on abbot hans. he felt that earth could bring no greater happiness than that which welled up about him, and he said to himself, "i do not know what new beauties the next wave that comes can bring with it." but the light kept streaming in, and now it seemed to abbot hans that it carried with it something from an infinite distance. he felt a celestial atmosphere enfolding him, and tremblingly he began to anticipate, now that earth's joys had come, the glories of heaven were approaching. then abbot hans marked how all grew still; the birds hushed their songs, the flowers ceased growing, and the young foxes played no more. the glory now nearing was such that the heart wanted to stop beating; the eyes wept without one's knowing it; the soul longed to soar away into the eternal. from far in the distance faint harp tones were heard, and celestial song, like a soft murmur, reached him. abbot hans clasped his hands and dropped to his knees. his face was radiant with bliss. never had he dreamed that even in this life it should be granted him to taste the joys of heaven, and to hear angels sing christmas carols! but beside abbot hans stood the lay brother who had accompanied him. in his mind there were dark thoughts. "this cannot be a true miracle," he thought, "since it is revealed to malefactors. this does not come from god, but has its origin in witchcraft and is sent hither by satan. it is the evil one's power that is tempting us and compelling us to see that which has no real existence." from afar were heard the sound of angel harps and the tones of a miserere. but the lay brother thought it was the evil spirits of hell coming closer. "they would enchant and seduce us," sighed he, "and we shall be sold into perdition." the angel throng was so near now that abbot hans saw their bright forms through the forest branches. the lay brother saw them, too; but back of all this wondrous beauty he saw only some dread evil. for him it was the devil who performed these wonders on the anniversary of our saviour's birth. it was done simply for the purpose of more effectually deluding poor human beings. all the while the birds had been circling around the head of abbot hans, and they let him take them in his hands. but all the animals were afraid of the lay brother; no bird perched on his shoulder, no snake played at his feet. then there came a little forest dove. when she marked that the angels were nearing, she plucked up courage and flew down on the lay brother's shoulder and laid her head against his cheek. then it appeared to him as if sorcery were come right upon him, to tempt and corrupt him. he struck with his hand at the forest dove and cried in such a loud voice that it rang throughout the forest, "go thou back to hell, whence thou art come!" just then the angels were so near that abbot hans felt the feathery touch of their great wings, and he bowed down to earth in reverent greeting. but when the lay brother's words sounded, their song was hushed and the holy guests turned in flight. at the same time the light and the mild warmth vanished in unspeakable terror for the darkness and cold in a human heart. darkness sank over the earth, like a coverlet; frost came, all the growths shrivelled up; the animals and birds hastened away; the rushing of streams was hushed; the leaves dropped from the trees, rustling like rain. abbot hans felt how his heart, which had but lately swelled with bliss, was now contracting with insufferable agony. "i can never outlive this," thought he, "that the angels from heaven had been so close to me and were driven away; that they wanted to sing christmas carols for me and were driven to flight." then he remembered the flower he had promised bishop absalon, and at the last moment he fumbled among the leaves and moss to try and find a blossom. but he sensed how the ground under his fingers froze and how the white snow came gliding over the ground. then his heart caused him even greater anguish. he could not rise, but fell prostrate on the ground and lay there. when the robber folk and the lay brother had groped their way back to the cave, they missed abbot hans. they took brands with them and went out to search for him. they found him dead upon the coverlet of snow. then the lay brother began weeping and lamenting, for he understood that it was he who had killed abbot hans because he had dashed from him the cup of happiness which he had been thirsting to drain to its last drop. * * * * * when abbot hans had been carried down to Övid, those who took charge of the dead saw that he held his right hand locked tight around something which he must have grasped at the moment of death. when they finally got his hand open, they found that the thing which he had held in such an iron grip was a pair of white root bulbs, which he had torn from among the moss and leaves. when the lay brother who had accompanied abbot hans saw the bulbs, he took them and planted them in abbot hans' herb garden. he guarded them the whole year to see if any flower would spring from them. but in vain he waited through the spring, the summer, and the autumn. finally, when winter had set in and all the leaves and the flowers were dead, he ceased caring for them. but when christmas eve came again, he was so strongly reminded of abbot hans that he wandered out into the garden to think of him. and look! as he came to the spot where he had planted the bare root bulbs, he saw that from them had sprung flourishing green stalks, which bore beautiful flowers with silver white leaves. he called out all the monks at Övid, and when they saw that this plant bloomed on christmas eve, when all the other growths were as if dead, they understood that this flower had in truth been plucked by abbot hans from the christmas garden in göinge forest. then the lay brother asked the monks if he might take a few blossoms to bishop absalon. and when he appeared before bishop absalon, he gave him the flowers and said: "abbot hans sends you these. they are the flowers he promised to pick for you from the garden in göinge forest." when bishop absalon beheld the flowers, which had sprung from the earth in darkest winter, and heard the words, he turned as pale as if he had met a ghost. he sat in silence a moment; thereupon he said, "abbot hans has faithfully kept his word and i shall also keep mine." and he ordered that a letter of ransom be drawn up for the wild robber who was outlawed and had been forced to live in the forest ever since his youth. he handed the letter to the lay brother, who departed at once for the robbers' cave. when he stepped in there on christmas day, the robber came toward him with axe uplifted. "i'd like to hack you monks into bits, as many as you are!" said he. "it must be your fault that göinge forest did not last night dress itself in christmas bloom." "the fault is mine alone," said the lay brother, "and i will gladly die for it; but first i must deliver a message from abbot hans." and he drew forth the bishop's letter and told the man that he was free. "hereafter you and your children shall play in the christmas straw and celebrate your christmas among people, just as abbot hans wished to have it," said he. then robber father stood there pale and speechless, but robber mother said in his name, "abbot hans has indeed kept his word, and robber father will keep his." when the robber and his wife left the cave, the lay brother moved in and lived all alone in the forest, in constant meditation and prayer that his hard-heartedness might be forgiven him. but göinge forest never again celebrated the hour of our saviour's birth; and of all its glory, there lives to-day only the plant which abbot hans had plucked. it has been named christmas rose. and each year at christmastide she sends forth from the earth her green stalks and white blossoms, as if she never could forget that she had once grown in the great christmas garden at göinge forest. a story from jerusalem in the old and time-honored mosque, el aksa, in jerusalem, there is a long, winding path leading from the main entrance up to a very deep and wide window-niche. in this niche a very old and much worn rug is spread; and upon this rug, day in and day out, sits old mesullam, who is a fortune-teller and dream-interpreter, and who for a paltry penny serves the visitors to the mosque by prying into their future destinies. it happened one afternoon, several years ago, that mesullam, who sat as usual in his window, was so ill-natured that he wouldn't even return the greetings of the passers-by. no one thought, however, of feeling offended at his rudeness, because every one knew that he was grieving over a humiliation which had been put upon him that day. at that time a mighty monarch from the occident was visiting jerusalem, and in the forenoon the distinguished stranger with his retinue had wandered through el aksa. before his arrival the superintendent of the mosque had commanded the servants to scour and dust all the nooks and corners of the old building, at the same time giving orders that mesullam should move out of his accustomed place. he had found that it would be simply impossible to let him remain there during the visit of the distinguished guest. it was not only that his rug was very ragged, or that he had piled up around him a lot of dirty sacks in which he kept his belongings, but mesullam himself was anything but an ornament to the mosque! he was, in reality, an inconceivably ugly old negro. his lips were enormous, his chin protruded aggressively, his brow was exceedingly low, and his nose was almost like a snout; and in addition to these, mesullam had a coarse and wrinkled skin and a clumsy, thick-set body, which was carelessly draped in a dirty white shawl. so one can't wonder that he was forbidden to show himself in the mosque while the honored guest was there! poor mesullam, who knew well enough that, despite his ugliness, he was a very wise man, experienced a bitter disappointment in that _he_ was not to see the royal traveller. he had hoped that he might give him some proofs of the great accomplishments which he possessed in occult things and in this way add to his own glory and renown. since this hope had miscarried, he sat hour after hour in a queer position, and mourned, with his long arms stretched upward and his head thrown far back, as though he were calling upon heaven for justice. when it drew on toward evening, mesullam was wakened from his state of all-absorbing grief by a cheery voice calling him. it was a syrian who, accompanied by another traveller, had come up to the soothsayer. he told him that the stranger whom he was conducting wished for a proof of oriental wisdom, and that he had spoken to him of mesullam's ability to interpret dreams. mesullam answered not a word to this, but maintained his former attitude rigidly. when the guide asked him again if he would not listen to the dreams the stranger wished to relate to him and interpret them, his arms dropped and he crossed them on his breast. assuming the attitude of a wronged man, he answered that this evening his soul was so filled with his own troubles that he couldn't judge anything clearly which concerned another. but the stranger, who had a buoyant and commanding personality, didn't seem to mind his objections. as there was no chair handy, he kicked aside the rug and seated himself in the window-niche. then he began, in a clear and vibrant voice, to narrate a few dreams, which later were translated for the soothsayer by the guide. "tell him," said the traveller, "that a few years ago i was at cairo, in egypt. since he is a learned man, naturally he knows there is a mosque there, called el azhar, which is the most celebrated institution of learning in the orient. i went there one day to visit it, and found that the whole colossal structure--all its rooms and arcades, all its entrances and halls were filled with students. there were old men who had devoted their entire lives to the quest for knowledge, and children who were just learning to form their letters. there were giantesque negroes from the heart of africa; lithe, handsome youths from india and arabia; far-travelled strangers from barbary, from georgia, from every land where the natives embrace the doctrines of the koran. close to the pillars--i was told that in el azhar there were as many teachers as there were pillars--the instructors were squatted on their rugs, while their students, who were arranged in a circle around them, eagerly followed their lectures, which were accompanied by swaying movements of their bodies. and tell him that, although el azhar is in no way comparable to the great occidental seats of learning, i was nevertheless astonished at what i saw there. i remarked to myself: 'ah, this is islam's great stronghold and defence! from here mohammed's young champions go out. here, at el azhar, the potions of wisdom that keep the koran's doctrines healthy and vigorous are blended.'" all of this the traveller said almost in one breath. now he made a pause, so that the guide would have an opportunity to interpret for the soothsayer. then he continued: "now tell him that el azhar made such a powerful impression upon me that on the following night i saw it again in a dream. i saw the white marble structure and the many students dressed in white mantles and white turbans--as is the custom at el azhar. i wandered through halls and courts and was again astonished at what a splendid fortress and wall of protection this was for mohammedanism. finally--in the dream--i came to the minaret upon which the prayer-crier stands to inform the faithful that the hour of prayer has struck. and i saw the stairway which winds up to the minaret, and i saw a prayer-crier walking up the steps. he wore a black mantle and a white turban, like the others, and as he went up the stairs i could not at first see his face, but when he had made a few turns on the spiral stairway, he happened to turn his face toward me, and then i saw that it was _christ_." the speaker made a short pause, and his chest was expanded for a deep inhalation. "i shall never forget, although it was only a dream," he exclaimed, "what an impression it made upon me to see christ walking up the steps to the minaret in el azhar! to me it seemed so glorious and significant that he had come to this stronghold of islam to call out the hours of prayer that i leaped up in the dream and awaked." here the traveller made another pause to let the guide interpret for the soothsayer. but this appeared to be well-nigh useless labor. mesullam sat all the while, with his hands on his sides, rocking back and forth, and with his eyes half closed. he seemed to want to say: "inasmuch as i cannot escape these importunate people, at least i will let them see that i don't care to listen to what they have to say. i'll try and rock myself to sleep. it will be the best way to show them how little i care about them." the guide intimated to the traveller that all their trouble would be in vain and they wouldn't hear a sensible word from mesullam while he was in this mood. but the european stranger seemed to be entranced by mesullam's indescribable ugliness and extraordinary behavior. he looked at him with the pleasure of a child when it is watching a wild animal in a menagerie, and he desired to continue the interview. "tell him that i wouldn't have troubled him to interpret this dream," he said, "had it not, in a certain sense, come to me again. let him know that two weeks ago i visited the sophia mosque at constantinople, and that i, after wandering through this magnificent building, stepped up on a minaret in order to get a better view of the auditorium. tell him, also, that they allowed me to come into the mosque during a service, when it was filled with people. upon each of the innumerable prayer rugs which covered the whole floor of the main hall, a man was standing and saying his prayers. all who took part in the service simultaneously made the same movements. all fell upon their knees and threw themselves on their faces and raised themselves, at the same time whispering their prayers very low; but from the almost imperceptible movements of so many lips came a mysterious murmur, which rose toward the high arches and died away, time and again. then there came melodious responses from remote passages and galleries. it was so strange altogether that one wondered if it was not the spirit of god that poured into the old sanctuary." the traveller made another pause. he observed mesullam carefully, while the guide interpreted his speech. it actually appeared as if he had tried to win the negro's approbation with his eloquence. and it seemed, too, as though he would succeed, for mesullam's half-closed eyes flashed once, like a coal that is beginning to take fire. but the soothsayer, stubborn as a child that will not let itself be amused, dropped his head on his breast and began an even more impatient rocking of his body. "tell him," resumed the stranger, "tell him that i have never seen people pray with such fervor! to me it seemed as if it was the sublime beauty of this marvellous structure which created this atmosphere of ecstasy. verily this is still an islam bulwark! this is the home of devoutness! from this great mosque emanate the faith and enthusiasm which make islam a mighty power." here he paused again, noting carefully mesullam's play of features during its interpretation. not a trace of interest was discernible in them. but the stranger was evidently a man who liked to hear himself talk. his own words intoxicated him; he would have become ill-natured had he not been allowed to proceed. "well," said he, when it was his turn again to speak, "i cannot rightly explain what happened to me. possibly the faint odor from the hundreds of oil lamps, together with the low murmurings of the devotees, lulled me into a kind of stupefaction. i could not help but close my eyes as i stood leaning against a pillar. soon sleep, or rather insensibility, overcame me. probably it did not last more than a minute, but during this interval i was entirely removed from reality. while in this trance i could see the whole sophia mosque before me, with all the praying people; but now i saw what i had not hitherto observed. up in the dome were scaffoldings, and on these stood a number of workmen with paint pots and brushes. "tell him, if he does not already know it," continued the narrator, "that sophia mosque was once a christian church, and that its arches and dome are covered with sacred christian mosaics, although the turks have painted out all these pictures with plain yellow paint. and it appeared to me as if the yellow paint in the dome had peeled off in a couple of places and that the painters had clambered up on the scaffolding to touch up the picture. but, look! when one of them raised his brush to fill in the color, another large piece scaled off, and suddenly one saw from behind it a beautiful painting of the _christ_ emerge. again the painter raised his arm to paint out the picture, but the arm, which appeared to be numb and powerless, dropped down before this beautiful face; at the same time the paint dropped from the entire dome and arch, and christ was visible there in all his glory, among angels and heavenly hosts. then the painter cried out, and all the worshippers down on the floor of the mosque raised their heads. and when they saw the heavenly hosts surrounding the saviour, they sent up a cry of joy, and when i witnessed this joy, i was seized with such strong emotion that i waked instantly. then everything was like itself. the mosaics were hidden under the yellow paint and the devotees continued all the while to invoke allah." when the interpreter had translated this, mesullam opened one eye and regarded the stranger. he saw a man who he thought resembled all other occidentals that wandered through the mosque. "i don't believe the pale-faced stranger has seen any visions," thought he. "he has not the dark eyes that can see what is behind the veil of mystery. i think, rather, that he came here to make sport of me. i must beware lest on this accursed day i be overtaken by another humiliation." the stranger spoke anon: "you know, o dream interpreter!" turning now direct to mesullam, as if he thought that he could understand him, despite his foreign tongue--"you know that a distinguished foreigner is visiting jerusalem at present, and on his account they have talked of opening the walled-up gate in jerusalem's ring-wall--the one they call 'the golden' and which is believed to be the gate through which jesus rode into jerusalem on palm sunday. they have actually been thinking of doing the distinguished traveller the honor of letting him ride into the city through a gate which has been walled up for centuries; but they were held back by an old prophecy which foretells that when this gate is opened the occidentals will march in through it to take possession of jerusalem. "and now you shall hear what happened to me last night. the weather was superb; it was glorious moonlight, and i had gone out alone to take a quiet promenade around the holy city. i walked outside the ring-wall on the narrow path that extends all round the wall, and my thoughts were borne so far back into distant ages that i scarcely remembered where i was. all of a sudden i began to feel tired. i wondered if i should not soon come to a gate in the wall, through which i might get into the city and thus return to my quarters by a shorter road. well, just as i was thinking of this, i saw a man open a large gate in the wall directly in front of me. he opened it wide and beckoned to me that i might pass in through it. i was absorbed in my dreams and hardly knew how far i had been walking. i was somewhat surprised that there was a gate here, but i thought no more about the matter and walked through it. as soon as i had passed through the deep archway, the gate closed with a sharp clang. when i turned round, there was no opening visible, only a walled-up gate--the one called the golden. before me lay the temple place, the broad haram plateau, in the centre of which omar's mosque is enthroned. and you know that no gate in the ring-wall leads thither but the golden, which is not only closed but walled up. "you can understand that i thought i'd gone mad; that i dreamed i had tried in vain to find some explanation of this. i looked around for the man who had let me in. he had vanished and i could not find him. but, on the other hand, i saw him all the plainer in memory--the tall and slightly bent figure, the beautiful locks, the mild visage, the parted beard. it was _christ_, soothsayer, _christ_ once again. "tell me now, you who can look into the hidden, what mean my dreams? what, more than all, can be the meaning of my having really and truly passed through the golden gate? even at this moment i do not know how it happened, but i have done so. tell me, now, what these three things can mean!" the interpreter translated this for mesullam, but the soothsayer was all the while in the same suspicious and crabbed mood. "i am certain that this stranger wants to poke fun at me," he thought. "perchance he would provoke me to anger with all this talk about christ?" he would have concluded not to answer at all; but when the interpreter insisted, he muttered a few words. "what does he say?" asked the traveller eagerly. "he says he has nothing to say to you but that dreams are dreams." "then tell him from me," retorted the stranger, somewhat exasperated, "that this is not always true. it depends entirely upon who dreams them." before these words had been interpreted to mesullam, the european had arisen and with quick and elastic step had walked toward the long passage-way. but mesullam sat still and mused over his answer for five minutes. then he fell upon his face, utterly undone. "allah, allah! twice on the same day fortune has passed by me without my having captured her. what hath thy servant done to displease thee?" why the pope lived to be so old it happened at rome in the early nineties. leo xiii was just then at the height of his fame and greatness. all true catholics rejoiced at his successes and triumphs, which in truth were sublime. and, even for those who could not grasp the great political events, it was plain that the power of the church was again coming to the front. any one at all could see that new cloisters were going up everywhere and that throngs of pilgrims were beginning to pour into italy, as in olden times. in many, many places one saw the old, dilapidated churches in process of restoration, damaged mosaics being put in order, and the treasure-vaults of the churches being filled with golden relic-boxes and jewelled exhibits. right in the midst of this progressive period the roman people were alarmed by the news that the pope had been taken ill. he was said to be in a very precarious condition; it was even rumored that he was dying. his condition was, too, in a great degree serious. the pope's physicians issued bulletins which inspired but little hope. it was maintained that the pope's great age--he was then eighty years old--made it seem almost incredible that he could survive this attack. naturally, the pope's illness caused great unrest. in all the churches in rome prayers were said for his recovery. the newspapers were filled with communications regarding the progress of the illness. the cardinals were beginning to take steps and measures for the new papal election. everywhere they bemoaned the approaching demise of the brilliant leader. they feared that the good fortune which had followed the church's standard under leo xiii might not be faithful to it under the leadership of his successor. there were many who had hoped that this pope would succeed in winning back rome and the ecclesiastical states. others, again, had dreamed that he would bring back into the bosom of the church some of the large protestant countries. for each second that was passing, fear and anxiety grew apace. as night came on, in many homes the inmates would not retire. the churches were kept open until long past midnight, that the anxious ones might have an opportunity to go in and pray. among these throngs of devotees there was certainly more than one poor soul who cried out: "dear lord, take my life instead of his! let him, who has done so much for thy glory, live, and extinguish instead my life-flame, which burns to no one's use!" but if the angel of death had taken one of these devotees at his word and had suddenly stepped up to him, with sword raised, to exact the fulfilment of his promise, one might wonder somewhat as to how he would have behaved. no doubt he would have recalled instantly such a rash proffer and begged for the grace of being allowed to live out all the years of his allotted time. at this time there lived an old woman in one of the dingy ramshackle houses along the tiber. she was one of those who have the kind of spirit that thanks god every day for life. every morning she used to sit at the market-place and sell garden truck. and this was an occupation that was very congenial to her. she thought nothing could be livelier than a market of a morning. all tongues were wagging--all were harking their commodities, and buyers crowded in front of the stalls, selected and bargained, and many a good sally passed between buyer and seller. sometimes the old woman was successful in making a good deal and in selling out her entire stock; but even if she couldn't sell so much as a radish, she loved to be standing amongst flowers and green things in the fresh morning air. in the evening she had another and an even greater pleasure. then her son came home and visited with her. he was a priest, but he had been assigned to a little church in one of the humble quarters. the poor priests who served there had not much to live upon, and the mother feared that her son was starving. but from this, also, she derived much pleasure, for it gave her the opportunity of stuffing him full of delicacies when he came to see her. he struggled against it, as he was destined for a life of self-denial and strict discipline, but his mother became so distressed when he said no that he always had to give in. while he was eating she trotted around in the room and chattered about all that she had seen in the morning during market hours. these were all very worldly matters, and it would occur to her sometimes that her son might be offended. then she would break off in the middle of a sentence and begin to talk of spiritual and solemn things, but the priest couldn't help laughing. "no, no, mother concenza!" he said, "continue in your usual way. the saints know you already, and they know what you are up to." then she, too, laughed and said: "you are quite right. it doesn't pay to pretend before the good lord." when the pope was taken ill, signora concenza must also have a share in the general grief. of her own accord it certainly never would have occurred to her to feel troubled about his passing. but when her son came home to her, she could neither persuade him to taste of a morsel of food nor to give her a smile, although she was simply bubbling over with stories and interpolations. naturally she became alarmed and asked what was wrong with him. "the holy father is ill," answered the son. at first she could scarcely believe that this was the cause of his downheartedness. of course it was a sorrow; but she knew, to be sure, that if a pope died, immediately there would come another. she reminded her son of the fact that they had also mourned the good pio nono. and, you see, the one who succeeded him was a still greater pope. surely the cardinals would choose for them a ruler who was just as holy and wise as this one. the priest then began telling her about the pope. he didn't bother to initiate her into his system of government, but he told her little stories of his childhood and young manhood. and from the days of his prelacy there were also things to relate--as, for instance, how he had at one time hunted down robbers in southern italy, how he had made himself beloved by the poor and needy during the years when he was a bishop in perugia. her eyes filled with tears, and she cried out: "ah, if he were not so old! if he might only be allowed to live many more years, since he is such a great and holy man!" "ah, if only he were not so old!" sighed the son. but signora concenza had already brushed the tears from her eyes. "you really must bear this calmly," said she. "remember that his years of life are simply run out. it is impossible to prevent death from seizing him." the priest was a dreamer. he loved the church and had dreamed that the great pope would lead her on to important and decisive victories. "i would give my life if i could purchase new life for him!" said he. "what are you saying?" cried his mother. "do you really love him so much? but, in any case, you must not express such dangerous wishes. instead, you should think of living a good long time. who knows what may happen? why couldn't you, in your turn, become pope?" a night and a day passed without any improvement in the pope's condition. when signora concenza met her son the following day, he looked completely undone. she understood that he had passed the whole day in prayer and fasting, and she began to feel deeply grieved. "i verily believe that you mean to kill yourself for the sake of that sick old man!" said she. the son was hurt by again finding her without sympathy, and tried to persuade her to sympathize a little with his grief. "you, truly, more than any one else, ought to wish that the pope might live," he said. "if he may continue to rule, he will name my parish priest for bishop before the year shall have passed and, in that event, my fortune is made. he will then give me a good place in a cathedral. you shall not see me going about any more in a worn-out cassock. i shall have plenty of money, and i shall be able to help you and all your poor neighbors." "but if the pope dies?" asked signora concenza breathlessly. "if the pope dies, then no one can know--if my parish priest doesn't happen to be in favor with his successor, we must both remain where we now are for many years to come." signora concenza came close to her son and regarded him anxiously. she looked at his brow, which was covered with wrinkles, and at his hair that was just turning gray. he looked tired and worn. it was actually imperative that he should have that place at the cathedral right away. "to-night i shall go to church and pray for the pope," thought she. "it won't do for him to die." after supper she bravely conquered her fatigue and went out on the streets. great crowds of people thronged there. many were only curious and had gone out because they wished to catch the news of the death at first hand; but many were really distressed and wandered from church to church to pray. as soon as signora concenza had come out on the street, she met one of her daughters, who was married to a lithographer. "oh, mother, but you do right to come out and pray for him!" exclaimed the daughter. "you can't imagine what a misfortune it would be if he were to die! my fabiano was ready to take his own life when he learned that the pope was ill." she related how her husband, the lithographer, had but just struck off hundreds of thousands of the pope's pictures. now, if the pope were to die, he wouldn't be able to sell half of them--no, not even a quarter of them. he would be ruined. their entire fortune was at stake. she rushed on to gather some fresh news, wherewith she might comfort her poor husband, who did not dare venture out, but sat at home and brooded over his misfortune. her mother stood still on the street, mumbling to herself: "it won't do for him to die. it will never do for him to die!" she walked into the first church she came to. there she fell upon her knees and prayed for the life of the pope. as she arose to leave, she happened to lift her eyes to a little votive tablet which hung on the wall just above her head. the tablet was a representation of death raising a terrifying two-edged sword to mow down a young girl, while her mother, who had cast herself in his path, tries in vain to receive the blow in place of her child. she stood long before the picture, musing. "signor death is a careful arithmetician," she remarked. "one has never heard of his agreeing to exchange an old person for a young one." she remembered her son's words that he would be willing to die in the pope's stead, and a shudder passed through her whole body. "think, if death were to take him at his word!" "no, no, signor death!" she whispered. "you mustn't believe him. you must understand that he didn't mean what he said. he wants to live. he doesn't want to leave his old mother, who loves him." for the first time the thought struck her that if any one should sacrifice himself for the pope, it were better that she did it--she, who was already old and had lived her life. when she left the church, she happened into the company of some nuns of the saintliest and most devout appearance, who lived in the northern part of the country. they had travelled down to rome to obtain a little help from the pope's treasury. "we are actually in the most dire need of aid," they told old concenza. "only think! our convent was so old and dilapidated that it blew down during the severe storm of last winter. we may not now present our case to him. if he should die, we must return home with an unaccomplished mission. who can know if his successor will be the sort of man who will trouble himself to succor poor nuns?" it seemed as if all the people were thinking the same thoughts. it was very easy to get into converse with any one. each and all whom signora concenza approached let her know that the pope's death would be for them a terrible misfortune. the old woman repeated again and again to herself: "my son is right. it will never do for the pope to die." a nurse was standing among a group of people, talking in a loud voice. she was so affected that the tears streamed down her cheeks. she related how five years ago she had been ordered away, to serve at a leper hospital on an island at the other end of the globe. naturally, she had to obey orders; but she did so against her wishes. she had felt a horrible dread of this mission. before she left rome, she was received by the pope, who had given her a special blessing and had also promised her that if she came back alive she should have another audience with him. and it was upon this that she had lived during the five years she had been away--only on the hope that she might see the holy father once more in this life! this had helped her to go through all the horrors. and now, when she had got home at last, she was met by the news that he lay upon his death-bed! she could not even see him! she was in extreme despair, and old concenza was deeply moved. "it would really be much too great a sorrow for every one if the pope were to die," thought she, as she wandered farther up the street. when she observed that many of the passers-by looked perfectly exhausted from weeping, she thought with a sense of relief: "what a joy it would be to see everybody's happiness if the pope should recover!" and she, like many others who have a buoyant disposition, was apparently no more afraid of dying than of living; so she said to herself: "if i only knew how it could be done, i would gladly give the holy father the years that are left to me of life." she said this somewhat in jest, but back of the words there was also seriousness. she truly wished that she might realize something in that way. "an old woman could not wish for a more beautiful death," thought she. "i would be helping both my son and my daughter, and, besides, i should make great masses of people happy." just as this thought stirred within her, she raised the patched curtain which hung before the entrance of a gloomy little church. it was one of the very old churches--one of those which appear to be gradually sinking into the earth because the city's foundation has, in the intervening years, raised itself several metres all around them. this church in its interior had preserved somewhat of its ancient gloom, which must have come down through the dark ages during which it had sprung into existence. involuntarily a shudder passed through one as one stepped in under its low arches, which rested upon uncommonly thick pillars, and saw the crudely painted saints' pictures that glimpsed down at one from walls and altars. when signora concenza came into this old church, which was thronged with worshippers, she was seized with a mysterious awe and reverence. she felt that in this sanctuary there verily lived a deity. beneath the massive arches hovered something infinitely mighty and mysterious, something which inspired such a sense of annihilating superiority that she felt nervous about remaining in there. "ah, this is no church where one goes to hear a mass or to confessional," remarked signora concenza to herself. "here one comes when one is in great trouble, when one can be helped in no other way than through a miracle." she lingered down by the door and breathed in this strange air of mystery and gloom. "i don't even know to whom this old church is dedicated; but i feel that here there must be some one who is able to grant us that which we pray for." she sank down among the kneeling people, who were so many that they covered the floor from the altar to the door. all the while that she herself was praying, she heard around her sighs and sobs. all this grief went to her heart and filled it with greater and greater compassion. "oh, my god, let me do something to save the old man!" she prayed. "in the first place, i ought to help my children, and then all the other people." every once in a while a thin little monk stole in among the praying and whispered something in their ears. the one to whom he was speaking instantly stood up and followed him into the sacristy. signora concenza soon apprehended what there was in question. "they are of the kind who give pledges for the pope's recovery," thought she. the next time the little monk made his rounds, she rose up and went with him. it was a perfectly involuntary action. she fancied that she was being impelled to do this by the power which ruled in the old church. as soon as she came into the sacristy, which was even more archaic and more mystical than the church itself, she regretted it. "what have i to do in here?" she asked herself. "what have i to give away? i own nothing but a couple of cartloads of garden truck. i certainly can't present the saints with a few baskets of artichokes!" at one side of the room there was a long table at which a priest stood recording in a register all that was pledged to the saints. concenza heard how one promised to present the old church with a sum of money, while a second promised to give his gold watch, and a third her pearl earrings. concenza stood all the while down by the door. her last poor copper had been spent to procure a few delicacies for her son. she saw a number of persons who appeared to be no richer than herself buying wax candles and silver hearts. she turned her skirt pocket inside out, but she could not afford even that much. she stood and waited so long that finally she was the only stranger in the sacristy. the priests walking about in there looked at her a little astonished. then she took a step or two forward. she seemed at the start uncertain and embarrassed, but after the first move she walked lightly and briskly up to the table. "your reverence!" she said to the priest, "write that concenza zamponi, who was sixty last year, on saint john the baptist's day, gives all her remaining years to the pope, that the thread of his life may be lengthened!" the priest had already begun writing. he was probably very tired after having worked at this register the whole night, and thought no more about the sort of things he was recording. but now he stopped short in the middle of a word and looked quizzically at signora concenza. she met his glance very calmly. "i am strong and well, your reverence," said she. "i should probably have lived out my allotted seventy years. it is at least ten years that i am giving to the holy father." the priest marked her zeal and reverence and offered no objections. "she is a poor woman," thought he. "she has nothing else to give." "it is written, my daughter," he said. when old concenza came out from the church, it was so late that the commotion had ceased and the streets were absolutely deserted. she found herself in a remote part of the city, where the gas lamps were so far apart that they dispelled only a very little of the darkness. all the same, she walked on briskly. she felt very solemn within and was certain that she had done something which would make many people happy. as she walked up the street, she suddenly got the impression that a live being circled above her head. in the darkness, between the tall houses, she thought she could distinguish a pair of large wings, and she even fancied she heard the sound of their beating. "what is this?" said she. "surely it can't be a bird! it is much too big for that." all at once she thought she saw a face which was so white that it illuminated the darkness. then an unspeakable terror seized her. "it is the angel of death hovering over me," thought she. "ah, what have i done? i have placed myself in the dreaded one's power!" she started to run, but she could hear the rustle of the strong wings and was convinced that death was pursuing her. she fled with breathless haste through several streets, thinking all the while that death was coming nearer and nearer her. she already felt his wings brushing against her shoulder. suddenly she heard a whizzing in the air, and something heavy and sharp struck her head. death's two-edged sword had reached her. she sank to her knees. she knew that she must lose her life. a few hours later, old concenza was found on the street by two workmen. she lay there unconscious, stricken with apoplexy. the poor woman was immediately removed to a hospital, where they succeeded in bringing her to, but it was apparent that she could not live very long. there was time, at all events, to send for her children. when, in a state of despair, they reached her sick-bed, they found her very calm and happy. she couldn't speak many words to them, but she lay and caressed their hands. "you must be happy," said she, "happy, happy!" evidently she did not like their crying. she also bade the nurses smile and show their joy. "cheerful and happy," said she; "now you must be cheerful and happy!" she lay there with hunger in her eyes, waiting to see a little joy in their faces. she grew more and more impatient with her children's tears and with the solemn faces of the nurses. she began to utter things which no one could comprehend. she said that in case they were not glad she might just as well have lived. those who heard her thought she was raving. suddenly the doors opened, and a young physician came into the sick-room. he was waving a newspaper and calling in a loud voice: "the pope is better. he will live. a change has taken place in the night." the nurses silenced him, so that he shouldn't disturb the dying woman, but signora concenza had already heard him. she had also marked a spark of joy--a gleam of happiness which could not be concealed--pass through those who stood around her bed. there she lay looking about her, with something far-seeing in her gaze. it was as though she were looking out over rome, where the people were now thronging up and down the streets and greeting one another with the joyful news. she raised her head as high as she could and said: "so am i--i am very happy. god has allowed me to die that he may live. i don't mind dying when i have made so many people happy." she lay down again, and a few seconds later she was dead. * * * * * but they say in rome that, after his recovery, the holy father entertained himself one day by looking through the church records of pious pledges which had been offered for his recovery. smilingly he read the long lists of little gifts until he came to the record where concenza zamponi had presented him with her remaining years of life. instantly he became very serious and thoughtful. he made inquiries about concenza zamponi and learned that she had died on the night of his recovery. he then bade them call to him her son, dominico, and questioned him minutely as to her last moments. "my son," said the pope to him when he had spoken, "your mother has not saved my life, as she believed in her last hour; but i am deeply moved by her love and self-sacrifice." he let dominico kiss his hand, whereupon he dismissed him. but the romans assure you that, although the pope would not admit that his span of years had been lengthened by the poor woman's gift, he was nevertheless certain of it. "why else should father zamponi have had such a meteoric career?" asked the romans. "he is already a bishop and it is whispered that he will soon be a cardinal." and in rome they never feared after that that the pope would die, not even when he was mortally ill. they were prepared to have him live longer than other people. his life had of course been lengthened by all the years that poor concenza had given him. the story of a story once there was a story that wanted to be told and sent out in the world. this was very natural, inasmuch as it knew that it was already as good as finished. many, through remarkable deeds and strange events, had helped create it; others had added their straws in it by again and again relating these things. what it lacked was merely a matter of being joined together, so that it could travel comfortably through the country. as yet it was only a confused jumble of stories--a big, formless cloud of adventures rushing hither and thither like a swarm of stray bees on a summer's day, not knowing where they will find some one who can gather them into a hive. the story that wanted to be told had sprung up in vermland, and you may be sure that it circled over many mills and manors, over many parsonages and many homes of military officers, in the beautiful province, peering through the windows and begging to be cared for. but it was forced to make many futile attempts, for everywhere it was turned away. anything else was hardly to be expected. people had many things of much more importance to think of. finally the story came to an old place called mårbacka. it was a little homestead, with low buildings overshadowed by giant trees. at one time it had been a parsonage, and it was as if this had set a certain stamp upon the place which it could not lose. they seemed to have a greater love for books and reading there than elsewhere, and a certain air of restfulness and peace always pervaded it. there rushing with duties and bickering with servants were never met with, nor was hatred or dissension given house room, either. one who happened to be a guest there was not allowed to take life too seriously, but had to feel that his first duty was to be light-hearted and believe that for one and all who lived on this estate our lord managed everything for the best. as i think of the matter now, i apprehend that the story of which i am speaking must have lingered thereabouts a great many years during its vain longing to be told. it seems to me as though it must have enwrapped the place, as a mist shrouds a mountain summit, now and then letting one of the adventures of which it consisted rain down upon it. they came in the form of strange ghost stories about the superintendent of the foundries, who always had black bulls hitched to his wagon when he drove home at night from a revel. and in his home the evil one himself used to sit in the rocker and rock while the wife sat at the piano and played. they came as true stories from the neighboring homestead, where crows had persecuted the mistress until she didn't dare venture outside the door; from the captain's house, where they were so poor that everything had to be borrowed; from the little cottage down by the church, where there lived a lot of young and old girls who had all fallen in love with the handsome organ builder. sometimes the dear adventures came to the homestead in an even more tangible form. aged and poverty-stricken army officers would drive up to the doorstep behind rickety old horses and in rickety carryalls. they would stop and visit for weeks, and in the evenings, when the toddy had put courage into them, they would talk of the time when they had danced in stockingless shoes, so that their feet would look small, of how they had curled their hair and dyed their mustaches. one of them told how he had tried to take a pretty young girl back to her sweetheart and how he had been hunted by wolves on the way; another had been at the christmas feast where an angered guest had flung all the hazel-hens at the wall because some one had made him believe they were crows; a third had seen the old gentleman who used to sit at a plain board table and play beethoven. but the story could reveal its presence in still another way. in the attic hung the portrait of a lady with powdered hair, and when any one walked past it he was reminded that it was a portrait of the beautiful daughter of the count, who had loved her brother's young tutor, and had called to see him once when she was an old gray-haired lady and he an old married man. in the lumber room were heaped up bundles of documents containing deeds of purchase and leases signed by the great lady, who once ruled over seven foundries which had been willed to her by her lover. if one entered the church, one saw in a dusty little cabinet under the pulpit the chest filled with infidel manuscripts, which was not to be opened until the beginning of the new century. and not very far from the church is the river, at the bottom of which rests a pile of sacred images that were not allowed to remain in the pulpit and chancel they once had ornamented. it must have been because so many legends and traditions hovered around the farm that one of the children growing up there longed to become a narrator. it was not one of the boys. they were not at home very much, for they were away at their schools almost the whole year; so the story did not get much of a hold upon them. but it was one of the girls--one who was delicate and could not romp and play like other children, but found her greatest enjoyment in reading and hearing stories about all the great and wonderful things which had happened in the world. however, at the start it was not the girl's intention to write about the stories and legends surrounding her. she hadn't the remotest idea that a book could be made of these adventures, which she had so often heard related that to her they seemed the most commonplace things in the world. when she tried to write, she chose material from her books, and with fresh courage she strung together stories of the sultans in "thousand and one nights," walter scott's heroes, and snorre sturleson's "kings of romance." surely it is needless to state that what she wrote was the least original and the crudest that has ever been put upon paper. but this very naturally she herself did not see. she went about at home on the quiet farm, filling every scrap of paper she could lay her hands on with verse and prose, with plays and romances. when she wasn't writing, she sat and waited for success. and success was to consist in this: some stranger who was very learned and influential, through some rare freak of fortune, was to come and discover what she had written and find it worth printing. after that, all the rest would come of itself. meanwhile nothing of the sort happened. and when the girl had passed her twentieth year, she began to grow impatient. she wondered why success did not come her way. perhaps she lacked knowledge. she probably needed to see a little more of the world than the homestead in vermland. and seeing that it would be a long time before she could earn her livelihood as an author, it was necessary for her to learn something--find some work in life--that she might have bread while she waited for herself. or maybe it was simply this--that the story had lost patience with her. perhaps it thought thus: "since this blind person does not see that which lies nearest her eyes, let her be forced to go away. let her tramp upon gray stone streets; let her live in cramped city rooms with no other outlook than gray stone walls; let her live among people who hide everything that is unusual in them and who appear to be all alike. it may perchance teach her to see that which is waiting outside the gate of her home--all that lives and moves between the stretch of blue hills which she has every day before her eyes." and so, one autumn, when she was two-and-twenty, she travelled up to stockholm to begin preparing herself for the vocation of teacher. the girl soon became absorbed in her work. she wrote no more, but went in for studies and lectures. it actually looked as though the story would lose her altogether. then something extraordinary happened. this same autumn, after she had been living a couple of months amidst gray streets and house walls, she was walking one day up malmskillnad street with a bundle of books under her arm. she had just come from a lecture on the history of literature. the lecture must have been about bellman and runeberg, because she was thinking of them and of the characters that live in their verses. she said to herself that runeberg's jolly warriors and bellman's happy-go-lucky roisterers were the very best material a writer could have to work with. and suddenly this thought flashed upon her: vermland, the world in which you have been living, is not less remarkable than that of fredman or fänrik stål. if you can only learn how to handle it, you will find that your material is quite as good as theirs. this is how it happened that she caught her first glimpse of the story. and the instant she saw it, the ground under her seemed to sway. the whole long malmskillnad street from hamn street hill to the fire-house rose toward the skies and sank again--rose and sank. she stood still a long while, until the street had settled itself. she gazed with astonishment at the passers-by, who walked calmly along, apparently oblivious to the miracle that had taken place. at that moment the girl determined that she would write the story of vermland's cavaliers, and never for an instant did she relinquish the thought of it; but many and long years elapsed before the determination was carried out. in the first place she had entered upon a new field of labor, and she lacked the time needful for the carrying out of a great literary work. in the second place she had failed utterly in her first attempts to write the story. during these years many things were constantly happening which helped mould it. one morning, on a school holiday, she was sitting at the breakfast-table with her father, and the two of them talked of old times. then he began telling of an acquaintance of his youth, whom he described as the most fascinating of men. this man brought joy and cheer with him wherever he went. he could sing; he composed music; he improvised verse. if he struck up a dance, it was not alone the young folk who danced, but old men and old women, high and low. if he made a speech, one had to laugh or cry, whichever he wished. if he drank himself full, he could play and talk better than when he was sober, and when he fell in love with a woman, it was impossible for her to resist him. if he did foolish things, one forgave him; if he was sad at times, one wanted to do anything and everything to see him glad again. but any great success in life he had never had, despite his wealth of talents. he had lived mostly at the foundries in vermland as private tutor. finally he was ordained as a minister. this was the highest that he had attained. after this conversation she could see the hero of her story better than heretofore, and with this a little life and action came into it. one fine day a name was given to the hero and he was called gösta berling. whence he got the name she never knew. it was as if he had named himself. another time, she came home to spend the christmas holidays. one evening the whole family went off to a christmas party a good distance from home in a terrible blizzard. it turned out to be a longer drive than one would have thought. the horse ploughed his way ahead at a walking pace. for several hours she sat there in the sleigh in the blinding snowstorm and thought of the story. when they arrived finally, she had thought out her first chapter. it was the one about the christmas night at the smithy. what a chapter! it was her first and for many years her only one. it was first written in verse, for the original plan was that it should be a romance cycle, like "fänrik stål's sagas." but by degrees this was changed, and for a time the idea was that it should be written as drama. then the christmas night was worked over to go in as the first act. but this attempt did not succeed, either; at last she decided to write the story as a novel. then the chapter was written in prose. it grew enormously long, covering forty written pages. the last time it was rewritten it took up only nine. after a few more years came a second chapter. it was the story of the ball at borg and of the wolves that hunted gösta berling and anna stjernhök. in the beginning this chapter was not written with the thought that it could come into the story, but as a sort of chance composition to be read at a small social gathering. the reading, however, was postponed, and the novelette was sent to _dagny_. after a time the story was returned as unavailable for the magazine. it was in reality not available anywhere. as yet it was altogether lacking in artistic smoothness. meanwhile the author wondered to what purpose this unluckily born novelette could be turned. should she put it into the story? to be sure, it was an adventure by itself--and ended. it would look odd among the rest, which were better connected. perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea, she thought then, if all the chapters of the story were like this one--almost finished adventures? this would be difficult to carry out, but it might possibly be done. there would doubtless be gaps in the continuity here and there, but that should give to the book great strength and variety. now two important matters were settled: the story was to be a novel, and each chapter should be complete in itself. but nothing much had been gained hereby. she who had been fired with the idea of writing the story of vermland's cavaliers when she was two-and-twenty, at this stage was nearing the thirties and had not been able to write more than two chapters. where had the years gone? she had been graduated from the teachers' college and for several years past had been a teacher at landskrona. she had become interested in much and had been occupied with many things, but the story was just as unwritten. a mass of material had certainly been collected, but why was it so hard for her to write it down? why did the inspiration never come to her? why did the pen glide so slowly over the paper? she certainly had her dark moments at that time! she began to think that she never would finish her novel. she was that servant who buried his talent in the ground and never tried to use it. as a matter of fact, all this occurred during the eighties, when stern realism was at its height. she admired the great masters of that time, never thinking that one could use any other style in writing than the one they employed. for her own part, she liked the romanticists better, but romanticism was dead, and she was hardly the one to think of reviving its form and expression! although her brain was filled to overflowing with stories of ghosts and mad love, of wondrously beautiful women and adventure-loving cavaliers, she tried to write about it in calm, realistic prose. she was not very clear-visioned. another would have seen that the impossible was impossible. once she wrote a couple of chapters in another style. one was a scene from svartsjö churchyard; the other was about the old philosopher, uncle eberhard, and his infidel manuscripts. she scribbled them mostly in fun, with many ohs and ahs in the prose, which made it almost rhythmical. she perceived that in this vein she could write. there was inspiration in this--she could feel it. but when the two short chapters were finished, she laid them aside. they were only written in fun. one could not write a whole book in that vein. but now the story had been waiting long enough. it thought, no doubt, as it did at the time when it sent her out in the world: "again i must send this blinded person a great longing which will open her eyes." the longing came over her in this manner: the homestead where she had grown up was sold. she journeyed to the home of her childhood to see it once again before strangers should occupy it. the evening before she left there, perhaps nevermore to see the dear old place, she concluded in all meekness and humility to write the book in her own way and according to her own poor abilities. it was not going to be any great masterwork, as she had hoped. it might be a book at which people would laugh, but anyway she would write it--write it for herself, to save for herself what she could still save of the home--the dear old stories, the sweet peace of the care-free days, and the beautiful landscape with the long lakes and the many-hued blue hills. but for her, who had hoped that she might yet learn to write a book people would care to read, it seemed as though she had relinquished the very thing in life she had been most eager to win. it was the hardest sacrifice she had made thus far. a few weeks later, she was again at her home in landskrona, seated at her writing-desk. she began writing--she didn't know exactly what it was to be--but she was not going to be afraid of the strong words, the exclamations, the interrogations, nor would she be afraid to give herself with all her childishness and all her dreams! after she had come to this decision, the pen began to move almost by itself. this made her quite delirious. she was carried away with enthusiasm. ah, this was writing! unfamiliar thoughts and things, or, rather, things she never had surmised were stored away in her brain, crowded down upon the paper. the pages were filled with a haste of which she had never dreamed. what had hitherto required months--no, years--to work out, was now accomplished in a couple of hours. that evening she wrote the story of the young countess' tramp over the ice on river löven, and the flood at ekeby. the following afternoon she wrote the scene in which the gouty ensign, rutger von Örneclou, tries to raise himself in bed to dance the cachuca, and the evening of the next day appeared the story of the old _mamsell_ who went off to visit the parsimonious broby clergyman. now she knew for certain that in this style she could write the book; but she was just as certain that no one would have the patience to read it through. however, not many chapters let themselves be written like this--in one breath. most of them required long and arduous labor, and there were only little snatches of time in the afternoons which she could devote to authorship. when she had been writing about half a year, reckoning from the day when she had gone in for romanticism with a vengeance, about a dozen chapters were written. at this rate the book would be finished in three or four years. it was in the spring of this year, , that _idun_ invited prize competitors to send in short novelettes of about one hundred printed pages. this was an outlet for a story that wanted to be told and sent into the world. it must have been the story itself that prompted her sister to suggest to her that she make use of this opportunity. here, at last, was a way of finding out if her story was so hopelessly bad! if it received the prize, much would be gained; if it didn't, she simply stood in exactly the same position as before. she had nothing against the idea, but she had so little faith in herself that she couldn't come to any conclusion. finally, just eight days before the time for submitting manuscripts had expired, she decided to take from the novel five chapters which were sufficiently well connected to pass for a novelette, and chance it with these. but the chapters were far from ready. three of them were loosely written, but of the remaining two there was barely an outline. then the whole thing must be legibly copied, of course. to add to this, she was not at home just then, but was visiting her sister and brother-in-law, who still lived in vermland. and one who has come to visit with dear friends for a short time cannot spend the days at a writing-desk. she wrote therefore at night, sitting up the whole week until four in the mornings. finally there were only twenty-four hours of the precious time left, and there were still twenty pages to be written. on this the last day they were invited out. the whole family were going on a little journey to be gone for the night. naturally, she had to accompany the rest. when the party was over and the guests dispersed, she sat up all night writing in the strange place. at times she felt very queer. the place where she was visiting was the very estate on which the wicked sintram had lived. fate, in a singular way, had brought her there on the very night when she must write about him who sat in the rocker and rocked. now and then she looked up from her work and listened in the direction of the drawing-room for the possible sound of a pair of rockers in motion. but nothing was heard. when the clock struck six the next morning, the five chapters were finished. along in the forenoon they travelled home on a little freight steamer. there her sister did up the parcel, sealed it with sealing-wax, which had been brought from home for this purpose, wrote the address, and sent off the novelette. this happened on one of the last days in july. toward the end of august _idun_ contained a notice to the effect that something over twenty manuscripts had been received by the editors, but that one or two among them were so confusedly written they could not be counted in. then she gave up waiting for results. she knew, of course, which novelette was so confusedly written that it could not be counted in. one afternoon in november she received a curious telegram. it contained simply the words "hearty congratulations," and was signed by three of her college classmates. for her it was a terribly long wait until dinner-time of the following day, when the stockholm papers were distributed. when the paper was in her hands, she had to search long without finding anything. finally, on the last page she found a little notice in fine print which told that the prize had been awarded to her. to another it might not have meant so much, perhaps, but for her it meant that she could devote herself to the calling which all her life she had longed to follow. there is but little to add to this: the story that wanted to be told and sent out in the world was now fairly near its destination. now it was to be written, at least, even though it might take a few years more before it was finished. she who was writing it had gone up to stockholm around christmas time, after she had received the prize. the editor of _idun_ volunteered to print the book as soon as it was finished. if she could ever find time to write it! the evening before she was to return to landskrona, she spent with her loyal friend, baroness adlersparre[ ], to whom she read a few chapters aloud. [footnote : baroness adlersparre--pen name, esselde--was a noted swedish writer, publisher, and philanthropist, and a contemporary of fredrika bremer.] "esselde" listened, as only she could listen, and she became interested. after the reading she sat silently and pondered. "how long will it be before all of it is ready?" she asked finally. "three or four years." then they parted. the next morning, two hours before she was to leave stockholm, a message came from esselde bidding her come to her before the departure. the old baroness was in her most positive and determined mood. "now you must take a leave of absence for a year and finish the book. i shall procure the money." fifteen minutes later the girl was on her way to the principal of the teachers' college to ask her assistance in securing a substitute. at one o'clock she was happily seated in the railway carriage. but now she was going no farther than sörmland, where she had good friends who lived in a charming villa. and so they--otto gumaelius and his wife--gave her the freedom of their home--freedom to work, and peace, and the best of care for nearly a year, until the book was finished. now, at last, she could write from morning till night. it was the happiest time of her life. but when the story was finished at the close of the summer, it looked queer. it was wild and disordered, and the connecting threads were so loose that all the parts seemed bent upon following their old inclination to wander off, each in its own way. it never became what it should have been. its misfortune was that it had been compelled to wait so long to be told. if it was not properly disciplined and restrained, it was mostly because the author was so overjoyed in the thought that at last she had been privileged to write it. * * * * * books by the same author jerusalem, a novel (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) christ legends (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) wonderful adventures of nils (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) further adventures of nils (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) girl from the marsh croft (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) legend of the sacred image (_trans. from swedish by velma swanston howard_) miracles of antichrist (_trans. from swedish by pauline bancroft flach_) story of gÖsta berling (_trans. from swedish by pauline bancroft flach_) from a swedish homestead (_trans. from swedish by jessie bröchner_) additional information about the original edition. the treasure by selma lagerlof contents i. at solberga parsonage ii. on the quays iii. the messenger iv. in the moonlight v. haunted vi. in the town cellars vii. unrest viii. sir archie's flight ix. over the ice x. the roar of the waves because the foreword contains key elements about the end of the book, it is located at the end of the e-text. chapter i at solberga parsonage in the days when king frederik the second of denmark ruled over bohuslen [footnote: frederik the second reigned from to . at that time, bohuslen, now a province of southwest sweden, formed part of norway and was under the danish crown.--trans.] there dwelt at marstrand a poor hawker of fish, whose name was torarin. this man was infirm and of humble condition; he had a palsied arm, which made him unfit to take his place in a boat for fishing or pulling an oar. as he could not earn his livelihood at sea like all the other men of the skerries, he went about selling salted and dried fish among the people of the mainland. not many days in the year did he spend at home; he was constantly on the road from one village to another with his load of fish. one february day, as dusk was drawing on, torarin came driving along the road which led from kungshall up to the parish of solberga. the road was a lonely one, altogether deserted, but this was no reason for torarin to hold his tongue. beside him on the sledge he had a trusty friend with whom to chat. this was a little black dog with shaggy coat, and torarin called him grim. he lay still most of the time, with his head sunk between his feet, and answered only by blinking to all his master said. but if his ear caught anything that displeased him, he stood up on the load, put his nose in the air, and howled worse than a wolf. "now i must tell you, grim, my dog," said torarin, "that i have heard great news today. they told me both at kungshall and at kareby that the sea was frozen. fair, calm weather it has been this long while, as you well know, who have been out in it every day; and they say the sea is frozen fast not only in the creeks and sounds, but far out over the cattegat. there is no fairway now for ship or boat among the islands, nothing but firm, hard ice, so that a man may drive with horse and sledge as far as marstrand and paternoster skerries." to all this the dog listened, and it seemed not to displease him. he lay still and blinked at torarin. "we have no great store of fish left on our load," said torarin, as though trying to talk him over. "what would you say to turning aside at the next crossways and going westward where the sea lies? we shall pass by solberga church and down to odsmalskil, and after that i think we have but seven or eight miles to marstrand. it would be a fine thing if we could reach home for once without calling for boat or ferry." they drove on over the long moor of kareby, and although the weather had been calm all day, a chill breeze came sweeping across the moor, to the discomfort of the traveller. "it may seem like softness to go home now when trade is at its best," said torarin, flinging out his arms to warm them. "but we have been on the road for many weeks, you and i, and have a claim to sit at home a day or two and thaw the cold out of our bodies." as the dog continued to lie still, torarin seemed to grow more sure of his ground, and he went on in a more cheerful tone: "mother has been left alone in the cottage these many days. i warrant she longs to see us. and marstrand is a fine town in winter-time, grim, with streets and alleys full of foreign fishermen and chapmen. there will be dancing in the wharves every night of the week. and all the ale that will be flowing in the taverns! that is a thing beyond your understanding." as torarin said this he bent down over the dog to see whether he was listening to what was said to him. but as the dog lay there wide awake and made no sign of displeasure, torarin turned off at the first road that led westward to the sea. he flicked the horse with the slack of the reins and made it quicken its pace. "since we shall pass by solberga parsonage," said torarin, "i will even put in there and ask if it be true that the ice bears as far as to marstrand. the folk there must know how it is." torarin had said these words in a low voice, without thinking whether the dog was listening or not. but scarcely were the words uttered when the dog stood up on the load and raised a terrible howl. the horse made a bound to one side, and torarin himself was startled and looked about him to see whether wolves were in pursuit. but when he found it was grim who was howling, he tried to calm him. "what now?" he said to him. "how many times have you and i driven into the parson's yard at solberga! i know not whether herr arne [footnote: at the time of this story "herr" was a title roughly corresponding to "sir."--trans.] can tell us how it is with the ice, but i will be bound he'll give us a good supper before we set out on our sea voyage." but his words were not able to quiet the dog, who raised his muzzle and howled more dismally than ever. at this torarin himself was not far from yielding to an uncanny feeling. it had now grown almost dark, but still torarin could see solberga church and the wide plain around it, which was sheltered by broad wooded heights to landward and by bare, rounded rocks toward the sea. as he drove on in solitude over the vast white plain, he felt he was a wretched little worm, while from the dark forests and the mountain wastes came troops of great monsters and trolls of every kind venturing into the open country on the fall of darkness. and in the whole great plain there was none other for them to fall upon than poor torarin. but at the same time he tried again to quiet the dog. "bless me, what is your quarrel with herr arne? he is the richest man in the country. he is of noble birth, and had he not been a priest there would have been a great lord of him." but this could not avail to bring the dog to silence. then torarin lost patience, so that he took grim by the scruff of the neck and threw him off the sledge. the dog did not follow him as he drove on, but stood still upon the road and howled without ceasing until torarin drove under a dark archway into the yard of the parsonage, which was surrounded on its four sides by long, low wooden buildings. ii at solberga parsonage the priest, herr arne, sat at supper surrounded by all his household. there was no stranger present but torarin. herr arne was an old white-haired man, but he was still powerful and erect. his wife sat beside him. to her the years had been unkind; her head and her hands trembled, and she was nearly deaf. on herr arne's other side sat his curate. he was a pale young man with a look of trouble in his face, as though he was unable to support all the learning he had gathered in during his years of study at wittenberg. these three sat at the head of the table, a little apart from the rest. below them sat torarin, and then the servants, who were old like their master. there were three serving-men; their heads were bald, their backs bent, and their eyes blinked and watered. of women there were but two. they were somewhat younger and more able-bodied than the men, yet they too had a fragile look and were afflicted with the infirmities of age. at the farthest end of the table sat two children. one of them was herr arne's niece, a child of no more than fourteen years. she was fair-haired and of delicate build; her face had not yet reached its fullness, but had a promise of beauty in it. she had another little maid sitting beside her, a poor orphan without father or mother, who had been given a home at the parsonage. the two sat close together on the bench, and it could be seen that there was great friendship between them. all these folk sat at meat in the deepest silence. torarin looked from one to another, but none was disposed to talk during the meal. all the old servants thought to themselves: "it is a goodly thing to be given food and to be spared the sufferings of want and hunger, which we have known so often in our lives. while we are eating we ought to have no thought but of giving thanks to god for his goodness." since torarin found no one to talk to, his glance wandered up and down the room. he turned his eyes from the great stove, built up in many stages beside the entrance door, to the lofty four-post bed which stood in the farthest corner of the room. he looked from the fixed benches that ran round the room to the hole in the roof, through which the smoke escaped and wintry air poured in. as torarin the fish hawker, who lived in the smallest and poorest cabin on the outer isles, looked upon all these things, he thought: "were i a great man like herr arne i would not be content to live in an ancient homestead with only one room. i should build myself a house with high gables and many chambers, like those of the burgomasters and aldermen of marstrand." but more often than not torarin's eyes rested upon a great oaken chest which stood at the foot of the four-post bed. and he looked at it so long because he knew that in it herr arne kept all his silver moneys, and he had heard they were so many that they filled the chest to the very lid. and torarin, who was so poor that he hardly ever had a silver piece in his pocket, said to himself: "and yet i would not have all that money. they say herr arne took it from the great convents that were in the land in former days, and that the old monks foretold that this money would bring him misfortune." while yet these thoughts were in the mind of torarin, he saw the old mistress of the house put her hand to her ear to listen. and then she turned to herr arne and asked him: "why are they whetting knives at branehog?" so deep was the silence in the room that when the old lady asked this question all gave a start and looked up in fright. when they saw that she was listening for something, they kept their spoons quiet and strained their ears. for some moments there was dead stillness in the room, but while it lasted the old woman became more and more uneasy. she laid her hand on herr arne's arm and asked him: "how can it be that they are whetting such long knives at branehog this evening?" torarin saw that herr arne stroked her hand to calm her. but he was in no mind to answer and ate on calmly as before. the old woman still sat listening. tears came into her eyes from terror, and her hands and her head trembled more and more violently. then the two little maids who sat at the end of the table began to weep with fear. "can you not hear them scraping and filing?" asked the old mistress. "can you not hear them hissing and grating?" herr arne sat still, stroking his wife's hand. as long as he kept silence no other dared utter a word. but they were all assured that their old mistress had heard a thing that was terrifying and boded ill. all felt the blood curdling in their veins. no one at the table raised a bit of food to his mouth, except old herr arne himself. they were thinking of the old mistress, how it was she who for so many years had had charge of the household. she had always stayed at home and watched with wise and tender care over children and servants, goods and cattle, so that all had prospered. now she was worn out and stricken in years, but still it was likely that she and none other should feel a danger that threatened the house. the old lady grew more and more terrified. she clasped her hands in her helplessness and began to weep so sorely that the big tears ran down her shrunken cheeks. "is it nothing to you, arne arneson, that i am so sore afraid?" she complained. herr arne bent his head to her and said: "i know not what it is that affrights you." "i am in fear of the long knives they are whetting at branehog," she said. "how can you hear them whetting knives at branehog?" said herr arne, smiling. "the place lies two miles from here. take up your spoon again and let us finish our supper." the old woman made an effort to overcome her terror. she took up her spoon and dipped it in the milk bowl, but in doing it her hand shook so that all could hear the spoon rattle against the edge. she put it down again at once. "how can i eat?" she said. "do i not hear the whining of the whetstone, do i not hear it grating?" at this herr arne thrust the milk bowl away from him and clasped his hands. all the others did the same, and the curate began to say grace. when this was ended, herr arne looked down at those who sat along the table, and when he saw that they were pale and frightened, he was angry. he began to speak to them of the days when he had lately come to bohuslen to preach the lutheran doctrine. then he and his servants were forced to fly from the papists like wild beasts before the hunter. "have we not seen our enemies lie in wait for us as we were on our way to the house of god? have we not been driven out of the parsonage, and have we not been compelled to take to the woods like outlaws? does it beseem us to play the coward and give ourselves up for lost on account of an evil omen?" as herr arne said this he looked like a valiant champion, and the others took heart anew on hearing him. "ay, it is true," they thought. "god has protected herr arne through the greatest perils. he holds his hand over him. he will not let his servant perish." iii as soon as torarin drove out upon the road his dog grim came up to him and jumped up on to the load. when torarin saw that the dog had been waiting outside the parsonage his uneasiness came back. "what, grim, why do you stay outside the gate all the evening? why did you not go into the house and have your supper?" he said to the dog. "can there be aught of ill awaiting herr arne? maybe i have seen him for the last time. but even a strong man like him must one day die, and he is near ninety years old." he guided his horse into a road which led past the farm of branehog to odsmalskil. when he was come to branehog he saw sledges standing in the yard and lights shining through the cracks of the closed shutters. then torarin said to grim: "these folks are still up. i will go in and ask if they have been sharpening knives here tonight." he drove into the farmyard, but when he opened the door of the house he saw that a feast was being held. upon the benches by the wall sat old men drinking ale, and in the middle of the room the young people played and sang. torarin saw at once that no man here thought of making his weapon ready for a deed of blood. he slammed the door again and would have gone his way, but the host came after him. he asked torarin to stay, since he had come, and led him into the room. torarin sat for a good while enjoying himself and chatting with the peasants. they were in high good humour, and torarin was glad to be rid of all his gloomy thoughts. but torarin was not the only latecomer to the feast that evening. long after him a man and a woman entered the door. they were poorly clad and lingered bashfully in the corner between door and fireplace. the host at once came forward to his two guests. he took the hand of each and led them up the room. then he said to the others: "is it not truly said that the shorter the way the more the delay? these are our nearest neighbors. branehog had no other tenants besides them and me." "say rather there are none but you," said the man. "you cannot call me a tenant. i am only a poor charcoal-burner whom you have allowed to settle on your land." the man seated himself beside torarin and they began to converse. the newcomer told torarin how it was he came so late to the feast. it was because their cabin had been visited by three strangers whom they durst not leave, three journeymen tanners who had been with them all day. when they came in the morning they were worn out and ailing; they said they had lost their way in the forest and had wandered about for a whole week. but after they had eaten and slept they soon recovered their strength, and when evening came they had asked which was the greatest and richest house thereabout, for thither they would go and seek for work. the wife had answered that the parsonage, where herr arne dwelt, was the best place. then at once they had taken long knives out of their packs and begun to sharpen them. they were at this a good while, with such ferocious looks that the charcoal-burner and his wife durst not leave their home. "i can still see them as they sat grinding their knives," said the man. "they looked terrible with their great beards that had not been cut or tended for many a day, and they were clad in rough coats of skin, which were tattered and befouled. i thought i had three werewolves in the house with me, and i was glad when at last they took themselves off." when torarin heard this he told the charcoal-burner what he himself had witnessed at the parsonage. "so it was true enough that this night they whetted knives at branehog," said torarin, laughing. he had drunk deeply, because of the sorrow and heaviness that were upon him when he came, seeking to comfort himself as best he could. "now i am of good cheer again," said he, "since i am well assured it was no evil omen the parson's lady heard, but only these tanners making ready their gear." iv long after midnight a couple of men came out of the house at branehog to harness their horses and drive home. when they had come into the yard they saw a great fire flaring up against the sky in the north. they hastened back into the house and cried out: "come out! come out! solberga parsonage is on fire!" there were many folks at the feast, and those who had a horse leapt upon his back and made haste to the parsonage; but those who had to run with their own swift feet were there almost as soon. when the people came to the parsonage nobody was to be seen, nor was there any sign of movement; all seemed to be asleep, though the flames rose high into the air. yet it was none of the houses that burned, but a great pile of wood and straw and faggots that had been stacked against the wall of the old dwelling. it had not been burning long. the flames had done no more than blacken the sound timber of the wall and melt the snow on the thatched roof. but now they had begun to take hold of the thatch. everyone saw at once that this was arson. they began to wonder whether herr arne and his wife were really asleep, or whether some evil had befallen them. but before the rescuers entered the house they took long poles and pulled away the burning faggots from the wall and clambered up to the roof to tear off the thatch, which had begun to smoke and was ready to catch fire. then some of the men went to the door of the house to enter and call herr arne; but when the first man came to the threshold he turned aside and made way for him who came next. the second man took a step forward, but as he was about to grasp the door-handle he turned away and made room for those who stood behind him. it seemed a ghastly door to open, for a broad stream of blood trickled over the threshold and the handle was besmeared with blood. then the door opened in their faces and herr arne's curate came out. he staggered toward the men with a deep wound in his head, and he was drenched with blood. for an instant he stood upright and raised his hand to command silence. whereupon he spoke with the death rattle in his voice: "this night herr arne and all his household have been murdered by three men who climbed down through the smoke-hole in the roof and were clad in rough skins. they threw themselves upon us like wild beasts and slew us." he could utter no more. he fell down at the men's feet and was dead. they then entered the room and found all as the curate had said. the great oaken chest in which herr arne kept his money was gone, and herr arne's horse had been taken from the stable and his sledge from the shed. sledge tracks led from the yard across the glebe meadows down to the sea, and twenty men hastened away to seize the murderers. but the women set themselves to laying out the dead and carried them from the bloody room out upon the pure snow. not all of herr arne's household could be found; there was one missing. it was the poor little maid whom herr arne had taken into his house. there was much wondering whether, perchance, she had been able to escape, or whether the robbers had taken her with them. but when they made careful search through the room they found her hidden away between the great stove and the wall. she had kept herself concealed there throughout the struggle and had taken no hurt at all, but she was so sick with terror that she could neither speak nor answer a question. chapter ii on the quays the poor maid who had escaped the butchery had been taken by torarin to marstrand. he had conceived so great pity for her that he had offered her lodging in his cramped cabin and a share of the food which he and his mother ate. "this is the only thing i can do for herr arne," thought torarin, "in return for all the times he has bought my fish and allowed me to sit at his table." "poor and lowly as i am," thought torarin, "it is better for the maid that she go with me to the town than that she stay here among the country folk. in marstrand are many rich burgesses, and perhaps the young maid may take service with one of them and so be well cared for." when first the girl came to the town she sat and wept from morning to night. she bewailed herr arne and his household, and lamented that she had lost all who were dear to her. most of all she wept for her foster sister, and said she wished she had not hidden herself against the wall, so that she might have shared death with her. torarin's mother said nothing to this so long as her son was at home. but when he had gone on his travels again she said one morning to the girl: "i am not rich enough, elsalill, to give you food and clothing that you may sit with your hands in your lap and nurse your sorrow. come with me down to the quays and learn to clean fish." so elsalill went with her down to the quays and stood all day working among the other fish cleaners. but most of the women on the quays were young and merry. they began to talk to elsalill and asked her why she was so silent and sorrowful. then elsalill began to tell them of the terrible thing that had befallen her no more than three nights ago. she spoke of the three robbers who had broken into the house by the smoke-hole in the roof and murdered all who were near and dear to her. as elsalill told her tale a black shadow fell across the table at which she worked. and when she looked up three fine gentlemen stood before her, wearing broad hats with long feathers and velvet clothes with great puffs, embroidered in silk and gold. one of them seemed to be of higher rank than the others; he was very pale, his chin was shaven, and his eyes sat deep in his head. he looked as though he had lately been ill. but in all else he seemed a gay and bold-faced cavalier, who walked on the sunny quays to show his fine clothes and his handsome face. elsalill broke off both work and story. she stood looking at him with open mouth and staring eyes. and he smiled at her. "we are not come hither to frighten you, mistress," said he, "but to beg that we too may listen to your tale." poor elsalill! never in her life had she seen such a man. she felt she could not speak in his presence; she merely held her peace and cast her eyes upon her work. the stranger began again: "be not afraid of us, mistress! we are scotsmen who have been in the service of king john of sweden ten full years, but now have taken our discharge and are bound for home. we have come to marstrand to find a ship for scotland, but when we came hither we found every channel and firth frozen over, and here we must bide and wait. we have no business to employ us, and therefore we range about the quays to meet whom we may. we should be happy, mistress, if you would let us hear your tale." elsalill knew that he had talked thus long to let her recover from her emotion. at last she thought to herself: "you can surely show that you are not too homely to speak to a noble gentleman, elsalill! for you are a maiden of good birth and no fisher lass." "i was but telling of the great butchery at solberga parsonage," said elsalill. "there are so many who have heard that story." "yes," said the stranger, "but i did not know till now that any of herr arne's household had escaped alive." then elsalill told once more of the wild robbers' deed. she spoke of how the old serving-men had gathered about herr arne to protect him and how herr arne himself had snatched his sword from the wall and pressed upon the robbers, but they had overcome them all. and the old mistress had taken up her husband's sword and set upon the robbers, but they had only laughed at her and felled her to the floor with a billet of wood. and all the other women had crouched against the wall of the stove, but when the men were dead the robbers came and pulled them down and slew them. "the last they slew," said elsalill, "was my dear foster sister. she begged for life so piteously, and two of them would have let her live; but the third said that all must die, and he thrust his knife into her heart." while elsalill was speaking of murder and blood the three men stood still before her. they did not exchange a glance with each other, but their ears grew long with listening, and their eyes sparkled, and sometimes their lips parted so that the teeth glistened. elsalill's eyes were full of tears; not once did she look up whilst she was speaking. she did not see that the man before her had the eyes and teeth of a wolf. only when she had finished speaking did she dry her eyes and look up at him. but when he met elsalill's glance his face changed in an instant. "since you have seen the murderers so well, mistress," said he, "you would doubtless know them again if you met them?" "i have no more than seen them by the light of the brands they snatched from the hearth to light their murdering," said elsalill; "but with god's help i'll surely know them again. and i pray to god daily that i may meet them." "what mean you by that, mistress?" asked the stranger. "is it not true that the murderous vagabonds are dead?" "indeed, i have heard so," said elsalill. "the peasants who set out after them followed their tracks from the parsonage down to a hole in the ice. thus far they saw tracks of sledge-runners upon the smooth ice, tracks of a horse's hoofs, tracks of men with heavy nailed boots. but beyond the hole no tracks led on across the ice, and therefore the peasants supposed them all dead." "and do you not believe them dead, elsalill?" asked the stranger. "oh, yes, i think they must be drowned," said elsalill; "and yet i pray to god daily that they may have escaped. i speak to god in this wise: 'let it be so that they have only driven the horse and the sledge into the hole, but have themselves escaped.'" "why do you wish this, elsalill?" asked the stranger. the tender maid elsalill, she flung back her head and her eyes shone like fire. "i would they were alive that i might find them out and seize them. i would they were alive that i might tear their hearts out. i would they were alive that i might see their bodies quartered and spiked upon the wheel." "how do you think to bring all this about?" said the stranger. "for you are only a weak little maid." "if they were living," said elsalill, "i should surely bring their punishment upon them. rather would i go to my death than let them go free. strong and mighty they may be, i know it, but they would not be able to escape me." at this the stranger smiled upon her, but elsalill stamped her foot. "if they were living, should i not remember that they have taken my home from me, so that i am now a poor lass, compelled to stand here on the cold quay and clean fish? should i not remember that they have slain all those near to me, and should i not remember most of all the man who plucked my foster sister from the wall and slew her who was so dear to me?" but when the tender little maid gave proof of such great wrath, the three scottish campaigners burst out laughing. so full of merriment were they that they went off, lest elsalill might take offence. they walked across the harbour and up a narrow alley which led to the market-place. but long after they were out of sight elsalill heard their roars of loud and scornful laughter. chapter iii the messenger a week after his death herr arne was buried in solberga church, and on the same day an inquest was held upon the murder in the assize house at branehog. now herr arne's fame was such throughout bohuslen, and so many people came together on the day of his funeral, both from the mainland and the islands, that it was as though an army had assembled about its leader. and so great a concourse moved between solberga church and branehog that toward evening not an inch of snow could be seen that had not been trampled by men's feet. but late in the evening, when all had gone their ways, came torarin the fish hawker driving along the road from branehog to solberga. torarin had talked with many men in the course of the day; again and again had he told the story of herr arne's death. he had been well entertained too at the assize and had been made to empty many a mug of ale with travellers from afar. torarin felt dull and heavy and lay down upon his load. it saddened him to think that herr arne was gone, and as he approached the parsonage a yet more grievous thought began to torment him. "grim, my dog," he said, "had i believed that warning of the knives i might have warded off the whole disaster. i often think of that, grim, my dog. it disquiets my spirit, i feel as though i had had a part in taking herr arne's life. now remember what i say--next time i hear such a thing i will hold it true and be guided by it!" now while torarin lay dozing upon his load with eyes half closed, his horse went on as he pleased, and on coming to solberga parsonage he turned into the yard from old habit and went up to the stable door, torarin being all unwitting. only with the stopping of the sledge did he rise up and look about him; and then he fell a-shuddering, when he saw that he was in the yard of a house where so many people had been murdered no more than a week before. he seized the reins at once to turn his horse and drive into the road again, but at that moment he felt a hand upon his shoulder and looked round. beside him stood old olof the groom, who had served at the parsonage as long as torarin could remember. "have you such haste to leave our house tonight, torarin?" said the man. "let be and come indoors! herr arne sits there waiting for you." a thousand thoughts came into torarin's head. he knew not whether he was dreaming or awake. olof the groom, whom he saw standing alive and well beside him, he had seen a week before lying dead amongst the others with a great wound in his throat. torarin took a firmer hold of the reins. he thought the best thing for him was to make off as soon as he could. but olof the groom's hand still lay upon his shoulder, and the old fellow gave him no peace. torarin racked his brains to find an excuse. "i had no thought of coming to disturb herr arne so late in the evening," said he. "my horse turned in here whilst i was unaware. i will go now and find a lodging for the night. if herr arne wishes to see me, i can well come again tomorrow." with this torarin bent forward and struck his horse with the slack of the reins to make him move off. but at the same instant the parson's man was at the horse's head; he caught him by the bridle and forced him to stand still. "cease your obstinacy, torarin!" said the man. "herr arne is not yet gone to bed, he sits waiting for you. and you should know full well that you can have as good a night's lodging here as anywhere in the parish." torarin was about to answer that he could not be served with lodging in a roofless house. but before speaking he raised his eyes to the dwelling house, and then he saw that the old timber hall stood unharmed and stately as before the fire. and yet that very morning torarin had seen the naked rafters thrusting out into the air. he looked and looked and rubbed his eyes, but there was no doubt of it, the parsonage stood there unharmed, with thatch and snow upon its roof. he saw smoke and sparks streaming up through the louver, and rays of light gleaming through the illclosed shutters upon the snow. a man who travels far and wide on the cold highway knows no better sight than the gleam that steals out of a warm room. but the sight made torarin even more terrified than before. he whipped up his horse till he reared and kicked, but not a step would he go from the stable door. "come in with me, torarin!" said the groom. "i thought you had enough remorse already over this business." then torarin remembered the promise he had made himself on the road and, though a moment before he had stood up and lashed his horse furiously, he was now meek as a lamb. "well, olof groom, here am i!" he said, and sprang down from the sledge. "it is true that i wish to have no more remorse over this business. take me in to herr arne!" but it was with the heaviest steps he had ever known that torarin went across the yard to the house. when the door was opened torarin closed his eyes to avoid looking into the room, but he tried to take heart by thinking of herr arne. "he has given you many a good meal. he has bought your fish, even when his own larder was full. he has always shown you kindness in his lifetime, and assuredly he will not harm you after death. mayhap he has a service to ask of you. you must not forget, torarin, that we are to show gratitude to the dead as to the living." torarin opened his eyes and looked down the room. he saw the great hall just as he had seen it before. he recognized the high brick stove and the woven tapestries that hung upon the walls. but he glanced many times from wall to wall before daring to raise his eyes to the table and the bench where herr arne had been wont to sit. at last he looked there, and then he saw herr arne himself sitting in the flesh at the head of the table with his wife on one side and his curate on the other, as he had seen him a week before. he seemed to have just finished his meal, the dish was thrust away, and his spoon lay on the table before him. all the old men and women servants were sitting at the table, but only one of the young maids. torarin stood still a long time by the door and watched them that sat at table. they all looked anxious and mournful, and even herr arne was gloomy as the rest and supported his head in his hand. at last torarin saw him raise his head. "have you brought a stranger into the house with you, olof groom?" "yes," answered the man, "it is torarin the fish hawker, who has been this day at the assize at branehog." herr arne's looks seemed to grow more cheerful at this, and torarin heard him say: "come forward then, torarin, and give us news of the assize! i have sat here and waited for half the night." all this had such a real and natural air that torarin began to feel more and more courageous. he walked quite boldly across the room to herr arne, asking himself whether the murder was not an evil dream and whether herr arne was not in truth alive. but as torarin crossed the room, his eyes from old habit sought the four-post bed, beside which the great money chest used to stand. but the ironbound chest was no longer in its place, and when torarin saw that a shudder again passed through him. "now torarin is to tell us how things went at the assize today," said herr arne. torarin tried to do as he was bid and tell of the assize and the inquest, but he could command neither his lips nor his tongue, and his speech was faulty and stammering, so that herr arne stopped him at once. "tell me only the main thing, torarin. were our murderers found and punished?" "no, herr arne," torarin had the boldness to answer. "your murderers lie at the bottom of hakefjord. how would you have any take revenge on them?" when torarin returned this answer herr arne's old temper seemed to be kindled within him and he smote the table hard. "what is that you say, torarin? has the governor of bohus been here with judges and clerks and held assize and has no man had the wit to tell him where he may find my murderers?" "no, herr arne," answered torarin. "none among the living can tell him that." herr arne sat awhile with a frown on his brow, staring dismally before him. then he turned once more to torarin. "i know that you bear me affection, torarin. can you tell me how i may be revenged upon my murderers?" "i can well understand, herr arne," said torarin, "that you wish to be revenged upon those who so cruelly have deprived you of your life. but there is none amongst us who walk god's earth that can help you in this." herr arne fell into a deep brooding when he heard this answer. there was a long silence. after a while torarin ventured to put forward a request. "i have now fulfilled your desire, herr arne, and told you how it went at the assize. have you aught else to ask me, or will you now let me go?" "you are not to go, torarin," said herr arne, "until you have answered me once more whether none of the living can give us vengeance." "not if all the men in bohuslen and norway came together to be revenged upon your murderers would they be able to find them," said torarin. then said herr arne: "if the living cannot help us, we must help ourselves." with this herr arne began in a loud voice to say a paternoster, not in norse but in latin, as had been the use of the country before his time. and as he uttered each word of the prayer he pointed with his finger at one of those who sat with him at the table. he went through them all in this way many times, until he came to amen. and as he spoke this word his finger pointed at the young maid who was his niece. the young maid rose at once from the bench, and herr arne said to her: "you know what you have to do." then the young maiden lamented and said: "do not send me upon this errand! it is too heavy a charge to lay upon so tender a maid as i." "you shall assuredly go," said herr arne. "it is right that you go, since you have most to revenge. none of us has been robbed of so many years of life as you, who are the youngest among us." "i desire not to be revenged on any man," said the maiden. "you are to go at once," said herr arne. "and you will not be alone. you know that there are two among the living who sat with us here at table a week ago." but when torarin heard these words he thought they meant that herr arne charged him to contend with malefactors and murderers, and he cried out: "by the mercy of god i conjure you, herr arne--" at that moment it seemed to torarin that both herr arne and the parsonage vanished in a mist, and he himself sank down as though he had fallen from a giddy height, and with that he lost consciousness. when he came to himself again dawn was breaking and he saw that he was lying on the ground in the yard of solberga parsonage. his horse stood beside him with the sledge, and grim barked and howled over him. "it was all but a dream," said torarin; "now i see that. the house is deserted and in ruin. i have seen neither herr arne nor any other. but i was so startled by the dream that i fell off the load." chapter iv in the moonlight when herr arne had been dead a fortnight there came some nights of clear, bright moonlight, and one evening torarin was out with his sledge. he checked his horse time after time, as though he had difficulty in finding the way. yet he was not driving through any trackless forest, but upon what looked like a wide and open plain, above which rose a number of rocky knolls. the whole tract was covered with glittering white snow. it had fallen in calm weather and lay evenly, not in drifts and eddies. as far as the eye could see there was nothing but the same even plain and the same rocky knolls. "grim, my dog," said torarin, "if we saw this tonight for the first time we should think we were driving over a great heath. but still we should wonder that the ground was so even and the road free from stones and ruts. what sort of tract can this be, we should say, where there are neither ditches nor fences, and how comes it that no grass or bushes stick up through the snow? and why do we see no rivers and streams, which elsewhere are wont to draw their black furrows through the white fields even in the hardest frost?" torarin was delighted with these fancies, and grim too found pleasure in them. he did not move from his place on the load, but lay still and blinked. but just as torarin had finished speaking he drove past a lofty pole to which a broom was fastened. "if we were strangers here, grim, my dog," said torarin, "we might well ask ourselves what sort of heath this was, where they set up such marks as we use at sea. 'this can never be the sea itself?' we should say at last. but we should think it utterly impossible. this that lies so firm and fast, can this be only water? and all the rocky knolls that we see so firmly united, can they be only holms and skerries parted by the rolling waves? no, we should never believe it was possible, grim, my dog." torarin laughed and grim still lay quiet and did not stir. torarin drove on, until he rounded a high knoll. then he gave a cry as though he had seen something strange. he put on an air of great surprise, dropped the reins and clapped his hands. "grim, my dog, so you would not believe this was the sea! now you can tell what it is. stand up, and then you will see that there is a big ship lying before us! you would not recognize the beacons, but this you cannot mistake. now i think you will not deny that this is the sea itself we are driving over." torarin stayed still awhile longer as he gazed at a great vessel which lay frozen in. she looked altogether out of place as she lay with the smooth and even snowfields all about her. but when torarin saw a thin column of smoke rising from the vessel's poop he drove up and hailed the skipper to hear if he would buy his fish. he had but a few codfish left at the bottom of his load, since in the course of the day he had been round to all the vessels which were frozen in among the islands, and sold off his stock. on board were the skipper and his crew, and time was heavy on their hands. they bought fish of the hawker, not because they needed it, but to have someone to talk to. when they came down on to the ice, torarin put on an innocent air. he began to speak of the weather. "in the memory of man there has not been such fine weather as this year," said torarin. "for wellnigh three weeks we have had calm weather and hard frost. this is not what we are used to in the islands." but the skipper, who lay there with his great gallias full-laden with herring barrels, and who had been caught by the ice in a bay near marstrand just as he was ready to put to sea, gave torarin a sharp look and said: "so then you call this fine weather?" "what should i call it else?" said torarin, looking as innocent as a child. "the sky is clear and calm and blue, and the night is fair as the day. never before have i known the time when i could drive about the ice week after week. it is not often the sea freezes out here, and if once and again the ice has formed, there has always come a storm to break it up a few days after." the skipper still looked black and glum; he made no answer to all torarin's chat. then torarin began asking him why he never found his way to marstrand. "it is no more than an hour's walk over the ice," said torarin. but again he received no answer. torarin could see that the man feared to leave his ship an instant, lest he might not be at hand when the ice broke up. "seldom have i seen eyes so sick with longing," thought torarin. but the skipper, who had been held ice-bound among the skerries day after day, unable to hoist his sails and put to sea, had been busy the while with many thoughts, and he said to torarin: "you are a man who travels much abroad and hears much news of all that happens: can you tell me why god has barred the way to the sea so long this year, keeping us all in captivity?" as he said this torarin ceased to smile, but put on an ignorant air and said: "i cannot see what you mean by that." "well," said the skipper, "i once lay in the harbour of bergen a whole month, and a contrary wind blew all that time, so that no ship could come out. but on board one of the ships that lay there wind-bound was a man who had robbed churches, and he would have gone free but for the storm. now they had time to search him out, and as soon as he had been taken ashore there came good weather and a fair wind. now do you understand what i mean when i ask you to tell me why god keeps the gates of the sea barred?" torarin was silent awhile. he had a look as though he would make an earnest answer. but he turned it aside and said: "you have caught the melancholy with sitting here a prisoner among the skerries. why do you not come in to marstrand? i can tell you there is a merry life with hundreds of strangers in the town. they have naught else to do but drink and dance." "how can it be they are so merry there?" asked the skipper. "oh," said torarin, "there are all the seamen whose ships are frozen in like yours. there is a crowd of fishermen who had just finished their herring catch when the ice stayed them from sailing home. and there are a hundred scottish mercenaries discharged from service, who lie here waiting for a ship to carry them home to scotland. do you think all these men would hang their heads and lose the chance of making merry?" "ay, it may well be that they can divert themselves, but, as for me, i have a mind to stay out here." torarin gave him a rapid glance. the skipper was a tall man and thin; his eyes were bright and clear as water, with a melancholy look in them. "to make that man merry is more than i or any other can do," thought torarin. again the skipper began of his own accord to ask a question. "these scotsmen," he said, "are they honest folk?" "is it you, maybe, that are to take them over to scotland?" asked torarin. "well," said the skipper, "i have a cargo for edinburgh, and one of them was here but now and asked me would i take them. but i have small liking to sail with such wild companions aboard and i asked for time to think on it. have you heard aught of them? think you i may venture to take them?" "i have heard no more of them but that they are brave men. i doubt not but you may safely take them." but no sooner had torarin said this than his dog rose from the sledge, threw his nose in the air, and began to howl. torarin broke off his praises of the scotsmen at once. "what ails you now, grim, my dog?" he said. "do you think i stay here too long, wasting the time in talk?" he made ready to drive off. "well, god be with you all!" he cried. torarin drove in to marstrand by the narrow channel between klovero and koo. when he had come within sight of the town, he noticed that he was not alone on the ice. in the bright moonlight he saw a tall man of proud bearing walking in the snow. he could see that he wore a plumed hat and rich clothes with ample puffs. "hallo!" said torarin to himself; "there goes sir archie, the leader of the scots, who has been out this evening to bespeak a passage to scotland." torarin was so near to the man that he drove into the long shadow that followed him. his horse's hoofs were just touching the shadow of the hat plumes. "grim," said torarin, "shall we ask if he will drive with us to marstrand?" the dog began to bristle up at once, but torarin laid his hand upon his back. "be quiet, grim, my dog! i can see that you have no love for the scotsmen." sir archie had not noticed that any one was so close to him. he walked on without looking round. torarin turned very quietly to one side in order to pass him. but at that moment torarin saw behind the scottish gallant something that looked like another shadow. he saw something long and thin and gray, which floated over the white surface without leaving footprints in the snow or making it crunch. the scotsman advanced with long and rapid strides, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. but the gray shadow glided on behind him, so near that it seemed as though it would whisper something in his ear. torarin drove slowly on till he came abreast of them. then he could see the scotsman's face in the bright moonlight. he walked with a frown on his brow and seemed vexed, as though full of thoughts that displeased him. just as torarin drove past, he turned about and looked behind him as though aware of someone following. torarin saw plainly that behind sir archie stole a young maid in a long gray garment, but sir archie did not see her. when he turned his head she stood motionless, and sir archie's own shadow fell upon her, dark and broad, and hid her. sir archie turned again at once and pursued his way, and again the maiden hurried forward and made as though she would whisper in his ear. but when torarin saw this his terror was more than he could bear. he cried aloud and whipped up his horse, so that it brought him at full gallop and dripping with sweat to the door of his cabin. chapter v haunted the town with all its houses and buildings stood upon that side of marstrand island which looked to landward and was protected by a wreath of holms and islets. there people swarmed in its streets and alleys; there lay the harbour, full of ships and boats, the quays, with folk busy gutting and salting fish; there lay the church and churchyard, the market and town hall, and there stood many a lofty tree and waved its green branches in summer time. but upon that half of marstrand island which looked westward to the sea, unguarded by isles or skerries, there was nothing but bare and barren rocks and ragged headlands thrust out into the waves. heather there was in brown tufts and prickly thorn bushes, holes of the otter and the fox, but never a path, never a house or any sign of man. torarin's cabin stood high up on the ridge of the island, so that it had the town on one side and the wilderness on the other. and when elsalill opened her door she came out upon broad, naked slabs of rock, from which she had a wide view to the westward, even to the dark horizon of the open sea. all the seamen and fishermen who lay icebound at marstrand used to pass torarin's cabin to climb the rocks and look for any sign of the ice parting in the coves and sounds. elsalill stood many a time at the cottage door and followed with her eyes the men who mounted the ridge. she was sick at heart from the great sorrow that had befallen her, and she said to herself: "i think everyone is happy who has something to look for. but i have nothing in the wide world on which to fix my hopes." one evening elsalill saw a tall man, who wore a broad-brimmed hat with a great feather, standing upon the rocks and gazing westward over the sea like all the others. and elsalill knew at once that the man was sir archie, the leader of the scots, who had talked with her on the quay. as he passed the cabin on his way home to the town, elsalill was still standing in the doorway, and she was weeping. "why do you weep?" he asked, stopping before her. "i weep because i have nothing to long for," said elsalill. "when i saw you standing upon the rocks and looking out over the sea, i thought: 'he has surely a home beyond the water, and there he is going.'" then sir archie's heart was softened, and it made him say: "it is many a year since any spoke to me of my home. god knows how it fares with my father's house. i left it when i was seventeen to serve in the wars abroad." on saying this sir archie entered the cottage with elsalill and began to talk to her of his home. and elsalill sat and listened to sir archie, who spoke both long and well. each word that came from his lips made her feel happy. but when the time drew on for sir archie to go, he asked if he might kiss her. then elsalill said no, and would have slipped out of the door, but sir archie stood in her way and would have made her kiss him. at that moment the door of the cottage opened, and its mistress came in in great haste. then sir archie drew back from elsalill. he simply gave her his hand in farewell and hurried away. but torarin's mother said to elsalill: "it was well that you sent for me, for it is not fitting for a maid to sit alone in the house with such a man as sir archie. you know full well that a soldier of fortune has neither honour nor conscience." "did i send for you?" asked elsalill, astonished. "yes," answered the old woman. "as i stood at work on the quay there came a little maid i had never seen before, and brought me word that you begged me to go home." "how did this maid look?" asked elsalill. "i heeded her not so closely that i can tell you how she looked," said the old woman. "but one thing i marked; she went so lightly upon the snow that not a sound was heard." when elsalill heard this she turned very pale and said: "then it must have been an angel from heaven who brought you the message and led you home." ii another time sir archie sat in torarin's cabin and talked with elsalill. there was no one beside them; they talked gaily together and were very cheerful. sir archie was telling elsalill that she must go home with him to scotland. there he would build her a castle and make her a fine lady. he told her she should have a hundred serving-maids to wait upon her, and she should dance at the court of the king. elsalill sat silently listening to every word sir archie said to her, and she believed them all. and sir archie thought that never had he met a damsel so easy to beguile as elsalill. suddenly sir archie ceased speaking and looked down at his left hand. "what is it, sir archie? why do you say no more?" asked elsalill. sir archie opened and closed his hand convulsively. he turned it this way and that. "what is it, sir archie?" asked elsalill. "does your hand pain you on a sudden?" then sir archie turned to elsalill with a startled face and said: "do you see this hair, elsalill, that is wound about my hand? do you see this lock of fair hair?" when he began to speak the girl saw nothing, but ere he had finished she saw a coil of fine, fair hair wind itself twice about sir archie's hand. and elsalill sprang up in terror and cried out: "sir archie, whose hair is it that is bound about your hand?" sir archie looked at her in confusion, not knowing what to say. "it is real hair, elsalill, i can feel it. it lies soft and cool about my hand. but whence did it come?" the maid sat staring at his hand, and it seemed that her eyes would fall out of her head. "so was it that my foster sister's hair was wound about the hand of him who murdered her," she said. but now sir archie burst into a laugh. he quickly drew back his hand. "why," said he, "you and i, elsalill, we are frightening ourselves like little children. it was nothing more than a bright sunbeam falling through the window." but the girl fell to weeping and said: "now methinks i am crouching again by the stove and i can see the murderers at their work. ah, but i hoped to the last they would not find my dear foster sister, but then one of them came and plucked her from the wall, and when she sought to escape he twined her hair about his hand and held her fast. and she fell on her knees before him and said: 'have pity on my youth! spare my life, let me live long enough to know why i have come into the world! i have done you no ill, why would you kill me? why would you deny me my life?' but he paid no heed to her words and killed her." while elsalill said this sir archie stood with a frown on his brow and turned his eyes away. "ah, if i might one day meet that man!" said elsalill. she stood before sir archie with clenched fists. "you cannot meet the man," said sir archie. "he is dead." but the maid threw herself upon the bench and sobbed. "sir archie, sir archie, why have you brought the dead into my thoughts? now i must weep all evening and all night. leave me, sir archie, for now i have no thought for any but the dead. now i can only think upon my foster sister and how dear she was to me." and sir archie had no power to console her, but was banished by her tears and wailing and went back to his companions. iii sir archie could not understand why his mind was always so full of heavy thoughts. he could never escape them, whether he drank with his companions, or whether he sat in talk with elsalill. if he danced all night at the wharves they were still with him, and if he walked far and wide over the frozen sea, they followed him there. "why am i ever forced to remember what i would fain forget?" sir archie asked himself. "it is as though someone were always stealing behind me and whispering in my ear. "it is as though someone were weaving a net about me," said sir archie, "to catch all my own thoughts and leave me none but this. i cannot see the pursuer who casts the net, but i can hear his step as he comes stealing after me." "it is as though a painter went before me and painted the same picture wherever my eyes may rest," said sir archie. "whether i look to heaven or to earth i see naught else but this one thing." "it is as though a mason sat within my heart and chiselled out the same heavy care," said sir archie. "i cannot see this mason, but day and night i can hear the blows of his mallet as he hammers at my heart. 'heart of stone, heart of stone,' he says, 'now you shall yield. now i shall hammer into you a lasting care.'" sir archie had two friends, sir philip and sir reginald, who followed him wherever he went. they were grieved that he was always cast down and that nothing could avail to cheer him. "what is it that ails you?" they would say. "what makes your eyes burn so, and why are your cheeks so pale?" sir archie would not tell them what it was that tormented him. he thought: "what would my comrades say of me if they knew i yielded to these unmanly thoughts? they would no longer obey me if they found out that i was racked with remorse for a deed there was no avoiding." as they continued to press him, he said at last, to throw them off the scent: "fortune is playing me strange tricks in these days. there is a girl i have a mind to win, but i cannot come at her. something always stands in my way." "maybe the maiden does not love you?" said sir reginald. "i surely think her heart is disposed toward me," said sir archie; "but there is something watching over her, so that i cannot win her." then sir reginald and sir philip began to laugh and said: "never fear, we'll get you the girl." that evening elsalill was walking alone up the lane, coming from her work. she was tired and thought to herself: "this is a hard life and i find no joy in it. it sickens me to stand all day in the reek of fish. it sickens me to hear the other women laugh and jest in their rude voices. it sickens me to see the hungry gulls fly above the tables trying to snatch the fish out of my hands. oh, that someone would come and take me away from here! i would follow him to the world's end." when elsalill had reached the darkest part of the lane, sir reginald and sir philip came out of the shadow and greeted her. "mistress elsalill," they said, "we have a message for you from sir archie. he is lying sick at the inn. he longs to speak with you and begs you to accompany us home." elsalill began to fear that sir archie might be grievously sick, and she turned at once and went with the two scottish gallants who were to bring her to him. sir philip and sir reginald walked one on each side of her. they smiled at one another and thought that nothing could be easier than to delude elsalill. elsalill was in great haste; she almost ran down the lane. sir philip and sir reginald had to take long strides to keep up with her. but as elsalill was making such haste to reach the inn, something began to roll before her feet. it seemed to have been thrown down in front of her, and she nearly stumbled over it. "what can it be that rolls on and on before my feet?" thought elsalill. "it must be a stone that i have kicked from the ground and sent rolling down the hill." she was in such a hurry to reach sir archie that she did not like being hindered by the thing that rolled close before her feet. she kicked it aside, but it came back at once and rolled before her down the lane. elsalill heard it ring like silver when she kicked it away, and she saw that it was bright and shining. "it is no common stone," she thought. "i believe it is a coin of silver." but she was in such haste to reach sir archie that she thought she had no time to pick it up. but again and again it rolled before her feet, and she thought: "you will go on the faster if you stoop down and pick it up. you can throw it far away if it is nothing." she stooped down and picked it up. it was a big silver coin and it shone white in her hand. "what is it that you have found in the street, mistress?" asked sir reginald. "it shines so white in the moonlight." at that moment they were passing one of the great storehouses, where foreign fisher-folk lodged while they lay at marstrand. before the entrance hung a lantern, which threw a feeble light upon the street. "let us see what you have found, mistress," said sir philip, standing under the light. elsalill held up the coin to the lantern, and hardly had she cast eye upon it when she cried out: "this is herr arne's money! i know it well. this is herr arne's money!" "what's that you say, mistress?" asked sir reginald. "what makes you say it is herr arne's money?" "i know the coin," said elsalill. "i have often seen it in herr arne's hand. yes, it is surely herr arne's money." "shout not so loudly, mistress!" said sir philip. "people run here already to know the cause of this outcry." but elsalill paid no heed to sir philip. she saw that the door of the warehouse stood open. a fire blazed in the midst of the floor and round about it sat a number of men conversing quietly and at leisure. elsalill hastened in to them, holding the coin aloft. "listen to me, every man!" she cried. "now i know that herr arne's murderers are alive. look here! i have found one of herr arne's coins." all the men turned toward her. she saw that torarin the fish hawker sat among them. "what is that you tell us so noisily, my girl?" torarin asked. "how can you know herr arne's moneys from any other?" "well may i know this very piece of silver from any other," said elsalill. "it is old and heavy, and it is chipped at the edge. herr arne told us that it came from the time of the old kings of norway, and never would he part with it when he counted out money to pay for his goods." "now you must tell us where you have found it, mistress," said another of the fishermen. "i found it rolling before me in the street," said elsalill. "one of the murderers has surely dropped it there." "it may be as you say," said torarin, "but what can we do in this matter? we cannot find the murderers by this alone, that you know they have walked in one of our streets." the fishermen were agreed that torarin had spoken wisely. they settled themselves again about the fire. "come home with me, elsalill," said torarin. "this is not an hour for a young maid to run about the streets of the town." as torarin said this, elsalill looked about for her companions. but sir reginald and sir philip had stolen away without her noticing their departure. chapter vi in the town cellars one morning the hostess of the town cellars at marstrand threw open her doors to sweep the steps and the lobby, and then she caught sight of a young maid sitting on one of the steps and waiting. she was dressed in a long gray garment which was fastened with a belt at the waist. her hair was fair, and it was neither bound nor braided, but hung down on either side of her face. as the door opened she went down the steps into the lobby, but it seemed to the hostess that she moved as though walking in her sleep. and all the time she kept her eyelids lowered and her arms pressed close to her side. the nearer she came, the more astonished was the hostess at the fragile slenderness of her form. her face was fair, but it was delicate and transparent, as though it had been made of brittle glass. when she came down to the hostess she asked whether there was any work she could do, and offered her services. then the hostess thought of all the wild companions whose habit it was to sit drinking ale and wine in her tavern, and she could not help smiling. "no, there is no place here for a little maid like you," she said. the maiden did not raise her eyes nor make the slightest movement, but she asked again to be taken into service. she desired neither board nor wages, she said, only to have a task to perform. "no," said the hostess, "if my own daughter were as you are, i should refuse her this. i wish you a better lot than to be servant here." the young maid went quietly up the steps, and the hostess stood watching her. she looked so small and helpless that the woman took pity on her. she called her back and said to her: "maybe you run greater risks if you wander alone about the streets and alleys than if you come to me. you may stay with me today and wash the cups and dishes, and then i shall see what you are fit for." the hostess took her to a little closet she had contrived beyond the hall of the tavern. it was no bigger than a cupboard and had neither window nor loophole, but was only lighted by a hatch in the wall of the public room. "stand here today," said the hostess to the maid, "and wash me all the cups and dishes i pass you through this hatch, then i shall see whether i can keep you in my service." the maiden went into the closet, and she moved so silently that the hostess thought it was like a dead woman slipping into her grave. she stood the whole day and spoke to none, nor ever leaned her head through the hatch to look at the folk who came and went in the tavern. and she did not touch the food that was set before her. nobody heard her make a clatter as she washed, but whenever the hostess held out her hand to the hatch, she passed out clean cups and dishes without a speck on them. but when the hostess took them to set them out on the table, they were so cold that she thought they would sear the skin off her fingers. and she shuddered and said: "it is as though i took them from the cold hands of death himself." ii one day there had been no fish to clean on the quays, so that elsalill had stayed at home. she sat at the spinning-wheel and was alone in the cottage. a good fire was burning on the hearth, and it was light enough in the room. in the midst of her work she felt a light breath, as though a cold breeze had swept over her forehead. she looked up and saw her dead foster sister standing beside her. elsalill laid her hand on the wheel to stop it, and sat still, looking at her foster sister. at first she was afraid, but she thought to herself: "it is unworthy of me to be afraid of my foster sister. whether she be dead or alive, i am still glad to see her." "dear sister," she said to the dead girl, "is there aught you would have me do?" the other said to her in a voice that had neither strength nor tone: "my sister elsalill, i am in service at the tavern, and the hostess has made me stand and wash cups and dishes all day. now the evening is come and i am so tired that i can hold out no longer. i have come hither to ask if you will not give me your help." when elsalill heard this it was as though a veil was drawn over her mind. she could no longer think nor wonder nor feel any fear. she only knew joy at seeing her foster sister again, and she answered: "yes, dear sister, i will come straight and help you." then the dead girl went to the door, and elsalill followed her. but as they stood on the threshold her foster sister paused and said to elsalill: "you must put on your cloak. there is a strong wind outside." and as she said this her voice sounded clearer and less muffled than before. elsalill then took her cloak from the wall and wrapped it around her. she thought to herself: "my foster sister loves me still. she wishes me no evil. i am only happy that i may go with her wherever she may take me." and then she followed the dead girl through many streets, all the way from torarin's cabin, which stood on a rocky slope, down to the level streets about the harbour and the market place. the dead girl always walked two paces in front of elsalill. a heavy gale was blowing that evening, howling through the streets, and elsalill noticed that when a violent gust would have flung her against the wall, the dead girl placed herself between her and the wind and screened her as well as she could with her slender body. when at last they came to the town hall the dead girl went down the cellar steps and beckoned elsalill to follow her. but as they were going down the wind blew out the light in the lantern that hung in the lobby and they were in darkness. then elsalill did not know where to turn her steps and the dead girl had to put her hand on hers to lead her. but the dead girl's hand was so cold that elsalill started and began to quake with fear. then the dead girl drew her hand away and wound it in a corner of elsalill's cloak before she led her on again. but elsalill felt the icy chill through fur and lining. now the dead girl led elsalill through a long corridor and opened a door for her. they came into a little dark closet where a feeble light fell through a hatch in the wall. elsalill saw that they were in a room where the scullery wench stood and scoured cups and dishes for the hostess to set out on the tables for her customers. elsalill could just see that a pail of water stood upon a stool, and in the hatch were many cups and goblets that wanted rinsing. "will you help me with this work tonight, elsalill?" said the dead girl. "yes, dear sister," said elsalill, "you know i will help you with whatsoever you wish." elsalill then took off her cloak, rolled up her sleeves and began the work. "will you be very quiet and silent in here, elsalill, so that the hostess may not know that i have found help?" "yes, dear sister," said elsalill; "you may be sure i will." "then farewell, elsalill," said the dead girl. "i have only one more thing to ask of you. and it is that you be not too angry with me for this thing." "wherefore do you bid me farewell?" said elsalill. "i will gladly come every evening and help you." "no, there is no need for you to come after this evening," said the dead girl. "i have good hope that tonight you will give me such help that my mission will now be ended." as they spoke thus elsalill was already leaning over her work. all was still for a while, but then she felt a light breath on her forehead, as when the dead girl had come to her in torarin's cabin. she looked up and saw that she was alone. then she knew what it was that had felt like a faint breeze upon her face, and said to herself: "my dead foster sister has kissed my forehead before she parted from me." elsalill now turned to her work and finished it. she rinsed out all the bowls and tankards and dried them. then she looked in the hatch whether any more had been set in there, and finding none she stood at the hatch and looked out into the tavern. it was an hour of the day when there was usually little custom in the cellars. the hostess was absent from her bar and none of her tapsters was to be seen in the room. the place was empty, save for three men, who sat at the end of a long table. they were guests, but they seemed well at their ease, for one of them, who had emptied his tankard, went to the bar, filled it from one of the great tuns of ale and wine that stood there, and sat down again to drink. elsalill felt as though she had come here from a strange world. her thoughts were with her dead foster sister, and she could not clearly take in what she saw. it was a long while before she was aware that the three men at the table were well known and dear to her. for they who sat there were none other than sir archie and his two friends sir reginald and sir philip. for some days past sir archie had not visited elsalill, and she was glad to see him. she was on the point of calling to him that she was there at hand; but then the thought came to her, how strange it was that he had ceased to visit her, and she kept silence. "maybe his fancy has turned to another," thought elsalill. "maybe it is of her he is thinking." for sir archie sat a little apart from the others. he was silent and gazed steadily before him, without touching his drink. he took no part in the talk, and when his friends addressed a word to him, he was seldom at the pains to make them an answer. elsalill could hear that the others were trying to put life into him. they asked him why he had left drinking, and even sought to persuade him that he should go and talk with elsalill and so recover his good humour. "you are to pay no heed to me," said sir archie. "there is another that fills my thoughts. still do i see her before me, and still do i hear the sound of her voice in my ears." and then elsalill saw that sir archie was gazing at one of the massive pillars that upheld the cellar roof. she saw, too, what till then she had not marked, that her foster sister stood beside that pillar and looked upon sir archie. she stood there quite motionless in her gray habit, and it was not easy to discover her, as she stood so close against the pillar. elsalill stood quite still looking into the room. she noted that her foster sister kept her eyes raised when she looked upon sir archie. during the whole time she was with elsalill she had walked with her eyes upon the ground. now her eyes were the only thing about her that was ghastly. elsalill saw that they were dim and filmed. they had no glance, and the light was not mirrored in them any more. after a while sir archie began again to lament. "i see her every hour. she follows me wherever i go," he said. he sat with his face toward the pillar where the dead girl stood, and stared at her. but elsalill was sure that he did not see her. it was not of her he spoke, but of one who was ever in his thoughts. elsalill never left the hatch and followed with her eyes all that took place, thinking that most of all she wished to find out who it was that filled sir archie's thoughts. suddenly she was aware that the dead girl had taken her place on the bench beside sir archie and was whispering in his ear. but still sir archie knew nothing of her being so close to him or of her whispering in his ear. he was only aware of her presence in the mortal dread that came over him. elsalill saw that when the dead girl had sat for a few moments whispering to sir archie, he hid his face in his hands and wept. "alas, would i had never found the maid!" he said. "i regret nothing else but that i did not let the maiden go when she begged me." the other two scotsmen ceased drinking and looked in alarm at sir archie, who thus laid aside all his manliness and yielded to remorse. for a moment they were perplexed, but then one of them went up to the bar, took the tallest tankard that stood there and filled it with red wine. he brought it to sir archie, clapped him on the shoulder and said: "drink, brother! herr arne's hoard is not yet done. so long as we have coin to buy such wine as this, no cares need sit upon us." but in the same instant as these words were spoken: "drink, brother! herr arne's hoard is not yet done," elsalill saw the dead girl rise from the bench and vanish. and in that moment elsalill saw before her eyes three men with great beards and rough coats of skin, struggling with herr arne's servants. and now it was plain to her that they were the three who sat in the cellar--sir archie, sir philip, and sir reginald. iii elsalill came out of the closet where she had stood and rinsed the hostess's cups, and softly closed the door behind her. in the narrow corridor outside she stopped and stood motionless leaning against the wall for nearly an hour. as she stood there she thought to herself: "i cannot betray him. let him be guilty of what evil he may, i love him with all my heart. i cannot send him to be broken upon the wheel. i cannot see them burn away his hands and feet." the storm that had raged all day became more and more violent as evening wore on, and elsalill could hear its roar as she stood in the darkness. "now the first storms of spring have come," she thought. "now they have come in all their might to set the waters free and break up the ice. in a few days we shall have open sea, and then sir archie will sail from hence, never to return. no more misdeeds can he commit in this land. what profits it then if he be taken and suffer for his crime? neither the dead nor the living have any comfort of it." elsalill drew her cloak about her. she thought she would go home and sit quietly at her work without betraying her secret to any one. but before she had raised a foot to go, she changed her purpose and stayed. she stood still listening to the roaring of the gale. again she thought of the coming of spring. the snow would disappear and the earth put on its garment of green. "merciful heaven, what a spring will this be for me!" thought elsalill. "no joy and no happiness can bloom for me after the chills of this winter. "no more than a year ago i was so happy when winter was past and spring came," she thought. "i remember one evening which was so fair that i could not sit within doors. so i took my foster sister by the hand, and we went out into the fields to fetch green boughs and deck the stove." she recalled to mind how she and her foster sister had walked along a green pathway. and there by the side of the way they had seen a young birch that had been cut down. the wood showed that it had been cut many days before. but now they saw that the poor lopped tree had begun to put forth leaves and its buds were bursting. then her foster sister had stopped and bent over the tree. "ah, poor tree," she said, "what evil can you have done, that you are not suffered to die, though you are cut down? what makes you put forth leaves, as though you still lived?" and elsalill had laughed at her and answered: "maybe it grows so sweet and green that he who cut it down may see the harm he has wrought and feel remorse." but her foster sister did not laugh with her, and there were tears in her eyes. "it is terrible for a dead man if he cannot rest in his grave. they who are dead have small comfort to look for; neither love nor happiness can reach them. all the good they yet desire is that they may be left to sleep in peace. well may i weep when you say this birch cannot die for thinking of its murderer. the hardest fate for one deprived of life is that he may not sleep in peace but must pursue his murderer. the dead have naught to long for but to be left to sleep in peace." when elsalill recalled these words she began to weep and wring her hands. "my foster sister will not find rest in her grave," she said, "unless i betray my beloved. if i do not aid her in this, she must roam above ground without respite or repose. my poor foster sister, she has nothing more to hope for but to find peace in her grave, and that i cannot give her unless i send the man i love to be broken on the wheel." iv sir archie came out of the tavern and went through the long corridor. the lantern hanging from the roof had now been lighted again, and by its light he saw that a young maid stood leaning against the wall. she was so pale and stood so still that sir archie was afraid and thought: "there at last before my eyes stands the dead girl who haunts me every day." as sir archie went past elsalill he laid his hand on hers to feel if it was really a dead girl standing there. and her hand was so cold that he could not say whether it belonged to the living or the dead. but as sir archie touched elsalill's hand she drew it back, and then sir archie knew her again. he thought she had come there for his sake, and great was his joy to see her. at once a thought came to him: "now i know what i will do, that the dead girl may be appeased and cease to haunt me." he took elsalill's hands within his own and raised them to his lips. "god bless you for coming to me this evening, elsalill!" he said. but elsalill's heart was sore afflicted. she could not speak for tears, even so much as to tell sir archie she had not come there to meet him. sir archie stood silent a long while, but he held elsalill's hands in his the whole time. and the longer he stood thus, the clearer and more handsome did his face become. "elsalill," said sir archie, and he spoke very earnestly, "for many days i have not been able to see you, because i have been tormented by heavy thoughts. they have left me no peace, and i believed i should soon go out of my mind. but tonight it goes better with me and i no longer see before me the image that tormented me. and when i found you here, my heart told me what i had to do to be rid of my torment for all time." he bent down to look into elsalill's eyes, but as she stood with drooping eyelids he went on: "you are angry with me, elsalill, because i have not been to see you for many days. but i could not come, for when i saw you i was reminded even more of what tortured me. when i saw you i was forced to think even more of a young maid to whom i have done wrong. many others have i wronged in my lifetime, elsalill, but my conscience plagues me for naught else but what i did to this young maid." as elsalill still said nothing, he took her hands again and raised them to his lips and kissed them. "now, listen, elsalill, to what my heart said to me when i saw you standing here and waiting for me. 'you have done injury to one maiden,' it said, 'and for what you have made her suffer, you must atone to another. you shall take her to wife, and you shall be so good to her that she shall never know sorrow. such faithfulness shall you show her that your love will be greater on the day of your death than on your wedding day.'" elsalill stood still as before with downcast eyes. then sir archie laid his hand on her head and raised it. "you must tell me, elsalill, whether you hear what i say," he said. then he saw that elsalill was weeping so violently that great tears ran down her cheeks. "why do you weep, elsalill?" asked sir archie. "i weep, sir archie," said elsalill, "because i have too great love for you in my heart." then sir archie came yet closer to elsalill and put his arm around her. "do you hear how the wind howls without?" said he. "that means that soon the ice will break up, and that ships again will be free to sail over to my native land. tell me now, elsalill, will you come with me, so that i may make good to you the evil i have done to another?" sir archie continued to whisper to elsalill of the glorious life that awaited her, and elsalill began to think to herself: "alas, if only i did not know what evil he had done! then i would go with him and live happily." sir archie came closer and closer to her, and when elsalill looked up she saw that his face was bending over her and that he was about to kiss her on the forehead. then she remembered the dead girl who had so lately been with her and kissed her. she tore herself free from sir archie and said: "no, sir archie, i will never go with you." "yes," said sir archie, "you must come with me, elsalill, or else i shall be drawn down to my destruction." he began to whisper to the girl ever more tenderly, and again she thought to herself: "were it not more pleasing to god and men that he be allowed to atone for his evil life and become a righteous man? whom can it profit if he be punished with death?" as these thoughts were in elsalill's mind two men came by on their way to the tavern. when sir archie marked that they cast curious eyes on him and the maid, he said to her: "come, elsalill, i will take you home. i would not that any should see you had come to the tavern for me." then elsalill looked up, as though suddenly calling to mind that she had another duty to perform than that of listening to sir archie. but her heart smote her when she thought of betraying his crime. "if you deliver him to the hangman, i must break," her heart said to her. and sir archie drew the girl's cloak more tightly about her and led her out into the street. he walked with her all the way to torarin's cabin, and she noticed that whenever the storm blew fiercely in their faces, he placed himself before her and screened her. elsalill thought, all the time they were walking: "my dead foster sister knew nothing of this, that he would atone for his crime and become a good man." sir archie still whispered the tenderest words in elsalill's ear. and the longer she listened to him, the more firmly she believed in him. "it must have been that i might hear sir archie whisper such words as these in my ear that my foster sister called me forth," she thought. "she loves me so dearly. she desires not my unhappiness but my happiness." and as they stopped before the cabin, sir archie asked elsalill once more whether she would go with him across the sea. and elsalill answered that with god's help she would go. chapter vii unrest next day the storm had ceased. the weather was now milder, but it had caused little shrinking of the ice and the sea was closed as fast as ever. when elsalill awoke in the morning she thought: "it is surely better that a wicked man repent and live according to god's commandments than that he be punished with death." that day sir archie sent a messenger to elsalill, and he brought her a heavy armlet of gold. and elsalill was glad that sir archie had thought of giving her pleasure, and she thanked the messenger and accepted the gift. but when he was gone she fell to thinking that this armlet had been bought for her with herr arne's money. when she thought of this she could not endure to look on it. she plucked it from her arm and threw it far away. "what will my life be, if i must always call to mind that i am living on herr arne's money?" she thought. "if i put a mouthful of food to my lips, must i not think of the stolen money? and if i have a new gown, will it not ring in my ears that it is bought with ill-gotten gold? now at last i see that it is impossible for me to go with sir archie and join my life to his. i shall tell him this when he comes." when evening was drawing on, sir archie came to her. he was in cheerful mood, he had not been plagued with evil thoughts, and he believed it was owing to his promise to make good to one maiden the wrong he had done another. when elsalill saw him and heard him speak she could not bring herself to tell him that she was sad at heart and would part from him. all the sorrows which gnawed at her were forgotten as she sat listening to sir archie. the next day was a sunday, and elsalill went to church. she was there both in the morning and in the evening. as she sat during the morning service listening to the sermon, she heard someone weeping and sobbing close by. she thought it was one of those who sat beside her in the pew, but whether she looked to right or left she saw none but calm and devout worshippers. nevertheless, she plainly heard a sound of weeping, and it seemed so near to her that she might have touched the one who wept by putting out her hand. elsalill sat listening to the sighing and sobbing, and thought to herself that she had never heard so sorrowful a sound. "who is it that is afflicted with such deep grief that she must shed these bitter tears?" thought elsalill. she looked behind her, and she leaned forward over the next pew to see. but all were sitting in silence, and no face was wet with tears. then elsalill thought there was no need to ask or wonder, for indeed she had known from the first who it was that wept beside her. "dear sister," she whispered, "why do you not show yourself to me, as you did but lately? for you must know that i would gladly do all i may to dry your tears." she listened for an answer, but none came. all she heard was the sobbing of the dead girl beside her. elsalill tried to hearken to what the preacher was saying in the pulpit, but she could follow little of it. and she grew impatient and whispered: "i know one who has more cause to weep than any, and that is myself. had not my foster sister revealed her murderer to me i might have sat here with a heart full of joy." as she listened to the weeping she became more and more resentful, so that she thought: "how can my dead foster sister require of me that i shall betray the man i love? never would she herself have done such a thing, if she had lived." she was shut up in the pew, but she could scarcely sit still. she rocked backward and forward and wrung her hands. "now this will follow me all day," she thought. "who knows," she went on, growing more and more anxious, "who knows whether it will not follow me through life?" but the sobbing beside her grew ever deeper and sadder, and at last her heart was touched in spite of herself, and she too began to weep. "she who weeps so must have a terribly heavy grief," she thought. "she must have to bear suffering heavier than any of the living can conceive." when the service was over and elsalill had come out of church, she heard the sobbing no longer. but all the way home she wept to herself because her foster sister could find no peace in her grave. when the time of evensong came elsalill went again to the church, being constrained to know whether her foster sister still sat there weeping. and as soon as elsalill entered the church she heard her, and her soul trembled within her when she caught the sound of the sobbing. she felt her strength forsaking her and she had but one desire--to help the dead girl who was wandering among the living and knew no rest. when elsalill came out of church it was still light enough for her to see that one of those who walked before her left bloody footprints in the snow. "who can it be so poor that he goes barefoot and leaves bloody footprints in the snow?" she thought. all those who walked before her seemed to be well-to-do folk. they were neatly dressed and well shod. but the red footprints were not old. elsalill could see they were made by one of the group that walked before her. "it is someone who is footsore from a long journey," she thought. "god grant he may not have far to go ere he find shelter and rest." she had a strong desire to know who it was that had made this weary pilgrimage, and she followed the footprints, though they led her away from her home. but suddenly she saw that all the church-goers had gone another way and that she was alone in the street. nevertheless, the blood-red footprints were there as plain as before. "it is my poor foster sister who is going before me," she thought; and she owned to herself that she had guessed it all the time. "alas, my poor foster sister, i thought you went so lightly upon earth that your feet did not touch the ground. but none among the living can know how painful your pilgrimage must be." the tears started to her eyes, and she sighed: "could she but find peace in her grave! woe is me that she must wander here so long, till she has worn her feet to bleeding!" "stay, my dear foster sister!" she cried. "stay, that i may speak to you!" but as she cried thus, she saw that the footprints fell yet faster in the snow, as though the dead girl were hastening her steps. "now she flies from me. she looks no more for help from me," said elsalill. the bloody footprints made her quite frantic, and she cried out: "my dear foster sister, i will do all you ask if only you may find rest in your grave!" so soon as elsalill had uttered these words a tall, big woman who had followed her came up and laid a hand on her arm. "who may you be, crying and wringing your hands here in the street?" the woman asked. "you call to my mind a little maid who came to me on friday looking for a place and then ran away from me. or perhaps you are the same?" "no, i am not the same," said elsalill, "but if, as i think, you are the hostess of the town cellars, then i know what maid it is you speak of." "then you can tell me why she took herself off and has not come back," said the hostess. "she left you," said elsalill, "because she did not choose to hear the talk of all the evildoers who gather in your tavern." "many a wild companion comes to my tavern," said the hostess, "but among them are no evildoers." "yet the maid heard three that sat there talking among themselves," said elsalill, "and one of them said: 'drink, brother! herr arne's hoard is not yet done.'" when elsalill had said these words she thought: "now i have helped my foster sister and told what i heard. now may god help me that this woman pay no heed to my words; so i shall be quit." but when she saw in the hostess's face that she believed her, she was afraid and would have run away. but before she had time to move, the hostess's heavy hand had taken firm hold of her so that she could not escape. "if you can witness that such words have been uttered in my tavern, mistress," said the hostess, "then you were best not to run away. for you must go with me to those who have the power to seize the murderers and bring them to justice." chapter viii sir archie's flight elsalill came into the tavern wrapt in her long cloak and went straight to a table where sir archie sat drinking with his friends. a crowd of customers sat about the tables in the cellar, but elsalill took no heed of all the wondering glances that followed her, as she went and sat down beside the man she loved. her only thought was to be with sir archie in the few moments of freedom which were left to him. when sir archie saw elsalill come and sit by him, he rose and moved with her to a table that stood far down the room, hidden by a pillar. she could see that he was displeased at her coming to meet him in a place where it was not the custom for young maids to show themselves. "i have no long message to bring you, sir archie," said elsalill; "but i would have you know that i cannot go with you to your own country." when sir archie heard elsalill speak thus he was in despair, since he feared that, if he lost elsalill, the evil thoughts would again take possession of him. "why will you not go with me, elsalill?" he asked. elsalill was as pale as death. her thoughts were so confused that she scarce knew what answer she made him. "it is a perilous thing to follow a soldier of fortune," she said. "for none can tell whether such a man will keep his plighted troth." before sir archie had time to answer, a sailor came into the tavern. he went up to sir archie and told him he was sent by the skipper of the great gallias which lay in the ice behind klovero. the skipper prayed sir archie and all his men to make ready their goods and come aboard that evening. the storm had sprung up again and the sea was clearing far away to the westward. it might well be that before daybreak they would have open water and could sail for scotland. "you hear what this man says?" said sir archie to elsalill. "will you come with me?" "no," said elsalill, "i will not go with you." but in her heart she was very glad, for she thought: "now belike it will turn out so that he may escape ere the watch can come and seize him." sir archie rose and went over to sir philip and sir reginald and spoke to them of the message. "get you back to the inn before me," he said, "and make all ready. i have a word or two yet to say to elsalill." when elsalill saw that sir archie was coming back to her, she waved her hands as though to prevent him. "why do you come back, sir archie?" she said. "why do you not hasten down to the sea as fast as your feet may carry you?" for such was her love for sir archie. she had indeed betrayed him for her dear foster sister's sake, but her most fervent wish was that he might escape. "no, first will i beg you once more to come with me," said sir archie. "but you know, sir archie, that i cannot come with you," said elsalill. "why can you not?" said sir archie. "you are a poor orphan, so forlorn and friendless that none will care what becomes of you. but if you come with me, i will make you a noble lady. i am a powerful man in my own country. you shall be clad in silk and gold, and you shall tread a measure at the king's court." elsalill was shaking with alarm at his delaying while flight was still open to him. she could scarce calm herself to answer: "go hence, sir archie! you must tarry no longer to importune me." "there is something i would say to you, elsalill," said sir archie, and his voice became more tender as he spoke. "when first i saw you, my only thought was of tempting and beguiling you. in the beginning i promised you riches in jest, but since two nights ago i have meant honestly by you. and now it is my purpose and desire to make you my wife. you may trust in me, as i am a gentleman and a soldier." at that moment elsalill heard the march of armed men in the square outside. "if i go with him now," she thought, "he may yet escape. if i refuse, i drive him to destruction. it is for my sake he tarries here so long that the watch will lay hands on him. but how can i go with the man who has murdered all my dear ones?" "sir archie," said elsalill, and she hoped her words might startle him, "do you not hear the tramp of armed men in the square?" "oh, yes, i hear it," said sir archie; "there has been some alehouse brawl, i doubt not. let it not fright you, elsalill; it is but some fishermen that have come to clapper-claws over their cups." "sir archie," said elsalill, "do you not hear them stand before the town hall?" elsalill was trembling from head to foot, but sir archie took no note of it; he was quite calm. "where else would you have them stand?" said sir archie. "they must bring the brawlers here to lay them by the heels in the watch house. listen not to them, elsalill, but to me, who ask you to follow me over the sea!" but elsalill tried once more to put fear into sir archie. "sir archie," she said, "do you not hear the watch coming down the steps to the cellar?" "oh, yes, i hear them," said sir archie; "they will come here to empty a pot of ale, since their prisoners are safe under lock and key. think not of them, elsalill, but think how tomorrow you and i will be sailing the wide sea to my dear native land!" but elsalill was pale as a corpse, and she shook so that she could scarce speak. "sir archie," she said, "do you not see them speaking with the hostess yonder at the bar? they are asking her whether any of those they seek is within." "i'll wager they are charging her to brew them a warm, strong drink this stormy night," said sir archie. "you need not quake and tremble so mightily, elsalill. you can follow me without fear. i tell you that if my father would have me wed the noblest damsel in our land, i should now say her nay. come with me over the sea in full security, elsalill! nothing awaits you there but joy and happiness." more and more of the pikemen had collected about the door, and elsalill was now beside herself with terror. "i cannot look on while they come and seize him," she thought. she leaned toward sir archie and whispered to him: "do you not hear, sir archie? they are asking the hostess whether any of herr arne's murderers is here within." then sir archie threw a glance across the room and looked at the pikemen who were speaking with the hostess. but he did not rise and fly as elsalill had expected: he bent down and looked deeply into her eyes. "is it you, elsalill, who have discovered and betrayed me?" he asked. "i have done it for my dear foster sister's sake, that she might have peace in her grave," said elsalill. "god knows what it has cost me to do it. but now fly, sir archie! there is yet time. they have not yet barred all doors and lobbies." "you wolf's cub!" said sir archie. "when first i saw you on the quay i thought i ought to kill you." but elsalill laid her hand on his arm. "fly, sir archie! i cannot sit still and see them come and take you. if you will not fly without me, then in god's name i will go with you. but do not stay longer here for my sake, sir archie! i will do all you ask of me, if only you will save your life." but now sir archie was very angry, and he spoke scornfully to elsalill. "now, mistress, you shall never go in gold-embroidered shoes through lofty castle halls. now you may stay in marstrand all your days and gut herrings. never shall you wed a man who has castle and lands, elsalill. your man shall be a poor fisherman and your dwelling a cabin on a cold rock." "do you not hear them setting guards before all the doors to bar the way with their pikes?" asked elsalill. "why do you not hasten hence? why do you not fly out upon the ice and hide yourself in a ship?" "i do not fly because i have a mind to sit and talk with elsalill," said sir archie. "are you thinking that now there is an end of all your joy, elsalill? are you thinking that now there is an end of my hope of atoning for my crime?" "sir archie," whispered elsalill, rising from her seat in her terror; "now the men are all posted. now they will catch and seize you. make haste and fly! i shall come out to your ship, sir archie, if only you will fly." "you need not be so frightened, elsalill," said sir archie. "we have some time left to talk together. these fellows have no stomach to set upon me here, where i can defend myself. they mean to take me in the narrow stair. they think to spit me on their long pikes. and that is what you have always wished me, elsalill." but the more her terror gained on elsalill, the calmer became sir archie. she never ceased praying him to fly, but he laughed at her. "you need not be so sure, mistress, that these fellows can take me. i have come through greater dangers than this. i'll warrant i was harder put to it some months since in sweden. some slanderers had told king john that his scots guard was disloyal to him. and the king believed them. he threw the three commanders into dungeon and sent their men out of his realm, and had them guarded till they had passed the border." "fly, sir archie, fly!" begged elsalill. "you need not be troubled for me, elsalill," said sir archie with a hard laugh. "this evening i am myself again, my old humour is come back. i see no more the young maid that haunted me, and i shall hold my own, never fear. i will tell you of those three who lay in king john's dungeon. they stole out of the tower one night, when their guards were drowsy with liquor, and ran their ways. and then they fled to the border. but so long as they were in the swedish king's land they durst not betray themselves. they had no choice, elsalill, but to make themselves rough coats of skin and give out that they were journeymen tanners travelling the country in search of work." now elsalill began to mark how changed sir archie was toward her. and she knew he hated her, since he had found out that she had betrayed him. "speak not so, sir archie!" said elsalill. "why should you play me false, just when i trusted you most?" said sir archie. "now i am again the man i was. now none shall find me merciful. and now you'll see, fortune will favour me, as she has done hitherto. were we not in bad case, i and my comrades, when at last we had walked through all sweden and come down to the coast here? we had no money to buy us honourable clothes. we had no money to pay for our shipping to scotland. we knew no remedy but to break into solberga parsonage." "speak no more of that!" said elsalill. "yes, now you must hear all, elsalill," said sir archie. "there is one thing you know not, and it is that when first we came into the house we went to herr arne, roused him, and told him he must give us money. if he gave it freely, we would not harm him. but herr arne resisted us with force, and so we had to strike him down. and when we had dispatched him, we had to make an end of all his household." elsalill interrupted sir archie no more, but her heart felt cold and empty. she shuddered as she looked upon sir archie, for as he spoke a cruel and bloodthirsty look came over him. "what was i about to do?" she thought. "have i been mad and loved the man who murdered all my dear ones? god forgive my sin!" "when we thought all were dead," said sir archie, "we dragged the heavy money chest out of the house. then we set fire about it, that men might think herr had been burnt alive." "i have loved a wolf of the woods," said elsalill to herself. "and him i have tried to save from justice!" "but we drove down to the ice and fled to sea," sir archie went on. "we had no fear so long as we saw the flames mounting to the sky, but when we saw them die down we took alarm. we knew then that neighbours had come and put out the fire, and that we should be pursued. so we drove back toward land, for we had seen the outlet of a stream where the ice was thin. we lifted the chest from the sledge and drove forward till the ice broke under the horse's hoofs. then we let it drown and sprang off to one side. if you were aught but a little maid, elsalill, you would see that this was bravely done. we acquitted ourselves like men." elsalill kept still; she felt a sharp pain tearing at her heart. but sir archie hated her and delighted to torment her. "then we took our belts and fastened them to the chest and began to draw it. but as the chest left tracks in the ice, we went ashore and gathered twigs of spruce and laid them under the chest. then we took off our boots and went over the ice without leaving a trace behind us." sir archie paused to throw a scornful glance at elsalill. "although we had prospered in all this, we were yet in bad case. wherever we went our bloodstained clothes would betray us and we should be seized. but now listen, elsalill, so that you may tell all those who would be at the pains to give us chase, that they may understand we are not of a sort to be lightly taken! listen to this: as we came over the ice toward marstrand here, we met our comrades and countrymen, who had been banished by king john from his land. they had not been able to leave marstrand because of the ice, and they helped us in our need, so that we got clothes. since then we have gone about here in marstrand and been in no danger. and no danger would threaten us now, if you had not been faithless and played me false." elsalill sat still. this was too great a grief for her. she could scarce feel her heart beating. but sir archie sprang up and cried: "and no ill shall befall us tonight either. of that you shall be witness, elsalill!" in an instant he seized elsalill in both his arms and raised her off her feet. and with elsalill before him as a shield sir archie ran through the tavern to the doorway. and the men who were posted to guard the door levelled their long pikes at him, but they durst not use them for fear of hurting elsalill. when sir archie reached the narrow stair and the lobby, he held elsalill before him in the same way. and she protected him better than the strongest armour, for the pikemen who were drawn up there could make no use of their weapons. thus he came a good way up the steps, and elsalill could feel the free air of heaven blowing about her. but elsalill's love for sir archie was changed to the most deadly hatred, and her only thought was that he was a villain and a murderer. and when she saw that her body shielded him, so that he was likely to escape, she stretched out her hand and took hold of one of the watchmen's pikes and aimed it at her heart. "now i will serve my foster sister, so that her mission shall be fulfilled at last," thought elsalill. and at the next step sir archie took up the stairs, the pike entered elsalill's heart. but then sir archie was already at the top of the stairway. and the pikemen fell back when they saw that one of them had hurt the maid. and he ran past them. when sir archie came out into the market-place he heard a scottish war cry from one of the lanes: "a rescue! a rescue! for scotland! for scotland!" it was sir philip and sir reginald, who had mustered the scots and now came to relieve him. and sir archie ran toward them and cried in a loud voice: "hither to me! for scotland! for scotland!" chapter ix over the ice as sir archie walked out over the ice he still held elsalill on his arm. sir philip and sir reginald walked beside him. they tried to tell him how they had discovered the trap laid for them and how they had succeeded in getting the heavy treasure chest away to the gallias and in collecting their countrymen; but sir archie paid no heed to their words. he seemed to be conversing with her he carried on his arm. "who is that you carry there?" asked sir reginald. "it is elsalill," answered sir archie. "i shall take her with me to scotland. i will not leave her behind. here she would never be aught but a poor fish wench." "no, that is like enough," said sir reginald. "here none would give her clothes but of the coarsest wool," said sir archie, "and a narrow bed of hard planks to sleep on. but i shall spread her couch with the softest cushions, and her resting-place shall be made of marble. i shall wrap her in the costliest furs, and on her feet she shall wear jewelled shoes." "you intend her great honour," said sir reginald. "i cannot let her stay behind here," said sir archie, "for who among them would be mindful of such a poor creature? she would be forgotten by all ere many months were past. none would visit her abode, none would relieve her loneliness. but when once i reach home, i shall rear a stately dwelling for her. there shall her name stand graven in the hard stone, that none may forget it. there i myself shall come to her every day, and all shall be so splendidly devised that folk from far away shall come to visit her. there shall be lamps and candles burning night and day, and the sound of music and song shall make it seem a perpetual festival." the gale blew violently in their faces as they walked over the ice. it tore elsalill's cloak loose and made it flutter like a banner. "will you help me to carry elsalill a moment," said sir archie, "while i wind her cloak about her?" sir reginald took elsalill in his arms, but as he did so he was so terrified that he let her slip between his hands on to the ice. "i knew not that elsalill was dead," he said. chapter x the roar of the waves all night the skipper of the great gallias walked back and forth on his lofty poop. it was dark, and the gale howled around him, lashing him with sleet and rain. but the ice still lay firm and fast about the vessel, so that the skipper might just as well have slept quietly in his berth. but he stayed up the whole night. time after time he put his hand to his ear and listened. it was not easy to say what he was listening for. he had all his crew on board, as well as all the passengers he was to carry over to scotland. every one of them lay below decks fast asleep, and there was no sound of talk to which the skipper might be listening. as the storm came sweeping over the icebound gallias it threw itself upon the vessel, as though from old habit it would drive her through the water. and as the ship still stood fast the wind took hold of her again and again. it rattled all the little icicles that hung from her ropes and tackles, it made her timbers creak and groan. her masts were strained and gave loud cracks, as though they would go by the board. it was no quiet night. there was a muffled rustling in the air, as the snow came whizzing past; there was a patter and splash as the rain came pelting down. and in the ice one crack after another opened with a noise like thunder, as though ships of war had been at sea exchanging heavy salvoes. but to none of this was the skipper listening. he stayed up the whole night, until a gray dawn spread over the sky; but still he did not hear the sound he was waiting for. at last a singing, monotonous murmur was borne upon the night air, a rocking, caressing sound as of distant music. then the skipper hurried across the rowers' thwarts amidships to the lofty forecastle where his crew slept. "turn out," he called to them, "and take your oars and boat-hooks! the time is almost come when we shall be free. i hear the roar of open water. i hear the song of the free waves." the men left sleeping and came out at once. they posted themselves along the ship's sides, while the day slowly dawned. when at last it was light enough for them to see what changes the night had brought, they found that all the creeks and channels were open far out to sea, but in the bay where they were frozen in not a fissure could be seen in the ice, which lay firm and unbroken. and in the channel which led out of this bay the ice had piled itself up into a high wall. the waves in their free play outside continually cast up floating ice upon it. in the sound between the skerries there was a swarm of sails. all the fishing-boats which had lain icebound off marstrand were now streaming out. the sea ran high and blocks of ice still floated among the waves, but the fishermen seemed to think they had no time to wait for safe and calm water, and they had set sail. they stood in the bows of their boats and kept a sharp lookout. small blocks of ice they fended off with an oar, but when the big ones came they put the helm over and bore away. on the high poop of the gallias the skipper stood and watched them. he could see that they had their troubles, but he saw too that one boat after another wriggled through and came out into the open sea. and when the skipper saw the sails gliding over the blue water, he felt his disappointment so bitterly that tears came into his eyes. but his ship lay still, and before him the wall of ice was piling up higher and higher. the sea outside bore not only ships and boats, but sometimes small white icebergs came floating past. they were big ice-floes that had been thrown one upon another and were now sailing southward. they shone like silver in the morning sun, and now and then they showed as pink as though they had been strewed with roses. but high up among the whistling of the wind loud cries were heard, now like singing voices, now like pealing trumpets. there was a sound of jubilation in these cries, swelling the heart of him who heard them. they came from a long flight of swans on their way from the south. but when the skipper saw the icebergs moving southward and the swans flying to the north such longing seized him that he wrung his hands. "woe's me, that i must lie here!" he said. "will the ice never break up in this bay? i may lie waiting here many days yet." just as he said this, he saw a man come driving on the ice. he came out of a narrow channel on the marstrand side, and he drove as calmly on the ice as if he did not know the waves had begun once more to carry ships and boats. as he drove under the stern of the gallias he hailed the skipper: "ho, you there, frozen in the ice, do you lack food aboard? will you buy my salt herring or dried ling or smoked eel?" the skipper did not trouble to answer him. he only shook his fist at him and swore. then the fish hawker stepped off his load. he took a bunch of hay from the sledge and laid it in front of his horse. then he climbed up on the deck of the gallias. when he faced the skipper he said to him very earnestly: "today i have not come to sell fish. but i know that you are a god-fearing man. therefore i have come to ask your help to find a maiden whom the scotsmen brought out to your ship with them yester-night." "i know naught of their bringing any maiden with them," said the skipper. "i have heard no woman's voice aboard the ship tonight." "i am torarin the fish hawker," said the other; "maybe you have heard of me? it was i who supped with herr arne at solberga parsonage the same night he was murdered. since then i have had herr arne's foster daughter under my roof, but last night she was stolen away by his murderers, and they have surely brought her with them to your vessel." "are herr arne's murderers aboard my vessel?" asked the skipper in dismay. "you see that i am a poor and feeble man," said torarin. "i have a palsied arm, and therefore i am fearful of taking upon myself any bold and hazardous thing. i have known these many days who were herr arne's murderers, but i have not dared to bring them to justice. and because i have held my peace they have made their escape and have found occasion to carry the maiden with them. but now i have said to myself that i will have no more of my conscience in this matter. at least i will try to save the little maid." "if herr arne's murderers are on board my ship, why does not the watch come out and arrest them?" "i have begged and prayed them all this night and morning," said torarin, "but the watch durst not come out. they say there are a hundred men-at-arms on board, and with them they durst not contend. then i thought, in god's name i must come out here alone and beg you help me to find the maiden, for i know you to be a god-fearing man." but the skipper paid no heed to his question of the maiden; his mind was full of the other matter. "what makes you sure that the murderers are on board?" he said. torarin pointed to a great oaken chest which stood between the rowers' thwarts. "i have seen that chest too often in herr arne's house to be mistaken," he said. "in it is herr arne's money, and where his money is, there you will find his murderers." "that chest belongs to sir archie and his two friends, sir reginald and sir philip," said the skipper. "ay," said torarin, looking at him fixedly; "that is so. it belongs to sir archie and sir philip and sir reginald." the skipper stood silent awhile and looked this way and that. "when think you the ice will break up in this bay?" he said to torarin. "there is something strange in it this year," said torarin. "in this bay we have always seen the ice break up early, for there is a strong current. but as it shapes now you must have a care that you be not thrust against the land when the ice begins to move." "i think of naught else," said the skipper. again he stood silent for a while and turned his face toward the sea. the morning sun shone high in the sky, and the waves reflected its radiance. the liberated vessels scudded this way and that, and the sea birds came flying from the south with joyous cries. the fish lay near the surface and glittered in the sun as they leapt high out of the water, wanton after their long imprisonment under the ice. the gulls, which had been circling out beyond the edge of the ice, came in great flocks toward land to fish in their old waters. the skipper could not endure this sight. "shall i be counted the friend of murderers and evildoers?" he said. "can i close my eyes and refuse to see why god keeps the gates of the sea barred against my vessel? shall i be destroyed for the sake of the unrighteous who have taken refuge with me?" and the skipper went forward and said to his men: "now i know why we have been held back while all other ships have put to sea. it is because we have murderers and evildoers on board." then the skipper went to the scottish men-at-arms, who still lay asleep in the ship's hold. "listen," he said to them; "keep you quiet yet awhile, no matter what cries or tumult you may hear on board. we must follow god's commandment and not suffer evildoers amongst us. if you obey me i promise to bring you the chest which holds herr arne's money, and you shall share it among you." but to torarin the skipper said: "go down to your sledge and cast your fish out on the ice. you shall have other freight anon." then the skipper and his men broke into the cabin where sir archie and his friends slept. and they threw themselves upon them to bind them while they still lay asleep. and when the three scotsmen tried to defend themselves, they smote them hard with their axes and handspikes, and the skipper said to them: "you are murderers and evildoers. how could you think to escape punishment? know you not that it is for your sake god keeps all the gates of the sea closed?" then the three men cried aloud to their comrades, bidding them come and help them. "you need not call to them," said the skipper. "they will not come. they have gotten herr arne's hoard to share amongst them, and are even now measuring out silver coin in their hats. for the sake of this money the evil deed was done, and this money has now brought retribution upon you." and before torarin had finished unloading the fish from his sledge, the skipper and his men came down on to the ice. they brought with them three men securely bound. they were grievously hurt and fainting from their wounds. "god has not called on me in vain," said the skipper. "as soon as his will was clear to me, i hearkened to it." they laid the prisoners on the sledge, and torarin drove with them by creeks and narrow sounds where the ice still lay firm, until he came to marstrand. now late in the afternoon the skipper stood on the lofty poop of his vessel and looked out to seaward. nothing was changed around the vessel, and the wall of ice towered ever higher before her. then the skipper saw a long procession of people coming out to his ship. all the women of marstrand were there, both young and old. they all wore mourning weeds, and they brought with them a group of boys who carried a bier. when they were come to the gallias, they said to the skipper: "we are come to fetch a young maiden who is dead. those murderers have confessed that she gave her life to hinder their escape, and now we, all the women of marstrand, are come to bring her to our town with all the honour that is her due." then elsalill was found and brought down to the ice and borne in to marstrand; and all the women in the place wept over the young maid, who had loved an evildoer and given her life to destroy him she loved. but even as the line of women advanced, the wind and waves broke in behind them and tore up the ice over which they had but lately passed; and when they came to marstrand with elsalill, all the gates of the sea stood open. the end foreword the treasure is an opposite fairy tale, presenting prince charming as he really is: an orphan girl is cleaning fish and foreseeing her life of poverty; a man well-dressed in seductive splendor woos her and offers her ... forever after. there is only one catch: she must betray her sister. although selma lagerlof won the nobel prize for literature in , her name is known in this country--if at all--as author of a children's book only. all her other works, including novels and feminist essays, have been unavailable in english for almost fifty years. in , she made a speech entitled "home and state" to the international woman suffrage alliance congress. she argued, first, that the home was the creation of woman and the place where the values of women were nourished and protected. the home was a community where "punishment is not for the sake of revenge, but for training and education," where "there is a use for all talents, but [she] who is without can make [her] self as much loved as the cleverest." it was the "storehouse for the songs and legends of our fore-fathers," and, she said, "there is nothing more mobile, more merciful amongst the creations of [humankind]." although not all homes are good, good and happy homes do sometimes exist. men by themselves, on the other hand, were responsible for creating the state which "continually gives cause for discontent and bitterness." there has never been a state which could satisfy all its members, which did not ask to be reformed from its very foundations. yet it is through the state that humankind will reach its highest hopes. her conclusion: women must add their special virtues, what she calls "god's spirit," to the "law and order" goals of men. selma lagerlof's own home was a community of family and servants, within which she experienced profound affections--for the nursemaid who carried her as a crippled child upon her back, for the old housekeeper, her younger sister, her grandmother who told the children stories every afternoon. she never married; she spent her entire life within communities of women, and her career could be described as the author being handed up to greatness by a procession of women who gave encouragement, advice, editorial help, criticism, contacts, companionship. she called frederika bremer the first feminist and "last old mamsell" of sweden, meaning that frederika bremer's life's work had banished the "old maid" from the realm of pitiful figures. selma lagerlof was herself proof of her statement. in the treasure, written midway between her farewell to frederika bremer and her plea for woman suffrage, the men are interested in money, murder, and revenge. they miss the evil apparent even to their dogs. when the old mistress (and who should know better that the home is threatened?) warns that knives are being sharpened two miles away, her lord refuses to believe that she could hear what he cannot. the fishpeddler's dog has instinct enough to balk and howl, sensing death; the fishpeddler's wife and the woman tavern-keeper respond to the supernatural however little they understand; the men turn their backs on understanding even when they are being implored. but the thrust of the story deals with the maiden elsalill's painful struggle to choose between her dearest sister, who has had to wander so long on earth "she has worn her feet to bleeding" and can find grave's rest only if her murderer is apprehended; and sir archie, the murderer himself, whom elsalill loves with all her heart. sir archie is a subtle prince charming; he understands innocence and tempts elsalill mightily: "you are a poor orphan, so forlorn and friendless that none will care what becomes of you. but if you come with me, i will make you a noble lady. i am a powerful man in my own country. you shall be clad in silk and gold, and you shall tread a measure at the king's court." even after elsalill knows that her love is the murderer of her sister, she still hopes to escape the action this knowledge demands: she tries to persuade herself that because he wants to make up to elsalill for the evil he did to her sister, she should give him a chance to save his soul. she thinks that her sister does not know he will atone for his sin and become a good man; her sister could not wish her unhappiness; how can she ask that elsalill betray the man she loves? but she hears her sister weep and she sees her sister's blood on the snow, and she turns him in quickly, hoping that will be enough. it isn't. her choice requires that she give her life. at the book's end sir archie, still clinging to his belief in money-power, still trying to use her saintliness to save his own soul, says he will erect a grand monument to her memory. he believes that if he leaves her body in marstand she will have only a pauper's grave and be soon forgotten. an exactly opposite event occurs. a long procession walks out across the ice toward the ship; all the women of marstand, young and old, are coming to retrieve elsalill's body and carry her back "with all the honor that is her due." the treasure is a fable, a fairytale, an allegory of sisterhood itself. there is good reason that this book has been out of print for two generations. daughters, inc. is proud to retrieve selma lagerlof and publish her in english once again--with all the honor that is her due. june arnold plainfield, vermont the swedish fairy book [illustration: "no sooner had he spoken the words than he was lying in the most magnificent room he had ever seen."] the swedish fairy book edited by clara stroebe translated by frederick h. martens with eight illustrations in color by george w. hood new york frederick a. stokes company publishers _copyright, , by_ frederick a. stokes company _all rights reserved_ _printed in the united states of america_ preface the following volume of swedish fairy-tales represents a careful choice, after the best original sources, of those examples of their kind which not only appeared most colorful and entertaining, but also most racially swedish in their flavor. for the fairy-tales of each of the three scandinavian countries, sweden, denmark and norway, have a distinct local color of their own. the wealth of material available has made it possible to give due representation to most types of fairy-tales, from the stories of older origin, the tales of giant, troll, and werewolf, to such delightful tales as "lasse, my thrall", and "the princess and the glass mountain," colored with the rich and ornate stylistic garb of medieval chivalric poesy. there has been no attempt to "rewrite" these charming folk-and fairy-tales in the translation. they have been faithfully narrated in the simple, naive manner which their traditional rendering demands. and this is one reason, perhaps, why they should appeal to young american readers--for young america by instinct takes kindly to that which is straightforward and sincere, in the realm of fairy-tale as in life itself. frederick h. martens contents chapter i knÖs ii lasse, my thrall! iii finn, the giant, and the minster of lund iv the skalunda giant v yuletide specters vi silverwhite and lillwacker vii stompe pilt viii the girl and the snake ix faithful and unfaithful x starkad and bale xi the werewolf xii first born, first wed xiii the lame dog xiv the mount of the golden queen xv old hopgiant xvi the princess and the glass mountain xvii queen crane xviii tales of the trolls xix charcoal nils and the troll-woman xx the three dogs xxi the poor devil xxii how smaland and schonen came to be xxiii the evil one and kitta grau xxiv the lady of pintorp xxv the specter in fjelkinge xxvi the rooster, the hand-mill and the swarm of hornets xxvii torre jeppe xxviii the man who died on holy innocents' day list of illustrations "no sooner had he spoken the words than he was lying in the most magnificent room he had ever seen" "then silverwhite drew his sword with a great sweep, and rushed upon the sea-troll" "the pike rose to the surface with the golden keys in his mouth" "so heartfelt was her happiness that she forgot everything else in the world" "a shrine adorned with gold and precious stones appeared" "the lion turned into a handsome young prince" "the rich man had to go along hanging to him like a hawser" "he saw a girl sitting in the mountain hall, weaving a web of gold" the swedish fairy book swedish fairy book i knÖs once upon a time there was a poor widow, who found an egg under a pile of brush as she was gathering kindlings in the forest. she took it and placed it under a goose, and when the goose had hatched it, a little boy slipped out of the shell. the widow had him baptized knös, and such a lad was a rarity; for when no more than five years old he was grown, and taller than the tallest man. and he ate in proportion, for he would swallow a whole batch of bread at a single sitting, and at last the poor widow had to go to the commissioners for the relief of the poor in order to get food for him. but the town authorities said she must apprentice the boy at a trade, for he was big enough and strong enough to earn his own keep. so knös was apprenticed to a smith for three years. for his pay he asked a suit of clothes and a sword each year: a sword of five hundredweights the first year, one of ten hundredweights the second year, and one of fifteen hundredweights the third year. but after he had been in the smithy only a few days, the smith was glad to give him all three suits and all three swords at once; for he smashed all his iron and steel to bits. knös received his suits and swords, went to a knight's estate, and hired himself out as a serving-man. once he was told to go to the forest to gather firewood with the rest of the men, but sat at the table eating long after the others had driven off and when he had at last satisfied his hunger and was ready to start, he saw the two young oxen he was to drive waiting for him. but he let them stand and went into the forest, seized the two largest trees growing there, tore them out by the roots, took one tree under each arm, and carried them back to the estate. and he got there long before the rest, for they had to chop down the trees, saw them up and load them on the carts. on the following day knös had to thresh. first he hunted up the largest stone he could find, and rolled it around on the grain, so that all the corn was loosened from the ears. then he had to separate the grain from the chaff. so he made a hole in each side of the roof of the barn, and stood outside the barn and blew, and the chaff and straw flew out into the yard, and the corn remained lying in a heap on the floor. his master happened to come along, laid a ladder against the barn, climbed up and looked down into one of the holes. but knös was still blowing, and the wind caught his master, and he fell down and was nearly killed on the stone pavement of the court. "he's a dangerous fellow," thought his master. it would be a good thing to be rid of him, otherwise he might do away with all of them; and besides, he ate so that it was all one could do to keep him fed. so he called knös in, and paid him his wages for the full year, on condition that he leave. knös agreed, but said he must first be decently provisioned for his journey. so he was allowed to go into the store-house himself, and there he hoisted a flitch of bacon on each shoulder, slid a batch of bread under each arm, and took leave. but his master loosed the vicious bull on him. knös, however, grasped him by the horns, and flung him over his shoulder, and thus he went off. then he came to a thicket where he slaughtered the bull, roasted him and ate him together with a batch of bread. and when he had done this he had about taken the edge off his hunger. then he came to the king's court, where great sorrow reigned because, once upon a time, when the king was sailing out at sea, a sea troll had called up a terrible tempest, so that the ship was about to sink. in order to escape with his life, the king had to promise the sea troll to give him whatever first came his way when he reached shore. the king thought his hunting dog would be the first to come running to meet him, as usual; but instead his three young daughters came rowing out to meet him in a boat. this filled the king with grief, and he vowed that whoever delivered his daughters should have one of them for a bride, whichever one he might choose. but the only man who seemed to want to earn the reward was a tailor, named red peter. knös was given a place at the king's court, and his duty was to help the cook. but he asked to be let off on the day the troll was to come and carry away the oldest princess, and they were glad to let him go; for when he had to rinse the dishes he broke the king's vessels of gold and silver; and when he was told to bring firewood, he brought in a whole wagon-load at once, so that the doors flew from their hinges. the princess stood on the sea-shore and wept and wrung her hands; for she could see what she had to expect. nor did she have much confidence in red peter, who sat on a willow-stump, with a rusty old sabre in his hand. then knös came and tried to comfort the princess as well as he knew how, and asked her whether she would comb his hair. yes, he might lay his head in her lap, and she combed his hair. suddenly there was a dreadful roaring out at sea. it was the troll who was coming along, and he had five heads. red peter was so frightened that he rolled off his willow-stump. "knös, is that you?" cried the troll. "yes," said knös. "haul me up on the shore!" said the troll. "pay out the cable!" said knös. then he hauled the troll ashore; but he had his sword of five hundredweights at his side, and with it he chopped off all five of the troll's heads, and the princess was free. but when knös had gone off, red peter put his sabre to the breast of the princess, and told her he would kill her unless she said he was her deliverer. then came the turn of the second princess. once more red peter sat on the willow-stump with his rusty sabre, and knös asking to be let off for the day, went to the sea-shore and begged the princess to comb his hair, which she did. then along came the troll, and this time he had ten heads. "knös, is that you?" asked the troll. "yes," said knös. "haul me ashore!" said the troll. "pay out the cable!" said knös. and this time knös had his sword of ten hundredweights at his side, and he cut off all ten of the troll's heads. and so the second princess was freed. but red peter held his sabre at the princess' breast, and forced her to say that he had delivered her. now it was the turn of the youngest princess. when it was time for the troll to come, red peter was sitting on his willow-stump, and knös came and begged the princess to comb his hair, and she did so. this time the troll had fifteen heads. "knös, is that you?" asked the troll. "yes," said knös. "haul me ashore!" said the troll. "pay out the cable," said knös. knös had his sword of fifteen hundredweights at his side, and with it he cut off all the troll's heads. but the fifteen hundredweights were half-an-ounce short, and the heads grew on again, and the troll took the princess, and carried her off with him. one day as knös was going along, he met a man carrying a church on his back. "you are a strong man, you are!" said knös. "no, i am not strong," said he, "but knös at the king's court, he is strong; for he can take steel and iron, and weld them together with his hands as though they were clay." "well, i'm the man of whom you are speaking," said knös, "come, let us travel together." and so they wandered on. then they met a man who carried a mountain of stone on his back. "you are strong, you are!" said knös. "no, i'm not strong," said the man with the mountain of stone, "but knös at the king's court, he is strong; for he can weld together steel and iron with his hands as though they were clay." "well, i am that knös, come let us travel together," said knös. so all three of them traveled along together. knös took them for a sea-trip; but i think they had to leave the church and the hill of stone ashore. while they were sailing they grew thirsty, and lay alongside an island, and there on the island stood a castle, to which they decided to go and ask for a drink. now this was the very castle in which the troll lived. first the man with the church went, and when he entered the castle, there sat the troll with the princess on his lap, and she was very sad. he asked for something to drink. "help yourself, the goblet is on the table!" said the troll. but he got nothing to drink, for though he could move the goblet from its place, he could not raise it. then the man with the hill of stone went into the castle and asked for a drink. "help yourself, the goblet is on the table!" said the troll. and he got nothing to drink either, for though he could move the goblet from its place, he could not raise it. then knös himself went into the castle, and the princess was full of joy and leaped down from the troll's lap when she saw it was he. knös asked for a drink. "help yourself," said the troll, "the goblet is on the table!" and knös took the goblet and emptied it at a single draught. then he hit the troll across the head with the goblet, so that he rolled from the chair and died. knös took the princess back to the royal palace, and o, how happy every one was! the other princesses recognized knös again, for they had woven silk ribbons into his hair when they had combed it; but he could only marry one of the princesses, whichever one he preferred, so he chose the youngest. and when the king died, knös inherited the kingdom. as for red peter, he had to go into the nail-barrel. and now you know all that i know. note the leading personage of our first story, knös (_tecknigar og toner ur skanska allmogenslif_, lund, , p. . from gudmundstorp, froste harad) is one of those heroes of gigantic build, beloved of the north, who even when he eats, accomplishes deeds such as the old norsemen told of their god thor: the motive of the goblet with which the hero slays the giant, has been used in the _hymiskvida_. (comp. with v. d. leyen, _märchen in den göttsagen der edda_, p. .) ii lasse, my thrall! once upon a time there was a prince or a duke or whatever you choose to call him, but at any rate a noble tremendously high-born, who did not want to stay at home. and so he traveled about the world, and wherever he went he was well received, and hobnobbed with the very finest people; for he had an unheard of amount of money. he at once found friends and acquaintances, no matter where he came; for whoever has a full trough can always find pigs to thrust their snouts into it. but since he handled his money as he did, it grew less and less, and at last he was left high and dry, without a red cent. and there was an end to all his many friends; for they did just as the pigs do. when he had been well fleeced, they began to snivel and grunt, and soon scattered, each about his own business. and there he stood, after having been led about by the nose, abandoned by all. all had been glad to help him get rid of his money; but none were willing to help him regain it, so there was nothing left for him to do but to wander back home again like a journeyman apprentice, and beg his way as he went. late one evening he found himself in a big forest, without any idea as to where he might spend the night. and as he was looking around, his glance happened to fall on an old hut, peeping out from among the bushes. of course an old hut was no lodging for such a fine gentleman; but when we cannot have what we want, we must take what we can get, and since there was no help for it, he went into the hut. there was not even a cat in it, not even a stool to sit on. but against one wall there was a great chest. what might there be in the chest? suppose there were a few moldy crusts of bread in it? they would taste good to him, for he had not been given a single thing all day long, and he was so hungry that his inwards stuck to his ribs. he opened the chest. but within the chest was another chest, and in that chest still another chest, and so it went, one always smaller than the other, until they were nothing but little boxes. and the more there were of them the more trouble he took to open them; for whatever was hidden away so carefully must be something exceptionally beautiful, thought he. at last he came to a tiny box, and in the tiny box was a slip of paper--and that was all he had for his pains! at first he was much depressed. but all at once, he saw that something was written on the piece of paper, and on closer examination he was even able to spell out the words, though they had a strange appearance. and he read: "lasse, my thrall!" no sooner had he spoken these words than something answered, close to his ear: "what does my master command?" he looked around, but saw no one. that's strange, thought he, and once more read aloud: "lasse, my thrall!" and just as before came the answer: "what does my master command?" "if there be some one about who hears what i say, he might be kind enough to get me a little something to eat," said he; and at that very moment a table, covered with all the good things to eat that one could imagine, was standing in the hut. he at once began to eat and drink and did well by himself. i have never had a better meal in my life, thought he. and when his hunger was completely satisfied, he grew sleepy and took up his scrap of paper again. "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "now that you have brought me food and drink, you must also bring me a bed in which to sleep. but it must be a very fine bed," said he; for as you may well imagine, his ideas were more top-lofty now that he had eaten well. his command was at once obeyed; and a bed so fine and handsome stood in the hut, that a king might have been glad to have found such sleeping accommodations. now this was all very well and good; but the good can always be bettered, and when he had lain down, he decided that, after all, the hut was far too wretched for such a fine bed. he took up the scrap of paper: "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "if you can produce such a meal, and such a bed here in the wild wood, you must surely be able to give me a better room; for you know i am one of those who are used to sleeping in a castle, with golden mirrors and rugs of gold brocade and luxuries and conveniences of every kind," said he. and no sooner had he spoken the words, than he was lying in the most magnificent room he had ever seen. now matters were arranged to suit him, and he was quite content as he turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes. but the room he had slept in was not the end of his magnificence. when he woke the following morning and looked around, he saw that he had been sleeping in a great castle. there was one room after another, and wherever he went walls and ceilings were covered with ornaments and decorations of every kind, all glittering so splendidly when the rays of the sun fell on them that he had to put his hand to his eyes; for wherever he looked everything sparkled with gold and silver. then he glanced out of the window and first began to realize how really beautiful everything was. gone were the fir-trees and juniper bushes, and in their place showed the loveliest garden one might wish to see, filled with beautiful trees and roses of every variety, in bush and tree form. but there was not a human being in sight, not even a cat. yet he found it quite natural that everything should be so fine, and that he should once more have become a great lord. he took up the scrap of paper: "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "now that you have provided me with food and a castle in which to dwell, i am going to stay here, because it suits me," said he, "but i cannot live here all alone in this fashion. i must have serving-men and serving-maids, at my command." and so it was. servants and lackeys and maids and serving-women of every description arrived, and some of them bowed and others courtseyed, and now the duke really began to feel content. now it happened that another great castle lay on the opposite side of the forest, in which dwelt a king who owned the forest, and many broad acres of field and meadow round about. and when the king came and happened to look out of his window, he saw the new castle, on whose roof the golden weathercocks were swinging to and fro, from time to time, shining in his eyes. "this is very strange," thought he, and sent for his courtiers. they came without delay, bowing and scraping. "do you see the castle yonder?" said the king. their eyes grew as large as saucers and they looked. yes, indeed, they saw the castle. "who has dared to build such a castle on my ground?" the courtiers bowed and scraped, but did not know. so the king sent for his soldiers. they came tramping in and presented arms. "send out all my soldiers and horsemen," said the king, "tear down the castle instantly, hang whoever built it, and see to this at once." the soldiers assembled in the greatest haste and set forth. the drummers beat their drums and the trumpeters blew their trumpets, and the other musicians practiced their art, each in his own way; so that the duke heard them long before they came in sight. but this was not the first time he had heard music of this sort, and he knew what it meant, so once more he took up the scrap of paper: "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "there are soldiers coming," said he, "and now you must provide me with soldiers and horsemen until i have twice as many as the folk on the other side of the forest. and sabers and pistols and muskets and cannon, and all that goes with them--but you must be quick about it!" quick it was, and when the duke looked out there was a countless host of soldiers drawn up around the castle. when the king's people arrived, they stopped and did not dare advance. but the duke was by no means shy. he went at once to the king's captain and asked him what he wanted. the captain repeated his instructions. "they will not gain you anything," said the duke. "you can see how many soldiers i have, and if the king chooses to listen to me, we can agree to become friends, i will aid him against all his enemies, and what we undertake will succeed." the captain was pleased with this proposal, so the duke invited him to the castle, together with all his officers, and his soldiers were given a swallow or two of something wet and plenty to eat along with it. but while the duke and the officers were eating and drinking, there was more or less talk, and the duke learned that the king had a daughter, as yet unmarried and so lovely that her like had never been seen. and the more they brought the king's officers to eat, the stronger they inclined to the opinion that the king's daughter would make a good wife for the duke. and as they talked about it, the duke himself began to think it over. the worst of it was, said the officers, that she was very haughty, and never even deigned to look at a man. but the duke only laughed. "if it be no worse than that," he said, "it is a trouble that may be cured." when at last the soldiers had stowed away as much as they could hold, they shouted hurrah until they woke the echoes in the hills, and marched away. one may imagine what a fine parade march it was, for some of them had grown a little loose-jointed in the knees. the duke charged them to carry his greetings to the king, and say that he would soon pay him a visit. when the duke was alone once more, he began to think of the princess again, and whether she were really as beautiful as the soldiers had said. he decided he would like to find out for himself. since so many strange things had happened that day, it was quite possible, thought he. "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "only that you bring the king's daughter here, as soon as she has fallen asleep," said he. "but mind that she does not wake up, either on her way here, or on her way back." and before long there lay the princess on the bed. she was sleeping soundly, and looked charming as she lay there asleep. one had to admit that she was as sweet as sugar. the duke walked all around her; but she appeared just as beautiful from one side as from the other, and the more the duke looked at her, the better she pleased him. "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "now you must take the princess home again," said he, "because now i know what she looks like and to-morrow i shall sue for her hand." the following morning the king stepped to the window. "now i shall not have to see that castle across the way," he thought to himself. but the evil one must have had a hand in the matter--there stood the castle just as before, and the sun was shining brightly on its roof, and the weather-vanes were sending beams into his eyes. the king once more fell into a rage, and shouted for all his people, who hurried to him with more than usual rapidity. the courtiers bowed and scraped and the soldiers marched in parade step and presented arms. "do you see that castle there?" roared the king. they stretched their necks, their eyes grew large as saucers and they looked. yes, indeed, they saw it. "did i not order you to tear down that castle and hang its builder?" he said. this they could not deny; but now the captain himself stepped forward and told what had occurred, and what an alarming number of soldiers the duke had, and how magnificent his castle was. then he also repeated what the duke had said, and that he had sent his greetings to the king. all this made the king somewhat dizzy, and he had to set his crown on the table and scratch his head. it was beyond his comprehension--for all that he was a king; since he could have sworn that it had all come to pass in the course of a single night, and if the duke were not the devil himself, he was at least a magician. and as he sat there and thought, the princess came in. "god greet you, father," she said, "i had a most strange and lovely dream last night." "and what did you dream, my girl?" said the king. "o, i dreamt that i was in the new castle over yonder, and there was a duke, handsome and so splendid beyond anything i could have imagined, and now i want a husband." "what, you want a husband, and you have never even deigned to look at a man; that is very strange!" said the king. "be that as it may," said the princess, "but that is how i feel now; and i want a husband, and the duke is the husband i want," she concluded. the king simply could not get over the astonishment the duke had caused him. suddenly he heard an extraordinary beating of drums, and sounding of trumpets and other instruments of every kind. and a message came that the duke had arrived with a great retinue, all so magnificently attired that every seam of their dresses was sparkling with gold and silver. the king, in his crown and finest robe of state, stood looking down the stairway, and the princess was all the more in favor of carrying out her idea as quickly as possible. the duke greeted the king pleasantly, and the king returned his greeting in the same way, and discussing their affairs together they became good friends. there was a great banquet, and the duke sat beside the princess at the table. what they said to each other i do not know, but the duke knew so well how to talk that, no matter what he said, the princess could not say no, and so he went to the king and begged for her hand. the king could not exactly refuse it, for the duke was the kind of a man whom it was better to have for a friend than for an enemy; but he could not give his answer out of hand, either. first he wished to see the duke's castle, and know how matters stood with regard to this, that and the other--which was natural. so it was agreed that they should pay the duke a visit and bring the princess with them, in order that she might examine his possessions, and with that they parted. when the duke reached home, lasse had a lively time of it, for he was given any number of commissions. but he rushed about, carrying them out, and everything was arranged so satisfactorily that when the king arrived with his daughter, a thousand pens could not have described it. they went through all the rooms and looked around, and everything was as it should be, and even better thought the king, who was very happy. then the wedding was celebrated and when it was over, and the duke returned home with his young wife, he, too, gave a splendid banquet, and that is how it went. after some time had passed, the duke one evening heard the words: "is my master content now?" it was lasse, though the duke could not see him. "i am well content," answered the duke, "for you have brought me all that i have." "but what did i get for it?" said lasse. "nothing," replied the duke, "but, heaven above, what was i to give you, who are not flesh and blood, and whom i cannot even see," said he. "yet if there be anything i can do for you, why let me know what it is, and i will do it." "i would very much like to have the little scrap of paper that you keep in the box," said lasse. "if that is all you want, and if such a trifle is of any service to you, your wish shall be granted, for i believe i know the words by heart now," said the duke. lasse thanked him, and said all the duke need do, would be to lay the paper on the chair beside his bed, when he went to sleep, and that he would fetch it during the night. this the duke did, and then he went to bed and fell asleep. but toward morning the duke woke up, freezing so that his teeth chattered, and when he had fully opened his eyes, he saw that he had been stripped of everything, and had scarcely a shirt to his name. and instead of lying in the handsome bed in the handsome bed-room in the magnificent castle, he lay on the big chest in the old hut. he at once called out: "lasse, my thrall!" but there was no answer. then he cried again: "lasse, my thrall!" again there was no answer. so he called out as loudly as he could: "lasse, my thrall!" but this third call was also in vain. now he began to realize what had happened, and that lasse, when he obtained the scrap of paper, no longer had to serve him, and that he himself had made this possible. but now things were as they were, and there stood the duke in the old hut, with scarcely a shirt to his name. the princess herself was not much better off, though she had kept her clothes; for they had been given her by her father, and lasse had no power over them. now the duke had to explain everything to the princess, and beg her to leave him, since it would be best if he tried to get along as well as he could himself, said he. but this the princess would not do. she had a better memory for what the pastor had said when he married them, she told him, and that she was never, never to leave him. at length the king awoke in his castle, and when he looked out of the window, he saw not a single stone of the other castle in which his son-in-law and his daughter lived. he grew uneasy and sent for his courtiers. they came in, bowing and scraping. "do you see the castle there, on the other side of the forest?" he asked. they stretched their necks and opened their eyes. but they could see nothing. "what has become of it?" said the king. but this question they were unable to answer. in a short time the king and his entire court set out, passed through the forest, and when they came to the place where the castle, with its great gardens, should have been standing, they saw nothing but juniper-bushes and scrub-pines. and then they happened to see the little hut amid the brush. he went in and--o the poor king!--what did he see? there stood his son-in-law, with scarcely a shirt to his name, and his daughter, and she had none too much to wear, and was crying and sniveling at a fearful rate. "for heaven's sake, what is the trouble here?" said the king. but he received no answer; for the duke would rather have died than have told him the whole story. the king urged and pressed him, first amiably, then in anger; but the duke remained obstinate and would have nothing to say. then the king fell into a rage, which is not very surprising, for now he realized that this fine duke was not what he purported to be, and he therefore ordered him to be hung, and hung on the spot. it is true that the princess pleaded earnestly for him, but tears and prayers were useless now, for he was a rascal and should die a rascal's death--thus spake the king. and so it was. the king's people set up a gallows and put a rope around the duke's neck. but as they were leading him to the gallows, the princess got hold of the hangman and gave him a gratuity, for which they were to arrange matters in such wise that the duke need not die. and toward evening they were to cut him down, and he and the princess would disappear. so the bargain was made. in the meantime they strung him up and then the king, together with his court and all the people, went away. now the duke was at the end of his rope. yet he had time enough to reflect about his mistake in not contenting himself with an inch instead of reaching out at once for an ell; and that he had so foolishly given back the scrap of paper to lasse annoyed him most of all. if i only had it again, i would show every one that adversity has made me wise, he thought to himself. but when the horse is stolen we close the stable door. and that is the way of the world. and then he dangled his legs, since for the time being there was nothing else for him to do. it had been a long, hard day for him, and he was not sorry when he saw the sun sinking behind the forest. but just as the sun was setting he suddenly heard a most tremendous yo ho! and when he looked down there were seven carts of worn-out shoes coming along the road, and a-top the last cart was a little old man in gray, with a night-cap on his head. he had the face of some horrible specter, and was not much better to look at in other respects. he drove straight up to the gallows, and stopped when he was directly beneath them, looked up at the duke and laughed--the horrible old creature! "and is this the measure of your stupidity?" he said, "but then what is a fellow of your sort to do with his stupidity, if he does not put it to some use?"--and then he laughed again. "yes, there you hang, and here i am carting off all the shoes i wore out going about on your silly errands. i wonder, sometimes, whether you can actually read what is written on that scrap of paper, and whether you recognize it," said he, laughing again, indulging in all sorts of horse-play, and waving the scrap of paper under the duke's nose. but all who are hanging on the gallows are not dead, and this time lasse was the greater fool of the two. the duke snatched--and tore the scrap of paper from his hand! "lasse, my thrall!" "what does my master command?" "cut me down from the gallows at once, and restore the castle and everything else just as it was before, then when it is dark, bring the princess back to it." everything was attended to with alarming rapidity, and soon all was exactly as it had been before lasse had decamped. when the king awoke the following morning, he looked out of the window as usual, and there the castle was standing as before, with its weathercocks gleaming handsomely in the sunlight. he sent for his courtiers, and they came in bowing and scraping. "do you see the castle over yonder?" asked the king. they stretched their necks, and gazed and stared. yes, indeed, they could see the castle. then the king sent for the princess; but she was not there. thereupon the king set off to see whether his son-in-law was hanging in the appointed spot; but no, there was not a sign of either son-in-law or gallows. then he had to take off his crown and scratch his head. yet that did not change matters, and he could not for the life of him understand why things should be as they were. finally he set out with his entire court, and when they reached the spot where the castle should have been standing, there it stood. the gardens and the roses were just as they had been, and the duke's servitors were to be seen in swarms beneath the trees. his son-in-law in person, together with his daughter, dressed in the finest clothes, came down the stairs to meet him. the devil has a hand in it, thought the king; and so strange did all seem to him that he did not trust the evidence of his own eyes. "god greet you and welcome, father!" said the duke. the king could only stare at him. "are you, are you my son-in-law?" he asked. "why, of course," said the duke, "who else am i supposed to be?" "did i not have you strung up yesterday as a thief and a vagabond?" inquired the king. "i really believe father has gone out of his mind on the way over to us," said the duke and laughed. "does father think that i would allow myself to be hanged so easily? or is there any one present who dare suppose such a thing?" he said, and looked them straight in the eye, so that they knew he was looking at them. they bent their backs and bowed and scraped. "and who can imagine any such thing? how could it be possible? or should there be any one present who dare say that the king wishes me ill, let him speak out," said the duke, and gazed at them with even greater keenness than before. all bent their backs and bowed and scraped. how should any of them come to any such conclusion? no, none of them were foolish to such a degree, they said. now the king was really at a loss to know what to think. when he looked at the duke he felt sure that he could never have wished to harm him, and yet--he was not quite sure. "was i not here yesterday, and was not the whole castle gone, and had not an old hut taken its place, and did i not enter the hut and see you standing there with scarcely a shirt to your name?" he asked. "how father talks," said the duke. "i am afraid, very much afraid, that trolls have blinded you, and led you astray in the forest. what do you think?" he said and turned to the courtiers. they at once bowed and cringed fifty times in succession, and took the duke's side, as stands to reason. the king rubbed his eyes and looked around. "it must be as you say," he told the duke, "and i believe that i have recovered my reason, and have found my eyes again. and it would have been a sin and shame had i had you hung," said he. then he grew joyful and no one gave the matter further thought. but adversity teaches one to be wise, so people say, and the duke now began to attend to most things himself, and to see to it that lasse did not have to wear out so many pairs of shoes. the king at once bestowed half the kingdom upon him, which gave him plenty to do, and people said that one would have to look far in order to find a better ruler. then lasse came to the duke one day, and though he did not look much better than before, he was more civil and did not venture to grin and carry on. "you no longer need my help," said he, "for though formerly i used to wear out all my shoes, i now cannot even wear out a single pair, and i almost believe my legs are moss-grown. will you not discharge me?" the duke thought he could. "i have taken great pains to spare you, and i really believe that i can get along without you," he replied. "but the castle here and all the other things i could not well dispense with, since i never again could find an architect like yourself, and you may take for granted that i have no wish to ornament the gallows-tree a second time. therefore i will not, of my own free will, give you back the scrap of paper," said he. "while it is in your possession i have nothing to fear," answered lasse. "but should the paper fall into other hands, then i should have to begin to run and work all over again and that, just that, is what i would like to prevent. when a fellow has been working a thousand years, as i have, he is bound to grow weary at last." so they came to the conclusion that the duke should put the scrap of paper in its little box and bury it seven ells underground, beneath a stone that had grown there and would remain there as well. then they thanked each other for pleasant comradeship and separated. the duke did as he had agreed to do, and no one saw him hide the box. he lived happily with his princess, and was blessed with sons and daughters. when the king died, he inherited the whole kingdom and, as you may imagine, he was none the worse off thereby, and no doubt he is still living and ruling there, unless he has died. as to the little box containing the scrap of paper, many are still digging and searching for it. note extremely popular in sweden, and delightfully told is "lasse, my thrall." (djurklau, _sagor och aefventyr pa svenska landsmal_. stockholm, . set down in the dialect of nerike). it is the old story of aladdin and the wonderful lamp, but recounted in quite an original form. iii finn, the giant, and the minster of lund there stands in the university town of schonen, the town of lund, the seat of the first archbishopric in all scandinavia, a stately romanic minster, with a large, handsome crypt beneath the choir. the opinion is universal that the minster will never be altogether finished, but that something will always be lacking about the structure. the reason is said to be as follows: when st. lawrence came to lund to preach the gospel, he wanted to build a church; but did not know how he was to obtain the means to do so. while he was cudgelling his brains about it, a giant came to him and offered to build the church on condition that st. lawrence tell him his name before the church was completed. but should st. lawrence be unable to do so, the giant was to receive either the sun, the moon or st. lawrence's eyes. the saint agreed to his proposal. the building of the church made rapid progress, and ere long it was nearly finished. st. lawrence thought ruefully about his prospects, for he did not know the giant's name; yet at the same time he did not relish losing his eyes. and it happened that while he was walking without the town, much concerned about the outcome of the affair, he grew weary, and sat down on a hill to rest. as he sat there he heard a child crying within the hill, and a woman's voice began to sing: "sleep, sleep, my baby dear, to-morrow your father, finn, will be here; then sun and moon you shall have from the skies to play with, or else st. lawrence's eyes." when st. lawrence heard that he was happy; for now he knew the giant's name. he ran back quickly to town, and went to the church. there sat the giant on the roof, just about to set the last stone in place, when at that very moment the saint called out: "finn, finn, take care how you put the stone in!" then the giant flung the stone from him, full of rage, said that the church should never be finished, and with that he disappeared. since then something has always been missing from the church. others say that the giant and his wife rushed down into the crypt in their rage, and each seizing a column were about to tear down the church, when they were turned into stone, and may be seen to this day standing beside the columns they had grasped. note "finn, the giant, and the minster of lund" (retold by dr. v. sydow-lund, after variants in his collection), is the world-famous tale of the giant master-builder, which appears here as a legend, and is connected with various celebrated churches, as for instance the minster of drontheim. its close is an inversion of the motive of guessing a name, which we have already encountered in the danish fairy-tale "trillevip." iv the skalunda giant in the skalunda mountain, near the church, there once lived a giant in the early days, who no longer felt comfortable after the church had been built there. at length he decided that he could no longer stand the ringing of the church bells; so he emigrated and settled down on an island far out in the north sea. once upon a time a ship was wrecked on this island, and among those saved were several people from skalunda. "whence do you hail?" asked the giant, who by now had grown old and blind, and sat warming himself before a log fire. "we are from skalunda, if you wish to know," said one of the men saved. "give me your hand, so that i may feel whether there is still warm blood to be found in the swedish land," said the giant. the man, who feared to shake hands with the giant, drew a red-hot bar of iron from the fire and handed it to him. he seized it firmly, and pressed it so hard that the molten iron ran down between his fingers. "yes, there is still warm blood to be found in sweden," said he. "and tell me," he continued, "is skalunda mountain still standing?" "no, the hens have scratched it away," the man answered. "how could it last?" said the giant. "my wife and daughter piled it up in the course of a single sunday morning. but surely the hallenberg and the hunneberg are still standing, for those i built myself." when the man had confirmed this, the giant wanted to know whether karin was still living in stommen. and when they told him that she was, he gave them a girdle, and with it the message that karin was to wear it in remembrance of him. the men took the girdle and gave it to karin upon their return home; but before karin put it on, she clasped it around the oak-tree that grew in the court. no sooner had she done so than the oak tore itself out of the ground, and flew to the north, borne away by the storm-wind. in the place where it had stood was a deep pit, and the roots of the tree were so enormous that one of the best springs in stommen flows from one of the root-holes to this very day. note "the skalunda giant" (hofberg, _svenska folksagner_, stockholm, , p. ) has a near relative in the norwegian mountain giant of mesingeberg, of whom asbjörnsen tells. v yuletide specters once upon a time there lived two peasants on a homestead called vaderas, just as there are two peasants living on it now. in those days the roads were good, and the women were in the habit of riding when they wanted to go to church. one christmas the two women agreed that they would ride to christmas night mass, and whichever one of them woke up at the right time was to call the other, for in those days there was no such thing as a watch. it was about midnight when one of the women thought she heard a voice from the window, calling: "i am going to set out now." she got up hurriedly and dressed herself, so that she might be able to ride with the other woman; but since there was no time to eat, she took a piece of bread from the table along with her. in those times it was customary to bake the bread in the shape of a cross. it was a piece of this kind that the woman took and put in her pocket, in order to eat it underway. she rode as fast as she could, to catch up with her friend, but could not overtake her. the way led over a little stream which flows into vidostern lake, and across the stream was a bridge, known as the earth bridge, and on the bridge stood two witch trolls, busy washing. as the woman came riding across the bridge, one of the witch trolls called out to the other, "hurry, and tear her head from her shoulders!" "that i cannot do" returned the other, "because she has a bit of bread in the form of a cross in her pocket." the woman, who had been unable to catch up with her neighbor, reached the church at hanger alone. the church was full of lights, as was always the case when the christmas mass was said. as quickly as ever she could the woman tied up her horse, and hurriedly entered the church. it seemed to her that the church was crowded with people; but all of them were headless, and at the altar stood the priest, in full canonicals but without a head. in her haste she did not at once see how things were; but sat down in her accustomed place. as she sat down it seemed to her that some one said: "if i had not stood godfather to you when you were christened, i would do away with you as you sit there, and now hurry and make yourself scarce, or it will be the worse for you!" then she realized that things were not as they should be, and ran out hastily. when she came into the church-yard, it seemed to her as though she were surrounded by a great crowd of people. in those days people wore broad mantles of unbleached wool, woven at home, and white in color. she was wearing one of these mantles and the specters seized it. but she flung it away from her and managed to escape from the church-yard, and run to the poor-house and wake the people there. it is said it was then one o'clock at night. so she sat and waited for the early mass at four o'clock in the morning. and when day finally dawned, they found a little piece of her mantle on every grave in the church-yard. a similar experience befell a man and his wife who lived in a hut known as ingas, below mosled. they were no more than an hour ahead of time; but when they reached the church at hanger, they thought the service had already begun, and wanted to enter at once; but the church was barred and bolted, and the phantom service of the dead was nearing its end. and when the actual mass began, there was found lying at every place some of the earth from the graves of those who shortly before had been worshiping. the man and his wife thereupon fell grievously ill, because they had disturbed the dead. note "yuletide spectres." the tale of the weird service of the dead on christmas night is common throughout scandinavia. (from an mss. communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund). vi silverwhite and lillwacker once upon a time there was a king, who had a queen whom he loved with a great love. but after a time the queen died, and all he had left was an only daughter. and now that the king was a widower, his whole heart went out to the little princess, whom he cherished as the apple of his eye. and the king's young daughter grew up into the most lovely maiden ever known. when the princess had seen the snows of fifteen winters, it happened that a great war broke out, and that her father had to march against the foe. but there was no one to whom the king could entrust his daughter while he was away at war; so he had a great tower built out in the forest, provided it with a plenteous store of supplies, and in it shut up his daughter and a maid. and he had it proclaimed that every man, no matter who he might be, was forbidden to approach the tower in which he had placed his daughter and the maid, under pain of death. now the king thought he had taken every precaution to protect his daughter, and went off to war. in the meantime the princess and her maid sat in the tower. but in the city there were a number of brave young sons of kings, as well as other young men, who would have liked to have talked to the beautiful maiden. and when they found that this was forbidden them, they conceived a great hatred for the king. at length they took counsel with an old woman who was wiser than most folk, and told her to arrange matters in such wise that the king's daughter and her maid might come into disrepute, without their having anything to do with it. the old hag promised to help them, enchanted some apples, laid them in a basket, and went to the lonely tower in which the maidens lived. when the king's daughter and her maid saw the old woman, who was sitting beneath the window, they felt a great longing to try the beautiful apples. so they called out and asked how much she wanted for her precious apples; but the old woman said they were not for sale. yet as the girls kept on pleading with her, the old woman said she would make each of them a present of an apple; they only need let down a little basket from the tower. the princess and her maid, in all innocence, did as the troll-woman told them, and each received an apple. but the enchanted fruit had a strange effect, for in due course of time heaven sent them each a child. the king's daughter called her son silverwhite, and the son of her maid received the name of lillwacker. the two boys grew up larger and stronger than other children, and were very handsome as well. they looked as much alike as one cherry-pit does to another, and one could easily see that they were related. seven years had passed, and the king was expected home from the war. then both girls were terrified, and they took counsel together as to how they might hide their children. when at length they could find no other way out of the difficulty, they very sorrowfully bade their children farewell, and let them down from the tower at night, to seek their fortune in the wide, wide world. at parting the king's daughter gave silverwhite a costly knife; but the maid had nothing to give her son. the two foster-brethren now wandered out into the world. after they had gone a while, they came to a dark forest. and in this forest they met a man, strange-looking and very tall. he wore two swords at his side, and was accompanied by six great dogs. he gave them a friendly greeting: "good-day, little fellows, whence do you come and whither do you go?" the boys told him they came from a high tower, and were going out into the world to seek their fortune. the man replied: "if such be the case, i know more about your origin than any one else. and that you may have something by which to remember your father, i will give each of you a sword and three dogs. but you must promise me one thing, that you will never part from your dogs; but take them with you wherever you go." the boys thanked the man for his kind gifts, and promised to do as he had told them. then they bade him farewell and went their way. when they had traveled for some time they reached a cross-road. then silverwhite said: "it seems to me that it would be the best for us to try our luck singly, so let us part." lillwacker answered: "your advice is good; but how am i to know whether or not you are doing well out in the world?" "i will give you a token by which you may tell," said silverwhite, "so long as the water runs clear in this spring you will know that i am alive; but if it turns red and roiled, it will mean that i am dead." silverwhite then drew runes in the water of the spring, said farewell to his brother, and each of them went on alone. lillwacker soon came to a king's court, and took service there; but every morning he would go to the spring to see how his brother fared. silverwhite continued to wander over hill and dale, until he reached a great city. but the whole city was in mourning, the houses were hung in black, and all the inhabitants went about full of grief and care, as though some great misfortune had occurred. silverwhite went though the city and inquired as to the cause of all the unhappiness he saw. they answered: "you must have come from far away, since you do not know that the king and queen were in danger of being drowned at sea, and he had to promise to give up their three daughters in order to escape. to-morrow morning the sea-troll is coming to carry off the oldest princess." this news pleased silverwhite; for he saw a fine opportunity to wealth and fame, should fortune favor him. the next morning silverwhite hung his sword at his side, called his dogs to him, and wandered down to the sea-shore alone. and as he sat on the strand he saw the king's daughter led out of the city, and with her went a courtier, who had promised to rescue her. but the princess was very sad and cried bitterly. then silverwhite stepped up to her with a polite greeting. when the king's daughter and her escort saw the fearless youth, they were much frightened, because they thought he was the sea-troll. the courtier was so alarmed that he ran away and took refuge in a tree. when silverwhite saw how frightened the princess was, he said: "lovely maiden, do not fear me, for i will do you no harm." the king's daughter answered: "are you the troll who is coming to carry me away?" "no," said silverwhite, "i have come to rescue you." then the princess was glad to think that such a brave hero was going to defend her, and they had a long, friendly talk. at the same time silverwhite begged the king's daughter to comb his hair. she complied with his request, and silverwhite laid his head in her lap; but when he did so the princess drew a golden ring from her finger and, unbeknown to him, wound it into his locks. [illustration: "then silverwhite drew his sword with a great sweep and rushed upon the sea-troll."] suddenly the sea-troll rose from the deeps, setting the waves whirling and foaming far and near. when the troll saw silverwhite, he grew angry and said: "why do you sit there beside my princess?" the youth replied: "it seems to me that she is my princess, not yours." the sea-troll answered: "time enough to see which of us is right; but first our dogs shall fight." silverwhite was nothing loath, and set his dogs at the dogs of the troll, and there was a fierce struggle. but at last the youth's dogs got the upper hand and bit the dogs of the sea-troll to death. then silverwhite drew his sword with a great sweep, rushed upon the sea-troll, and gave him such a tremendous blow that the monster's head rolled on the sand. the troll gave a fearsome cry, and flung himself back into the sea, so that the water spurted to the very skies. thereupon the youth drew out his silver-mounted knife, cut out the troll's eyes and put them in his pocket. then he saluted the lovely princess and went away. now when the battle was over and the youth had disappeared, the courtier crawled down from his tree, and threatened to kill the princess if she did not say before all the people that he, and none other, had rescued her. the king's daughter did not dare refuse, since she feared for her life. so she returned to her father's castle with the courtier, where they were received with great distinction. and joy reigned throughout the land when the news spread that the oldest princess had been rescued from the troll. on the following day everything repeated itself. silverwhite went down to the strand and met the second princess, just as she was to be delivered to the troll. and when the king's daughter and her escort saw him, they were very much frightened, thinking he was the sea-troll. and the courtier climbed a tree, just as he had before; but the princess granted the youth's petition, combed his hair as her sister had done, and also wound her gold ring into his long curls. after a time there was a great tumult out at sea, and a sea-troll rose from the waves. he had three heads and three dogs. but silverwhite's dogs overcame those of the troll, and the youth killed the troll himself with his sword. thereupon he took out his silver-mounted knife, cut out the troll's eyes, and went his way. but the courtier lost no time. he climbed down from his tree and forced the princess to promise to say that he, and none other, had rescued her. then they returned to the castle, where the courtier was acclaimed as the greatest of heroes. on the third day silverwhite hung his sword at his side, called his three dogs to him, and again wandered down to the sea-shore. as he was sitting by the strand, he saw the youngest princess led out of the city, and with her the daring courtier who claimed to have rescued her sisters. but the princess was very sad and cried bitterly. then silverwhite stepped up and greeted the lovely maiden politely. now when the king's daughter and her escort saw the handsome youth, they were very much frightened, for they believed him to be the sea-troll, and the courtier ran away and hid in a high tree that grew near the strand. when silverwhite noticed the maiden's terror, he said: "lovely maiden, do not fear me, for i will do you no harm." the king's daughter answered: "are you the troll who is coming to carry me away?" "no," said silverwhite, "i have come to rescue you." then the princess was very glad to have such a brave hero fight for her, and they had a long, friendly talk with each other. at the same time silverwhite begged the lovely maiden to do him a favor and comb his hair. this the king's daughter was most willing to do, and silverwhite laid his head in her lap. but when the princess saw the gold rings her sisters had wound in his locks, she was much surprised, and added her own to the others. suddenly the sea-troll came shooting up out of the deep with a terrific noise, so that waves and foam spurted to the very skies. this time the monster had six heads and nine dogs. when the troll saw silverwhite sitting with the king's daughter, he fell into a rage and cried: "what are you doing with my princess?" the youth answered: "it seems to me that she is my princess rather than yours." thereupon the troll said: "time enough to see which of us is right; but first our dogs shall fight each other." silverwhite did not delay, but set his dogs at the sea-dogs, and they had a battle royal. but in the end the youth's dogs got the upper hand and bit all nine of the sea-dogs to death. finally silverwhite drew out his bare sword, flung himself upon the sea-troll, and stretched all six of his heads on the sand with a single blow. the monster uttered a terrible cry, and rushed back into the sea so that the water spurted to the heavens. then the youth drew his silver-mounted knife, cut out all twelve of the troll's eyes, saluted the king's young daughter, and hastily went away. now that the battle was over, and the youth had disappeared, the courtier climbed down from his tree, drew his sword and threatened to kill the princess unless she promised to say that he had rescued her from the troll, as he had her sisters. the king's daughter did not dare refuse, since she feared for her life. so they went back to the castle together, and when the king saw that they had returned in safety, without so much as a scratch, he and the whole court were full of joy, and they were accorded great honors. and at court the courtier was quite another fellow from the one who had hid away in the tree. the king had a splendid banquet prepared, with amusements and games, and the sound of string music and dancing, and bestowed the hand of his youngest daughter on the courtier in reward for his bravey. in the midst of the wedding festivities, when the king and his whole court were seated at table, the door opened, and in came silverwhite with his dogs. the youth stepped boldly into the hall of state and greeted the king. and when the three princesses saw who it was, they were full of joy, leaped up from their places, and ran over to him, much to the king's surprise, who asked what it all meant. then the youngest princess told him all that had happened, from beginning to end, and that silverwhite had rescued them, while the courtier sat in a tree. to prove it beyond any chance of doubt, each of the king's daughters showed her father the ring she had wound in silverwhite's locks. but the king still did not know quite what to think of it all, until silverwhite said: "my lord king! in order that you need not doubt what your daughters have told you, i will show you the eyes of the sea-trolls whom i slew." then the king and all the rest saw that the princesses had told the truth. the traitorous courtier received his just punishment; but silverwhite was paid every honor, and was given the youngest daughter and half of the kingdom with her. after the wedding silverwhite established himself with his young bride in a large castle belonging to the king, and there they lived quietly and happily. one night, when all were sleeping, it chanced that he heard a knocking at the window, and a voice which said: "come, silverwhite, i have to talk to you!" the king, who did not want to wake his young wife, rose hastily, girded on his sword, called his dogs and went out. when he reached the open air, there stood a huge and savage-looking troll. the troll said: "silverwhite, you have slain my three brothers, and i have come to bid you go down to the sea-shore with me, that we may fight with one another." this proposal suited the youth, and he followed the troll without protest. when they reached the sea-shore, there lay three great dogs belonging to the troll. silverwhite at once set his dogs at the troll-dogs, and after a hard struggle the latter had to give in. the young king drew his sword, bravely attacked the troll and dealt him many a mighty blow. it was a tremendous battle. but when the troll noticed he was getting the worst of it, he grew frightened, quickly ran to a high tree, and clambered into it. silverwhite and the dogs ran after him, the dogs barking as loudly as they could. then the troll begged for his life and said: "dear silverwhite, i will take wergild for my brothers, only bid your dogs be still, so that we may talk." the king bade his dogs be still, but in vain, they only barked the more loudly. then the troll tore three hairs from his head, handed them to silverwhite and said: "lay a hair on each of the dogs, and then they will be as quiet as can be." the king did so and at once the dogs fell silent, and lay motionless as though they had grown fast to the ground. now silverwhite realized that he had been deceived; but it was too late. the troll was already descending from the tree, and he drew his sword and again began to fight. but they had exchanged no more than a few blows, before silverwhite received a mortal wound, and lay on the earth in a pool of blood. but now we must tell about lillwacker. the next morning he went to the spring by the cross-road and found it red with blood. then he knew that silverwhite was dead. he called his dogs, hung his sword at his side, and went on until he came to a great city. and the city was in festal array, the streets were crowded with people, and the houses were hung with scarlet cloths and splendid rugs. lillwacker asked why everybody was so happy, and they said: "you must hail from distant parts, since you do not know that a famous hero has come here by the name of silverwhite, who has rescued our three princesses, and is now the king's son-in-law." lillwacker then inquired how it had all come about, and then went his way, reaching the royal castle in which silverwhite dwelt with his beautiful queen in the evening. when lillwacker entered the castle gate, all greeted him as though he had been the king. for he resembled his foster-brother so closely that none could tell one from the other. when the youth came to the queen's room, she also took him for silverwhite. she went up to him and said: "my lord king, where have you been so long? i have been awaiting you with great anxiety." lillwacker said little, and was very taciturn. then he lay down on a couch in a corner of the queen's room. the young woman did not know what to think of his actions; for her husband did not act queerly at other times. but she thought: "one should not try to discover the secrets of others," and said nothing. in the night, when all were sleeping, there was a knocking at the window, and a voice cried: "come, lillwacker, i have to talk to you!" the youth rose hastily, took his good sword, called his dogs and went. when he reached the open air, there stood the same troll who had slain silverwhite. he said: "come with me, lillwacker, and then you shall see your foster-brother!" to this lillwacker at once agreed, and the troll led the way. when they came to the sea-shore, there lay the three great dogs whom the troll had brought with him. somewhat further away, where they had fought, lay silverwhite in a pool of blood, and beside him his dogs were stretched out on the ground as though they had taken root in it. then lillwacker saw how everything had happened, and thought that he would gladly venture his life, if he might in some way call his brother back from the dead. he at once set his dogs at the troll-dogs, and they had a hard struggle, in which lillwacker's dogs won the victory. then the youth drew his sword, and attacked the troll with mighty blows. but when the troll saw that he was getting the worst of it, he took refuge in a lofty tree. lillwacker and his dogs ran after him and the dogs barked loudly. then the troll humbly begged for his life, and said: "dear lillwacker, i will give you wergild for your brother, only bid your dogs be still, so that we may talk." at the same time the troll handed him three hairs from his head and added: "lay one of these hairs on each of your dogs, and then they will soon be quiet." but lillwacker saw through his cunning scheme, took the three hairs and laid them on the troll-dogs, which at once fell on the ground and lay like dead. when the troll saw that his attempt had failed, he was much alarmed and said: "dearest lillwacker, i will give you wergild for your brother, if you will only leave me alone." but the youth answered: "what is there you can give me that will compensate for my brother's life?" the troll replied: "here are two flasks. in one is a liquid which, if you anoint a dead man with it, it will restore him to life; but as to the liquid in the other flask, if you moisten anything with it, and some one touches the place you have moistened, he will be unable to move from the spot. i think it would be hard to find anything more precious than the liquid in these flasks." lillwacker said: "your proposal suits me, and i will accept it. but there is something else you must promise to do: that you will release my brother's dogs." the troll agreed, climbed down from the tree, breathed on the dogs and thus freed them. then lillwacker took the two flasks and went away from the sea-shore with the troll. after they had gone a while they came to a great flat stone, lying near the highway. lillwacker hastened on in advance and moistened it with liquid from the second flask. then, as he was going by, lillwacker suddenly set all six of his dogs at the troll, who stepped back and touched the stone. there he stuck, and could move neither forward nor backward. after a time the sun rose and shone on the stone. and when the troll saw the sun he burst--and was as dead as a doornail! lillwacker now ran back to his brother and sprinkled him with the liquid in the other flask, so that he came to life again, and they were both very happy, as may well be imagined. the two foster-brothers then returned to the castle, recounting the story of their experiences and adventures on the way. lillwacker told how he had been taken for his brother. he even mentioned that he had lain down on a couch in a corner of the queen's room, and that she had never suspected that he was not her rightful husband. but when silverwhite heard that, he thought that lillwacker had offended against the queen's dignity, and he grew angry and fell into such a rage that he drew his sword, and thrust it into his brother's breast. lillwacker fell to earth dead, and silverwhite went home to the castle alone. but lillwacker's dogs would not leave their master, and lay around him, whining and licking his wound. in the evening, when the young king and his wife retired, the queen asked him why he had been so taciturn and serious the evening before. then the queen said: "i am very curious to know what has befallen you during the last few days, but what i would like to know most of all, is why you lay down on a couch in a corner of my room the other night?" now it was clear to silverwhite that the brother he had slain was innocent of all offense, and he felt bitter regret at having repaid his faithfulness so badly. so king silverwhite at once rose and went to the place where his brother was lying. he poured the water of life from his flask and anointed his brother's wound, and in a moment lillwacker was alive again, and the two brother's went joyfully back to the castle. when they got there, silverwhite told his queen how lillwacker had rescued him from death, and all the rest of their adventures, and all were happy at the royal court, and they paid the youth the greatest honors and compliments. after he had stayed there a time he sued for the hand of the second princess and obtained it. thereupon the wedding was celebrated with great pomp, and silverwhite divided his half of the kingdom with his foster-brother. the two brothers continued to live together in peace and unity, and if they have not died, they are living still. note from a venerable indo-germanic source comes the widely circulated story of "silverwhite and lillwacker," the faithful brothers (hyltén-cavallius and stephens, _svenska folkasagor och aefventyr_, stockholm, , p. . from vermland). vii stompe pilt not far from baalsberg, near filkestad in the willandsharad, there is a hill in which a giant named stompe pilt once used to live. it happened one day that a goat-herd was driving his flock up the hill in which stompe pilt dwelt. "who is there?" cried the giant, and rushed out of his hill with a hunk of flint-rock in his fist. "i am, if that's what you want to know!" shouted the shepherd-lad and continued driving his goats up the hill. "if you come here, i will squash you as i squash this stone!" cried the giant and he crushed it into fine sand between his fingers. "and i will squash you till the water runs out, just as i squash this stone!" answered the shepherd-lad, drawing a fresh cheese from his pocket, and pressing it hard, so that the water ran from his fingers. "are you not frightened?" asked the giant. "of you? certainly not!" was the youth's reply. "then we will fight with one another!" proposed the giant. "as you choose," replied the shepherd, "but first we must abuse each other so that we can get into a proper rage, because as we abuse each other we will grow angry, and when we are angry we will fight!" "but i shall begin by abusing you," said the giant. "as you choose," said the youth, "but then it will be my turn." "may a troll with a crooked nose take you!" yelled the giant. "may a flying devil carry you off!" answered the shepherd and he shot a sharp arrow against the giant's body with his bow. "what was that?" asked the giant, and tried to pull the arrow out of his body. "that was a word of abuse," said the shepherd. "how does it come to have feathers?" asked the giant. "the better to fly with," answered the shepherd. "why does it stick so tight?" the giant continued. "because it has taken root in your body," was the shepherd's answer. "have you any other abusive words of the same sort?" asked the giant. "here is another one," replied the youth, and shot another arrow into the giant. "ouch, ouch!" cried stompe pilt, "are you still not angry enough for us to come to blows?" "no, i have not abused you enough as yet," said the shepherd and aimed another arrow. "lead your goats wherever you choose! if i cannot stand your abusive words, i surely will not be able to bear up against your blows," cried stompe pilt, and jumped back into his hill. and that is how the shepherd gained the victory, because he was brave and did not let the stupid giant frighten him. note an entertaining parody of the serious tale of david and goliath is the story of the little shepherd boy's fight with the giant stompe pilt. (hofberg, p. ). viii the girl and the snake once upon a time there was a girl who was to go to the wood and drive the cattle home; but she did not find the herd, and losing her way instead, came to a great hill. it had gates and doors and she went in. there stood a table covered with all sorts of good things to eat. and there stood a bed as well, and in the bed lay a great snake. the snake said to the girl: "sit down, if you choose! eat, if you choose! come and lie down in the bed, if you choose! but if you do not choose, then do not do so." so the girl did nothing at all. at last the snake said: "some people are coming now who want you to dance with them. but do not go along with them." straightway people arrived who wanted to dance with the girl; but she would hear nothing of it. then they began to eat and drink; but the girl left the hill and went home. the following day she again went to the wood to look for the cattle, did not find them, lost her way again, and came to the same hill. this time she also entered, and found everything as it had been the first time, the well-spread table and the bed with the snake in it. and the snake said to her, as before: "sit down, if you choose! eat, if you choose! come, and lie down in the bed if you choose! but if you do not choose, then do not do so! now a great many more people are coming who will want to dance with you, but do not go with them." the snake had scarcely concluded before a great many people arrived, who began to dance, eat and drink; but the girl did not keep them company, instead she left the hill and went home. on the third day when she once more went to the wood, everything happened exactly as on the first and second day. the snake invited her to eat and drink, and this time she did so, with a hearty appetite. then the snake told her to lie down beside him and the girl obeyed. then the snake said: "put your arm about me!" she did so. "and now kiss me," said the snake, "but if you are afraid, put your apron between us." the girl did so, and in a moment the snake was turned into a marvellously handsome youth, who was really a prince, bewitched in the form of a snake by magic spells, and now delivered by the girl's courage. then both of them went away and there was nothing further heard of them. note "the girl and the snake" (from södermanland. from the mss. collection of the metallurgist gustav erikson, communicated to dr. v. sydow-lund) shows distinctive scandinavian features; though it falls short of the richness and depth of the celebrated danish fairy-tale "king dragon," whose germ idea is the same. ix faithful and unfaithful once upon a time there was a couple of humble cottagers who had no children until, at last, the man's wife was blessed with a boy, which made both of them very happy. they named him faithful and when he was christened a _huldra_ came to the hut, seated herself beside the child's cradle, and foretold that he would meet with good fortune. "what is more," she said, "when he is fifteen years of age, i will make him a present of a horse with many rare qualities, a horse that has the gift of speech!" and with that the _huldra_ turned and went away. the boy grew up and became strong and powerful. and when he had passed his fifteenth year, a strange old man came up to their hut one day, knocked, and said that the horse he was leading had been sent by his queen, and that henceforward it was to belong to faithful, as she had promised. then the ancient man departed; but the beautiful horse was admired by all, and faithful learned to love it more with every passing day. at length he grew weary of home. "i must away and try my fortune in the world," said he, and his parents did not like to object; for there was not much to wish for at home. so he led his dear horse from the stable, swung himself into the saddle, and rode hurriedly into the wood. he rode on and on, and had already covered a good bit of ground, when he saw two lions engaged in a struggle with a tiger, and they were well-nigh overcome. "make haste to take your bow," said the horse, "shoot the tiger and deliver the two lions!" "yes, that's what i will do," said the youth, fitted an arrow to the bow-string, and in a moment the tiger lay prone on the ground. the two lions drew nearer, nuzzled their preserver in a friendly and grateful manner, and then hastened back to their cave. faithful now rode along for a long time among the great trees until he suddenly spied two terrified white doves fleeing from a hawk who was on the point of catching them. "make haste to take your bow," said the horse, "shoot the hawk and save the two doves!" "yes, that's what i'll do," said the youth. he fitted an arrow to the bow-string, and in a moment the hawk lay prone on the ground. but the two doves flew nearer, fluttered about their deliverer in a tame and grateful manner, and then hurried back to their nest. the youth pressed on through the wood and by now was far, far from home. but his horse did not tire easily, and ran on with him until they came to a great lake. there he saw a gull rise up from the water, holding a pike in its claws. "make haste to take your bow," said the horse, "shoot the gull and save the pike!" "yes, that's what i'll do," answered the youth, fitted an arrow to his bow-string, and in a moment the gull was threshing the ground with its wings, mortally wounded. but the pike who had been saved swam nearer, gave his deliverer a friendly, grateful glance, and then dove down to join his fellows beneath the waves. faithful rode on again, and before evening came to a great castle. he at once had himself announced to the king, and begged that the latter would take him into his service. "what kind of a place do you want?" asked the king, who was inclined to look with favor on the bold horseman. "i should like to be a groom," was faithful's answer, "but first of all i must have stable-room and fodder for my horse." "that you shall have," said the king, and the youth was taken on as a groom, and served so long and so well, that every one in the castle liked him, and the king in particular praised him highly. but among the other servitors was one named unfaithful who was jealous of faithful, and did what he could to harm him; for he thought to himself: "then i would be rid of him, and need not see him continue to rise in my lord's favor." now it happened that the king was very sad, for he had lost his queen, whom a troll had stolen from the castle. it is true that the queen had not taken pleasure in the king's society, and that she did not love him. still the king longed for her greatly, and often spoke of it to unfaithful his servant. so one day unfaithful said: "my lord need distress himself no longer, for faithful has been boasting to me that he could rescue your beautiful queen from the hands of the troll." "if he has done so," replied the king, "then he must keep his word." he straightway ordered faithful to be brought before him, and threatened him with death if he did not at once hurry into the hill and bring back the wife of whom he had been robbed. if he were successful great honor should be his reward. in vain faithful denied what unfaithful had said of him, the king stuck to his demand, and the youth withdrew, convinced that he had not long to live. then he went to the stable to bid farewell to his beautiful horse, and stood beside him and wept. "what grieves you so?" asked the horse. then the youth told him of all that had happened, and said that this was probably the last time he would be able to visit him. "if it be no more than that," said the horse, "there is a way to help you. up in the garret of the castle there is an old fiddle, take it with you and play it when you come to the place where the queen is kept. and fashion for yourself armor of steel wire, and set knives into it everywhere, and then, when you see the troll open his jaws, descend into his maw, and thus slay him. but you must have no fear, and must trust me to show you the way." these words filled the youth with fresh courage, he went to the king and received permission to leave, secretly fashioned his steel armor, took the old fiddle from the garret of the castle, led his dear horse out of the stable, and without delay set forth for the troll's hill. before long he saw it, and rode directly to the troll's abode. when he came near, he saw the troll, who had crept out of his castle, lying stretched out at the entrance to his cave, fast asleep, and snoring so powerfully that the whole hill shook. but his mouth was wide open, and his maw was so tremendous that it was easy for the youth to crawl into it. he did so, for he was not afraid, and made his way into the troll's inwards where he was so active that the troll was soon killed. then faithful crept out again, laid aside his armor, and entered the troll's castle. within the great golden hall sat the captive queen, fettered with seven strong chains of gold. faithful could not break the strong chains; but he took up his fiddle and played such tender music on it, that the golden chains were moved, and one after another, fell from the queen, until she was able to rise and was free once more. she looked at the courageous youth with joy and gratitude, and felt very kindly toward him, because he was so handsome and courteous. and the queen was perfectly willing to return with him to the king's castle. the return of the queen gave rise to great joy, and faithful received the promised reward from the king. but now the queen treated her husband with even less consideration than before. she would not exchange a word with him, she did not laugh, and locked herself up in her room with her gloomy thoughts. this greatly vexed the king, and one day he asked the queen why she was so sad: "well," said she, "i cannot be happy unless i have the beautiful golden hall which i had in the hill at the troll's; for a hall like that is to be found nowhere else." "it will be no easy matter to obtain it for you," said the king, "and i cannot promise you that anyone will be able to do it." but when he complained of his difficulty to his servant unfaithful, the latter answered: "the chances of success are not so bad, for faithful said he could easily bring the troll's golden hall to the castle." faithful was at once sent for, and the king commanded him, as he loved his life, to make good his word and bring the golden hall from the troll's hill. it was in vain that faithful denied unfaithful's assertions: go he must, and bring back the golden hall. inconsolable, he went to his beautiful horse, wept and wanted to say farewell to him forever. "what troubles you?" asked the horse. and the youth replied: "unfaithful has again been telling lies about me, and if i do not bring the troll's golden hall to the queen, my life will be forfeited." "is it nothing more serious than that?" said the horse. "see that you obtain a great ship, take your fiddle with you and play the golden hall out of the hill, then hitch the troll's horses before it, and you will be able to bring the glistening hall here without trouble." then faithful felt somewhat better, did as the horse had told him, and was successful in reaching the great hill. and as he stood there playing the fiddle, the golden hall heard him, and was drawn to the sounding music, and it moved slowly, slowly, until it stood outside the hill. it was built of virgin gold, like a house by itself, and under it were many wheels. then the youth took the troll's horses, put them to the golden hall, and thus brought it aboard his ship. soon he had crossed the lake, and brought it along safely so that it reached the castle without damage, to the great joy of the queen. yet despite the fact, she was as weary of everything as she had been before, never spoke to her husband, the king, and no one ever saw her laugh. now the king grew even more vexed than he had been, and again asked her why she seemed so sad. "ah, how can i be happy unless i have the two colts that used to belong to me, when i stayed at the troll's! such handsome steeds are to be seen nowhere else!" "it will be anything but easy to obtain for you what you want," declared the king, "for they were untamed, and long ago must have run far away into the wild-wood." then he left her, sadly, and did not know what to do. but unfaithful said: "let my lord give himself no concern, for faithful has declared he could easily secure both of the troll's colts." faithful was at once sent for, and the king threatened him with death, if he did not show his powers in the matter of the colts. but should he succeed in catching them, then he would be rewarded. now faithful knew quite well that he could not hope to catch the troll's wild colts, and he once more turned to the stable in order to bid farewell to the _huldra's_ gift. "why do you weep over such a trifle?" said the horse. "hurry to the wood, play your fiddle, and all will be well!" faithful did as he was told, and after a while the two lions whom he had rescued came leaping toward him, listened to his playing and asked him whether he was in distress. "yes, indeed," said faithful, and told them what he had to do. they at once ran back into the wood, one to one side and the other to the other, and returned quickly, driving the two colts before them. then faithful played his fiddle and the colts followed him, so that he soon reached the king's castle in safety, and could deliver the steeds to the queen. the king now expected that his wife would be gay and happy. but she did not change, never addressed a word to him, and only seemed a little less sad when she happened to speak to the daring youth. then the king asked her to tell him what she lacked, and why she was so discontented. she answered: "i have secured the colts of the troll, and i often sit in the glittering hall of gold; but i can open none of the handsome chests that are filled to the brim with my valuables, because i have no keys. and if i do not get the keys again, how can i be happy?" "and where may the keys be?" asked the king. "in the lake by the troll's hill," said the queen, "for that is where i threw them when faithful brought me here." "this is a ticklish affair, this business of those keys you want!" said the king. "and i can scarcely promise that you will ever see them again." in spite of this, however, he was willing to make an attempt, and talked it over with his servant unfaithful. "why, that is easily done," said the latter, "for faithful boasted to me that he could get the queen's keys without any difficulty if he wished." "then i shall compel him to keep his word," said the king. and he at once ordered faithful, on pain of death, to get the queen's keys out of the lake by the troll's hill without delay. [illustration: "the pike rose to the surface with the golden keys in his mouth."] this time the youth was not so depressed, for he thought to himself: "my wise horse will be able to help me." and so he was, for he advised him to go along playing his fiddle, and to wait for what might happen. after the youth had played for a while, the pike he had saved thrust his head out of the water, recognized him, and asked whether he could be of any service to him. "yes, indeed!" said the youth, and told him what it was he wanted. the pike at once dived, quickly rose to the surface of the water with the golden keys in his mouth, and gave them to his deliverer. the latter hastened back with them, and now the queen could open the great chests in the golden hall to her heart's content. notwithstanding, the king's wife was as sorrowful as ever, and when the king complained about it to unfaithful, the latter said: "no doubt it is because she loves faithful. i would therefore advise that my lord have him beheaded. then there will be a change." this advice suited the king well, and he determined to carry it out shortly. but one day faithful's horse said to him: "the king is going to have your head chopped off. so hurry to the wood, play your fiddle, and beg the two doves to bring you a bottle of the water of life. then go to the queen and ask her to set your head on your body and to sprinkle you with the water when you have been beheaded." faithful did so. he went to the wood that very day with his fiddle, and before long the two doves were fluttering around him, and shortly after brought back the bottle filled with the water of life. he took it back home with him and gave it to the queen, so that she might sprinkle him with it after he had been beheaded. she did so, and at once faithful rose again, as full of life as ever; but far better looking. the king was astonished at what he had seen, and told the queen to cut off his own head and then sprinkle him with the water. she at once seized the sword, and in a moment the king's head rolled to the ground. but she sprinkled none of the water of life upon it, and the king's body was quickly carried out and buried. then the queen and faithful celebrated their wedding with great pomp; but unfaithful was banished from the land and went away in disgrace. the wise horse dwelt contentedly in a wonderful chamber, and the king and queen kept the magic fiddle, the golden hall, and the troll's other valuables, and lived in peace and happiness day after day. note "faithful and unfaithful" (from the hyltén-cavallius mss. collection), is a distant offshoot, and one complicated with other motives, of a cycle in which even the tristan legend is represented, the fairy-tale of the golden-haired maiden and the water of life and death. (reinhold köhler, _kleinere schriften_, ii, p. ). x starkad and bale starkad, the hero of the legends, the bravest warrior in the army of the north, had fallen into disgrace with the king because of a certain princess, so he wandered up into norland, and settled down at rude in tuna, where he was known as the thrall of the alders or the red fellow. in balbo, nine miles from rude, dwelt another hero, bale, a good friend and companion-at-arms of starkad. one morning starkad climbed the klefberg in tuna, and called over to bale: "bale in balbo, are you awake?" "red fellow!" answered bale, nine miles away, "the sun and i wake together! but how goes it with you?" "none too well. i eat salmon morning, noon and night. come over with a bit of meat!" "i'll come!" bale called back, and in a few hours time he was down in tuna with an elk under each arm. the following morning bale in balbo stood on a hill in borgsjo and called: "red fellow! are you awake?" "the sun and i wake together!" answered starkad. "and how goes it with you?" "alas, i have nothing to eat but meat! elk in the morning, elk at noon and elk at night. come over and bring a fish-tail along with you!" "i'm coming!" called out starkad, and in a short time he had joined his friend with a barrel of salmon under each arm. in this fashion the two friends provided themselves with all the game to be found in the woods and in the water, and spread terror and destruction throughout the countryside. but one evening, when they were just returning to the sea from an excursion, a black cloud came up, and a tempest broke. they hurried along as fast as they could; but got no further than vattjom, where a flash of lightning struck starkad and flung him to the ground. his friend and companion-at-arms buried him beneath a stone cairn, about which he set five rocks: two at his feet, two at his shoulders, and one at his head; and that grave, measuring twenty ells in length, may still be seen near the river. note in "starkad and bale" (hofberg, p. . from medelpad, after ancient traditional sources) humorous feats of gigantic strength are ascribed to the most famous hero of northern legend, starkad, who was brought up by odin himself. xi the werewolf once upon a time there was a king, who reigned over a great kingdom. he had a queen, but only a single daughter, a girl. in consequence the little girl was the apple of her parents' eyes; they loved her above everything else in the world, and their dearest thought was the pleasure they would take in her when she was older. but the unexpected often happens; for before the king's daughter began to grow up, the queen her mother fell ill and died. it is not hard to imagine the grief that reigned, not alone in the royal castle, but throughout the land; for the queen had been beloved of all. the king grieved so that he would not marry again, and his one joy was the little princess. a long time passed, and with each succeeding day the king's daughter grew taller and more beautiful, and her father granted her every wish. now there were a number of women who had nothing to do but wait on the princess and carry out her commands. among them was a woman who had formerly married and had two daughters. she had an engaging appearance, a smooth tongue and a winning way of talking, and she was as soft and pliable as silk; but at heart she was full of machinations and falseness. now when the queen died, she at once began to plan how she might marry the king, so that her daughters might be kept like royal princesses. with this end in view, she drew the young princess to her, paid her the most fulsome compliments on everything she said and did, and was forever bringing the conversation around to how happy she would be were the king to take another wife. there was much said on this head, early and late, and before very long the princess came to believe that the woman knew all there was to know about everything. so she asked her what sort of a woman the king ought to choose for a wife. the woman answered as sweet as honey: "it is not my affair to give advice in this matter; yet he should choose for queen some one who is kind to the little princess. for one thing i know, and that is, were i fortunate enough to be chosen, my one thought would be to do all i could for the little princess, and if she wished to wash her hands, one of my daughters would have to hold the wash-bowl and the other hand her the towel." this and much more she told the king's daughter, and the princess believed it, as children will. from that day forward the princess gave her father no peace, and begged him again and again to marry the good court lady. yet he did not want to marry her. but the king's daughter gave him no rest; but urged him again and again, as the false court lady had persuaded her to do. finally, one day, when she again brought up the matter, the king cried: "i can see you will end by having your own way about this, even though it be entirely against my will. but i will do so only on one condition." "what is the condition?" asked the princess. "if i marry again," said the king, "it is only because of your ceaseless pleading. therefore you must promise that, if in the future you are not satisfied with your step-mother or your step-sisters, not a single lament or complaint on your part reaches my ears." this she promised the king, and it was agreed that he should marry the court lady and make her queen of the whole country. as time passed on, the king's daughter had grown to be the most beautiful maiden to be found far and wide; the queen's daughters, on the other hand, were homely, evil of disposition, and no one knew any good of them. hence it was not surprising that many youths came from east and west to sue for the princess's hand; but that none of them took any interest in the queen's daughters. this made the step-mother very angry; but she concealed her rage, and was as sweet and friendly as ever. among the wooers was a king's son from another country. he was young and brave, and since he loved the princess dearly, she accepted his proposal and they plighted their troth. the queen observed this with an angry eye, for it would have pleased her had the prince chosen one of her own daughters. she therefor made up her mind that the young pair should never be happy together, and from that time on thought only of how she might part them from each other. an opportunity soon offered itself. news came that the enemy had entered the land, and the king was compelled to go to war. now the princess began to find out the kind of step-mother she had. for no sooner had the king departed than the queen showed her true nature, and was just as harsh and unkind as she formerly had pretended to be friendly and obliging. not a day went by without her scolding and threatening the princess; and the queen's daughters were every bit as malicious as their mother. but the king's son, the lover of the princess, found himself in even worse position. he had gone hunting one day, had lost his way, and could not find his people. then the queen used her black arts and turned him into a werewolf, to wander through the forest for the remainder of his life in that shape. when evening came and there was no sign of the prince, his people returned home, and one can imagine what sorrow they caused when the princess learned how the hunt had ended. she grieved, wept day and night, and was not to be consoled. but the queen laughed at her grief, and her heart was filled with joy to think that all had turned out exactly as she wished. now it chanced one day, as the king's daughter was sitting alone in her room, that she thought she would go herself into the forest where the prince had disappeared. she went to her step-mother and begged permission to go out into the forest, in order to forget her surpassing grief. the queen did not want to grant her request, for she always preferred saying no to yes. but the princess begged her so winningly that at last she was unable to say no, and she ordered one of her daughters to go along with her and watch her. that caused a great deal of discussion, for neither of the step-daughters wanted to go with her; each made all sorts of excuses, and asked what pleasures were there in going with the king's daughter, who did nothing but cry. but the queen had the last word in the end, and ordered that one of her daughters must accompany the princess, even though it be against her will. so the girls wandered out of the castle into the forest. the king's daughter walked among the trees, and listened to the song of the birds, and thought of her lover, for whom she longed, and who was now no longer there. and the queen's daughter followed her, vexed, in her malice, with the king's daughter and her sorrow. after they had walked a while, they came to a little hut, lying deep in the dark forest. by then the king's daughter was very thirsty, and wanted to go into the little hut with her step-sister, in order to get a drink of water. but the queen's daughter was much annoyed and said: "is it not enough for me to be running around here in the wilderness with you? now you even want me, who am a princess, to enter that wretched little hut. no, i will not step a foot over the threshold! if you want to go in, why go in alone!" the king's daughter lost no time; but did as her step-sister advised, and stepped into the little hut. when she entered she saw an old woman sitting there on a bench, so enfeebled by age that her head shook. the princess spoke to her in her usual friendly way: "good evening, motherkin. may i ask you for a drink of water?" "you are heartily welcome to it," said the old woman. "who may you be, that step beneath my lowly roof and greet me in so winning a way?" the king's daughter told her who she was, and that she had gone out to relieve her heart, in order to forget her great grief. "and what may your great grief be?" asked the old woman. "no doubt it is my fate to grieve," said the princess, "and i can never be happy again. i have lost my only love, and god alone knows whether i shall ever see him again." and she also told her why it was, and the tears ran down her cheeks in streams, so that any one would have felt sorry for her. when she had ended the old woman said: "you did well in confiding your sorrow to me. i have lived long and may be able to give you a bit of good advice. when you leave here you will see a lily growing from the ground. this lily is not like other lilies, however, but has many strange virtues. run quickly over to it, and pick it. if you can do that then you need not worry, for then one will appear who will tell you what to do." then they parted and the king's daughter thanked her and went her way; while the old woman sat on the bench and wagged her head. but the queen's daughter had been standing without the hut the entire time, vexing herself, and grumbling because the king's daughter had taken so long. so when the latter stepped out, she had to listen to all sorts of abuse from her step-sister, as was to be expected. yet she paid no attention to her, and thought only of how she might find the flower of which the old woman had spoken. they went through the forest, and suddenly she saw a beautiful white lily growing in their very path. she was much pleased and ran up at once to pick it; but that very moment it disappeared and reappeared somewhat further away. the king's daughter was now filled with eagerness, no longer listened to her step-sister's calls, and kept right on running; yet each time when she stooped to pick the lily, it suddenly disappeared and reappeared somewhat further away. thus it went for some time, and the princess was drawn further and further into the deep forest. but the lily continued to stand, and disappear and move further away, and each time the flower seemed larger and more beautiful than before. at length the princess came to a high hill, and as she looked toward its summit, there stood the lily high on the naked rock, glittering as white and radiant as the brightest star. the king's daughter now began to climb the hill, and in her eagerness she paid no attention to stones nor steepness. and when at last she reached the summit of the hill, lo and behold! the lily no longer evaded her grasp; but remained where it was, and the princess stooped and picked it and hid it in her bosom, and so heartfelt was her happiness that she forgot her step-sisters and everything else in the world. for a long time she did not tire of looking at the beautiful flower. then she suddenly began to wonder what her step-mother would say when she came home after having remained out so long. and she looked around, in order to find the way back to the castle. but as she looked around, behold, the sun had set and no more than a little strip of daylight rested on the summit of the hill. below her lay the forest, so dark and shadowed that she had no faith in her ability to find the homeward path. and now she grew very sad, for she could think of nothing better to do than to spend the night on the hill-top. she seated herself on the rock, put her hand to her cheek, cried, and thought of her unkind step-mother and step-sisters, and of all the harsh words she would have to endure when she returned. and she thought of her father, the king, who was away at war, and of the love of her heart, whom she would never see again; and she grieved so bitterly that she did not even know she wept. night came and darkness, and the stars rose, and still the princess sat in the same spot and wept. and while she sat there, lost in her thoughts, she heard a voice say: "good evening, lovely maiden! why do you sit here so sad and lonely?" she stood up hastily, and felt much embarrassed, which was not surprising. when she looked around there was nothing to be seen but a tiny old man, who nodded to her and seemed to be very humble. she answered: "yes, it is no doubt my fate to grieve, and never be happy again. i have lost my dearest love, and now i have lost my way in the forest, and am afraid of being devoured by wild beasts." "as to that," said the old man, "you need have no fear. if you will do exactly as i say, i will help you." this made the princess happy; for she felt that all the rest of the world had abandoned her. then the old man drew out flint and steel and said: "lovely maiden, you must first build a fire." she did as he told her, gathered moss, brush and dry sticks, struck sparks and lit such a fire on the hill-top that the flame blazed up to the skies. that done the old man said: "go on a bit and you will find a kettle of tar, and bring the kettle to me." this the king's daughter did. the old man continued: "now put the kettle on the fire." and the princess did that as well. when the tar began to boil, the old man said: "now throw your white lily into the kettle." the princess thought this a harsh command, and earnestly begged to be allowed to keep the lily. but the old man said: "did you not promise to obey my every command? do as i tell you or you will regret it." the king's daughter turned away her eyes, and threw the lily into the boiling tar; but it was altogether against her will, so fond had she grown of the beautiful flower. [illustration: "so heartfelt was her happiness that she forgot everything else in the world."] the moment she did so a hollow roar, like that of some wild beast, sounded from the forest. it came nearer, and turned into such a terrible howling that all the surrounding hills reëchoed it. finally there was a cracking and breaking among the trees, the bushes were thrust aside, and the princess saw a great grey wolf come running out of the forest and straight up the hill. she was much frightened and would gladly have run away, had she been able. but the old man said: "make haste, run to the edge of the hill and the moment the wolf comes along, upset the kettle on him!" the princess was terrified, and hardly knew what she was about; yet she did as the old man said, took the kettle, ran to the edge of the hill, and poured its contents over the wolf just as he was about to run up. and then a strange thing happened: no sooner had she done so, than the wolf was transformed, cast off his thick grey pelt, and in place of the horrible wild beast, there stood a handsome young man, looking up to the hill. and when the king's daughter collected herself and looked at him, she saw that it was really and truly her lover, who had been turned into a werewolf. it is easy to imagine how the princess felt. she opened her arms, and could neither ask questions nor reply to them, so moved and delighted was she. but the prince ran hastily up the hill, embraced her tenderly, and thanked her for delivering him. nor did he forget the little old man, but thanked him with many civil expressions for his powerful aid. then they sat down together on the hill-top, and had a pleasant talk. the prince told how he had been turned into a wolf, and of all he had suffered while running about in the forest; and the princess told of her grief, and the many tears she had shed while he had been gone. so they sat the whole night through, and never noticed it until the stars grew pale and it was light enough to see. when the sun rose, they saw that a broad path led from the hill-top straight to the royal castle; for they had a view of the whole surrounding country from the hill-top. then the old man said: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything out yonder?" "yes," said the princess, "i see a horseman on a foaming horse, riding as fast as he can." then the old man said: "he is a messenger sent on ahead by the king your father. and your father with all his army is following him." that pleased the princess above all things, and she wanted to descend the hill at once to meet her father. but the old man detained her and said: "wait a while, it is too early yet. let us wait and see how everything turns out." time passed and the sun was shining brightly, and its rays fell straight on the royal castle down below. then the old man said: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything down below?" "yes," replied the princess, "i see a number of people coming out of my father's castle, and some are going along the road, and others into the forest." the old man said: "those are your step-mother's servants. she has sent some to meet the king and welcome him; but she has sent others to the forest to look for you." at these words the princess grew uneasy, and wished to go down to the queen's servants. but the old man withheld her and said: "wait a while, and let us first see how everything turns out." more time passed, and the king's daughter was still looking down the road from which the king would appear, when the old man said: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything down below?" "yes," answered the princess, "there is a great commotion in my father's castle, and they are hanging it with black." the old man said: "that is your step-mother and her people. they will assure your father that you are dead." then the king's daughter felt bitter anguish, and she implored from the depths of her heart: "let me go, let me go, so that i may spare my father this anguish!" but the old man detained her and said: "no, wait, it is still too early. let us first see how everything turns out." again time passed, the sun lay high above the fields, and the warm air blew over meadow and forest. the royal maid and youth still sat on the hill-top with the old man, where we had left them. then they saw a little cloud rise against the horizon, far away in the distance, and the little cloud grew larger and larger, and came nearer and nearer along the road, and as it moved one could see it was agleam with weapons, and nodding helmets, and waving flags, one could hear the rattle of swords, and the neighing of horses, and finally recognize the banner of the king. it is not hard to imagine how pleased the king's daughter was, and how she insisted on going down and greeting her father. but the old man held her back and said: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything happening at the castle?" "yes," answered the princess, "i can see my step-mother and step-sisters coming out, dressed in mourning, holding white kerchiefs to their faces, and weeping bitterly." the old man answered: "now they are pretending to weep because of your death. wait just a little while longer. we have not yet seen how everything will turn out." after a time the old man said again: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything down below?" "yes," said the princess, "i see people bringing a black coffin--now my father is having it opened. look, the queen and her daughters are down on their knees, and my father is threatening them with his sword!" then the old man said: "your father wished to see your body, and so your evil step-mother had to confess the truth." when the princess heard that she said earnestly: "let me go, let me go, so that i may comfort my father in his great sorrow!" but the old man held her back and said: "take my advice and stay here a little while longer. we have not yet seen how everything will turn out." again time went by, and the king's daughter and the prince and the old man were still sitting on the hill-top. then the old man said: "lovely maiden, turn around! do you see anything down below?" "yes," answered the princess, "i see my father and my step-sisters and my step-mother with all their following moving this way." the old man said: "now they have started out to look for you. go down and bring up the wolf's pelt in the gorge." the king's daughter did as he told her. the old man continued: "now stand at the edge of the hill." and the princess did that, too. now one could see the queen and her daughters coming along the way, and stopping just below the hill. then the old man said: "now throw down the wolf's pelt!" the princess obeyed him, and threw down the wolf's pelt according to his command. it fell directly on the evil queen and her daughters. and then a most wonderful thing happened: no sooner had the pelt touched the three evil women than they immediately changed shape, and turning into three horrible werewolves, they ran away as fast as they could into the forest, howling dreadfully. no more had this happened than the king himself arrived at the foot of the hill with his whole retinue. when he looked up and recognized the princess, he could not at first believe his eyes; but stood motionless, thinking her a vision. then the old man cried: "lovely maiden, now hasten, run down and make your father happy!" there was no need to tell the princess twice. she took her lover by the hand and they ran down the hill. when they came to the king, the princess ran on ahead, fell on her father's neck, and wept with joy. and the young prince wept as well, and the king himself wept; and their meeting was a pleasant sight for every one. there was great joy and many embraces, and the princess told of her evil step-mother and step-sisters and of her lover, and all that she had suffered, and of the old man who had helped them in such a wonderful way. but when the king turned around to thank the old man he had completely vanished, and from that day on no one could say who he had been or what had become of him. the king and his whole retinue now returned to the castle, where the king had a splendid banquet prepared, to which he invited all the able and distinguished people throughout the kingdom, and bestowed his daughter on the young prince. and the wedding was celebrated with gladness and music and amusements of every kind for many days. i was there, too, and when i rode through the forest i met a wolf with two young wolves, and they showed me their teeth and seemed very angry. and i was told they were none other than the evil step-mother and her two daughters. note in "the werewolf," the basic idea is the deliverance from animal form through a maiden's self-sacrificing love (hyltén-cavallius and stephens, p. . from upland), and the teutonic belief in human beings who could change themselves into wolves is clearly marked. xii first born, first wed once upon a time there was a king who had a three-year old son, and was obliged to go to war against another king. then, when his ships sailed home again after he had gained a splendid victory, a storm broke out and his whole fleet was near sinking. but the king vowed he would sacrifice to the sea-queen the first male creature that came to meet him when he reached land and entered his capital. thereby the whole fleet reached the harbor in safety. but the five-year old prince, who had not seen his father for the past two years, and who was delighted with the thunder of the cannon as the ships came in, secretly slipped away from his attendants, and ran to the landing; and when the king came ashore he was the first to cast himself into his arms, weeping with joy. the king was frightened when he thought of the sea-queen; but he thought that, after all, the prince was only a child, and at any rate he could sacrifice the next person to step up to him after the prince. but from that time on no one could make a successful sea-trip, and the people began to murmur because the king had not kept the promise he had made the sea-queen. but the king and queen never allowed the prince out without a great escort, and he was never permitted to enter a ship, for all his desire to do so. after a few years they gradually forgot the sea-queen, and when the prince was ten years old, a little brother came to join him. not long after the older of the princes was out walking with his tutor and several other gentlemen. and when they reached the end of the royal gardens by the sea-shore--it was a summer's day, unusually clear--they were suddenly enveloped by a thick cloud, which disappeared as swiftly as it had come. and when it vanished, the prince was no longer there; nor did he return, to the great sorrow of the king, the queen and the whole country. in the meantime the young prince who was now the sole heir to the crown and kingdom grew up; and when he was sixteen, they began to think of finding a wife for him. for the old king and queen wished to see him marry the daughter of some powerful monarch to whom they were allied, before they died. with this in view, letters were written and embassies sent out to the most distant countries. while these negotiations were being conducted, it began to be said that the sea-shore was haunted; various people had heard cries, and several who had walked by the sea-shore late in the evening had fallen ill. at length no one ventured to go there after eleven at night, because a voice kept crying from out at sea: "first born, first wed!" and when some one did venture nearer he did so at the risk of his life. at last these complaints came to the king's ear; he called together his council, and it was decided to question a wise woman, who had already foretold many mysterious happenings, which had all taken place exactly as she had said they would. when the wise woman was brought before the king she said it was the prince who had been taken into the sea who was calling, and that they would have to find him a bride, young, beautiful, and belonging to one of the noblest families of the land, and she must be no less than fifteen and no more than seventeen years old. that seemed a serious difficulty; for no one wished to give their daughter to a sea-king. yet, when there was no end to the cries and the commotion, the wise woman said, that first it might be well to build a little house by the sea, perhaps then the turmoil might die away. at any rate, she said, no phantoms would haunt the place while the building was in progress. hence no more than four workmen need be employed, and they might first prepare a site, then lay the stone foundation, and finally erect the small house, comprising no more than two pleasant, handsome rooms, one behind the other, and a good floor. the house was carefully erected, and the royal architect himself had to superintend the work, so that everything might be done as well as possible. and while the building was going on, there were no mysterious noises, and every one could travel peacefully along the sea-shore. for that reason the four workmen did not hurry with their work; yet not one of them could stay away for a day, because when they did the tumult along the shore would begin again, and one could hear the cries: "first born, first wed!" when the little house was finally completed, the best carpenters came and worked in it, then painters and other craftsmen, and at last it was furnished, because when the work stopped for no more than a single day the cries were heard again by night. the rooms were fitted out as sumptuously as possible, and a great mirror was hung in the drawing-room. according to the instructions of the wise woman, it was hung in such wise that from the bed in the bed-room, even though one's face were turned to the wall, one could still see who stepped over the threshold into the drawing-room; for the door between each room was always to stand open. when all was finished, and the little house had been arranged with regal splendor, the cries of "first born, first wed!" again began to sound from the shore. and it was found necessary, though all were unwilling, to follow the wise woman's counsel, and choose three of the loveliest maidens between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, belonging to the first families of the land. they were to be taken to the castle, said the wise woman, and to be treated like ladies of the blood royal, and one after another they were to be sent to the little house by the sea-shore; for should one of them find favor in the eyes of the sea-prince, then the commotion and turmoil would surely cease. in the meantime the negotiations for the marriage of the younger prince were continued, and the bride selected for him was soon expected to arrive. so the girls were also chosen for the sea-prince. the three chosen, as well as their parents, were quite inconsolable over their fate; even the fact that they were to be treated like princesses did not console them; yet had they not yielded it would have been all the worse for them and for the whole land. the first girl destined to sleep in the sea-palace was the oldest, and when she sought out the wise woman, and asked her advice, the latter said she should lie down in the handsome bed; but should turn her face to the wall, and under no circumstances turn around curiously, and try and see what was going on. she had only the right to behold what she saw reflected in the mirror in the drawing-room as she lay with her face to the wall. at ten o'clock that night the royal sea-bride was led with great pomp to the little house. her relatives and the court said farewell to her with many tears, left her before eleven, locked the door on the outside, and took the keys with them to the castle. the wise woman was also there, consoled the people, and assured them that if the maiden only forbore to speak, and did not turn around, she would come out in the morning fresh and blooming. the poor girl prayed and wept until she grew sleepy; but toward twelve o'clock the outer door suddenly opened, and then the door of the drawing-room. she was startled and filled with fear when, her face turned toward the wall, she saw in the great mirror, how a tall, well-built youth entered, from whose garments the water ran in streams to the floor. he shook himself as though freezing, and said "uh hu!" then he went to the window, and there laid down an unusually large and handsome apple, and hung a bottle in the casement. next he stepped to the bed, bent over the sleeping girl and looked at her, strode up and down a few times, shaking the water from his clothes and saying "uh hu!" then he went back to the bed, undressed hurriedly, lay down and fell asleep. the poor girl, had not been sleeping; but had only closed her eyes when the prince bent over her. now she was glad to think he was fast asleep, and forgot the wise woman's warning not to turn around. her curiosity got the better of her, and she wanted to find out if this were a real human being. she turned around softly, lest she wake him; but just as she sat up quietly in bed, in order to take a good look at her neighbor, he swiftly seized her right hand, hewed it off, and flung it under the bed. then he at once lay down and fell asleep again. as soon as it was day, he rose, dressed without casting even a glance at the bed, took the bottle and the apple from the window, went hastily out and locked the door after him. one can imagine how the poor girl suffered in the meantime, and when her friends and relatives came to fetch her they found her weeping and robbed of her hand. she was brought to the castle and the wise woman sent for, and overwhelmed with bitter reproaches. but she said that if the maiden had not turned around, and had overcome her curiosity, she would not have lost her hand. they were to treat her as though she were really and truly a princess; but that it would be as much as her life were worth to allow her to return to the neighborhood of the little house. the two girls were all the more discouraged by this mishap, and thought themselves condemned to death, though the wise woman consoled them as well as she knew how. the second promised her faithfully not to turn around; yet it happened with her as it had with the first. the prince came in at twelve o'clock dripping, shook himself so that the water flew about, said "uh hu!" went to the window, laid down the beautiful apple, hung up the bottle, came into the bed-room, bent over the bed, strode up and down a few times, said "uh hu!" hastily undressed, and at once fell asleep. her curiosity gained the upper hand, and when she made sure that he was sleeping soundly, she carefully turned around in order to look at him. but he seized her right hand, hewed it off and cast it under the bed, and then laid down again and slept on. at dawn he rose, dressed without casting a glance at the bed, took the apple and the bottle, went out and locked the door after him. when her friends and relatives came to fetch the girl in the morning, they found her weeping and without a right hand. she was taken to the castle, where she found herself just as little welcome as her predecessor, and the wise woman insisted that the girl must have turned around, though at first she denied it absolutely. then the youngest, sweetest and loveliest of the three maidens had to go to the sea-castle amid the mourning of the entire court. the wise woman accompanied her, and implored her not to turn around; since there was no other means of protection against the spell. the maiden promised to heed her warning, and said that she would pray god to help her if she were plagued with curiosity. all happened as before: the prince came on the stroke of twelve, dripping wet, said "uh hu!" shook himself, laid the apple on the window, hung up the bottle, went into the bed-room, bent over the bed, strode up and down for a few times, said "uh hu!" undressed, and at once fell asleep. the poor girl was half-dead with fear and terror, and prayed and struggled against her curiosity till at length she fell asleep, and did not awake until the prince rose and dressed. he stepped up to the bed, bent over it for a moment, went out, turned at the door and took the bottle and the apple, and then locked the door after him. in the morning the entire court, the girl's parents and the wise woman came to fetch her. she came to meet them weeping with joy, and was conducted to the castle in triumph and with joy indescribable. the king and queen embraced her, and she was paid the same honors destined for the princess who was to arrive in the course of the next few days to marry the heir to the throne. now the maiden had to sleep every night in the little house by the strand, and every evening the prince came in with his apple and his bottle, and every morning went away at dawn. but it seemed to her that each succeeding evening and morning he looked at her a little longer; though she, always silent, timid, and turned toward the wall, did not dare see more than her mirror showed her of his coming and going. but the two other girls, who had lost their hands, and who now no longer lived in the castle, were jealous of the honor shown the youngest, and threatened to have her done away with if she did not restore their hands. the maiden went weeping to the wise woman; and the latter said that when the prince had lain down as usual she should say--keeping her face turned toward the wall: "the maidens twain will see me slain, or else have back their hands again!" but she was to offer no further information nor say another word. with a beating heart the poor girl waited until the prince came, and when he had bent over the bed longer than usual, sighed, then hastily undressed and lain down, the maiden said, quivering and trembling: "the maidens twain will see me slain, or else have back their hands again!" the prince at once replied: "take the hands--they are lying under the bed--and the bottle hanging in the window, and pour some of the contents of the bottle on their arms and hands, join them together, bind them up, take away the bandages in three days' time and the hands will have been healed!" the maiden made no reply and fell asleep. in the morning the prince rose as usual, stepped over to the bed several times and looked at her from its foot; but she did not dare look up, and closed her eyes. he sighed, took his apple; but left the bottle, and went. when the maiden rose she did as he had told her, and in three days' time removed the bandages, and the girls' hands were well and whole. now the foreign princess arrived and the wedding was to be celebrated as soon as possible. yet she was not fitted out with any more magnificence than the bride of the sea-prince, and both were equally honored by the king and court. this annoyed the two other girls, and they again threatened to have the youngest done away with if she did not let them taste the apple which the prince always brought with him. again the maiden sought the advice of the wise woman, in whom she had confidence. and that night, when the prince had lain down, she said: "the maidens twain will see me slain, or else your apple they would gain!" then the prince said: "take the apple lying in the window, and when you go out, lay it on the ground and follow wherever it may roll. and when it stops, pick as many apples as you wish, and return the same way you came." the maiden made no reply, and fell asleep. on the following morning it seemed harder than ever for the prince to resolve to go away. he appeared excited and restless, sighed often, bent over the maiden several times, went into the living room, then turned around and looked at her once more. finally, when the sun rose, he hurried out and locked the door after him. when the maiden rose, she could not help weeping, for she had really begun to love the prince. then she took the apple, and when she was outside the door, laid it on the ground, and it rolled and rolled, and she followed it, a long, long way, to a region unknown to her. there she came to a high garden wall, over which hung the branches of trees, loaded with beautiful fruit. finally she reached a great portal, adorned with gold and splendid ornaments, which opened of its own accord as the apple rolled up to it. and the apple rolled through the portal and the maiden followed it into the garden, which was the most beautiful she ever had seen. the apple rolled over to a low-growing tree weighed with the most magnificent apples, and there it stopped. the maiden picked all that her silken apron would hold, and turned to see from which direction she had come, and where the portal stood through which she would have to pass on her way back. but the garden was so lovely that she felt like enjoying its charms a while longer, and without thinking of the prince's words, she touched the apple with her foot, and it began to roll again. suddenly the portal closed with a great crash. then the maiden was much frightened, and regretted having done what had been forbidden her; yet now she could not get out, and was compelled to follow the apple once more. it rolled far into the beautiful garden and stopped at a little fire-place, where stood two kettles of water, one small, the other large. there was a great fire burning under the large kettle; but only a weak fire beneath the smaller one. now when the apple stopped there the maiden did not know what to do. then it occurred to her to scrape away the fire beneath the large kettle and thrust it under the little one; and soon the kettle over the small fire began to boil and the kettle over the large one simmered down. but she could not stay there. and since she had already disobeyed the order given her, she expected to die, nothing less, and was quite resigned to do so, because she had lost all hope of winning the prince. so she gave the apple another push, and it rolled into a meadow in the middle of the garden, and there lay two little children, asleep, with the hot sun beating straight down upon them. the maiden felt sorry for the children, and she took her apron and laid it over them to protect them from the sun, and only kept the apples she could put in her little basket. but she could not stay here either, so again she touched the apple, and it rolled on and before she knew it the girl found herself by the sea-shore. there, under a shady tree lay the prince asleep; while beside him sat the sea-queen. both rose when the maiden drew near, and the prince looked at her with alarm and tenderness in his flashing eyes. then he leaped into the sea, and the white foam closed over him. but the sea-queen was enraged and seized the girl, who thought that her last moment had struck, and begged for a merciful death. the sea-queen looked at her, and asked her who had given her permission to pass beyond the apple-tree. the maiden confessed her disobedience, and said that she had done so without meaning any harm, whereupon the sea-queen said she would see how she had conducted herself and punish her accordingly. thereupon the sea-queen gave the apple a push, and it rolled back through the portal to the apple-tree. the sea-queen saw that the apple-tree was uninjured, again pushed the apple and it rolled on to the little fire-place. but when the sea-queen saw the small kettle boiling furiously, while the large one was growing cold, she became very angry, seized the girl's arm savagely and rising to her full height, asked: "what have you dared do here? how dared you take the fire from under my kettle and put it under your own?" the maiden did not know that she had done anything wrong, and said that she did not know why. then the sea-queen replied: "the large kettle signified the love between the prince and myself; the small one the love between the prince and you. since you have taken the fire from under my kettle and laid it under your own, the prince is now violently in love with you, while his love for me is well-nigh extinguished. look," she cried, angrily, "now my kettle has stopped boiling altogether, and yours is boiling over! but i will see what other harm you have done and punish you accordingly." and the sea-queen again pushed the apple with her foot, and it rolled to the sleeping children, who had been covered with the apron. then the sea-queen said: "did you do that?" "yes," replied the maiden, weeping, "but i meant no harm. i covered the little ones with my apron so that the sun might not burn down on them so fiercely, and i left with them the apples i could not put in my basket." the sea-queen said: "this deed and your truthfulness are your salvation. i see that you have a kind heart. these children belong to me and to the prince; but since he now loves you more than he does me, i will resign him to you. go back to the castle and there say what i tell you: that your wedding with my prince is to be celebrated at the same time as that of his younger brother. and all your jewels, your ornaments, your wedding-dress and your bridal chair, are to be exactly like those of the other princess. from the moment on that the priest blesses the prince and yourself i have no further power over him. but since i have seen to it that he has all the qualities which adorn a ruler, i demand that he be made the heir to his father's kingdom; for he is the oldest son. the younger prince may rule over the kingdom which his bride brings him. all this you must tell them, for only under these conditions will i release the prince. and when you are arrayed in your bridal finery, come to me here, without anyone's knowledge, so that i may see how they have adorned you. here is the apple which will show you the way without any one being able to tell where you go." with that the sea-queen parted from her, and gave the apple a push. it rolled out of the garden and to the castle, where the maiden, with mingled joy and terror, delivered the sea-queen's message to the king, and told him what she demanded for the prince. the king gladly promised all that was desired, and great preparations were at once made for the double wedding. two bridal chairs were set up side by side, two wedding gowns, and two sets of jewels exactly similar were made ready. when the maiden had been dressed in her bridal finery she pretended to have forgotten something, which she had to fetch from a lower floor, went downstairs with her apple, and laid it on the ground. it at once rolled to the spot by the sea-shore where she had found the sea-queen and the prince, and where the sea-queen was now awaiting her. "it is well that you have come," said the sea-queen, "for the slightest disobedience would have meant misfortune for you! but how do you look? are you dressed just as the princess is? and has the princess no better clothes or jewels?" the maiden answered timidly, that they were dressed exactly alike. then the sea-queen tore her gown from her body, unclasped the jewels from her hair and flinging them on the ground cried: "is that the way the bride of my prince should look! since i have given him to you i will give you my bridal outfit as well." and with that she raised up a sod beneath the great tree, and a shrine adorned with gold and precious stones appeared, from which she drew out her bridal outfit, which fitted the maiden as though made for her. and it was so costly and so covered with gems that the maiden was almost blinded by its radiance. the crown, too, glowed with light, and was set with the most wonderful emeralds, and all was magnificent beyond what any princess had ever worn. "now," said the sea-queen, when she had finished adorning the maiden, "now go back to the castle, and show them how i was dressed when i wedded the prince. all this i give as a free gift to you and your descendants; but you must always conduct yourself so that the prince will be content with you, and you must make his happiness your first thought all your life long." [illustration: "a shrine adorned with gold and precious stones appeared."] this the maiden promised, with honest tears, and the sea-queen bade her go. when she was again in the castle, all were astonished at the beauty and costliness of her dress and jewels, in comparison to which those of the other princess were as nothing. the treasures of the whole kingdom would not have sufficed to pay for such a bridal outfit. and none any longer dared envy the lovely maiden, for never had a princess brought a richer bridal dower into the country. now all went in solemn procession to the church, and the priests stood before the bridal chairs with their books open, and waited for the prince who, according to the sea-queen's word, would not come until the blessing was to be spoken. they waited impatiently, and the king finally told one of the greatest nobles to seat himself in the bridal chair in the prince's place, which he did. but the very moment the priest began to pray, the two wings of the church portal quickly flew open, and a tall, strong, handsome man with flashing eyes, royally clad, came in, stepped up to the bridal chair, thrust his proxy out so hastily that he nearly fell, and cried: "this is my place! now, priest, speak the blessing!" while the blessing was spoken the prince became quiet again, and then greeted his parents and the whole court with joy, and before all embraced his wife, who now for the first time ventured to take a good look at him. thenceforward the prince was like any other human being, and in the end he inherited his father's kingdom, and became a great and world-renowned ruler, beloved by his subjects, and adored by his wife. they lived long and happily, and their descendants are still the rulers of the land over which he reigned. note "first born, first wed" is a purely swedish, and decidedly characteristic treatment of a similar motive of redemption. (from the mss. collection of hyltén-cavallius and stephens, communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund). xiii the lame dog once upon a time there lived a king, like many others. he had three daughters, who were young and beautiful to such a degree that it would have been difficult to have found handsomer maidens. yet there was a great difference among them; for the two older sisters were haughty in their thoughts and manners; while the youngest was sweet and friendly, and everyone liked her. besides, she was fair as the day and delicate as the snow, and far more beautiful than either of her sisters. one day the king's daughters were sitting together in their room, and their talk happened to turn on their husbands-to-be. the oldest said: "if i ever marry, my husband must have golden hair and a golden beard!" and the second exclaimed: "and mine must have silver hair and a silver beard!" but the youngest princess held her tongue and said nothing. then her sisters asked her whether she did not want to wish for a husband. "no," she answered, "but if fate should give me a husband, i will be content to take him as he is, and were he no more than a lame dog." then the two other princesses laughed and joked about it, and told her the day might easily come when she would change her mind. but many speak truth and do not know it! thus it chanced with the king's daughters; since before the year had come to an end, each had the suitor for whom she had wished. a man with golden hair and golden beard sued for the oldest princess and won her consent to his suit. and a man with silver hair and a silver beard sued for the second and she became his bride; but the youngest princess had no other suitor than a lame dog. then she recalled her talk with her sisters in their room, and thought to herself: "may god aid me in the marriage into which i must enter!" yet she would not break the word she had once passed; but followed her sisters' example and accepted the dog. the wedding lasted a number of days and was celebrated with great pomp and splendor. but while the guests danced and amused themselves, the youngest princess sat apart and wept, and when the others were laughing, her tears flowed till it made one sad to see them. after the wedding the newly married pairs were each to drive off to their castle. and the two older princesses each drove off in a splendidly decorated coach, with a large retinue, and all sorts of honors. but the youngest had to go afoot, since her husband, the dog, had neither coach nor driver. when they had wandered long and far, they came to a great forest, so great that it seemed endless; but the dog limped along in advance, and the king's daughter followed after, weeping. and as they went along she suddenly saw a magnificent castle lying before them, and round about it were beautiful meadows and green woods, all of them most enjoyable to see. the princess stopped and asked to whom the great mansion might belong. "that," said the dog, "is our home. we will live here, and you shall rule it as you see fit." then the maiden laughed amid her tears, and could not overcome her surprise at all she saw. the dog added: "i have but a single request to make to you, and that you must not refuse to grant." "what is your request?" asked the princess. "you must promise me," said the dog, "that you will never look at me while i am asleep: otherwise you are free to do whatever you wish." the princess gladly promised to grant his request, and so they went to the great castle. and if the castle was magnificent from without, it was still more magnificent within. it was so full of gold and silver that the precious metals gleamed from every corner; and there was such abundance of supplies of every kind, and of so many other things, that everything in the world one might have wished to have was already there. the princess spent the live-long day running from one room to another, and each was handsomer than the one she had just entered. but when evening came and she went to bed, the dog crept into his own, and then she noticed that he was not a dog; but a human being. yet she said not a word, because she remembered her promise, and did not wish to cross her husband's will. thus some time passed. the princess dwelt in the beautiful castle, and had everything her heart might desire. but every day the dog ran off, and did not reappear until it was evening and the sun had set. then he returned home, and was always so kind and friendly that it would have been a fine thing had other men done half as well. the princess now began to feel a great affection for him, and quite forgot he was only a lame dog; for the proverb says: "love is blind." yet time passed slowly because she was so much alone, and she often thought of visiting her sisters and seeing how they were. she spoke of it to her husband, and begged his permission to make the journey. no sooner had the dog heard her wish than he at once granted it, and even accompanied her some distance, in order to show her the way out of the wood. when the king's daughters were once reunited, they were naturally very happy, and there were a great many questions asked about matters old and new. and marriage was also discussed. the oldest princess said: "it was silly of me to wish for a husband with golden hair and golden beard; for mine is worse than the veriest troll, and i have not known a happy day since we married." and the second went on: "yes, and i am no better off; for although i have a husband with silver hair and a silver beard, he dislikes me so heartily that he begrudges me a single hour of happiness." then her sisters turned to the youngest princess and asked how she fared. "well," was her answer, "i really cannot complain; for though i only got a lame dog, he is such a dear good fellow and so kind to me that it would be hard to find a better husband." the other princesses were much surprised to hear this, and did not stop prying and questioning, and their sister answered all their questions faithfully. when they heard how splendidly she lived in the great castle, they grew jealous because she was so much better off than they were. and they insisted on knowing whether there was not some one little thing of which she could complain. "no," said the king's daughter, "i can only praise my husband for his kindness and amiability, and there is but one thing lacking to make me perfectly happy." "what is it?" "what is it?" cried both sisters with a single voice. "every night, when he comes home," said the princess, "he turns into a human being, and i am sorry that i can never see what he really looks like." then both sisters again with one voice, began to scold the dog loudly; because he had a secret which he kept from his wife. and since her sisters now continually spoke about it, her own curiosity awoke once more, she forgot her husband's command, and asked how she might manage to see him without his knowing it. "o," said the oldest princess, "nothing easier! here is a little lamp, which you must hide carefully. then you need only get up at night when he is asleep, and light the lamp in order to see him in his true shape." this advice seemed good to the king's daughter; she took the lamp, hid it in her breast, and promised to do all that her sisters had counseled. when the time came for them to part, the youngest princess went back to her beautiful castle. the day passed like every other day. when evening came at last and the dog had gone to bed, the princess was so driven by curiosity that she could hardly wait until he had fallen asleep. then she rose, softly, lit her lamp, and drew near the bed to look at him while he slept. but no one can describe her astonishment when throwing the light on the bed, she saw no lame dog lying there; but the handsomest youth her eyes had ever beheld. she could not stop looking at him; but sat up all night bending over his pillow, and the more she looked at him the handsomer he seemed to grow, until she forgot everything else in the world. at last the morning came. and as the first star began to pale in the dawn, the youth began to grow restless and awaken. the princess much frightened, blew out her lamp and lay down in her bed. the youth thought she was sleeping and did not wish to wake her, so he rose quietly, assumed his other shape, went away and did not appear again all day long. and when evening came and it grew late, everything happened as before. the dog came home from the forest and was very tired. but no sooner had he fallen asleep than the princess rose carefully, lit her lamp and came over to look at him. and when she cast the light on his bed it seemed to her as though the youth had grown even handsomer than the day before, and the longer she looked the more handsome he became; until she had to laugh and weep from sheer love and longing. she could not take her eyes from him, and sat all night long bent over his pillow, forgetful of her promise and all else, only to be able to look at him. with the first ray of dawn the youth began to stir and awake. then the princess was again frightened, quickly blew out her lamp and lay down in her bed. the youth thought she was sleeping, and not wishing to waken her, rose softly, assumed his other shape, went away and was gone for the entire day. at length it grew late again, evening came and the dog returned home from the forest as usual. but again the princess could not control her curiosity; no sooner was her husband sleeping than she rose quietly, lit her lamp, and drew near carefully in order to look at him while he slept. and when the light fell on the youth, he appeared to be handsomer than ever before, and the longer she looked the more handsome he grew, until her heart burned in her breast, and she forgot all else in the world looking at him. she could not take her eyes from him, and sat up all night bending over his pillow. and when morning came and the sun rose, the youth began to move and awaken. then the princess was much frightened, because she had paid no heed to the passing of time, and she tried to put out her lamp quickly. but her hand trembled, and a warm drop of oil fell on the youth and he awoke. when he saw what she had done, he leaped up, terrified, instantly turned into a lame dog, and limped out into the forest. but the princess felt so remorseful that she nearly lost her senses, and she ran after him, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, and begging him to return. but he did not come back. the king's daughter now wandered over hill and dale, along many a road new to her, in order to find her husband, and her tears flowed the while till it would have moved a stone. but the dog was gone and stayed gone, though she looked for him north and south. when she saw that she could not find him, she thought she would return to her handsome castle. but there she was just as unfortunate. the castle was nowhere to be seen, and wherever she went she was surrounded by a forest black as coal. then she came to the conclusion that the whole world had abandoned her, sat down on a stone, wept bitterly, and thought how much rather she would die than live without her husband. at that a little toad hopped out from under the stone, and said: "lovely maiden, why do you sit here and weep?" and the princess answered: "it is my hard fate to weep and never be happy again. first of all i have lost the love of my heart, and now i can no longer find my way back to the castle. so i must perish of hunger here, or else be devoured by wild beasts." "o," said the toad, "if that is all that troubles you, i can help you! if you will promise to be my dearest friend, i will show you the way." but that the princess did not want to do. she replied: "ask of me what you will, save that alone. i have never loved any one more than my lame dog, and so long as i live will never love any one else better." with that she rose, wept bitterly, and continued her way. but the toad looked after her in a friendly manner, laughed to himself, and once more crept under his stone. after the king's daughter had wandered on for a long, long way, and still saw nothing but forest and wilderness, she grew very tired. she once more sat down on a stone, rested her chin on her hand, and prayed for death, since it was no longer possible for her to live with her husband. suddenly there was a rustling in the bushes, and she saw a big gray wolf coming directly toward her. she was much frightened, since her one thought was that the wolf intended to devour her. but the wolf stopped, wagged his tail, and said: "proud maiden, why do you sit here and weep so bitterly?" the princess answered: "it is my hard fate to weep and never be happy again. first of all i have lost my heart's dearest, and now i cannot find my way back to the castle and must perish of hunger, or be devoured by wild beasts." "o," said the wolf, "if that is all that troubles you, i can help you! let me be your best friend and i will show you the way." but that did not suit the princess, and she replied: "ask of me what you will, save that alone. i have never loved any one more than my lame dog, and so long as i live i will never love any one else better." with that she rose, weeping bitterly, and continued on her way. but the wolf looked after her in a friendly manner, laughed to himself and ran off hastily. after the princess had once more wandered for a long time in the wilderness, she was again so wearied and exhausted that she could not go on. she sat down on a stone, wrung her hands, and wished for death, since she could no longer live with her husband. at that moment she heard a hollow roaring that made the earth tremble, and a monstrous big lion appeared and came directly toward her. now she was much frightened; for what else could she think but that the lion would tear her to pieces? but the beast was so weighed down with heavy iron chains that he could scarcely drag himself along, and the chains clashed at either side when he moved. when the lion finally reached the princess he stopped, wagged his tail, and asked: "beautiful maiden, why do you sit here and weep so bitterly?" the princess answered: "it is my hard fate to weep and never be happy again. first of all i have lost my heart's dearest, and now i cannot find my way to the castle, and must perish of hunger, or be devoured by wild beasts." "o," said the lion, "if that is all that troubles you, i can help you! if you will loose my chains and make me your best friend, i will show you the way." but the princess was so terrified that she could not answer the lion, far less venture to draw near him. then she heard a clear voice sounding from the forest: it was a little nightingale, who sat among the branches and sang: "maiden, maiden, loose his chains!" then she felt sorry for the lion, grew braver, went up to him, unloosed his chains and said: "your chains i can loose for you; but i can never be your best friend. for i have never loved any one more than my lame dog and will never love any one else better." and then a wondrous thing took place: at the very moment the last chain fell from him, the lion turned into a handsome young prince, and when the princess looked at him more closely, it was none other than her heart's dearest, who before had been a dog. she sank to the ground, clasped his knees, and begged him not to leave her again. but the prince raised her with deep affection, took her in his arms and said: "no, now we shall never more be parted, for i am released from my enchantment, and have proved your faith toward me in every way." [illustration: "the lion turned into a handsome young prince."] then there was joy indescribable. and the prince took his young wife home to the beautiful castle, and there he became king and she was his queen. and if they have not died they are living there to this very day. note the story of "the lame dog," the bride of the dog, has long been popular in scandinavia (hyltén-cavallius and stephens, p. . from south smaland). saxo, to whom it was familiar, calls its heroes otherus and syritha, and even in the _edda_ there is an echo of it in the tale of freya and odr. in denmark the same story is told under the title of "the dearest friend." xiv the mount of the golden queen once upon a time a lad who tended the cattle in the wood was eating his noon-tide meal in a clearing in the forest. as he was sitting there he saw a rat run into a juniper-bush. his curiosity led him to look for it; but as he bent over, down he went, head over heels, and fell asleep. and he dreamed that he was going to find the princess on the mount of the golden queen; but that he did not know the way. the following day he once more pastured his cattle in the wood, when he came to the same clearing, and again ate his dinner there. and again he saw the rat and went to look for it, and again when he bent down he went head over heels, and fell fast asleep. and again he dreamed of the princess on the mount of the golden queen, and that in order to get her he would need seventy pounds of iron and a pair of iron shoes. he awoke and it was all a dream; but by now he had made up his mind to find the mount of the golden queen, and he went home with his herd. on the third day, when he led out his cattle, he could not reach the clearing of his happy dream too soon. again the rat showed itself and when he went to look for it, he fell asleep as he had done each preceding day. and again he dreamed of the princess on the mount of the golden queen, and that she came to him, and laid a letter and a band of gold in his pocket. then he awoke and to his indescribable surprise, he found in his pocket both of the things of which he had dreamed, the letter and the band. now he had no time to attend to the cattle any longer, but drove them straight home. then he went into the stable, led out a horse, sold it, and bought seventy pounds of iron and a pair of iron shoes with the money. he made the thole-pins out of the iron, put on his iron shoes, and set forth. for a time he traveled by land; but at last he came to the lake which he had to cross. he saw naught but water before and behind him, and rowing so long and steadily that he wore out one thole-pin after another, he at length reached land, and a green meadow, where no trees grew. he walked all around the meadow, and at last found a mound of earth from which smoke was rising. when he looked more closely, out came a woman who was nine yards long. he asked her to tell him the way to the mount of the golden queen. but she replied: "that i do not know. go ask my sister, who is nine yards taller than i am, and who lives in an earth-mound which you can find without any trouble." so he left her and came to a mound of earth that looked just like the first, and from which smoke was also rising. a woman at once came out who was tremendously tall, and of her he asked the way to the mount of the golden queen. "that i do not know," said she. "go ask my brother, who is nine yards taller than i am, and who lives in a hill a little further away." so he came to the hill, from which smoke was also rising, and knocked. a man at once came out who was a veritable giant, for he was twenty-seven yards in length, and of him he asked the way to the mount of the golden queen. then the giant took a whistle and whistled in every direction, to call together all the animals to be found on the earth. and all the animals came from the woods, foremost among them a bear. the giant asked him about the mount of the golden queen, but he knew nothing of it. again the giant blew his whistle in every direction to call together all the fishes to be found in the waters. they came at once, and he asked them about the mount of the golden queen; but they knew nothing of it. once more the giant blew his whistle in every direction, and called together all the birds of the air. they came, and he asked the eagle about the mount of the golden queen, and whether he knew where it might be. the eagle said: "yes!" "well then, take this lad there," said the giant "but do not treat him unkindly!" this the eagle promised, allowed the youth to seat himself on his back, and then off they were through the air, over fields and forests, hill and dale, and before long they were above the ocean, and could see nothing but sky and water. then the eagle dipped the youth in the ocean up to his ankles and asked: "are you afraid?" "no," said the youth. then the eagle flew on a while, and again dipped the youth into the water, up to his knees and said: "are you afraid?" "yes," answered the youth, "but the giant said you were not to treat me unkindly." "are you really afraid?" asked the eagle once more. "yes," answered the youth. then the eagle said: "the fear you now feel is the very same fear i felt when the princess thrust the letter and the golden band into your pocket." and with that they had reached a large, high mountain in one side of which was a great iron door. they knocked, and a serving-maid appeared to open the door and admit them. the youth remained and was well received; but the eagle said farewell and flew back to his native land. the youth asked for a drink, and he was at once handed a beaker containing a refreshing draught. when he had emptied it and returned the beaker, he let the golden band drop into it. and when the maid brought back the beaker to her mistress--who was the princess of the mount of the golden queen--the latter looked into the beaker, and behold, there lay a golden band which she recognized as her own. so she asked: "is there some one here?" and when the maid answered in the affirmative, the princess said: "bid him come in!" and as soon as the youth entered she asked him if he chanced to have a letter. the youth drew out the letter he had received in so strange a manner, and gave it to the princess. and when she had read it she cried, full of joy: "now i am delivered!" and at that very moment the mountain turned into a most handsome castle, with all sorts of precious things, servants, and every sort of convenience, each for its own purpose. (whether the princess and the youth married the story does not say; yet we must take for granted that a wedding is the proper end for the fairy-tale). note a distinctly visionary story is the fairy-tale of "the mount of the golden queen." (from södermanland, from the collection of the metallurgic gustav erikson, communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund) whose hero sets out on a laborious, world-wide quest that finally brings him to the destined goal. xv old hopgiant once upon a time there were two neighbors: one of them rich and the other poor. they owned a great meadow in common, which they were supposed to mow together and then divide the hay. but the rich neighbor wanted the meadow for himself alone, and told the poor one that he would drive him out of house and home if he did not come to an agreement with him that whichever one of them mowed the largest stretch of the meadowland in a single day, should receive the entire meadow. now the rich neighbor got together as many mowers as ever he could; but the poor one could not hire a single man. at last he despaired altogether and wept, because he did not know how he could manage to get so much as a bit of hay for the cow. then it was that a large man stepped up to him and said: "do not grieve so. i can tell you what you ought to do. when the mowing begins, just call out 'old hopgiant!' three times in succession, and you'll not be at a loss, as you shall see for yourself." and with that he disappeared. then the poor man's heart grew less heavy, and he gave over worrying. so one fine day his rich neighbor came along with no fewer than twenty farmhands, and they mowed down one swath after another. but the poor neighbor did not even take the trouble to begin when he saw how the others took hold, and that he himself would not be able to do anything alone. then the big man occurred to him, and he called out: "old hopgiant!" but no one came, and the mowers all laughed at him and mocked him, thinking he had gone out of his mind. then he called again: "old hopgiant!" and, just as before, there was no hopgiant to be seen. and the mowers could scarcely swing their scythes; for they were laughing fit to split. and then he cried for the third time: "old hopgiant!" and there appeared a fellow of truly horrible size, with a scythe as large as a ship's mast. and now the merriment of the rich peasant's mowers came to an end. for when the giant began to mow and fling about his scythe, they were frightened at the strength he put into his work. and before they knew it he had mown half the meadow. then the rich neighbor fell into a rage, rushed up and gave the giant a good kick. but that did not help him, for his foot stuck to the giant, while the latter no more felt the kick than if it had been a flea-bite, and kept right on working. [illustration: "the rich man had to go along hanging to him like a hawser."] then the rich neighbor thought of a scheme to get free, and gave the giant a kick with his other foot; but this foot also stuck fast, and there he hung like a tick. old hopgiant mowed the whole meadow, and then flew up into the air, and the rich man had to go along hanging to him like a hawser. and thus the poor neighbor was left sole master of the place. note a genuine folk-tale figure is "old hopgiant." (bondeson, _svenska folksagor_, stockholm, , p. . from dalsland) in which a wonderful giant being comes to a poor peasant's assistance, and rescues him from his oppressor. xvi the princess and the glass mountain once upon a time there was a king who took such a joy in the chase, that he knew no greater pleasure than hunting wild beasts. early and late he camped in the forest with hawk and hound, and good fortune always followed his hunting. but it chanced one day that he could rouse no game, although he had tried in every direction since morning. and then, when evening was coming on, and he was about to ride home, he saw a dwarf or wild man running through the forest before him. the king at once spurred on his horse, rode after the dwarf, seized him and he was surprised at his strange appearance; for he was small and ugly, like a troll, and his hair was as stiff as bean-straw. but no matter what the king said to him, he would return no answer, nor say a single word one way or another. this angered the king, who was already out of sorts because of his ill-success at the hunt, and he ordered his people to seize the wild man and guard him carefully lest he escape. then the king rode home. now his people said to him: "you should keep the wild man a captive here at your court, in order that the whole country may talk of what a mighty huntsman you are. only you should guard him so that he does not escape; because he is of a sly and treacherous disposition." when the king had listened to them he said nothing for a long time. then he replied: "i will do as you say, and if the wild man escape, it shall be no fault of mine. but i vow that whoever lets him go shall die without mercy, and though he were my own son!" the following morning, as soon as the king awoke, he remembered his vow. he at once sent for wood and beams, and had a small house or cage built quite close to the castle. the small house was built of great timbers, and protected by strong locks and bolts, so that none could break in; and a peephole was left in the middle of the wall through which food might be thrust. when everything was completed the king had the wild man led up, placed in the small house, and he himself took and kept the key. there the dwarf had to sit a prisoner, day and night, and the people came afoot and a-horseback to gaze at him. yet no one ever heard him complain, or so much as utter a single word. thus matters went for some time. then a war broke out in the land, and the king had to take the field. at parting he said to the queen: "you must rule the kingdom now in my stead, and i leave land and people in your care. but there is one thing you must promise me you will do: that you will guard the wild man securely so that he does not escape while i am away." the queen promised to do her best in all respects, and the king gave her the key to the cage. thereupon he had his long galleys, his "sea-wolves," push out from the shore, hoisted sail, and took his course far, far away to the other country. the king and queen had only one child, a prince who was still small; yet great in promise. now when the king had gone, it chanced one day that the little fellow was wandering about the royal courtyard, and came to the wild man's cage. and he began to play with an apple of gold he had. and while he was playing with it, it happened that suddenly the apple fell through the window in the wall of the cage. the wild man at once appeared and threw back the apple. this seemed a merry game to the little fellow: he threw the apple in again, and the wild man threw it out again, and thus they played for a long time. yet for all the game had been so pleasant, it turned to sorrow in the end: for the wild man kept the apple of gold, and would not give it back again. and when all was of no avail, neither threats nor prayers, the little fellow at last began to weep. then the wild man said: "your father did ill to capture me, and you will never get your apple of gold again, unless you let me out." the little fellow answered: "and how can i let you out? just you give me back my apple again, my apple of gold!" then the wild man said: "you must do what i now tell you. go up to your mother, the queen, and beg her to comb your hair. then see to it that you take the key from her girdle, and come down and unlock the door. after that you can return the key in the same way, without any one knowing anything about it." after the wild man had talked to the boy in this way, he finally did as he said, went up to his mother, begged her to comb his hair, and took the key from her girdle. then he ran down to the cage and opened the door. and when they parted, the dwarf said: "here is your apple of gold, that i promised to give back to you, and i thank you for setting me free. and another time when you have need of me, i will help you in turn." and with that he ran off on his own way. but the prince went back to his mother, and returned the key in the same way he had taken it. when they learned at the king's court that the wild man had broken out, there was great commotion, and the queen sent people over hill and dale to look for him. but he was gone and he stayed gone. thus matters went for a while and the queen grew more and more unhappy; for she expected her husband to return every day. and when he did reach shore his first question was whether the wild man had been well guarded. then the queen had to confess how matters stood, and told him how everything had happened. but the king was enraged beyond measure, and said he would punish the malefactor, no matter who he might be. and he ordered a great investigation at his court, and every human being in it had to testify. but no one knew anything. at last the little prince also had to come forward. and as he stood before the king he said: "i know that i have deserved my father's anger; yet i cannot hide the truth; for i let out the wild man." then the queen turned white, and the others as well, for there was not one who was not fond of the prince. at last the king spoke: "never shall it be said of me that i was false to my vow, even for the sake of my own flesh and blood! no, you must die the death you have deserved." and with that he gave the order to take the prince to the forest and kill him. and they were to bring back the boy's heart as a sign that his command had been obeyed. now sorrow unheard of reigned among the people, and all pleaded for the little prince. but the king's word could not be recalled. his serving-men did not dare disobey, took the boy in their midst, and set forth. and when they had gone a long way into the forest, they saw a swine-herd tending his pigs. then one said to another: "it does not seem right to me to lay hand on the king's son; let us buy a pig instead and take its heart, then all will believe it is the heart of the prince." the other serving-men thought that he spoke wisely, so they bought a pig from the swine-herd, led it into the wood, butchered it and took its heart. then they told the prince to go his way and never return. they themselves went back to the king's castle, and it is easy to imagine what grief they caused when they told of the prince's death. the king's son did what the serving-men had told him. he kept on wandering as far as he could, and never had any other food than the nuts and wild berries that grow in the forest. and when he had wandered far and long, he came to a mountain upon whose very top stood a fir-tree. said he to himself: "after all, i might as well climb the fir-tree and see whether i can find a path anywhere." no sooner said than done: he climbed the tree. and as he sat in the very top of its crown, and looked about on every side, he saw a large and splendid royal castle rising in the distance, and gleaming in the sun. then he grew very happy and at once set forth in that direction. on the way he met a farm-hand who was ploughing, and begged him to change clothes with him, which he did. thus fitted out he at last reached the king's castle, went in, asked for a place, and was taken on as a herdsman, to tend the king's cattle. now he went to the forest early and late, and in the course of time forgot his grief, grew up, and became so tall and brave that his equal could not be found. and now our story turns to the king who was reigning at the splendid castle. he had been married, and he had an only daughter. she was lovelier by far than other maidens, and had so kind and cheerful a disposition that whoever could some day take her to his home might well consider himself fortunate. now when the princess had completed her fifteenth year, a quite unheard of swarm of suitors made their appearance, as may well be imagined; and for all that she said no to all of them, they only increased in number. at last the princess said: "none other shall win me save he who can ride up the high glass mountain in full armor!" the king thought this a good suggestion. he approved of his daughter's wish, and had proclaimed throughout the kingdom that none other should have the princess save he who could ride up the glass mountain. and when the day set by the king had arrived, the princess was led up the glass mountain. there she sat on its highest peak, with a golden crown on her head, and a golden apple in her hand, and she looked so immeasurably lovely that there was no one who would not have liked to risk his life for her. just below the foot of the hill all the suitors assembled with splendid horses and glittering armor, that shone like fire in the sun, and from round about the people flocked together in great crowds to watch their tilting. and when everything was ready, the signal was given by horns and trumpets, and then the suitors, one after another, raced up the mountain with all their might. but the mountain was high, as slippery as ice, and besides it was steep beyond all measure. not one of the suitors rode up more than a little way, before he tumbled down again, head over heels, and it might well happen that arms and legs were broken in the process. this made so great a noise, together with the neighing of the horses, the shouting of the people, and the clash of arms, that the tumult and the shouting could be heard far away. and while all this was going on, the king's son was rambling about with his oxen, deep in the wood. but when he heard the tumult and the clashing of arms, he sat down on a stone, leaned his cheek on his hand, and became lost in thought. for it had occurred to him how gladly he would have fared forth with the rest. suddenly he heard footsteps and when he looked up, the wild man was standing before him. "thank you for the last time!" said he, "and why do you sit here so lonely and full of sorrow?" "well," said the prince, "i have no choice but to be sad and joyless. because of you i am a fugitive from the land of my father, and now i have not even a horse and armor to ride up the glass mountain and fight for the princess." "ah," said the wild man, "if that be all you want, then i can help you! you helped me once before and now i will help you in turn." then he took the prince by the hand, led him deep down into the earth into his cave, and behold, there hung a suit of armor forged out of the hardest steel, and so bright that a blue gleam played all around it. right beside it stood a splendid steed, saddled and bridled, pawing the earth with his steel hoofs, and champing his bit till the white foam dropped to the ground. the wild man said: "now get quickly into your armor, ride out and try your luck! in the meantime i will tend your oxen." the prince did not wait to be told a second time; but put on helmet and armor, buckled on his spurs, hung his sword at his side, and felt as light in his steel armor as a bird in the air. then he leaped into the saddle so that every clasp and buckle rang, laid his reins on the neck of his steed, and rode hastily toward the mountain. the princess's suitors were about to give up the contest, for none of them had won the prize, though each had done his best. and while they stood there thinking it over, and saying that perhaps fortune would favor them another time, they suddenly saw a youth ride out of the wood straight toward the mountain. he was clad in steel from head to foot, with helmet on head, sword in belt and shield on arm, and he sat his horse with such knightly grace that it was a pleasure to look at him. at once all eyes were turned to the strange knight, and all asked who he might be; for none had ever seen him before. yet they had had but little time to talk and question, for no sooner had he cleared the wood, than he rose in his stirrups, gave his horse the spurs, and shot forward like an arrow straight up the glass mountain. yet he did not ride up all the way; but when he had reached the middle of the steep ascent, he suddenly flung around his steed and rode down again, so that the sparks flew from his horse's hoofs. then he disappeared in the wood like a bird in flight. one may imagine the excitement which now seized upon all the people, and there was not one who did not admire the strange knight. all agreed they had never seen a braver knight. time passed, and the princess's suitors decided to try their luck a second time. the king's daughter was once more led up the glass mountain, with great pomp and richly gowned, and was seated on its topmost peak, with the golden crown on her head, and a golden apple in her hand. at the foot of the hill gathered all the suitors with handsome horses and splendid armor, and round about stood all the people to watch the contest. when all was ready the signal was given by horns and trumpets, and at the same moment the suitors, one after another, darted up the mountain with all their might. but all took place as at the first time. the mountain was high, and as slippery as ice, and besides, it was steep beyond all measure; not one rode up more than a little way before tumbling down again head over heels. meanwhile there was much noise, and the horses neighed, and the people shouted, and the armor clashed, so that the tumult and the shouting sounded far into the deep wood. and while all this was going on, the young prince was tending his oxen, which was his duty. but when he heard the tumult and the clashing of arms, he sat down on a stone, leaned his cheek on his hand, and wept; for he thought of the king's beautiful daughter, and it occurred to him how much he would like to take part and ride with the rest. that very moment he heard footsteps and when he looked up, the wild man was standing before him. "good-day!" said the wild man, "and why do you sit here so lonely and full of sorrow?" thereupon the prince replied: "i have no choice but to be sad and joyless. because of you i am a fugitive from the land of my father, and now i have not even a horse and armor to ride up the mountain and fight for the princess!" "ah," said the wild man, "if that be all you want, then i can help you! you helped me once before, and now i will help you in turn." then he took the prince by the hand, led him deep down in the earth into his cave, and there on the wall hung a suit of armor altogether forged of the clearest silver, and so bright that it shone afar. right beside it stood a snow-white steed, saddled and bridled, pawing the earth with his silver hoofs, and champing his bit till the foam dropped to the ground. the wild man said: "now get quickly into your armor, ride out and try your luck! in the meantime i will tend your oxen." the prince did not wait to be told a second time; but put on his helmet and armor in all haste, securely buckled on his spurs, hung his sword at his side, and felt as light in his silver armor as a bird in the air. then he leaped into the saddle so that every clasp and buckle rang, laid his reins on the neck of his steed, and rode hastily toward the glass mountain. the princess's suitors were about to give over the contest, for none of them had won the prize, though each had played a man's part. and while they stood there thinking it over, and saying that perhaps fortune would favor them the next time, they suddenly saw a youth ride out of the wood, straight toward the mountain. he was clad in silver from head to foot, with helmet on head, shield on arm, and sword at side, and he sat his horse with such knightly grace that a braver-looking youth had probably never been seen. at once all eyes were turned toward him, and the people noticed that he was the same knight who had appeared before. but the prince did not leave them much time for wonderment; for no sooner had he reached the plain, than he rose in his stirrups, spurred on his horse, and rode like fire straight up the steep mountain. yet he did not ride quite up to the top; but when he had come to its crest, he greeted the princess with great courtesy, flung about his steed, and rode down the mountain again till the sparks flew about his horse's hoofs. then he disappeared into the wood as the storm flies. as one may imagine, the people's excitement was even greater than the first time, and there was not one who did not admire the strange knight. and all were agreed that a more splendid steed or a handsomer youth were nowhere to be found. time passed, and the king set a day when his daughter's suitors were to make a third trial. the princess was now once more led to the glass mountain, and seated herself on its highest peak, with the golden crown and the golden apple, as she had before. at the foot of the mountain gathered the whole swarm of suitors, with splendid horses and polished armor, handsome beyond anything seen thus far, and round about the people flocked together to watch the contest. when all was ready the suitors, one after another, darted up the mountain with all their might. the mountain was as smooth as ice, and besides, it was steep beyond all measure; so that not one rode up more than a little way, before tumbling down again, head over heels. this made a great noise, the horses neighed, the people shouted, and the armor clashed, till the tumult and the shouting echoed far into the wood. while this was all taking place the king's son was busy tending his oxen as usual. and when he once more heard the noise and the clash of arms, he sat down on a stone, leaned his cheek on his hand, and wept bitterly. then he thought of the lovely princess, and would gladly have ventured his life to win her. that very moment the wild man was standing before him: "good-day!" said the wild man, "and why do you sit here so lonely and full of sorrow?" "i have no choice but to be sad and joyless," said the prince. "because of you i am a fugitive from the land of my father, and now i have not even a sword and armor to ride up the mountain and fight for the princess!" "ah," said the wild man, "if that be all that troubles you i can help you! you helped me once before, and now i will help you in turn." with that he took the prince by the hand, led him into his cave deep down under the earth, and showed him a suit of armor all forged of the purest gold, and gleaming so brightly that its golden glow shone far and wide. beside it stood a magnificent steed, saddled and bridled, pawing the earth with its golden hoofs, and champing its bit until the foam fell to the ground. the wild man said: "now get quickly into your armor, ride out and try your luck! in the meantime i will tend your oxen." and to tell the truth, the prince was not lazy; but put on his helmet and armor, buckled on his golden spurs, hung his sword at his side, and felt as light in his golden armor as a bird in the air. then he leaped into the saddle, so that every clasp and buckle rang, laid his reins on the neck of his steed, and rode hastily toward the mountain. the princess's suitors were about to give up the contest; for none of them had won the prize, though each had done his best. and while they stood there thinking over what was to be done, they suddenly saw a youth come riding out of the wood, straight toward the mountain. he was clad in gold from head to foot, with the golden helmet on his head, the golden shield on his arm, and the golden sword at his side, and so knightly was his bearing that a bolder warrior could not have been met with in all the wide world. at once all eyes were turned toward him, and one could see that he was the same youth who had already appeared at different times. but the prince gave them but little time to question and wonder; for no sooner had he reached the plain than he gave his horse the spurs, and shot up the steep mountain like a flash of lightning. when he had reached its highest peak, he greeted the beautiful princess with great courtesy, kneeled before her, and received the golden apple from her hand. then he flung about his steed, and rode down the glass mountain again, so that the sparks flew about the golden hoofs of his horse, and a long ribbon of golden light gleamed behind him. at last he disappeared in the wood like a star. what a commotion now reigned about the mountain! the people broke forth into cheers that could be heard far away, horns sounded, trumpets called, horses neighed, arms clashed, and the king had proclaimed far and near that the unknown golden knight had won the prize. now all that was wanting was some information about the golden knight; for no one knew him; and all the people expected that he would at once make his appearance at the castle. but he did not come. this caused great surprise, and the princess grew pale and ill. but the king was put out, and the suitors murmured and found fault day by day. and at length, when they were all at their wits' end, the king had a great meeting announced at his castle, which every man, high and low, was to attend; so that the princess might choose among them herself. there was no one who was not glad to go for the princess's sake, and also because it was a royal command, and a countless number of people gathered together. and when they had all assembled, the princess came out of the castle with great pomp, and followed by her maids, passed through the entire multitude. but no matter how much she looked about her on every side, she did not find the one for whom she was looking. when she reached the last row she saw a man who stood quite hidden by the crowd. he had a flat cap and a wide gray mantle such as shepherds wear; but its hood was drawn up so that his face could not be seen. at once the princess ran up to him, drew down his hood, fell upon his neck and cried: "here he is! here he is!" then all the people laughed; for they saw that it was the king's herdsman, and the king himself called out: "may god console me for the son-in-law who is to be my portion!" the man, however, was not at all abashed, but replied: "o, you need not worry about that at all! i am just as much a king's son as you are a king!" with that he flung aside his wide mantle. and there were none left to laugh; for instead of the grey herdsman, there stood a handsome prince, clad in gold from head to foot, and holding the princess's golden apple in his hand. and all could see that it was the same youth who had ridden up the glass mountain. then they prepared a feast whose like had never before been seen, and the prince received the king's daughter, and with her half of the kingdom. thenceforward they lived happily in their kingdom, and if they have not died they are living there still. but nothing more was ever heard of the wild man. and that is the end. note very popular throughout the north is "the princess on the glass mountain." (hyltén-cavallius and stephens, p. , somewhat abridged) who may be looked upon as a relative of the brunhilde of heroic legend, who may be brought down from her inaccessible height only by the bravest of the brave. the "wild man" who appears in the part of a magician to aid the hero, is a familiar figure in northern legend. king harald harfagr, according to the "book of flateyar," released a "wild man" of this kind from captivity at his father's court, when a boy of five. xvii queen crane once upon a time there was a poor, poor boy. he went to the king and begged to be taken into service as a shepherd, and all called him "sheep-peter." while he was herding his sheep, he used to amuse himself with his crossbow. one day he saw a crane sitting in an oak-tree, and wanted to shoot her. the crane, however, hopped down further and further, and at last settled in the lowest branches. then she said: "if you promise not to shoot me, i will help you whenever you are in trouble. you need only to call out: 'god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!'" with that the bird flew away. at length war broke out and the king had to take the field. then sheep-peter came to the king and asked whether he might not be allowed to go along to war. they gave him an old nag to ride, and he rode into a swamp along the highway, and there the horse died. so he sat down and clicked with his tongue; but the horse would not move. and the people who rode by had their sport with him; while the youth pretended to feel sad. when the people had all passed by, the youth went to the oak in which the queen crane dwelt. here he was given a black steed, a suit of brazen armor, and a silver sword. thus he rode to battle and got there as quickly as he could wish. then he said: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" with that he killed all the enemy and rode away again. but the king thought that an angel had come to help him, and wanted to hold him back. the youth, however, rode quickly back to the oak, took off his armor, went down to the swamp, and once more began to click to his horse. when the people rode by they laughed and said: "you were not along to-day, so you missed seeing how an angel came and killed all the enemy." and the youth pretended to feel sad, so sad. the following day the king once more had to take the field. and sheep-peter came to him and said he wanted to go along. so they gave him an old nag to ride, and he rode into a swamp beside the highway. then he sat down and clicked with his tongue; but the horse would not move. when the people rode by they had their sport with him; but the youth pretended to feel sad, so sad. when the people had gone by, he went to the oak in which the queen crane dwelt, and was given a white steed, a suit of silver armor, and a golden sword. thus equipped he rode to battle. when he arrived he said: "god aid me, and queen crane ... and i will succeed!" but he had forgotten to say "stay by me," and so he was shot in the leg. but the king took out his handkerchief, and tied up his leg. then the youth said once more: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" and he slew all of the enemy. then the king thought he was an angel from heaven, and wanted to hold him. but the youth rode quickly to the oak, took off his armor, and then went down to his nag in the swamp and tried to get it to move, while the soldiers were passing. they laughed and said: "you were not along to-day, and did not see how an angel came from heaven and killed all of the enemy." the youth pretended to be very sad. on the third day all happened as before. the king took the field. the youth was given a wretched nag and rode it into a swamp beside the highway. then he began to click with his tongue but the nag would not go on, and the people who rode past laughed at him. he pretended to feel very sad; but when the people had passed, he went to the oak in which queen crane dwelt, and she gave him a red steed, a golden sword, and a golden suit of armor. thus equipped he rode to war, and all happened as before. he said: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" and slew all the enemy. the king thought he was an angel from heaven and wanted to hold him back by all means; but the youth rode quickly to the oak, took off his armor, and rode down to the swamp where he had his three nags. he hid the king's handkerchief, and when the people passed by he was clicking with his tongue as usual. now the king had three princesses, and they were to be carried off by three meer-women. so the king had it proclaimed that whoever could rescue them should receive one of them for a wife. when the day came on which the oldest princess was to be carried away, sheep-peter received a steed, a suit of armor and a sword from queen crane. with them he rode to the castle, fetched the princess, took her before him on his steed, and then lay down on the sea-shore to sleep. he had a dog with him as well. and while he slept the princess wove her hair-ribbon into his hair. suddenly the meer-woman appeared, and she awakened him and bade him mount his steed. many people had been standing there; but when the meer-woman appeared they all took fright, and climbed into tall trees. but the youth said: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" and then he slew the meer-woman. thereupon he rode quickly back to queen crane, took off his armor, and herded his sheep again. but among the on-lookers had been a nobleman, who threatened the princess, and forced her to say that he had rescued her. and from sheep-peter no one heard a word. on the following day the second princess was to be carried off. so sheep-peter went to queen crane, who gave him a steed, a suit of armor and a sword, and with them he rode to the castle, and fetched the second princess. when they reached the sea-shore the meer-woman had not yet appeared. so the youth lay down to sleep and said to the princess: "wake me when the meer-woman comes, and if you cannot wake me, then tell my horse." with that he fell asleep, and meanwhile the princess wove a string of pearls into his hair. when the meer-woman came, the princess tried to wake him; but he would not wake up at all, and so she told the horse to waken him. and the horse did wake him. the great lords, however, who were standing about, climbed into the trees out of pure fright when the meer-woman appeared. the youth took the princess on his steed, cried: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" and with that he slew the meer-woman. then he rode quickly back to queen crane, took off his armor, and led his flock out to pasture. but among the on-lookers had been a count, who threatened the princess, and said he would thrust her through with his sword if she did not swear he had rescued her. the princess did so out of fear; but from sheep-peter no one heard a word. on the third day the same thing happened. sheep-peter was given a suit of armor, a sword and a steed by queen crane, and fetched the youngest princess. when he lay down on the sea-shore to sleep, he said to her: "when the meer-woman comes, wake me, and if you cannot wake me, then tell the horse to wake me, and if the horse cannot wake me, then ask the dog to wake me." when the meer-woman came, neither the princess nor the horse was able to wake him, and they had to call the dog to help them. at last he woke up, took the princess on his horse, cried: "god aid me, and queen crane stay by me, and i will succeed!" and slew the meer-woman. then he rode back again to queen crane, took off his armor and let his flock out to pasture. not long after, the deliverers of the princesses were to come to the castle and be married. but first the king asked his daughters which of the three each wanted to have. so the oldest said: "the gentleman from court," and the second said: "the count," but the third said "sheep-peter." then the king was very angry with his youngest daughter; for he did not believe for a moment that sheep-peter had delivered her. but she insisted and said she would take no one else. the king then presented an apple of pure gold to the count and the court gentleman; but sheep-peter got nothing. now all three of them were to hold a three-days' shooting-match, in order to see which was the best shot; for the king hoped that sheep-peter would make a proper laughing-stock of himself, and drop far behind the others without any effort on their part. but sheep-peter was so good a marksman that he hit everything at which he aimed. and the very first day he shot a great deal, while the others shot but little. then they bought the game he had shot from him, and gave him a golden apple for it. the same thing happened the second day, and thus he got the other gold apple. but when peter came home on the evening of the first and second day, he had only a crow dangling from his blunderbuss. and when he met the king, he threw the crow to the ground and cried: "there is my whole bag!" on the third day all went as before. sheep-peter hit everything at which he aimed; but the others scored no hits. then sheep-peter promised them all he had bagged, if they would let him write what he chose on their necks. they agreed to the bargain, and he wrote on the neck of each: "a thief and a rascal." then all three went home, and again peter had no more than a crow to show. at night all three of them slept together in one room. when they woke in the morning, the king came in to them, said good-morning, and asked how they were. but he was much surprised to see that sheep-peter was keeping them company. then the youth said: "i was in the war, and slew all of the enemy!" "ah!" said the king, "you did not do that, it was an angel from heaven; for you were sitting in the swamp." then sheep-peter drew out the king's handkerchief, and then the king recognized him. then the herdsman said: "i also delivered the princesses!" but the king would not believe that, and laughed at him. and then the youngest princess came along and told how it all had happened. and the youth took out the ribands of the other princesses, and the king had to believe that this, too, was true. then, peter continued: "i also shot all the game!" and again the king would not believe him and said: "nonsense, why you never brought home anything of an evening but a wretched crow!" then peter produced the golden apples: "i was given this one for the first day, and the other for the second." "and what did you get for the third?" asked the king. then the shepherd showed him what he had written on the necks of the other suitors. and when the king saw that, he had to believe him. and so he really got the youngest princess, and with her half of the kingdom, and after the king's death, all of it. but the two sham heroes got nothing at all, and had only their trouble for their pains. note "queen crane" is also a very popular northern fairy-tale. (from the collection of hyltén-cavallius and stephens, communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund). it is another of those tales with a presumably witless hero, but with a motive generally unknown: a bird bestows weapons and armor on the poor boy; while ordinarily this is done by a troll, a horse, or the spirit of one departed. xviii tales of the trolls i a peasant from jursagard in the parish of hanger had gone to the forest the day before christmas, and started out for home late in the evening. he had just about reached the klintaberg when he heard some one call out: "tell the malt-swine to come home, for her child has fallen into the fire!" when the peasant reached home, there stood his wife, who had been brewing the yuletide ale, and she was complaining that though she brewed and brewed, it did not have the right flavor. then he told her what had been shouted at him from the hill, and that very moment a troll-witch, whom they had not noticed before, darted down from the stove and made off in a great hurry. and when they looked closer, they found that she had left behind a great kettle full of the best malt, which she had gathered during the brewing. and that was the reason the poor woman had not been able to give her brew the right flavor. the kettle was large, made of ornamented metal, and was long preserved in hanger. it was at length sold at auction in , and melted down. ii in former days, when a child came into the world, his mother was known as a "heathen," until she could take him to church to be christened. and it was not safe for her to leave the house unless she carried steel about her in some shape or form. now once there was one of these "heathen" women in norra ryd, in the parish of hanger, who prepared lunch for the mowers, and went out and called them in to eat. then one of the mowers said to her: "i cannot come, for my sheaf is not yet bound." "i will bind it for you," said the woman. the mowers went in and ate, but saw no more of her. they went back into the field, and were about to take up their work again, but still neither saw nor heard her. they began to search, and hunted for a number of days; but all in vain. time passed, till it was late in the fall. one day the weather was clear and sunny. to this very day there is a cotter's hut, called kusabo, that stands on a hill named kusas, and the cotter who lived there went to look for a horse. and there on the hillside he saw the woman sitting who had disappeared, and she was sewing. it was not far from kusabo to norra ryd, so he recognized her at once. he said "o, you poor thing, and here you sit!" "yes," said she, "but you must never mention it to lars"--that was her husband--"for i shall never return from this place. even now i am only allowed to sit outside for a little while." iii once upon a time a girl was hunting for berries on kusabo mountain, and was taken into the hill. but she wept, night and day, which disgruntled the trolls, and they let her out again. but just as they were letting her out, one of the trolls hit her such a blow on the back that she was hump-backed for the rest of her life. she herself used to tell how she had been kept in the hill. note primitive faith and superstition are reflected in these three "tales of the trolls" (communicated from mss. belonging to dr. v. sydow-lund). the first is also current in norway; the others tell of women who have been _bergtagen_, "taken into the mountain." it is not so long since that every humped back, every weak mind, in short, every ill that had no visible explanation, was ascribed to the troll folk. xix charcoal nils and the troll-woman in the old days there lived on a headland that juts out into the northwestern corner of lake rasval, in the neighborhood of the linde mining-district, a charcoal-burner named nils, generally known as charcoal nils. he let a farm-hand attend to his little plot of land, and he himself made his home in the forest, where he chopped wood in the summer and burned it to charcoal in the winter. yet no matter how hard he struggled, his work was unblessed with reward, and no one ever spoke of him save as poor charcoal nils. one day, when he was on the opposite shore of the lake, near the gloomy harsberg, a strange woman came up to him, and asked whether he needed some one to help him with his charcoal burning. "yes, indeed," said he, "help would be welcome." so she began to gather blocks of wood and tree-trunks, more than charcoal nils could have dragged together with his horse, and by noon there was enough wood for a new kiln. when evening came, she asked the charcoal-burner whether he were satisfied with the day's work she had done, and if she were to come back the next day. that suited the charcoal-burner perfectly, and she came back the next day and all the following ones. and when the kiln had been burned out she helped nils clear it, and never before had he had such a quantity of charcoal, nor charcoal of so fine a quality. so she became his wife and lived with him in the wood for three years. they had three children, yet this worried nils but little, seeing that she looked after them, and they gave him no trouble. but when the fourth year came, she grew more exacting, and insisted on going back to his home with him, and living with him there. nils wished to hear nothing about this; yet since she was so useful to him in his charcoal-burning, he did not betray his feelings, and said he would think it over. it happened one sunday that he went to church--where he had not been for many years, and what he heard there brought up thoughts he had not known since the innocent days of his childhood. he began to wonder whether there were not some hocus-pocus about the charcoal-burning, and whether it were not due to the forest woman, who aided him so willingly. preoccupied with this and other thoughts, he forgot while returning to his kiln, that he had promised the strange woman at the very beginning, when she had first helped him, that, whenever he had been home and was returning to the kiln, he would rap three times with his ax against an old pine-tree not far from it. on this occasion, as we have said, he forgot the sign, and as a result he saw something that nearly robbed him of his wits. as he drew near the kiln, he saw it all aflame, and around it stood the three children and their mother, and they were clearing out the kiln. they were pulling down and putting out so that flames, smoke and ashes whirled sky-high, but instead of the spruce-branches that were generally used to put out the fire, _they had bushy tails which they dipped in the snow_! when charcoal nils had looked on for a while, he slunk back to the old pine-tree, and made its trunk echo to the sound of his three ax-strokes till one could hear them on the harsberg. then he went to the kiln, as though he had seen nothing, and all went on as before. the kiln was glowing with a handsome, even glow, and the tall woman was about and working as usual. as soon as she saw charcoal nils, she came back with her pressing demand that he take her home to his little house, and that they live there. "yes, that shall come about," said nils to console her, and turned back home to fetch a horse. but instead he went out on the headline of kallernäs, on the eastern shore of lake rasval, where a wise man lived, and asked the latter what he should do. the old man advised him to go home and hitch his horse to his charcoal-wagon, but to hitch the horse in such wise that there would be not a single loop either in the harness or traces. then he was to mount the horse and ride back to the kiln without stopping, have the troll-woman and her children get into the wagon, and at once drive out on the ice with them. the charcoal-burner did as the old man told him, saddled his horse, paying strict attention that there were no loops in saddle or bridle, rode across the ice through the wood to his kiln, and told the troll-woman and her children to get in. then he quickly turned back through the wood, out on the ice, and there let his horse run as fast as he could. when he reached the middle of the lake, he saw a pack of wolves running along in the direction of aboda-land, at the northern end of the lake, and heading for the ice. then he tore the saddle-harness from the traces, so that the wagon with the troll-folk was left standing on the bare ice, and rode as fast as his horse could carry him for the opposite shore. when the trolls saw the wolves they began to scream. "turn back, turn back!" cried the mother. "and if you will not for my sake, then at least do so for the sake of vipa (peewee), your youngest daughter!" but charcoal nils rode for the shore without looking back. then he heard the troll-woman calling on others for aid. "brother in the harsberg, sister in stripa, cousin in ringfels; take the loop and pull!" "there is no loop to pull!" came the answer from deep within the harsberg. "then catch him at harkallarn." "he is not riding in that direction." the reply came from ringfels. and indeed charcoal nils did not ride in that direction; but over stick and stone straight to his own home. yet when he reached his own courtyard, the horse fell, and a shot from the trolls tore away a corner of the stable. nils shortly after fell sick, and had to lie a-bed for a number of weeks. when he was well again he sold his forest land, and worked the little farm by the cottage until his death. so that was one occasion when the troll-folk came off second best. note in "charcoal nils and the troll-woman" (hofberg, p. . from vestmanland) we have the story of a strange union. malicious as the troll-folk are, when a marriage takes place between a troll-woman and a human being, the woman is beyond reproach, good and kind, the only reproach that can be made her is that she is not a christian. xx the three dogs once upon a time there was a king who went forth into the world and fetched back a beautiful queen. and after they had been married a while god gave them a little daughter. then there was great rejoicing in the city and throughout the country, for the people wished their king all that was good, since he was kind and just. while the child lay in its cradle, a strange-looking old woman entered the room, and no one knew who she was nor whence she came. the old woman spoke a verse over the child, and said that she must not be allowed out under the open sky until she were full fifteen years of age, since otherwise the mountain troll would fetch her. when the king heard this he took her words to heart, and posted guards to watch over the little princess so that she would not get out under the open sky. some time afterward god gave the royal pair another little daughter, and again the whole kingdom rejoiced. but the wise old woman once more put in an appearance, and warned the king not to let the princess out under the open sky until she were full fifteen years of age. and then, after a time, god gave the royal pair a third daughter. this time, too, the old woman appeared, and repeated what she had already twice said. then the king was much grieved; for he loved his children above everything in the world. therefore he gave strict orders that the three princesses were always to be kept beneath the roof of the castle, and that none were to dare transgress against this command. now a long time passed, and the king's daughters grew up and became the most beautiful maidens of whom one has ever heard tell. then war broke out and the king, their father, had to leave them. one day, while he was away at war, the three princesses were sitting in the window and looking out, watching the sun shine on the little flowers in the garden. and they felt a great desire to play with the lovely flowers, and begged their guards to let them go into the garden for a little while. but this their guards would not allow, for they feared the king's anger. yet the king's daughters pleaded so very sweetly that they could not deny their pleas and they let them have their way. but the princesses did not have long to walk about, for no sooner were they beneath the open sky, than a cloud came suddenly down, and bore them off, and all attempts to regain possession of them were fruitless; though search was made in every direction. then the whole kingdom mourned and grieved, and one may imagine that the king was anything but happy when he returned home and learned all that had happened. yet what is done cannot be undone, and in the end they had to resign themselves to it. and since the king knew of no other way to help himself, he had proclaimed throughout the kingdom that whoever would deliver his three daughters out of the power of the mountain troll should have one of them for his bride, and with her half of the kingdom. when this became known in foreign lands, many youths set forth with horses and followers to seek the princesses. at the king's court were two princes who also went forth to see whether fortune would be kind to them. they armed themselves in the best possible way with coats of mail and costly weapons, and bragged and boasted that they would not return without having done what they set out to do. and now we will let the king's sons ride out over the world on their quest, while we turn to other people. far, far out in the wild wood there lived a poor widow, who had an only son who drove his mother's pigs to pasture every day. and as he crossed the fields, he whittled himself a flute, and amused himself playing it. and he played so sweetly that he warmed the cockles of the hearts of all those who heard him. now it chanced that the young swine-herd once sat in the wood blowing his flute, while his three pigs were digging under the pine-roots. and an old, old man came along, with a beard so long and so broad that it hung far below his girdle. the old man had a large, powerful dog with him. when the youth saw the great dog, he thought to himself: "if a fellow had a dog like that to keep him company here in the wilderness, he might consider himself lucky." and when the old man noticed this, he began: "that is why i have come, for i want to exchange my dog for one of your pigs." the youth was at once willing, and closed the bargain. he received the great dog, and gave up the gray pig in place of it. then the old man went his way. but as he left he said: "you have reason to be satisfied with our exchange, for that dog is not like other dogs. his name is 'take hold!' and whatever you tell him to take hold of he will seize, even though it were the grimmest of trolls." thereupon they parted, and the youth thought that fortune had indeed favored him. in the evening he called his dog and drove his pigs home. but when his old mother heard that he had given away the gray pig for a dog, she was angry beyond measure, and gave her son a good drubbing. the youth told her to calm herself; but all in vain, the longer it lasted the more furious she became. then, since he did not know what else to do, he called out to his dog: "take hold!" at once the dog ran up, seized the old mother and held her so tightly that she could not move. but otherwise he did her no harm. and now she had to promise her son to make the best of the matter, and then they were friends once more. the following day the youth went to the wood again, with his dog and the two pigs. after a time he sat down and played his flute as usual, and the dog danced to his playing with such skill, that it was nothing short of a miracle. and as he was sitting there, the old man with the gray beard came out of the wood again, and with him another dog, no smaller than the first. when the youth saw the handsome beast he thought to himself: "if a fellow had that dog to keep him company here where it is so lonely, he need have no fear." when the old man noticed this, he began: "that is why i have come, for i want to exchange my dog for one of your pigs." the youth did not lose any time, but agreed to close the bargain. he received the great dog, and gave up one of his pigs in place of it. then the old man went his way. yet before he left he added: "you have reason to be well satisfied with your purchase, for this dog is not like the other dogs. his name is 'tear!' and if you give him something to tear, he will tear it to pieces, even though it were the grimmest of trolls." then they parted. but the youth was happy in the idea that he had made a capital exchange; although he knew that his old mother would not be content with it. and when evening came, and the youth went home, his old mother was no less angry than she had been before. but this time she did not venture to beat her son, because she was afraid of the great dogs. yet, as is usual, when women have scolded long enough, they stop of their own accord--and that is what happened in this case. the youth and his mother made peace with each other; though the mother thought to herself that the damage done could not well be repaired. on the third day the youth went into the wood again with his pig and two dogs. he felt very happy, seated himself on a tree-stump and played his flute as usual. and the dogs danced to his playing with such skill that it was a pleasure to watch them. as the youth was sitting there in peace and quiet, the old gray-beard once more came out of the wood. this time he had a third dog with him, who was as large as both the others together. when the youth saw the handsome animal he could not help but think: "if a fellow had this dog to keep him company in the wilderness, he would have no cause for complaint." the old man at once began: "that is why i have come, in order to sell my dog, for i can see you would like to have him." the youth was at once willing and agreed to close the bargain. so he received the great dog and gave up his last pig in place of it. then the old man went his way. yet before he went he said: "you will be satisfied with your exchange, for this dog is not like other dogs. his name is 'hark!' and his hearing is so keen that he hears everything that happens, though it be happening many miles away. he even hears the grass and the trees grow." then they parted in the friendliest spirit. but the youth was happy in the thought that now he need fear nothing in the world. and then, when evening came on, and the swine-herd went home, his mother was very sad to think that her son had sold all they possessed. but the youth told her to be of good courage, since he would see to it that they did not suffer want. and when he spoke to her in such a cheerful manner, she grew content again, and decided that he had spoken in wise and manly fashion. then when day dawned the youth went hunting with his dogs, and came back at evening with as much game as he could possibly carry. and he continued to go hunting in this way for a time until his old mother's store-room was well provided with meat and all sorts of good things. then he bade his mother a fond farewell, called his dogs, and said he was going to wander out into the world and try his fortune. and he fared forth over mountains and tangled ways, and came into the heart of a sombre forest. there he met the gray-beard of whom i have already told you. and when he met him the youth was much pleased, and said: "good-day, grandfather, and thanks for the last time!" and the old man replied: "good-day to you, and whither away?" the youth answered: "i am wandering out into the world to see what fortune has in store for me." then the old man said: "keep right on going till you come to the royal castle, and there your fortune will take a turn." and with that they parted. the youth followed the old man's advice and for a time wandered on straight ahead. when he came to a tavern he played his flute and let his dogs dance, and was never at a lack for bed and board, and whatever else he might want. after he had wandered long and far, he at length came to a great city, whose streets were filled with people. the youth wondered what it all meant, and at last reached the spot where, to the sound of bell, the king's proclamation was being cried--that whoever should deliver the three princesses out of the power of the troll, would receive one of them, and half the kingdom as well. now he understood what the old man had meant. he called his dogs, and went to the king's castle. but there all had been grief and mourning since the day the king's daughters had disappeared. and of them all the king and queen were the most sorrowful. then the youth went to the keeper of the door, and asked him whether he might play and show his dogs before the king. the courtiers were willing, for they hoped it might make him feel more cheerful. so he was admitted and allowed to show his tricks. and when the king had heard him play, and had seen the skillful dancing of his dogs, he grew quite merry, and none had seen him as happy during all the seven long years that had passed since he had lost his daughters. when the dance was over, the king asked the youth what he asked as a reward for having given him such a pleasure. the youth answered: "my lord king, i did not come to you to win gold and gear. but i have another request to make: that you allow me to set out and search for your three daughters, carried away by a mountain troll." when the king heard this his thoughts once more grew gloomy, and he replied: "you need not even think of delivering my daughters. it is no child's play, and your betters have already attempted it in vain. yet should it really come to pass that you deliver one of the princesses, you may be sure that i will not break my word." so he took leave of the king and set forth. and he decided to take no rest until he had found what he sought. now he passed through many broad kingdoms without meeting with any special adventures. and wherever he went his dogs followed him. "hark!" ran along and listened for anything worth hearing to be heard around them; "take hold!" carried his master's knapsack and "tear!" who was the strongest, carried his master when the latter was weary. one day "hark!" came running up hastily, and told his master that he had gone to a high mountain, and had heard the king's daughter, who sat within it and span, and that the troll was not at home. this greatly pleased the youth, and he hurried toward the mountain together with his three dogs. when they got there "hark!" said: "there is no time to lose. the troll is only ten miles away, and i can already hear the golden horse-shoes of his steed ringing on the stones." the youth now ordered his dogs to break down the door into the mountain, and they did. and as he stepped into the mountain he saw a lovely maiden, sitting in the mountain-hall, winding a golden thread on a golden spindle. the youth went up and greeted the lovely girl. then the king's daughter was much surprised and said: "who are you that dare to venture into the giant's hall? during all the seven long years i have been sitting here in the mountain i have never yet seen a human being." and she added: "for heaven's sake hasten away before the troll returns home, or else your life will be forfeit!" but the youth was unafraid, and said that he would await the giant's return without fear. while they were talking together, the giant came riding along on his colt shod with gold. when he saw the gate standing open he grew furiously angry and shouted till the whole mountain shook: "who has broken my mountain door?" the youth boldly answered: "i did, and now i shall break you as well! 'take hold!' seize him! 'tear!' and 'hark!' tear him into a thousand pieces." no sooner had he spoken than the dogs rushed up, fell upon the giant and tore him into countless pieces. then the princess was happy beyond measure and said: "god be praised, now i am freed!" and she fell upon the youth's neck and gave him a kiss. but he did not wish to stay there any longer, saddled the giant's colt, loaded it with all the gold and gear he found in the mountain, and hastily went away with the king's beautiful daughter. they passed on together a long distance. then, one day, "hark!" who always ran ahead scouting, came quickly back to his master, and told him he had been near a high mountain, and had heard the king's second daughter sitting within it winding golden yarn, and that the troll himself was not at home. this was very welcome news for the youth, and he hurried toward the mountain with his faithful dogs. now when they drew near "hark!" said: "there is no time to lose. the giant is only eight miles away, and i can already hear the golden horse-shoes of his steed ringing on the stones." the youth at once ordered his dogs to break down the door into the mountain, no matter which way. and when he stepped into the interior of the mountain he saw a lovely maiden sitting in the mountain hall, winding golden yarn on a golden windle. the youth went up and greeted the lovely girl. the king's daughter was much surprised and said: "who are you that dare to venture into the giant's hall? during all the seven years i have been sitting here in the mountain i have never yet seen a human being." and she added: "for heaven's sake, hasten away, for if the troll comes your life will be forfeit!" but the youth told her why he had come, and said that he would await the troll's return quite undisturbed. while they were still talking together, the giant came riding on his steed shod with gold, and drew up outside the mountain. when he noticed that the great door was open, he grew furiously angry, and shouted till the mountain trembled to its very roots. he said: "who has broken my mountain door?" the youth boldly answered: "i have, and now i shall break you as well! 'take hold,' seize him! 'tear!' and 'hark!' tear him into a thousand pieces!" the dogs at once rushed up, threw themselves upon the giant, and tore him into as many pieces as leaves fall in the autumn. then the king's daughter was happy beyond measure and cried: "god be praised, now i am freed!" and she fell upon the youth's neck and gave him a kiss. but he led the princess to her sister, and one can imagine-how glad they were to see each other again. then the youth packed up all the treasures he found in the mountain hall, loaded them on the giant's steed, and went his way with the king's two daughters. and they wandered along for a long time. then, one day, "hark!" who always ran ahead scouting, came hastily to his master and told him that he had been near a high mountain, and had heard the king's third daughter sitting within and weaving a web of gold, and that the troll was not at home. this was very welcome news for the youth, and he hastened toward the mountain, followed by his three dogs. when he drew near "hark!" said: "there is no time to lose, for the giant is only five miles away. i can already hear the golden horse-shoes of his steed ringing on the stones." then the youth at once ordered his dogs to break down the door into the mountain, by hook or by crook. and when he stepped into the mountain, he saw a girl sitting in the mountain hall, weaving a web of gold. but this maiden was lovely beyond all measure, with a loveliness exceeding all the youth had ever thought to find on earth. he now went up and greeted the lovely maiden. then the king's daughter was much surprised and said: "who are you that dare to venture into the giant's hall? during all the seven long years i have been sitting here in the mountain i have never yet seen a human being." and she added: "for heaven's sake, hasten away before the troll comes, or else your life will be forfeit!" but the youth was full of confidence, and said he would gladly venture his life for the king's lovely daughter. [illustration: "he saw a girl sitting in the mountain hall, weaving a web of gold."] while they were still talking the giant came riding along on his colt shod with gold, and drew up at the foot of the mountain. when he went in he saw that uninvited guests had arrived, and was much frightened; for well he knew of the fate that had befallen his brothers. he therefore thought it advisable to fall back upon cunning and treachery, for he had not dared to venture on open battle. for that reason he made many fine speeches, and was very friendly and smooth with the youth. then he told the king's daughter to prepare a meal in order to show his guest all hospitality. and since the troll knew so well how to talk, the youth allowed himself to be beguiled by his smooth words, and forgot to be on his guard. he sat down to the table with the giant; but the king's daughter wept secretly, and the dogs were very restless; though no one paid them any attention. when the giant and his guest had finished their meal, the youth said: "now that i have satisfied my hunger, give me something to quench my thirst!" the giant replied: "on the mountain-top is a spring in which bubbles the clearest wine; but i have no one to fetch it." the youth answered: "if that be all that is lacking, one of my dogs can go up." then the giant laughed in his false heart, for nothing suited him better than to have the youth send away his dogs. the youth ordered "take hold!" to go to the spring, and the giant handed him a great tankard. the dog went; yet it was easy to see that he did not go willingly; and the time passed and passed and he did not return. after a while the giant said: "i wonder why your dog stays away so long? perhaps you would let another of your dogs go and help him; for the way is long and the tankard is heavy." the youth did not suspect any trickery and agreed. he told "tear!" to go and see why "take hold!" had not yet come. the dog wagged his tail, and did not want to leave his master. but the youth did not notice it and drove him off himself. then the giant laughed heartily, and the king's daughter wept, yet the youth paid no attention; but was merry and at his ease, played with his sword, and dreamed of no danger. thus a long time passed; but nothing was heard of the wine nor of the dogs. then the giant said: "i can see that your dogs do not do as you bid them, otherwise we should not have to sit here and thirst. i think it would be well if you let 'hark!' go up and see why they do not come back." the youth agreed, and told his third dog to hurry to the spring. but "hark!" did not want to, and instead crept whining to his master's feet. then the youth grew angry and drove him off by force. and when he reached the top of the mountain he shared the fate of the others, a high wall rose round about him, and he was made a prisoner by the giant's magic power. now that all three dogs were gone, the giant rose, and suddenly looked altogether different. he took down a long sword from the wall, and said: "now i will do what my brothers did not do, and you must die at once, for you are in my power!" then the youth was frightened, and he regretted he had allowed his dogs to leave him. he said: "i do not ask for my life, since in any event the time will come when i must die. but i would like to repeat the lord's prayer, and play a psalm on my flute, for such is the custom in my country." the giant granted his prayer, but said that he would not wait long. so the youth kneeled and began to blow his flute till it sounded over hill and dale. and that very moment the magic wall was broken and the dogs were freed. they came rushing on like the storm-wind, and fell upon the mountain troll. the youth at once rose and said: "'take hold!', seize him! 'tear!' and 'hark!' tear him into a thousand pieces!" then the dogs flung themselves on the giant and tore him into countless pieces. then the youth took all the treasures that lay in the mountain, hitched the giant's horses to a gilded wagon, and drove off as fast as he could. now when the king's daughters met again there was great joy, as may well be imagined, and all thanked the youth for delivering them out of the power of the mountain trolls. but the youth fell deeply in love with the youngest princess, and they promised to be true to each other. so the king's daughters passed on their way with music and merriment of every kind, and the youth served them with all the honor and courtesy due maidens of gentle birth. and while they were underway the princesses toyed with the youth's hair, and each tied her golden ring in his locks for remembrance. one day while they were still underway, they met two wanderers, who were traveling the same road. the clothes of the two strangers were torn and their feet were sore, and their whole appearance showed that they had a long journey behind them. the youth stopped his wagon, and asked them who they were and whence they came. the strangers answered that they were two princes, and had gone forth to search for the three maidens in the mountain. but fortune had not favored them; and now they had to return home more like journeymen than kings' sons. when the youth heard this he felt sorry for the two wanderers, and asked whether they would like to ride with him in his handsome wagon. the princes thanked him profusely for his offer. they drove on together, and came to the kingdom over which the father of the princesses reigned. now when the princes learned that the youth had delivered the king's three daughters, a great jealousy took possession of them, and they thought of how badly they had fared in their own venture. and they took counsel together as to how they might get the better of the youth, and win power and glory for themselves. but they hid their evil plot till a favorable opportunity offered for carrying it out. then they suddenly threw themselves on their comrade, seized him by the throat and strangled him. and then they threatened to kill the princesses if they did not swear to keep silence. and since the king's daughters were in the power of the princes, they did not dare say no. but they felt very sorry for the youth who had given up his life for them, and the youngest princess mourned with all her heart, and all her happiness was at an end. after this great wrong the princes drove to the royal castle, and one may well imagine how happy the king was to get back his three daughters. in the meantime the poor youth lay like dead off in a gorge in the forest. yet he was not quite dead, and his faithful dogs lay about him, kept him warm, and licked his wounds. and they did not stop until their master came back to life again. when he was once more well and strong he set out, and after many difficulties came to the royal castle in which the princesses dwelt. when he came in the whole court was full of joy and merriment, and from the king's hall came the sound of dancing and string music. that surprised him greatly, and he asked what it all meant. the serving-man answered: "you must come from far away, since you do not know that the king has regained his daughters who were in the power of the mountain troll. this is the oldest princess's wedding-day." the youth then asked after the youngest princess, and when she was to marry. but the serving-man said that she did not want a husband, and wept the live-long day, though no one knew why. then the youth felt happy once more; for now he knew that she loved him, and had kept faith with him. the youth now went to the keeper of the door, and bade him tell the king that a guest had arrived who would add to the merriment of the wedding festivities by showing his dogs. this was to the king's liking, and he ordered that the stranger receive the best possible treatment. and when the youth stepped into the hall, the whole wedding company were astounded by his skill and his manly bearing, and all agreed that so handsome a youth was rarely seen. but no sooner had the king's three daughters recognized him, than they jumped up from the table, and flung themselves on his neck. and then the princes thought it best to make themselves scarce. but the king's daughters told how the youth had freed them, and the rest of their adventures; and to make quite certain they looked for their rings among his locks. now when the king heard of the trickery and treachery the two strange princes had used, he grew very angry and had them driven ignominously forth from the castle. but he received the brave youth with great honor, as he had deserved, and he was married to the king's youngest daughter that selfsame day. after the king's death the youth was chosen king of all the land, and a gallant king he was. and there he lives with his beautiful queen, and is reigning there happily to this very day. and that is all i have to do with it. note "the three dogs" (hyltén-cavallius and stephens, p. . from west gotland). fairy tales have a high opinion of the power of music, for the magic of the flute-playing breaks the evil spell of the troll, just as in the story of "faithful and unfaithful," the sound of the fiddle makes the troll's golden hall come out of the mountain. xxi the poor devil once upon a time there was a peasant, who led his cow to pasture in the spring, and prayed god to have her in his care. the evil one was sitting in a bush, heard him, and said to himself: "when things turn out well, they thank god for it; but if anything goes wrong, then i am always to blame!" a few days later the cow strayed into a swamp. and when the peasant came and saw her he said: "look at that! the devil has had his finger in the pie again!" "just what i might have expected," thought the devil in his bush. then the peasant went off to fetch people to help drag the cow out. but in the meantime the devil slipped from his bush and helped out the cow, for he thought: "now he will have something to thank me for, too." but when the peasant came back and saw the cow on dry land, he said: "thank god, she's out again!" note the little story of "the poor devil." (bondeson, p. . from smaland) which shows him attempting to rival god, is at once humorous and philosophical. xxii how smaland and schonen came to be the smalanders declare: at the time when our lord created the earth, he made a level and fruitful stretch of land, and that was schonen. but the devil had been busy in the meantime, and had created smaland, a barren region consisting mainly of hills and swamps. when our lord saw it, it looked very hopeless to him, and he strewed the bits of earth that remained in his apron out over it, and created the smalanders. they turned out to be a fine race of men, handsome and strong and able to take care of themselves in any situation. it is said to this very day, that if you take a smalander and set him down on a rock in the sea, he will still manage to save himself. but in the meantime the devil had been down in schonen, and had created the people who live there, and that is why they are so slow, boastful and servile. but the people of schonen say: once as our lord and st. peter were walking together, they heard a terrible commotion in a forest. "go see what is happening there," said our lord. st. peter went. and there was the devil and a smalander, who were pummeling each other with might and main. st. peter tried to separate them; but they paid no attention to him. so he took his sword and chopped off both their heads. and he told our lord what he had seen and done: "no, that was not well done," the latter replied, "go and put back their heads where they were, and touch the wounds with your sword, and both will come to life again." st. peter did so, but he exchanged heads. since that time the smalanders all have a bit of the devil about them, and those who know the devil, will tell you that he is more or less like the smalanders. note the unfruitful district of smaland and the lazy and servile people of schonen (as retold and communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund), are supposed to be creative efforts of the devil, at least so the danes and swedes were wont to say, and selma lagerlöf has repeated it after them with variants. but the people of schonen lost no time in inventing a close relationship between the smalanders and the devil. xxiii the evil one and kitta grau one day the devil met kitta grau: "where have you been, old man?" asked kitta grau, for she recognized him. "well," said the evil one, "i have been out on the farmstead where the newly wedded couple live. this is the third time i have tried to sow dissension between them; but they think so much of each other that it is a sheer impossibility." "you talk like a real stupid. that is something i could bring about the very first time i went there," said kitta grau. "if you can do that, you shall have a splendid pair of shoes," was the evil one's reply. "mind you keep your word!" said kitta, and turned toward the farmstead. there the woman was home alone; for her husband had gone to the forest. kitta said to the young wife: "you really have a splendid husband." "and that is the truth," the woman replied, "for he grants my every wish before it is spoken." "but take my word for it," said kitta, "there is still a bit of deceit in him. he has a pair of long hairs under his chin--if you could get at them with a razor, and cut them off while he is asleep, then he would be altogether without malice." "well," said the woman, "if that will help, i will be sure to keep an eye open after dinner and attend to it, for then he always takes a little noon-day nap." then kitta grau went out into the forest to the husband and bade him good-day. "you really have a very good wife," said kitta. "she could not be bettered," replied the husband. "well you might be mistaken for all that," said kitta. "when you come home, be on your guard, for when you go to take your noon-day nap, she has in mind to cut your throat. so be sure not to go to sleep." the husband did not think much of the matter; but still he thanked kitta grau for her trouble. then he went home and ate his dinner, laid down and pretended to fall asleep at once. thereupon his wife went to his shaving-kit, took out his razor, went softly up to him and took hold of his chin with her hand. up flew the man. "do you want to murder me?" he cried, and gave his wife such a thump that she measured her full length on the floor. and from that day forward there was no peace in the house. now kitta grau was to receive her reward from the evil one. but he was so afraid of her that he did not venture to give her the shoes until he stood on one side of a stream, while she stood on the other, and then he passed them over to her on a long pole. "you are ever so much worse than i am," he told kitta grau. the black man had made a bargain with a merchant. he had promised him that all goods which he might buy he should sell again within three weeks' time at a handsome profit. but, if he had prospered, after seven years had passed he was to be the devil's own. and he did prosper; for no matter what manner of old trash the merchant bought, and if it were no more than an old worn-out fur coat, he was always able to sell it again, and always at a profit. kitta grau came into his shop and showed him the handsome shoes the evil one had given her. so the merchant said: "may heaven keep me from him! he will surely fetch me when the time comes; for i have made a pact with him; and i have been unable to buy anything without selling it again in three weeks' time." then kitta grau said: "buy me, for i am sure no one will buy me from you!" and that is what the merchant did. he bought kitta, had her disrobe and cover herself with tar, and roll in a pile of feathers. then he put her in a glass cage as though she were a bird. now the first week went by, and the second week went by, and the third week went by, and no one appeared who wanted to buy the curious bird. and then, in due time, came the evil one, and wanted to fetch his merchant. "have patience," said the merchant, "i still have something i have bought, but have not been able to sell again in three weeks' time." "that is something i'd like to see," said the black man. then the merchant showed him kitta grau, sitting in her glass cage. but no sooner had the evil one seen the handsome bird than he cried: "oh, i see! it is you kitta grau! no one who knows you would buy you!" and with that he hurried on his way. thus kitta grau could help do evil, and help do good. note the story of "the evil one and kitta grau." (bondeson, p. . from halland) shows that it is child's play for an evil woman to accomplish what the devil himself cannot do. yet some one has made an addition which redounds to kitta's credit, and which makes her one of the heroines of fairy-tale who know how to take advantage of the evil one. xxiv the lady of pintorp where to-day a castellate building towers between spreading parks and gardens on the noble estate of eriksberg, there lay in ancient times a holding known as pintorp; with which legend has associated the gruesome tale of the lady of pintorp. in pintorp--so the legend says--there dwelt a nobleman who, dying in his youth, left all his goods and gear to his widow. yet instead of being a kind mistress to her many dependents, she exploited them in every way, and ill-treated them shamefully. beneath her castle she had deep subterranean dungeons, in which languished many innocent people. she set vicious dogs at children and beggars, and if any one did not come to work at the right time, he was sure to go home in the evening with weals on his back. once, early in the morning, when the men came to work, the lady of pintorp was standing on the castle steps, and saw a poor farm-hand belonging to the estate come too late. foaming with rage, she overwhelmed him with abuse and reproaches, and ordered him to chop down the largest oak on the whole estate, and bring it, crown foremost, to the castle court before evening. and if he did not carry out her command to the very letter--so she said--she would drive him from his hut without mercy, and all that he had should fall to the estate. with heavy thoughts of the severe judgment passed upon him, the farm-hand went to the wood; and there he met an old man who asked him why he was so unhappy. "because it is all up with me, if our lord in his mercy do not help me," sighed the unfortunate man, and told of the task his mistress had imposed on him. "do not worry," said the unknown, "chop down this oak, seat yourself on the trunk, and erik gyllenstjerna and svante banér will take it to the castle." the farm hand did as the old man told him, began to hew to the line, and sure enough, at the third stroke the tree fell with a tremendous crash. then he seated himself on the trunk, facing the crown, and at once the tree began to move, as though drawn by horses. soon it rushed along so swiftly that posts and garden-palings flew out of the way like splinters, and soon they had reached the castle. at the moment the tree-top struck the castle-gate, one of the invisible bearers stumbled, and a voice was heard saying: "what, are you falling on your knees, svante?" the lady of pintorp, who was standing on the steps, knew well who was helping the man; yet instead of feeling regret, she began to curse and scold, and finally threatened to imprison the farm-hand. then the earth quaked so that the walls of the castle shook, and a black coach, drawn by two black horses, stopped before the castle. a fine gentleman, clad in black, descended from the coach, bowed to the lady and bade her make ready and follow him. trembling--for she knew well who the stranger must be--she begged for a three years' respite; but the black gentleman would not grant her request. then she asked for three months, and that he refused as well. finally she begged for three weeks, and then for three days; but only three minutes were allowed her to put her house in order. when she saw there was no help for it, she begged that at least her chaplain, her chamber-maid, and her valet be allowed to accompany her. this request was granted, and they entered the carriage. the horses at once started off, and the carriage drove away so swiftly, that the people at the castle saw no more than a black streak. when the woman and her companions had thus driven a while, they came to a splendid castle, and the gentleman in black led them up the steps. above, in the great hall, the woman laid off her costly garments and put on a coarse coat and wooden shoes. then he combed her hair three times, till she could no longer bear it, and danced with her three times until she was exhausted. after the first dance the lady begged to be allowed to give her golden ring to her valet, and it burned his finger like fire. after the second dance she gave her chamber-maid her bunch of keys, and that seared the girl's hand like red-hot iron. but after the third dance, a trap-door opened in the floor, and the lady disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame. the chaplain, who was standing nearest her, looked down curiously into the opening into which his mistress had sunk; and a spark shot up from the depths, and flew into his eye, so that he was blind in one eye for the rest of his life. when it was all over, the black gentleman allowed the servitors to drive home again; but expressly forbade them to look around. they hastily entered the coach, the road was broad and even, and the horses ran rapidly. but when they had gone a while, the chamber-maid could no longer control her curiosity, and looked around. that very minute horses, coach and the road itself were gone, the travellers found themselves in a wild forest, and it cost them three years to get out again, and make their way back to pintorp. note in "the lady of pintorp" (hofberg, p. ) the devil appears in all his grewsome satanic majesty. it has been claimed that the evil woman was a historical figure, the wife of the royal counselor erik gyllenstjerna. xxv the spectre in fjelkinge during the first half of the eighteenth century, several large estates in schonen were the property of the family of barnekow, or rather, of its most distinguished representative at that time, margaret barnekow, daughter of the famous captain and governor-general count rutger of aschenberg, and the wife of colonel kjell kristofer barnekow. a widow at twenty-nine, she herself took over the management of her large properties, and gave therein evidence of invincible courage, an inexhaustible capacity for work, and a tireless solicitude for all her many dependents and servitors. while traveling about her estates, madame margaret one evening came to the tavern in fjelkinge, and was quartered for the night in a room that had the name of being haunted. some years before a traveler had lain in the same room and presumably had been murdered: at any rate the man himself and all his belongings had disappeared without leaving a trace, and the mystery had never been explained. since that time the room had been haunted, and those who knew about it preferred to travel a post-station further in the dark, rather than pass the night in the room in question. but margaret barnekow did not do so. she had already shown greater courage in greater contingencies, and chose this particular room to sleep in without any fear. she let the lamp burn and fell asleep, after she had said her evening prayer. on the stroke of twelve she awoke, just as some planks were raised in the floor; and up rose a bleeding phantom whose head, split wide open, hung down on his shoulder. "noble lady," whispered the specter, "prepare a grave in consecrated earth for a murdered man, and deliver his murderer to the judgment which is his due!" god-fearing and unafraid, madame margaret beckoned the phantom nearer, and he told her he had already addressed the same prayer to various other people; but that none had had the courage to grant it. then madame margaret drew a gold ring from her finger, laid it on the gaping wound, and tied up the head of the murdered man with her kerchief. with a glance of unspeakable gratitude he told her the murderer's name, and disappeared beneath the floor without a sound. the following morning madame margaret sent for the sheriff of the district to come to the tavern with some of his people, informed him of what had happened to her during the night, and ordered those present to tear up the floor. and there they found, buried in the earth, the remains of a body and, in a wound in its head, the countess's ring, and tied about its head, her kerchief. one of the bystanders grew pale at the sight, and fell senseless to the ground. when he came to his senses, he confessed that he had murdered the traveler and robbed him of his belongings. he was condemned to death for his crime, and the body of the murdered man was buried in the village church-yard. the ring, of peculiar shape, and its setting bearing a large gray stone, is still preserved in the barnekow family, and magic virtues in cases of sickness, fire and other misfortunes are ascribed to it. and when one of the barnekows dies, it is said that a red spot, like a drop of blood, appears on the stone. note "the spectre in fjelkinge" (hofberg, p. ) is founded on the ancient belief that innocent blood which has been shed calls for atonement, and the one who has been unjustly murdered cannot rest until the deed has been brought to light. xxvi the rooster, the hand-mill and the swarm of hornets once upon a time there was a peasant who wanted to go to sell a pig. after he had gone a while, he met a man who asked him where he was going with his pig. "i want to sell it," answered the peasant, "but i do not know what to do to get rid of it." "go to the devil," said the man, "he will be the first to rid you of it." so the peasant kept on along the broad highway. when he came to the devil's place, there stood a man out by the wood-pile making wood. the peasant went to him and asked whether he could tell him if they wanted to buy a pig in the devil's place. "i'll go in and ask," said the man, "if you will make wood in my stead while i am gone." "yes, i will do that gladly," said the peasant, took the ax, stood at the wood-pile and began to make wood. and he worked and worked until evening came; but the man did not return to tell him whether they would or would not buy a pig in the devil's place. at length another man came that way, and the peasant asked him whether he would make wood in his stead, for it was impossible to lay down the ax unless another took it up and went on working. so the man took the ax and stood there making wood, and the peasant went into the devil's place himself, and asked whether any one wanted to buy a pig. a crowd as large as that at a fair at once gathered, and all wanted to buy the pig. then the peasant thought: "whoever pays the most, gets it." and one would overbid another, offering far more than a whole herd of pigs were worth. but at last a gentleman came along who whispered something to the peasant, and told him to come along with him; and he could have all the money he wanted. so when they had reached the gentleman's house, and the peasant had given him the pig, he received in payment a rooster who would lay silver coins as often as he was told to do so. then the peasant went his way, well content with his bargain. but on the way home he stayed overnight at a tavern kept by an old woman. and he was so exceedingly happy about his splendid rooster, that he had to boast about him to the old woman, and show her how he went about laying silver coins. and at night, when the peasant was fast asleep, the old woman came and took away his rooster, and put another in its place. no sooner did the peasant awake in the morning than he wanted to set his rooster to work. "lay quickly, rooster of mine! lay big silver coins, my rooster!" but the rooster could lay no silver coins at all, and only answered "kikeriki! kikeriki! kikeriki!" then the peasant fell into a rage, wandered back to the devil's place, complained about the rooster, and told how absolutely worthless he was. he was kindly received, and the same gentleman gave him a hand-mill. when he called out "mill grind!" to it, it would grind as much meal as he wanted it to, and would not stop until he said: "mill, stop grinding!" and the mill would grind out every kind of meal for which he asked. when the peasant set out for home, he reached the same tavern at which he had already put up in the evening, so he turned in and decided to stay over night. he was so pleased with the mill that it was impossible for him to hold his tongue; so he told the old woman what a valuable mill he had, and showed her how it worked. but during the night, while he was asleep, the old woman came and stole his mill and put another in its place. when the peasant awoke in the morning, he was in a great hurry to test his mill; but he could not make it obey. "mill grind!" he cried. but the mill stood still. then he said: "dear mill, grind wheat meal!" but it had no effect. "then grind rye meal!" he shouted; but that did not help, either. "well, then, grind peas!" but the mill did not seem to hear; but stood as still as though it had never turned a single time in all its life. then the peasant took the road back to the devil's place again, and at once hunted up the gentleman who had purchased his pig, and told him the mill would grind no more meal. "do not grieve about that," said the gentleman, and gave him a large, large hornets' nest, full of hornets, who flew out in swarms and stung any one whom they were told to sting, until one said "stop!" to them. now when the peasant again came to the old woman, he told her he had a swarm of hornets who obeyed his commands. "heavens above!" cried the woman, "that's something worth while seeing!" "you may see it without any trouble," replied the peasant, and at once called: "out, out, my hornets and sting the old woman!" and at once the entire swarm fell upon the old woman, who began to scream pitifully. she begged the peasant to please call back his hornets, and said she was only too willing to give back the rooster and the mill she had taken. the peasant did not object to this; but ordered his hornets to leave the old woman alone, and fly back into their house. then he went home with his rooster, his mill and his hornets, became a rich man and lived happily until he died. and he was in the habit of saying: "they have a big fair in the devil's place, and you find real decent people there, and above all, a liberal gentleman, with whom it is a pleasure to do business." note in "the rooster, the hand-mill and the swarm of hornets" (mss. record by stephens, from wermland, communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund) a poor peasant received three splendid gifts in the devil's place. the rooster who lays gold coins is a widely known magic bird, and the magic mill is also met with in the north. xxvii torre jeppe in a church-nave a specter sat night by night, and the specter's name was torre jeppe. he was a dried-up corpse that could not decay. one night three tailors were working at a farmstead in the neighborhood. they were laughing and joking, and among other things they asked the girl in the house, who was known to be brave, what they would have to give her to go to church and fetch back torre jeppe. she could trust herself to do it, was her answer; but they must give her a dress of home-spun wool for her trouble. that she should surely have, said the tailors, for they did not believe the girl would dare such a venture. yet she took the tailors at their word and really went. when she reached the church, she took torre jeppe on her back, carried him home and sat him down on the bench beside the tailors. they timidly moved away; but torre jeppe moved after them, and looked at them with his big eyes until they nearly lost their reason. in their terror they begged the girl in the name of god to deliver them from the specter. they would gladly give her another dress if she would only carry the dead man away again. they had no need to tell her twice, for she took torre jeppe on her back, and dragged him away again. but when she tried to set him down in the place where she had found him, he did not want to let her go; but clasped his arms firmly about her neck. in vain she said to him several times: "torre jeppe, let me go!" at last he said: "i will not let you go until you promise me that you will go this very night to the brook and ask three times: 'anna perstochter, do you forgive torre jeppe?'" the girl promised to do as he said, and he at once released her. the brook was a good mile off; but she went there and asked three times in a loud voice, as she had promised: "anna perstochter, do you forgive torre jeppe?" and when she had called the third time a woman's voice replied from out of the water: "if god has forgiven him, then i, too, forgive him!" when the girl came back to the church torre jeppe asked eagerly: "what did she say?" "well, if god has forgiven you, then she, too, will forgive you!" then torre jeppe thanked her and said: "come back again before sunrise, and you shall receive your reward for the service you have done me." the girl went back at sunrise, and in the place where the phantom had been sitting she found a bushel of silver coin. in addition she received the two dresses promised her by the tailors. but torre jeppe was never seen again. note "torre jeppe" (retold and communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund, after mss. version of hyltén-cavallius and stephens) is a ghost-story founded on the old belief that a wrong done torments the doer even after death, that he tried to atone for it, and that then only can he enter on his eternal rest. xxviii the man who died on holy innocents' day once upon a time there was a man named kalle kula. he was a wild fellow, and had committed many a grievous crime during his life. when he came to die, and his wife took up the bible to pray for him as he was lying there, he said, "no, this is holy innocents' day, and it is not worth while reading from the bible for me. you had better go into the kitchen instead, and bake waffles. i shall die this very day, and then you must lay a bundle of waffles in my coffin." the woman went into the kitchen and baked the waffles; but when she came back to him again he was dead. so kalle kula was laid in the coffin with a bundle of waffles beside him. then he came to the gates of paradise with his little bundle of waffles under his arm and knocked. but st. peter said to him: "you have no business here, with all the crimes you have committed." "yes, that may well be so, but i died on holy innocents' day," said kalle kula, "so at least i may look in and see the innocent children?" st. peter could not refuse him, and opened the door a little way. kalle kula took advantage of the moment and cried: "come, you little holy innocents, you shall have waffles!" and as they had not been given any waffles in paradise, they all came rushing up, so that the door flew wide open, and then kalle kula crept in. but st. peter went to our lord, told him what had happened, and asked what was to be done. "the best thing is to let your lawyer attend to it," said our lord, "because lawyers usually know all about evicting people." st. peter searched everywhere, but could not find a lawyer. then he went back to our lord and reported to him that it was impossible to find a single lawyer in all paradise, and kalle kula was allowed to remain where he was. if you tie a thief and a miller and a lawyer together and roll the whole bundle down a hill--no matter how you roll it--you can always be sure that whoever is on top is a thief. note this story, part fairy-tale, part legend, "the man who died on holy innocents' day" (communicated by dr. v. sydow-lund) has a danish variant. its innocently malicious humor is worthy of gottfried keller. the end produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) our little swedish cousin the little cousin series [illustration] each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents. [illustration] list of titles by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) =our little african cousin= =our little armenian cousin= =our little brown cousin= =our little canadian cousin= by elizabeth r. macdonald =our little chinese cousin= by isaac taylor headland =our little cuban cousin= =our little dutch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little english cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little eskimo cousin= =our little french cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little german cousin= =our little hawaiian cousin= =our little indian cousin= =our little irish cousin= =our little italian cousin= =our little japanese cousin= =our little jewish cousin= =our little korean cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little mexican cousin= by edward c. butler =our little norwegian cousin= =our little panama cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little philippine cousin= =our little porto rican cousin= =our little russian cousin= =our little scotch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little siamese cousin= =our little spanish cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little swedish cousin= by claire m. coburn =our little swiss cousin= =our little turkish cousin= [illustration] l. c. page & company new england building, boston, mass. [illustration: sigrid] our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn _illustrated by_ l. j. bridgman and r. c. woodberry [illustration] boston l. c. page & company _mdccccvi_ _copyright, _ by l. c. page & company (incorporated) _all rights reserved_ first impression, july, _colonial press electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, u. s. a._ preface for more than five thousand years, the ancestors of our little swedish cousin have dwelt in the scandinavian peninsula. no wonder she loves the stories of the vikings, the old legends, customs, and fête-days. they are her priceless heritage from the days of long ago. the snow and glaciers on the extreme north cut off this long tongue of land, so that it is as separate from the rest of europe as an island. in the olden days, almost every swede tilled the soil and lived remote from his neighbour. villages were few, so that each family created its own little world of work and pleasure. even the children must be very industrious and ingenious to help supply the needs of the family. whether she lives in the city or the country, every little swedish girl to-day is taught this same thrift and industry. because the winter months, when the sun shows his face but a few hours each day, are long and dreary, our northern relatives fairly revel in their short summers. the whole nation lives out-of-doors and rejoices in the merry sunshine. all day excursions, picnics, and water trips are crowded into the brief season. the peasant still owns his little red cottage and the well-to-do farmer and the nobleman live in their old homesteads. the cities continue to be small in number and in size, but slowly, slowly, the great throbbing life of the outside world is creeping in to steal away much of the picturesqueness of this old nation. you will be surprised to learn in how many ways the life of our little swedish cousin is similar to that of american children. but she is such a very hospitable and polite little maid, i am sure she will give you a hearty welcome if you visit her and see her for yourself at work and at play. contents chapter page i. the skating carnival ii. the knitting lesson iii. yule-tide iv. at grandmother's v. midsummer's eve vi. a visit to skansen vii. through the gÖta canal viii. the name-day list of illustrations page sigrid _frontispiece_ brita and her foot-pusher "a sheaf of grain is fastened up in the yard of every country home" baking rye bread at grandmother's "in a twinkling, the children . . . were dancing around the pole" the gÖta canal our little swedish cousin chapter i. the skating carnival "sigrid, sigrid, hurry and get your skates. the ice is at last safe, and mother says that we may go to the park with miss eklund, this afternoon." erik thrust his head through the nursery door to announce the good news to his sister, who was poring over her lessons for the next day. "oh!" cried the little girl as she quickly slipped out of her seat at the long table, "i am so glad, for i thought i should never have a chance to wear the new skates that father gave me on my birthday." in a trice, she had gathered up all her books, packed them neatly away, and was off to put on her warm furs. she was a flaxen-haired little maid, with very blue eyes, and plump rosy cheeks as round as an apple, because she lived out-of-doors a great deal and romped with her brothers. in just no time at all, she had put on her warm blue coat, lined with gray squirrel, and a little cap to match, with the fur also on the inside. she quickly fastened on her rubber overshoes, which had a border of fur around the top and down the front. when she had found her white woolen mittens with a quaint red and blue pattern knitted right across the back, she was ready to join her brothers erik and anders. they were a jolly little party of merry-makers, for it was the first skate of the season. our swedish cousins who live in the city may not go skating whenever they like. they must wait till some wise person appointed by the government says the ice is quite thick and firm. "i will beat you running down-stairs to the porter's door," called sigrid, who was bubbling over with good spirits. away she flew, down the long flight of stone steps, and stood dancing up and down on one foot, waiting for the others. sigrid's father was an officer in the king's army, and in the winter-time, she and her big brother erik and her little brother anders lived with their parents and their governess, miss eklund, in a large apartment house in stockholm. all the city people in sweden live in these houses, plain and substantial on the outside, but comfortable inside, and not so very unlike american houses. in the centre of every house is a great stone stairway, and at the entrance sits a doorkeeper behind a tiny port-hole window. every one who came to call on sigrid's mother, who was a very hospitable lady, and had many guests, must ring the porter's bell. then up would bob his head before the little window to see if he should let them in. he peered through the window so quickly after any one rang the bell that he always reminded sigrid of a jack-in-the-box. "gerda and per are coming too," said little anders as he walked by miss eklund's side. he had just learned to skate, so that he felt quite grown-up to be allowed to go at all. everybody can skate in sweden, so that the children learn when they are very young. the merry group crossed the street to the left side, instead of to the right as we should go, and started off briskly. every few steps, sigrid would make a little bobbing courtesy as she met some older friend. such a funny little bow it was, made by quickly bending the knee without stopping her walk. "brita has such a beautiful new foot-pusher that her father has bought her," exclaimed sigrid. they had reached the open country near the skating-park, and a couple of children rapidly skimmed past them on these strange sleds. "don't you think that i am old enough to have a foot-pusher now, miss eklund?" christmas was very near and the air was already full of secrets, so miss eklund smiled to herself and replied, "perhaps you might ask the good father at home what he thinks about it." i don't believe that you know what a "foot-pusher" or "kicker" is. i am sure i don't know why you should. picture to yourself the framework of an ordinary sled with two wooden rods fastened at right angles to each runner. in the front part of this odd-looking object, brita had strapped her skates to a low narrow seat. she stood on one runner, grasped these rods, and gave a quick little kick with the other foot, which hastened the sled along at a lively pace. [illustration: brita and her foot-pusher] soon the gleaming sheet of ice spread out before them. already it was quite dark with people who were gliding merrily about. "oh, sigrid, the band has begun to blow," cried erik gleefully, for a swedish ice carnival is never complete without a band "to blow," as they say. "when i came home from school this noon," continued erik, "i saw them thrusting the little evergreen trees into the snow around the seats." fir-trees and clumps of old beeches grew on the snow-clad hills about the pond, but this wreath of evergreen trees on the rim of the ice, was to shelter the older people who sat wrapped in furs to watch the sport. "those boys look like great white birds," said sigrid, who was already fastening on her skates. she stopped a minute to watch a group of three boys who were skating with sails attached to their backs,--big white sails shaped like a capital a with the top cut off. "now for a race," cried anders, and away they glided over the ice to find gerda and per, who lived in the same big apartment house. though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun had already set, for you will remember that in stockholm the winter days are very short, and in the middle of the winter the lazy sun does not get up till after nine o'clock in the morning. but the twilight lingers for a long time, so that it does not get dark for a couple of hours after sundown. all too soon, it was time to start for home, but none of the children thought of teasing to stay longer, for swedish children are taught to obey without asking why. already a couple of huge bonfires flamed up along the shore. just as they were leaving the edge of the pond, a dozen dark figures with blazing torches passed them. so silently and swiftly did the little procession twinkle by, that you might have thought them will-o'-the-wisp lights. but the children knew they were expert ski-runners, who were bound for the smooth hillside. the long white slope was just the best place for the ski-lobing, and it was quite alive with people, for no winter sport is more wildly exciting. every one wore narrow strips of wood, sometimes twelve feet long, turned up at the front, to the centre of which the foot was firmly secured. at a given signal, they placed their feet together, and down the hillside they shot, as though they had wings. "i never see ski-lobing without thinking of the olden times when the fleet-footed peasants on skis were our only postmen," said miss eklund. "they can go over frozen rivers and hills as straight as a bird flies," said erik. "yes," said miss eklund, "when we had no post, the only way a message could be sent in winter, was by these ski-runners. the swiftest runner in a hamlet would start for the nearest village. there he would give the message to another runner to carry on to the next hamlet. it is wonderful how soon they could arouse the whole country. "instead of a letter, they carried staffs of wood. if this stick was burned at one end, it meant that a forest was afire. but if a red rag was attached, then the enemy had invaded the land and men were called to arms." they were almost home now, and as they turned a corner a rough shed appeared in the corner of a park. several people were just coming out. "please, miss eklund, may we stop just a minute to see the ice figures?" exclaimed all the children at once. "you must be quick or we shall be late to supper," replied miss eklund, who always enjoyed these beautiful snow pictures as much as the children. inside the low shed, was the figure of a young mother, with a sad but lovely face, who held a wee baby close in her arms. a fierce wind seemed to swirl her draperies, and she was trying to shelter the tiny creature at her breast, while a little boy was weeping bitterly against her skirts. the group was made of snow and ice, yet so wonderfully moulded were the figures, they looked like pure white marble. as they went out the door, miss eklund slipped a coin into a little box which was placed there to receive money for the poor at christmas. "elsa and karl must have been out in the country to see their grandmother," said sigrid, as a sleigh jingled past. the mother and two children were cosily packed in front. the driver stood on a little platform built in the rear. a white net with a wide border of tassels covered the back of the horse and the dasher of the sleigh. "father," burst out erik, as he came in from the cold, "we did have the best time. little anders can skate as well as the rest of us now." "well," replied major lund, "you certainly look as though you had enjoyed yourself. but somebody will lose his porridge if he is not ready for supper soon." the family gathered about the table. before they began, the father turned to his oldest child and said, "erik, i believe it is your turn to say grace to-night. sigrid said it yesterday." every one stood while the boy solemnly bowed his head and said the simple words. oh, they were so hungry! didn't their supper of rice porridge, flat rye bread, pancakes and milk taste good! the three children sat very quietly at the table and ate all the food that was served them. not a spoonful of porridge or a crumb of rye bread was left. perhaps you never saw swedish flat bread. even the king's family eat these big brown cakes, which are as much as a foot across, and look like a thin, crisp cookie. they have a large hole in the centre. in the farmers' houses, they run a long pole through this hole, and hang their bread from the ceiling. when the meal was over, each child rose and shook hands with the father and mother and said, "tack för matin," or as we should say, "thanks for food." then the parents thanked each other. so many thanks may seem very strange to you, but it is an old and beautiful custom in sweden. "i am glad my little girl had such a happy afternoon," said mrs. lund as she sat embroidering with her daughter beside her. "but there will be very little time for skating, during the next few days. christmas will be here before we know it, and you can help me about many small things." "mother, may i go with you to the christmas market this year? you know i was sick and could not go last year," said sigrid. "i remember, sigrid," replied her mother. "you must go to bed now, and we will plan about it in the morning." chapter ii. the knitting lesson "won't mother be surprised, miss eklund, when she finds out how fast i have learned to knit?" said sigrid. "yes, i am sure she will be much pleased," replied miss eklund. sigrid was very soberly knitting a red worsted square, while her governess sat near to help her when the little steel needles behaved badly. it was sigrid's first piece of knitting, so she was flushed and eager over her task. the morning sun poured through the window on a pretty picture. against the heavy dark wooden chair, sigrid's pale gold hair shone and glistened. it was brushed back very tight and trim, for that is the way swedish mothers think little girls should wear their hair. the two smooth braids were fastened with a broad blue ribbon. over her plain dark blue woolen dress, she wore a blue and white checked gingham apron. except for the aprons which she always wore, sigrid's dresses were much like those of her little american cousin, only they were very plain and simple. she did not have any rings, or bracelets or necklaces. that was not because she did not love the pretty trinkets. oh, no. but she must wait till she is older. the nursery where they were sitting was a large comfortable room with a huge porcelain stove which filled all one corner of the room and reached way to the ceiling. it was made of shiny green tiles, the colour of the walls of the room, and down in the front were two large brass doors, behind which was the fire. this was the only kind of stove that sigrid had ever seen, so she never thought that it was queer. i must not forget to tell you about the odd decoration of the nursery windows. after the fashion of all swedish windows, they swung out from the middle like doors. when the cold winter months came, on went double windows. though sigrid was the healthiest child in the world, she never knew what it was like to open a window in winter and let the fresh, pure air blow in, for all around the inside of the frame were neatly pasted narrow strips of paper. you buy these strips at the store with mucilage on the back like a postage stamp. in the little narrow space between the two windows, sigrid's mother had planted bright green mosses and gray lichens with tiny red cups. a little wooden house and several painted wooden men and women were placed in this miniature park, that kept green all winter. sigrid liked her window better than any in the house, for all the others had only the mosses and coloured berries. "before many months, i believe you will be able to knit a pair of stockings," said miss eklund, as she watched her industrious pupil. "did you have to make all your stockings when you were a little girl?" said sigrid. "yes, indeed. i was smaller than you are when i began to learn to knit, for my father was a poor farmer and there was a large family of us. the first thing i ever made was a cozy for a coffee-urn, just as you are doing," said miss eklund. "oh, tell me what you used to do when you were a little girl. did you learn your lessons at home as anders and i do?" asked sigrid. "it was very different when i was your age, for we lived way out in the country in a big red farmhouse, and our nearest neighbour was two miles away. we lived in the far north, so that when the winter days were only a few hours long, i could not go to school, but i learned a great deal at home. during the long evenings, father and my big brothers could not see to work on the farm or cut timber, so we would all sit together in the living-room with its huge open fire. father made mother's chairs or a cradle for the baby, or whittled tools for the farm. brother olaf carved wooden platters and spoons with wonderful animals and figures. then in the spring-time he would sell these things in the city markets. "mother used to spin and weave our warm clothes, and she taught me how to do all these things, besides sewing and embroidering. sometimes, father would tell us the same old sagas that you children love to hear." "did you have to study catechism, too?" sigrid's rosy face looked quite solemn at the thought, for every day she had to learn a portion of the catechism, and also bible history. she loved the stories of david and saul and daniel in the lions' den, but the catechism! oh, that was very, very hard for a little girl! "all little swedish girls must learn their catechism, sigrid, and my father was even more strict than your good parents," replied miss eklund. "elsa's big sister, who went to england last year, says that english children do not have to learn to knit and sew and embroider just as they learn their geography and spelling. why do i have to learn to do these things, when my father could buy them for me?" asked sigrid. just then, sigrid dropped a stitch in her knitting, and had to unravel two rows before miss eklund could reply. "even though your mother lived in a beautiful house and her father was very rich, she also learned to knit and sew and crochet. you must know how to do these things so you will be able to take care of your own home when you grow up. but it is time for dinner now and i hear your mother's callers going. make haste and put your knitting away lest she see her present." every morning, sigrid had an early breakfast with her brother erik, who went to a private school. he was studying very hard to go to the university at upsala. then she must study her lessons and learn many of the same things which her governess had been taught in the long winter months on the farm. and after that came her gymnastic exercises every day, as much a lesson as her reading and spelling. "erik," called sigrid, after dinner, as her brother walked past the nursery. though he was only three years older than his sister, he was a tall, sturdy boy, and sigrid felt very proud of him. she beckoned him to a quiet corner where they could whisper unobserved. "i have a surprise for mother. miss eklund has taught me to knit, and mother does not know yet. if i can get it finished, it is going to be a cozy for christmas." "that's fine," said erik, "but you wait till i show you something which i learned to make in my sloyd class at school." erik glanced around cautiously. nobody was in sight, so he drew a carved tray from his school-bag. "oh, it's beautiful!" and sigrid clapped her hands with glee. "how could you make it? why, it is just like an old viking ship with the dragon's head peering at you from the prow. and you have made the sides like the scales of some strange monster. mother will be so delighted. "it must be splendid to be a big boy and go to your school," continued sigrid. "you do such interesting things. i wish that i could go on a school journey with my teacher for two or three days and see some of our wonderful old castles, as you do. mother says perhaps miss eklund and i may go with her and father when they go through the göta canal to göteborg, next summer, to visit aunt frederika. that will be better than a school journey." "but, sigrid, there are many wonderful things to see right here in our own beautiful stockholm," said erik. "many school-children come here every spring with their teachers." "sometime you promised you would tell me an old saga about stockholm before there was any city here," said sigrid. "oh, you mean about king agne," said erik. "once father pointed out to me the place where he was supposed to have landed with his ships, so i always like that story." "yes, yes, that is the one. do tell me," said sigrid. erik loved to tell his little sister these stories that he had often heard from his mother and father, so he did not need to be urged. "many hundred years ago, when the bold vikings sailed out from our harbours and conquered far and wide, king agne ruled in upsala. where our city is to-day, was only a group of green wooded islands with a few huts. late in the summer, king agne came sailing in from the baltic, and dropped anchor near the large island, where the king's palace is to-day." "why, i can see that from mother's window," said sigrid. "yes, we are so high up from the water, we can easily see the island. these old viking kings often went on voyages of conquest along our shores. way off to the east, king agne had warred against king froste of finland and slain him. then the victor plundered the country and sailed over here with much booty. he had taken captive the king's beautiful daughter skialf, his son loge, and many others. "king agne was exultant over his victory and he wanted to make the princess skialf his bride. so he said to his henchmen: "'let a spacious tent be erected beneath that fine oak-tree on yonder tongue of land. then let my swiftest runners carry staffs of invitation to all the chieftains round about and bid them gather at a royal feast to celebrate the wedding of king agne and the fair princess skialf. command them that they bring a goodly store of meat and drink for the feast.'" "miss eklund told us about the messengers' staffs when we went skating, so i know about them," interrupted sigrid. "these sticks were burned at one end, with a noose at the other end. this was a very plain way of telling the chieftains that they would be hanged and their houses burned, if they neglected to send the message on to the next chief. "so a large number gathered in the huge tent which looked out on the baltic, where the dragon-prowed ships lay at anchor. "all this time the poor princess was very unhappy. but she dared not let the king know her fears. she thought and thought how she could escape becoming his bride. finally a plan grew in her mind and she said to the king: "'o brave and generous king, i beseech you that, before the royal wedding feast, you hold a funeral banquet in honour of my noble sire. my lord, may you give ear to this great favour which a captive maiden begs for her father.' "the princess prayed so piteously that the heart of the old viking was melted, and he again commanded: "'let the two feasts for my slain enemy and for my wedding be celebrated at the same time.' "the goodly company gathered around the royal board, and fell to eating and drinking with great zest. the grave-ale was handed around in a huge drinking-horn, and the lusty warriors drank so long and so deep that soon they became boisterous and began to fight among themselves. "now the king wore about his neck a long and massive chain of gold. it was so long that it hung way down on his chest. many other viking kings had worn this royal treasure. "in the midst of the carousal, the princess whispered to the king: "'my lord, have a care for your beautiful gold necklace, lest you lose it during the revels.' "'ah, my lovely bride, you are right. what a prudent and careful wife you will make!' said the king, as he coiled the chain several times around his neck. "ere long, the fiery-hearted warriors were so drunk with ale that sleep overcame them, and one by one they fell from their places at the table. as soon as they were soundly slumbering, the princess rose from her place by the king's side. she and the other captives had only pretended to drink. she fastened a ship's rope to the coil of gold about the king's neck and then handed the rope to her brother, who was outside. "whist! the men threw the rope over the branch of the huge oak. up went the tent into the air, and the king was strangled with his own golden chain." "what a horrible story!" said sigrid with a shudder. "what became of the princess?" "oh, she and the other captives hastened away to the ships and sailed back to finland. when the vikings awoke from their heavy sleep, they were wild with rage. but there was nothing to do but to bury the king beneath a great mound of earth, which the waves long since washed away." "ugh! i am glad i did not live in those cruel days, aren't you, erik?" but erik shook his head and laughed. "just think what fun it would be to sail away in a brave ship, out on the wild ocean where no man had ever been before. those old vikings were as strong as giants and feared nothing in the world. i must finish studying my lessons now, but i'll tell you another tale some other time." chapter iii. yule-tide "i'll bring you a gingerbread goat," said sigrid to little anders as she started for the christmas market with her mother. "next year you shall go too, my son," said mrs. lund. she kissed the little lad, who was trying to look brave because he must stay at home. from the nursery window, he watched them as far as he could see down the long avenue. behind sigrid and her mother, a cheery-faced housemaid followed at a respectful distance. she carried a huge market-basket. "just think, mother. there are only three days before christmas. won't it be jolly to see grandma and aunt frederika and all the cousins?" said sigrid, who was dancing along beside her mother. "yes, indeed. they will all be here by to-morrow night," replied the mother. "what crowds of people are on the street," said the child, as they wound their way through the good-natured throngs. "most of them are bound for the same place that we are," laughed mrs. lund, who was rosy-cheeked and flaxen-haired like sigrid. "when we come to the big open space at the top of this hill, where all the booths are, you must keep very close to my side, for you might easily lose me." "i never saw so many little booths before," said sigrid. "i like their white roofs, for they look like snow. do they always have the christmas market on this hilltop?" "yes, for hundreds of years the peasants have been allowed to build their shelters here and sell their christmas wares. in some places, for months, the whole family has been carving, knitting, weaving, and sewing all these things that we shall see as we walk along," replied mrs. lund. "i see a booth with lots of little gingerbread pigs and goats. may i buy one for anders, over there?" asked sigrid. "in a minute. but first i must get some of old brita's knitted caps for some poor children i know." they halted in front of one of these booths, which have a few rough boards for a roof and a narrow counter. here was an old peasant woman, so wrapped up in warm clothes that you could scarcely see her pleasant, wrinkled face. a black shawl was tied over her head, and a second dark woolen shawl was crossed over her breast and tied behind. her petticoats were so heavily wadded that you wondered how she ever walked at all. "doesn't she look funny, mother?" whispered sigrid, who was clinging to her mother's hand. "speak low, child," said mrs. lund. "i would not have you hurt the old creature's feelings. it is bitter cold standing here all day. she needs all her warm clothes. as long ago as when i was a child, she came here to sell these garments that she knits and crochets all summer. "i think that must be king oscar's sleigh which has just come up the hill," said sigrid as they turned away from brita's booth. "sure enough. he is making his annual visit to the christmas market. let us stand here and watch him for a minute." just then the big christmas crowd burst into a shout: "long live king oscar!" the white-haired old gentleman, who is so tall and stately that you would notice him anywhere, bowed graciously to his people. "would he ask me what i wanted for christmas, if i stood near him?" asked sigrid. "no, he asks only the poor little children who don't look as though they would have a tree at home," replied mrs. lund. "ah, he is talking to that ragged little fellow who watched us buy the accordion for karl. by and by, his servant will buy a lot of things and give them to the children. he is a kind-hearted man as well as a good king." "hear all those birds singing!" exclaimed the child. "listen again and see if you cannot tell where they are," said mrs. lund. "why, i believe they are cuckoo whistles, only i never heard so many all at once," cried sigrid. "suppose we go over and buy two or three," said mrs. lund. they threaded their way to the booth where these cheap little clay birds were so popular. the buxom maid was loaded with bundles long before sigrid wanted to go home. for the next two days, there was a great stir all over the house. everything that could be washed and scoured was made clean and radiant. all the family were making presents. oh, such mystery everywhere! "there, miss eklund," said sigrid. "i have finished the cozy. now i want some more red sealing-wax. i have helped anders wrap up his presents, and mine are almost ready." "have you fastened on your rhymes?" asked miss eklund. "all except the one for aunt frederika's present. i cannot seem to think of a verse for her," was the reply. "you must be sure and have a pretty verse for your dear aunt, who has come way from göteborg. perhaps i can help you later." miss eklund left her little charge labouring with pencil and paper. sigrid would never think her christmas gifts complete without a verse for each one. "here come father and erik with the tree," shouted anders. "isn't this a beauty?" inquired erik, as he and his father rested for a minute. "did you get it in the christmas market, father? mother and i saw a whole forest of little christmas trees there," said sigrid. "yes," replied major lund. "i wanted to take you children out in the country and cut it down myself. sometime, when we have christmas at grandmother's, that's what we will do. then you all shall help choose the tree before i cut it. "no one must go into the parlour now," he continued, as he carried the tree through the doorway. "mind you, not one peep till to-morrow night." he shook his finger playfully at the children. "i always like 'dipping day,'" said sigrid, the day before christmas, to her brother erik. "it is such fun to eat in the kitchen." she was waiting for her turn to dip the piece of black bread on her plate, into the kettle of sizzling hot fat. all the family, the relatives who had come to spend the holidays and the servants, stood about in the clean kitchen, eating the noonday meal. the walls fairly gleamed with copper and brass pans and kettles. even the brick oven had a fresh coat of whitewash, in honour of the day. every other little swedish girl over the land was eating her dinner in the kitchen on that day, just as sigrid was doing. in the centre of the room, a long table was loaded with good things to eat. and here was the big kettle in which the christmas ham and other meats had been cooked. later in the afternoon, when the children returned from a brisk walk in the park, they gathered in the nursery for afternoon coffee. how sigrid loved this coffee-drinking on christmas eve! all the grown-up people in sweden drink a great deal of coffee. but sigrid was seldom allowed to have it except on a few holidays. the children could hear the pleasant chatter of the older people, whose coffee was served in the parlour. but they knew what was waiting for them in the nursery. on the little table there, a plate was prepared for each child with a pyramid of different kinds of bread. some of these rolls were in such odd shapes that i am sure you would not call them bread at all. there was black bread, white bread, saffron-coloured bread, some shaped like little men and others like pigs and goats. of course there were gingerbread men, and even chocolate bread figures. each little mound had candy and nuts tucked away in the corners. the kind of candy which sigrid liked best was done up in a small package with bright paper. pictures and mottoes were pasted on the outside. [illustration: "a sheaf of grain is fastened up in the yard of every country home"] i am afraid you will be getting as impatient for the christmas tree as sigrid. but a swedish christmas is the most joyous season of the year. and the merrymaking often lasts three weeks. even the birds are not forgotten, for a sheaf of grain is fastened up in the yard of every country home for their christmas dinner. at last, the folding doors of the parlour were opened by invisible hands. there stood the tree ablaze with candles and ornaments, but no presents. for a moment every one was silent for the wonder of it. mrs. lund began to sing the old carol, "now the christmas has come," and the others joined in. after major lund had read the story of the babe in the manger, the children caught hold of hands and danced about the tree. round and round they spun. in a wink, the circle broke and the long line of young people went dancing in and out through the rooms of the house. "come and join us, father," they shouted. "come, aunt frederika and mother." soon every one was drawn into the chain, even the servants in the kitchen. when they were out of breath with laughing, singing, and dancing, they sat round a large table near the tree. "what is all that noise about?" exclaimed major lund. he pretended to be surprised. "erik, there seems to be a great to-do outside the door. open it and see what is wanted." erik opened it a crack. in ran a little old man with a long white beard. he wore a rough gray jacket, knee-breeches, and a tall, pointed red cap. "the tomt, the tomt," cried sigrid. "is there any naughty child here, who doesn't deserve a present?" asked the gnome. he hopped about and made a great deal of noise for a small person. anders hid behind his mother's skirt. he was always a little afraid of tomt, who is much like our santa claus. "no, we haven't any naughty children," replied the father. "then i shall leave some presents from my packet," cried tomt. he darted out into the hall and came back slowly tugging some large packages. then he vanished as quickly as he had come. "now, erik, you may bring the baskets and help me give out the presents," said major lund. beneath the low boughs of the fir-tree were several large baskets, heaped with presents. major lund read aloud the verse on each neat package before erik passed it. oh, such a heap of presents for each and all! it was quite late in the evening before all the bundles were opened. what a hand-shaking and kissing there was! "i thought that looked like a foot-pusher when tomt brought it in," said sigrid, who shone with happiness over her new treasure. "how proud i am of my children," said mrs. lund, as sigrid and erik were thanking her for their gifts. "i am sure i had no idea you could knit so well. i shall use the cozy for afternoon coffee to-morrow. and the viking ship tray is really beautiful, erik." little children should have been abed and asleep when the family finally sat down to their supper. but it was christmas eve, and nobody minded. among all the good things that sigrid ate that night, i must tell you about two dishes that every swedish girl eats for her christmas supper,--lut-fisk and rice porridge. the big bowl of porridge had a crisscrossing of powdered cinnamon over the top. inside was one almond. the person who found it would be the next one in the family to be married. for weeks, the christmas lut-fisk--a kind of fish--had soaked in lye. then it was cooked a long time. whenever sigrid lifted a portion on her fork, it fell apart in delicate flakes that were quite transparent. "we must not forget to put out a dish of porridge and milk for tomt when he comes back in the night," said erik, as the children were getting ready for bed. "i'll bring anders' little chair from the nursery, because it is so low tomt can reach up to it," said sigrid. "if i put it beside the kitchen door, i am sure he will see it when he comes in." early the next morning,--oh, very, very early,--anders crept down-stairs to see if tomt had been there. "he drank all the milk and ate most of the porridge," cried anders, in great excitement. then he ran back to let miss eklund finish dressing him. "it seems more like night than morning," exclaimed erik. it was not six o'clock, but the children were starting for church. indeed, it could not have been blacker at midnight. but in almost every window that they passed two candles burned brightly. when they returned for their breakfast, after the joyous christmas service, the sun had not yet risen. for days the festivities continued. "please, mother, may we keep the tree till knut's day?" begged anders on new year's afternoon. the candles had been relighted on the tree for a party for some poor children. the last happy child had gone home, loaded with goodies. mrs. lund consented. but even knut's day, the thirteenth of january, came all too soon. then the children helped to "rob the tree," as the swedes say when they take off its pretty trinkets. they looked very solemn as one of the maids carried the tree into the back-yard. "now christmas is really over," mourned erik, "and school begins to-morrow." chapter iv at grandmother's "pera, you do remember me, don't you? oh, you nice old dog!" anders threw his arms around the neck of a small shaggy yellow dog that was wriggling almost out of his skin with joy. you could not have told which was the happier, the dog or the boy. "just think! i haven't seen you for six months, pera!" the two playmates romped across grandmother's lawn to the porch, where erik was sitting on the steps with a tennis racket, waiting for his father. "sigrid has been hunting everywhere for you, anders," said erik. "here you are," exclaimed sigrid a minute later, as she spied anders. "larsson says there is a baby calf over in the barn, and he will show it to us if we will go now." anders jumped up quickly, and followed by the dog, the children ran toward the group of barns and stables, at some distance from the house. "look at all those wild strawberries in this field," said anders. "i had forgotten that it was time for them. i must ask grandmother if we can pick all we want," said sigrid. "i want to see father's new sailboat. have you been down to the lake yet?" asked anders. "no," said sigrid. "let's go around and see everything. mother says we shall stay all summer, because poor grandmother is so old and feeble she doesn't like to leave her. larsson, larsson, where are you?" the old farmer, who had taken care of the grounds and farm for many years, hobbled out to the barn door to welcome the children and to show them the new calf, the little pigs, and the chickens. no place in the world is quite so interesting as grandmother's old house, whether you are a swedish or an american girl. sigrid's grandmother lived in a fine old house on a hilltop which overlooked lake mälar. it was only a short journey of two or three hours from stockholm, yet it was quite out in the country, several miles from any village. as you drove through the avenue of huge beech-trees, you would be curious to know why so many small, low-lying buildings were grouped near the house. they were placed to form three sides of a square, after the fashion of many swedish country places. off in the distance were the barns, which the children visited, and another group of red cottages, where the farm-helpers and their families lived. these people lived in a little world by themselves, with everything they needed right on the grounds. if mrs. lund wished fish for dinner, she could not send a maid to market to buy a live fish from a tank of water, as she did in stockholm. instead, one of the servants caught the fish in the lake, or she ordered smoked fish from the storehouse. on each side of the family residence were houses for the servants. some of the small separate sheds were used for washing, baking, tools, and provisions. but you would enjoy a peep into some of these buildings with the children. the new sailboat was anchored at the wharf near the bath-house. "father has promised to teach erik how to sail this summer," said sigrid. they were clinging to the wharf railing, so that they could get a glimpse of the little cabin, with its two bunks and red cushions. "i am glad you learned to swim last summer, for now we can have such sport when karin and elsa get here." sigrid had learned to swim when she was very small. look in your geography and you will see that almost one-tenth of the whole surface of sweden is covered with lakes and rivers. there is water, water everywhere. just fancy how miserable a swedish mother would be if her little daughter could not swim! the door of the storehouse stood open when the children climbed the hill from the lake, so they slipped in after svea. on the outside, it was just a mound of grassy earth, with a door cut in the grass, but no windows. "isn't it cool in here!" exclaimed anders. "svea, aren't you going to skim the milk?" "later in the day, anders," said the maid, who held her lantern up over her head while she hunted for the sausages. from above, hung long strings of sausages, smoked hams, and fish. in the dim light of the lantern, the children could see the big round cheeses and the bins of potatoes. the pans of milk were set to cool in another room of this queer storehouse. "i wish you would give us some lingon jam," said sigrid. "the kind we had last year, svea." "wait till i open a new jar. now, run ahead, for i want to lock the door," replied svea. she had not forgotten how the children had teased her the summer before for their favourite jam of red swedish berries. "next week will be the time for washing. perhaps mother will let us ride down to the lake when the clothes are carried there," said sigrid. she tried to lift herself up on the window-sill to look into the wash-house, where the huge copper kettle was ready to boil the clothes, but she was not tall enough. "never mind," she said. "we can get into the bake-house, i am sure. sometime, svea says, i may help her bake bread. it must be almost time now, for she hasn't made any for several months." in the city, sigrid's mother bought her rye bread from a baker, but grandmother had her bread baked three or four times a year in this little house. most of the room was filled by the huge stone fireplace, which was heated to a high temperature. then the coals were raked off and the rye bread cooked on the hot stones. "what does she do with this flat round piece of wood with a short handle?" asked anders, who was exploring. "oh," said sigrid, "it is a great lark to watch her. she rolls out the batter quite thin, and slips that wooden shovel beneath each cake. then she takes this other wooden spade with a long handle, shakes the cake from the little spade to that one, and thrusts it on the hot stones. svea does it very quickly, but she laughed when i asked if it was hard, so i don't believe it is as easy as it looks." [illustration: baking rye bread at grandmother's] "don't you think it is time for dinner? i am so hungry," said anders. "guess what we are going to have to-day," said sigrid. "pancakes and jelly," anders replied promptly. "no, sour milk, with powdered ginger on top." "let's run, then," said anders, "because i don't want to be late and have father say i cannot have any." but they arrived in season and ate their full share of the white curds, which they always enjoyed. inside of the old house, you would be amazed at the size of the rooms. though they were simply furnished, there was much choice old carved furniture, lovely plants, and vines, so that the rooms were very cheery. the floors were scrubbed beautifully clean and covered with rugs. everywhere was exquisite order and neatness. as in the city home, the children had a large nursery, where they always played during the little time they were indoors. a trapeze hung between the nursery and an adjoining room; a large cushion rested beneath. on rainy days, the children hung from this indoor swing and climbed the ropes like young monkeys. "one, two, three, four, five," counted sigrid, as she sat on the porch a few days after their arrival. "why, are all those old women going to help with the washing to-morrow, mother?" "yes; we shall need them all. larsson has arranged for them to sleep at some of the servants' houses, so they will be ready to begin very early in the morning." the queer procession of old women, with coloured kerchiefs tied over their heads, slowly filed down the road. long before the children were awake the next morning, a fire had been lighted in the wash-house beneath the monster kettle, and the women were at work. wasn't that a lively week, though! sigrid's mother was an excellent housekeeper, but she never had all the clothes and linen of the family washed but three times a year! such scores and scores of garments went into that copper kettle--enough to clothe a whole village. even if her family had been quite poor, sigrid would still have had many more dresses and aprons than her american cousin. by the time the oxen were harnessed to a long, low wagon with latticed sides, sigrid and anders were ready to climb in and ride to the lake with the old women and the tubs of clothes which had boiled in the kettle. as soon as they arrived at a clean, sandy beach near the wharf, the children hopped out of the wagon. "let's sit in the rowboat at the end of the wharf," said anders. "then we can play we are pirates and watch the women on the shore." the washerwomen took off their shoes and stockings, pinned up their skirts, and waded into the water. then there was such a splashing and rinsing of clothes, and bobbing of kerchiefed heads, and swinging of long arms! "they are bad children. we must beat them very hard," one wrinkled old woman explained to anders. she had carried her pile of dripping clothes from the water's edge to a big stone, where she pounded them with a flat wooden beater. "but they will be as white as a lily when i am done." later all the garden bushes were spread with garments. you needed only to half-close your eyes to fancy a summer snow-squall had whitened the green grass over a large area. "everything in the house will be fresh and sweet for midsummer's day," sighed mrs. lund, when the last washerwoman had returned to the country district where she lived. chapter v. midsummer's eve "it looks more like the mast of one of the big ships in the harbour than anything else," said erik. he and his father were standing beside the huge may-pole which lay flat on the green grass in grandmother's front lawn. near by several men were hammering away on a large wooden platform, in the centre of which the pole was to be hoisted. "yes, my son, i have often thought so. this pole is not more than fifty feet high. i have seen them twice as tall. but if we are going to cover all these cross-bars with birch boughs and wreaths, we must hitch up old maja and drive into the woods soon." "indeed, you must," said mrs. lund, as she hurried across the lawn with a huge wreath of daisies over her arm and a basket of nodding bluebells. "you will find us under that clump of beeches, making our wreaths, when you return. oh! there is plenty for every one to do before the pole is trimmed for to-night." "mother, you do make wreaths so fast," said sigrid. she was sitting in the midst of a group of friends and relatives, who had gathered at grandmother's to celebrate midsummer's eve and the day following. as she talked, she sorted daisies, or "priests'-ruffs," as she called them, into bunches for her mother. "just hand me a clump of those white daisies, so i can tie their long stems to this rope, and you will soon see how i do it," said mrs. lund. "to-night will be the longest of the whole year," said miss eklund, while her fingers plaited birch leaves. "how i love these long days of sunshine! why, last night i read in my room without a lamp till almost eleven o'clock!" "please tell karin and me about how you made pancakes on midsummer's eve when you were a little girl, miss eklund," begged sigrid, who, with her cousin, was sitting near the governess. "oh! the young girls out in the country where i used to live will have a merry time of it to-night. i wonder if they still make pancakes. i was about sixteen years old the night i tried it with two other girls, for the charm would not work unless there were three. together we took the bowl from the cupboard, beat the eggs, and added the flour. all three of us stirred it at once and threw in the salt at the same time. of course, we got in too much salt. not one of us must speak or laugh the whole time. that was the hardest of all. dear me, i hadn't thought of that night for years." miss eklund delayed her tale to laugh as heartily as if she was making up for lost time. "after we had poured out the batter and cooked it, each of us ate a third of the very salt cake. but we couldn't drink before we went to bed. during our dreams, the older girls told us that a young man would appear to each of us and offer us a glass of water." karin interrupted the story by exclaiming, "what is that coming down the road? i believe it is the boys with our green boughs. old maja doesn't look as though he liked those branches thrust behind his ears. why, the wagon is all one bower of birch-trees!" as the wagon drove into the yard, erik spied his newly-arrived cousin and sung out: "there once was little karin, who at the royal hall among the handmaids serving the fairest was of all. "then spoke the king, 'fair karin, wilt thou my sweetheart be? my horse and golden saddle i'll straightway give to thee.'" the children all laughed merrily at the new turn to the familiar old song. "how pretty we shall make the may-pole!" exclaimed sigrid. she called it a "may-pole," though it was the middle of june. the swedish word for "may" means green leaf. and a "green-leaf pole" it certainly was when they had draped the cross-bars with leaves and garlands and added scores of the yellow and blue flags of sweden. toward the close of the afternoon, the pole in its gala-dress was swung into place by means of huge ropes. then a great shout went up from the little crowd of relatives and working people who lived on the grounds. "strike up a dance, per," cried major lund to the fiddler. in a twinkling, the children had caught hold of hands and were dancing around the pole. old and young, servants and all, shared in the merrymaking. [illustration: "in a twinkling, the children ... were dancing around the pole"] as sigrid ran about in a gay costume, you would scarcely have recognized her. instead of her plain city clothes, she wore a pretty peasant dress. many fashionable swedish mammas let their children wear this dress on holidays in the country. over her dark blue woolen skirt, sigrid wore a bright apron, striped in red, blue, yellow, black, and white. the waist was white, with a red silk bodice and shoulder-straps. an embroidered kerchief was folded quaintly about her throat. on her yellow braids rested a tall pointed blue cap, with red pipings and tassels in back. several other little girls at the dance wore similar dresses. "erik," said sigrid, quite late in the evening, as the fiddler stopped to tune up for the next dance, "several times to-night i have seen some one over by the well-sweep. i thought perhaps he was one of the farmers' children. but he hides there as though he was afraid to come out." "suppose we go over and speak to him," said erik. when they reached the well-sweep, no one was there. "i know that i saw him only a minute ago. there, i think he is behind that elm-tree. you run this side and i will go the other," said sigrid. all escape was cut off this time, and erik dragged the cowering child from his hiding-place. "if he isn't a chimney-sweep!" exclaimed erik when he saw the boy away from the shadow of the tree. "you needn't be afraid of us, little boy," said sigrid, kindly. "you can't help it because you have to go down into the chimneys and your face is always black with soot. don't you want something to eat?" the sooty youngster grinned and shifted his coil of rope from one shoulder to the other. he managed to murmur, "thank you." sigrid ran ahead to the kitchen to get some salt herring, rye bread, and coffee. the little sweep left his long broom and rope on the grass, and began to eat greedily. "aren't you ever afraid to go down inside of a pitch-black chimney?" asked sigrid. her interest in the dances had waned for a few minutes, for she had never talked with one of these forlorn little creatures before. the boy shook his head in reply. he was too busy with his salt herring to waste any words. "i am going to ask mother if she will let him stay here all night," said sigrid. she did not know that this outcast, who was so shy with her, could take very good care of himself. all summer, he wandered through the country, cleaning chimneys. at night, he slept in strange barns or haymows and was very happy and comfortable. mrs. lund talked to the lad and told him that he could spend the night in one of the outhouses. the next day was a holiday and no one would want a chimney swept. sigrid's tender heart was at ease again, and she returned to the dancers. the older people stayed up far into the bright night, but the children soon went to bed. from her chamber window, sigrid could see the huge bonfires on the hillsides far away. the witches are abroad on midsummer's eve, and these fires drive them away. every one goes to church on midsummer's day, which is also called st. john's day. so the next morning, the lund family drove several miles to a little country church. before they started, sigrid went to find the sweep. but the little wanderer had started on his travels again. "larsson says all the school-children will sing carols, this morning," said mrs. lund. "i am sure we shall have a beautiful service." as they drove along the road, they met many country people on their way to church. the women all carried their hymn-books wrapped neatly in a silk handkerchief. "why do the men all sit on one side and the women on the other?" whispered anders. his family sat in a little gallery of the church. down below, the altar and the square box pews with doors were banked with lilacs. "hush, dear," replied his mother. "you must remember the country people are used to it, so it is not strange to them." the ride home and the noonday meal seemed endless. as soon as ever they had thanked their parents for their food, the children were out-of-doors again. a big wagon, trimmed with birches and filled with hay, was ready at the door. midsummer's day without a picnic in the woods is almost as bad as christmas without presents. "don't forget the nets for the crayfish, erik," said major lund, who was stowing away luncheon baskets in the wagon. "they are in all right, father. the big kettle in which to boil them and the coffee-pot are under the seat," said erik. even a plain every-day picnic, where you eat sandwiches and cakes under a tree, is fun. but on this picnic, the children were going to help catch crayfish, which look like small lobsters. then they were planning to cook them over a camp-fire. the last child nestled into the hay and they were off. chapter vi. a visit to skansen "i want to see the lapps and the reindeer. aren't we almost there?" said anders to his mother. "yes, little son, we are nearly at the top of the hill," replied mrs. lund. the lund family were on their way to skansen, a famous park near stockholm. soon the car stopped and every one scrambled out. "we are so high up that we can see the harbour," said erik, as he trudged along beside his sister with one of the luncheon baskets hung over his arm. at their feet lay the city of islands with its ribbon-like canals of blue. away on the horizon, the water of the bay sparkled in the sun, like a huge amethyst. the children halted a minute to look back on the fair scene. "out there the vikings sailed away to new lands," said erik, who was never weary of dreaming about the heroes of the old sagas. "hurry up, children," called mrs. lund. "we have too much before us to see, to spend time looking back." through the entrance gate, they passed into a grove of pines and birches, with winding roads. among the trees were many wild animals in pens, and queer houses and buildings, such as the children had never seen in the city or at grandmother's. every few steps, they met a soldier with a helmet and shield, or a brightly dressed peasant. you would think you had come to a foreign country, and so did sigrid. as they turned a bend in the road, they saw a low cottage of hewn timber. it was painted red and had a hood over the door. in the yard was a wagon that might have been made by sawing a huge wooden cask from top to bottom, and then placing one half on wheels. "i never saw such a funny cart," said anders. "it is odd," replied his father. "a long time ago, people used to ride in a wagon like that. suppose we go over and look at that house." "you don't know the people who live there, do you, father?" enquired sigrid. "no, my daughter," he replied. "but all these people are accustomed to visitors. you see, a few years ago, there lived a wise man named artur hazelius, who loved his country very dearly. he travelled from the fjelds and glaciers where the lapps live to the fertile fields of skäne, in the south. "something troubled him very much. he cared a great deal for the queer old homes which he saw in out-of-the-way villages. no one makes such houses to-day. he knew they would soon be destroyed. then he was sorry that only a few peasants still wear their old gay costumes. "so he said to himself, 'i will go to the king and ask him to give me a large park. there i will fetch some of these houses. our children will not have to read in books about the way their great-grandfathers lived. they shall visit the very houses they lived in.'" "how could he bring a whole house here?" asked erik. "that was hard sometimes," major lund replied. "often they pulled down a house, brought the timber here, and set it up as it was before. then he had people come here and wear the same clothes and live in the same way they did in the olden times. nowhere in the world is there a park like this." "see that little girl with a kerchief over her head, peeping at us from the window," said anders. a moment later, a smiling peasant woman came to the door. she made a curtsey and invited them to enter. "why, i can scarcely see at all," said sigrid. the big living-room was lighted by the tiniest little window. the two sleeping-rooms were also as dark as your pocket, and very small. hemlock tips were strewn over the clean floor. from the ceiling hung a pole of flat rye bread. "you dear baby!" exclaimed sigrid's mother, for she had discovered a small canvas hammock hung in a dark corner. the baby was asleep in its hanging nest. "she is a very good child and lies there all day by herself," said the baby's mother. "they never can move their beds at all," said sigrid, who was making a tour about the room. she peered curiously between some striped hand-woven curtains which hung in front of a wooden bed, built into the house. similar beds lined the walls. "many of the peasants use that kind of bed," said major lund. "once, when i was in lapland, i slept in a big drawer." "was that the time that you were snowed in and you climbed out through the chimney to dig a path?" asked erik. "yes, that was the same time," said his father. "i should think you would have smothered in the drawer," said anders, who had been very quiet. "there was no danger of that," replied major lund. "all around the rooms were wooden sofas. at night, you pulled out a big drawer beneath the seat. the drawer was filled with hay, and over that you spread blankets." mrs. lund talked to the peasant woman while the children continued to look about. a huge fireplace filled one corner of the room. on a low brick platform that came out into the room, the fire was built. across another corner a rope was stretched. over it hung dresses and coats. "what do they do that for?" whispered sigrid to her mother. "they haven't any closet for their dresses except that," replied mrs. lund. for a moment or two, after they came out of the gloomy interior, the sun was dazzling. they ate dinner under some pine-trees, and then kept on through the woods. "we haven't time to visit all these houses. but you would like to see the hut half-buried in the ground. the herdsmen live in such places in summer while they are tending their cattle. and we won't forget the lapps, anders," said the father, gently tweaking his son's ear. "who are all those people in that carriage?" asked mrs. lund. "i had almost forgotten that this is bellman's day. those people live here. they always dress in the costume of the time of our beloved poet on his anniversary day." an old carryall drove slowly past. within were several men dressed in black velvet coats and knee-breeches, white wigs, and three-cornered hats. "later in the day, we will walk over to bellman's statue, where i am sure we shall find many people." "i see the reindeer," exclaimed anders. "there they are on those high rocks." before them stretched the group of laplander tents of birch poles covered with canvas. "that dark-skinned girl playing with the dog looks about my age. i wonder what she does with the wooden spoon which hangs from her belt," said sigrid. "go and ask her, if you like," said mrs. lund. "i don't believe that she will understand you. that tent has the flap turned back. do you see that flat stone in the centre? her dinner is cooked in a big kettle on that stone. when the meal is ready, she will dip her ladle into the kettle for her share." "over yonder is the summer-house of our famous seer, swedenborg. it used to be in his garden in stockholm, and there he worked and wrote," said major lund, nodding in the direction of a neat pavilion. "we have just time before the dances to see the people who are celebrating bellman's day," said mrs. lund. wreaths and flowers decked the bronze bust of the poet. at the foot of the pedestal a man was reciting, and the crowd was very quiet. "how he loved to come here and lie out in the warm sun and sing those same songs that man is reciting!" said major lund. they lingered only a few minutes. "this is what i like," said sigrid, with an air of great content. she and her brothers had hurried ahead of their parents. they sat watching some lively dancing on a large platform. "they have begun 'weaving homespun,'" said erik, as the fiddler and accordion player struck up a quaint air. the peasants faced each other in two lines. then the men and maidens wove in and out in the figures of the dance. "like weaving on an old loom," erik explained to sigrid. "i wish i could have a red dress and a stiff white cap with pointed ears," said sigrid, who could not keep her eyes away from one of the dancers. "the crown princess also admires that dress," said mrs. lund. "she requires all her maids of honour to wear it, in the forenoon, at tullgarn. i am sure it is so pretty, i don't believe they mind at all." "no two of those girls are dressed alike," continued sigrid, who was still interested in costumes. "that is because each maid wears the peasant dress of one of the provinces of sweden, and there are many provinces. one of those dalecarlian girls has a dress like the one you wore on midsummer's eve. in that part of the country, the girls wear their bright aprons and kerchiefs more than anywhere else in sweden." "why, where is anders?" asked major lund. he had been chatting with an old friend and had just returned to his family. sure enough, the lad had disappeared. the crowd had pressed in close about the platform. every one was so pleased with these old folk-dances, that they had forgotten the child. "do you suppose he has gone back to look at the seals or the polar bears?" asked erik. it was sometime before major lund returned from his hunt. but anders was with him. "where do you think i found the rogue?" asked major lund. "he was drinking raspberry juice with a nice old lady who thought he was lost. do you know what happens to little boys who run away?" major lund looked very stern. but the mother was so glad to find the child that i don't believe anything did happen. chapter vii. through the gÖta canal the gong clanged. the big steamer churned the water into foamy suds as it left the wharf at stockholm. sigrid and her father and mother waved their handkerchiefs to the friends on shore as long as they could see them. "let us find seats in the bow of the boat, where we shall have a good view of the canal," said mrs. lund. "i never was in such a large boat before. it is just like a house," cried sigrid, who was much excited. "wait till you see the small state-room with the red plush sofas that turn down at night for a bed," said major lund. "we must leave all these posies there before we come on deck again." all three of them had their arms full of flowers which their friends had brought them. "how long will it take us to get to aunt frederika's house, father?" "nearly three days. you will enjoy the trip, sigrid. we are to cross the whole of sweden. but we shall see beautiful country and many old castles before we reach göteborg. you won't have to stay on the steamer all the time, for we shall often get off at the locks and wander through old towns." "wherever shall we sleep?" mrs. lund asked with a smile. the great mass of flowers almost filled the tiniest room you ever saw. they finally had to throw some of them away when they went to bed. "i wish erik and anders could have come too," said mrs. lund when they were on deck again. she almost never took a journey without her whole family. "grandmother would be very lonely if we were all gone. our two weeks' trip will soon be over," replied her husband. "father," said sigrid, a few hours later, "sometimes the canal is not much wider than the boat. why, it seems just as if we were riding on top of the land instead of the water." "yes, i know what you mean." major lund was amused at the child's distress of mind. "we shall go through several places in the canal, so narrow that trees on opposite banks arch over the boat. but when we reach the big lakes you will think we are at sea. sometimes they are so broad, you cannot see the shore." "i thought it was the göta canal all the way," said sigrid. "so it is," replied her father. "but that is like a family name for wide rivers, big lakes, and little short canals that all join hands to make a waterway across the country." long before bedtime, sigrid felt quite at home in her new quarters. after supper, she again sat on deck with her parents. suddenly, they heard a sharp cry. "oh, isabella, you will drown! can't you get her, father? what shall i do! oh! oh!" several people hastened to the side of the boat where the cry rose. a pretty child was weeping bitterly, while her father was trying to comfort her. "she has only lost her doll in the water, madam," explained the gentleman to mrs. lund, who was eager to help. he spoke in english. "what did he say?" asked sigrid, who was too far off to hear. "she dropped her doll overboard while she was waving her hand to some children on the shore. poor child! she is all alone with her father." "is she an english girl?" asked sigrid. "i think she is an american. perhaps she would like some of your twisted ring cakes, when she stops crying." when the child's sobs finally ceased, mrs. lund said to her kindly: "won't you come and sit beside my little daughter? she wants to give you some of her cakes." the two children glanced at each other shyly. "may i, father?" asked the american child. "certainly, anna. you are very kind to amuse her," said the stranger politely to mrs. lund. sigrid could speak in english as well as swedish, which seemed to surprise anna. "what nice sweet pretzels!" said anna as she nibbled at one of the cakes. "mother bought them of a peasant girl who came on board at that funny place where the banks were so high we couldn't see the town," explained sigrid. "did you bring your doll with you?" asked anna, who still mourned the lost isabella. "oh, yes!" said sigrid, "and a whole trunk of clothes. wait a moment and i will get her." she returned with a pretty yellow box on which red and blue flowers were painted. grandmother had a large chest at home exactly like this toy. "oh! you have a peasant doll. how i wish i had one like that! mother bought isabella for me in paris," said anna. during the next two days of the trip, the little girls were often together. "what a giant stairway! i don't see how the steamer can go up to the top," sigrid exclaimed, the next morning. they had reached the town of berg, and as she looked at the canal before her, she saw seventeen locks, which mounted to the sky. [illustration: the gÖta canal] "but it can," said major lund. "hundreds of vessels climb those locks every year. it will take several hours, so that we may as well go ashore. "when we come to vadstena, sigrid, we shall have just time to cross the drawbridge and visit a grim old castle there. gustaf vasa, our first swedish king, built it more than three hundred years ago." "didn't we have any kings before him?" asked sigrid. "yes," said major lund. "but he was the first king to unite our people and make sweden a strong nation." "mother and i took a trip once while we were in stockholm. some one pointed out the castle of gripsholm, where a nobleman named vasa hid during the 'blood bath of sweden.' was that the same man?" asked anna, who was standing near. "erik told me all about that once," replied sigrid. "i am sure he is the same man. king christian, the dane, ruled sweden then. he was very cruel, anna. why, he murdered so many swedish noblemen that people call that time 'the blood bath.' no one knew who would have his head chopped off next." anna shuddered. "did they kill gustaf vasa?" "his father was slain, but gustaf vasa fled away into the mountains," replied sigrid. ever since she was a baby, she had heard these stories of the old kings. they were real people to her. "he had many wild adventures in dalecarlia. sometime, if you go there, anna, you will see where he lived. the people there loved him dearly and wanted him for king instead of the tyrant dane," said major lund. "do tell me about his adventures, major lund," said anna. "ask sigrid; i am sure she knows," he replied. sigrid's eyes shone with delight. "i know, i know," she exclaimed. "he cut off his hair and put on homespun clothes, so he looked like a peasant. then he worked in the mines and on farms." "didn't the peasants know who he was?" asked anna. "some of them did. they wanted to save him from the danish soldiers. father saw a house where a woman helped him to escape. she hung a towel from a window. with that for a rope, he climbed down and ran away. "the story i like best is the one about the farmer who hid gustaf vasa in a load of straw. the soldiers thrust their spears all through the straw, but they could not find him. "one spear did wound him. the farmer feared the soldiers would return and see the blood-stains on the snow. so he took his jack-knife and cut a small place on his horse's leg. when the soldiers came back, they saw the red spots on the white ground. the peasant showed them the wound on the horse and they were satisfied." "don't forget about margit's quick wits," said major lund. "she was a peasant woman in whose house gustaf vasa stayed," continued sigrid. "one day she heard the soldiers coming. "'my lord, where shall i hide you?' she cried. "that day she had brewed a huge tub of christmas ale. in a second, she thought of a plan. "'here, hurry down this ladder.' she pulled up a trap-door in the kitchen floor and he fled into the cellar. by the time the soldiers reached the gate she had pulled the tub of ale over the trap-door. the soldiers never guessed where the prince was." "i suppose they caught him, at last," said anna. "that's the best part," said sigrid. "after a long time, he gathered an army. then he fought the danes and made them give up sweden for ever." "did you ever fight in a real war, major lund?" asked anna, after a minute of silence. "not yet," he replied. "awhile ago, when norway wanted her own king, many people feared war between norway and sweden. but everybody is glad that haakon, the new king of norway, was chosen without blood-shed." "that frenchman you were talking to this morning, father, called king oscar a 'bernadotte.' what did he mean?" asked sigrid. "he was only referring to king oscar's french ancestor. king karl xiii, who lived a hundred years ago, had no children. so the people tried to decide who should be the next king. finally they chose a famous french officer, named bernadotte, who fought under napoleon. he was elected crown prince." "i am sure that must be vadstena in sight now," said mrs. lund. "it will be pleasant to go ashore for awhile. grandmother asked me to buy her some of the lovely lace they make here." "you will have to be quick, if you want to see the castle, too," said major lund. the last few hours of the journey, they steamed down the göta river toward the city of göteborg. "gustaf adolf chose well when he built a city at the mouth of this river," said major lund to his wife. they were watching the huge rafts of timbers that were floating on their way to the seaport. "was he any relation to gustaf vasa?" asked sigrid. "yes, gustaf adolf was his grandson. a nobler and braver king never lived," replied major lund. he spoke with the love and reverence which every swede feels for gustaf adolf, the greatest king the nation ever had. "i do hope aunt frederika will be at the pier to meet us," said sigrid as they approached the landing. "oh, i think i see her! no, i don't." but aunt frederika did find them, and welcomed them warmly. such a fine visit they all had together! erik and anders heard about little else for the rest of the summer. chapter viii. the name-day the summer months had winged themselves away. all through the golden days, sigrid had lived in the sunshine, as blithe and merry as an elfin maid. to be sure, there had been a short lesson nearly every day with miss eklund, for sigrid's mother did not believe that her little girl should spend all the holiday months in frolicking. september had come, and with it hints of long lesson days and a return to stockholm. but in the excitement over sigrid's name-day party, it was easy to forget such unpleasant things. karin, elsa, and karl, the cousins who had also been making a long visit with their grandmother, had begged to be allowed to stay for the party. several little friends who lived in fine villas on the lake were coming to spend the day. "be sure to call me at five o'clock in the morning, miss eklund," said elsa, on the evening before the party. miss eklund promised, so elsa arose at an early hour and awoke the others. followed by them, with their arms full of flowers and green leaves, she tiptoed into sigrid's room. "hush, anders, your boots squeak. we must not waken her. that would spoil everything," whispered elsa. "hang the end of your garland over the bedpost, so," continued elsa. she festooned the brass post of sigrid's bed with the long chain of green leaves. then she silently motioned to her sister karin to do the same with her end. "i'll tie this bunch of bachelors'-buttons to the corner of the foot-board where she will see them when she first opens her eyes," whispered karin. "my, doesn't it look pretty!" said elsa. the children then filed out into the hall and peered through the doorway. sigrid's rosy cheeks were half-buried in her plump arm, which was thrown up over her head. she appeared to be soundly sleeping in the midst of a huge nosegay of posies and green leaves. "now i wish she would wake up," exclaimed anders in a very loud whisper. elsa put her hand over his mouth, but not before the quiet figure in bed stirred a little. suddenly sigrid sat upright, rubbed her eyes, and clapped her hands. "oh! oh! who did it?" she cried aloud. in rushed the children, and then there was much laughing and kissing. each child very politely congratulated sigrid because it was her name-day. even in the midst of a jolly good time, swedish children do not neglect these graceful forms of speech which their parents have carefully taught them. "here comes svea with a tray," somebody called out. the children made way for the neat and smiling maid. on the dainty tray which she placed in sigrid's lap, was a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of crisp caraway cookies. you might think that she had been sick, so that every one was trying to cheer her on her name-day. dear me, no. sigrid always had coffee and cakes served to her in bed every birthday and every name-day, just as if she was a grown-up society lady. anders and karin sat on the edge of the bed, and the others drew up their chairs while sigrid sipped her coffee. "my big sister has two name-days," said elsa. "does she have three parties every year?" asked sigrid. "yes, indeed," replied elsa. "her real birthday comes in january. then her name-days are in july and october. i wish i had two name-days. but mother says there are so many of us children that if we all had two name-days, we should be having a party about once in every three weeks all the year." everybody burst into laughter. elsa had five brothers and sisters, so what her mother had said was quite true. in sigrid's land, you see, they name all the days of the year. when a little girl is born, she is generally given a name in the calendar. sigrid's birthday was in march, but sigrid day in the calendar is in september. so she had two parties every year. "name-day greetings, little daughter," said mrs. lund as sigrid came into the dining-room for breakfast. again there was much kissing and hand-shaking. sigrid's chair at the table was draped with festoons of leaves. as she ate her breakfast in silence, she could not keep her eyes away from one corner of the room. there stood a little table covered with a snowy cloth. the centre was heaped with bundles of all shapes, done up in white paper with red sealing-wax. on the white cloth "sigrid" was written with almonds and raisins. what good fun it was, after breakfast, to open all the mysterious bundles! such a heap of pretty things were concealed! "here is 'little women,'" said sigrid in great delight. "how did you know it was just what i wanted, mother?" for the tenth time sigrid got up to run and kiss her mother. the green and gold bound book from which she had torn the wrapping was a translation of louisa m. alcott's story, which is as dear to the little swedish girl as to her american cousin. "no lessons to-day," said miss eklund, as the children came out of the dining-room. "hurrah!" shouted erik. "won't you take us for a sail on the lake, father? you promised to go with us once more before i started for school." "sigrid's name-day would be a fine time to go. let me see. how many of you are there?" major lund looked around at the bright faces. gerda and per and several other neighbours had already arrived. "twelve--just two more than you are years old, sigrid." "you had better start early," said mrs. lund. "remember the party this afternoon." just as if any one could forget! the boys helped major lund to unfasten the boat from its moorings. a puff of wind filled out the white sail and they were soon off. "they thought i was asleep this morning when they were trimming my room," sigrid confided to erik, who was showing her how to steer the boat. "fie on you, sigrid!" said erik, quite seriously, but he gave her plump cheek a little pinch. "it was such fun," sigrid laughed softly. "when i heard elsa tell anders his boots squeaked, i thought i couldn't keep quiet a second longer." "look at all those snipe, erik," major lund interrupted. the boat was sailing quite close to the shore. several of these long-legged birds, which were picking their way across the beach, were startled by the voices and flew into the air. "what a queer call they have, uncle," said elsa. "listen a moment till you hear it again," said major lund. they were very quiet for a couple of minutes. "it sounds like the noise old maja makes when he wants us to give him a lump of sugar," said gerda. "they make that sound with their wings as they fly," said major lund. "the 'horse-cuckoo,' some people call the snipe. do you know how it received that name?" "do tell us, father," said anders. "it is just a short story about a careless farmer who had a lazy servant. for many days, the servant rode his master's horse to pasture without giving the poor animal any water to drink. that was a very dry summer, so the horse suffered greatly. "one day the farmer wanted to drive to market. so he said to his servant: "'fetch my horse from the pasture.' "the servant went after the horse, but it had disappeared. he delayed so long that the master finally followed him into the field. but he could not find the horse either. just as they had given up the search, they heard a neigh. in the next meadow, where they had been hunting, they saw the horse drinking at a spring. "'are you really there?' cried the farmer. he hastened over the stone wall to catch the horse. as he was about to put the halter over its neck, the horse disappeared and a snipe flew into the air. there the bird neighed till sunset." "that served the farmer quite right," said erik, indignantly, and the others agreed with him. the broad waters of lake mälar were alive with sailing craft and small steamers. who would stay indoors on such a day! along the wooded slopes of the lake they sailed past many a lovely villa, half-hidden by trees, and occasionally some ancient castle. "that is the place where i saw a water-sprite late one afternoon," said sigrid. the breeze had died down and the boat seemed to rest at anchor near an old wooden bridge beneath which a hillside brook rushed joyously into the lake. "did you really?" asked elsa. sigrid believed in trolls, sea-nymphs, fairies, and water-sprites. but elsa was several years older than her cousin, and she wasn't at all certain that trolls and water-sprites still lived in the wild country, though they might have in the olden times. "look underneath the bridge in that dark corner, just behind those rushes. erik was rowing me home from your house, gerda. when we got just there, something white and misty rose up out of the water. i heard a soft, sweet note, and erik thought perhaps he did too. then i thought i saw him dimly resting on the waves, just as miss eklund says water-sprites do." "weren't you frightened?" asked karin in wide-eyed surprise. "i wanted erik to stop rowing so i could listen, but he wouldn't. mother said he must never take me there again toward night. father, won't you tell us the story of the water-sprite and the budding staff, while we are waiting for the wind to come up?" begged sigrid. "it doesn't look as though we should do much sailing for awhile. but you must all know the old legend, i am sure," said major lund. "we should like to hear it just the same," the children all chimed in. "well," began major lund, "this water-sprite lived under an old bridge just like that one over there. he was such a happy fellow that he sat playing his harp half the livelong day. one afternoon, a grim and sour-faced old priest came ambling along on his horse, over the bridge. "suddenly he drew rein, for he heard the sweetest music. he rode back across the bridge and hunted several minutes before he discovered the merry sprite. "in his ugliest tone of voice the priest called out: "'why do you play your harp so joyously? have you nothing to do but idle away the day and the night in such foolishness? a lazy sprite like you will never get to heaven. i should sooner expect to see this staff which i carry grow green and blossom, than find you there.' "the water-sprite threw down his harp in great terror and began to weep bitterly. what had he ever done that the old priest should frighten him so? "without giving further heed to the sprite, the priest rode on. for many years, his own life had been so dull and solemn, that it made him bitter to see other people happy. he found a cruel pleasure in making the little sprite wretched. "while he was buried in his own gloomy thoughts, he did not see that the staff in his hands was slowly changing into the green branch of a living tree. tiny green buds, then leaves, slowly, silently unfurled. as silently flower-buds appeared and opened into rosy blossoms, spicy with fragrance. "the priest, at last, beheld the branch of leaves and flowers in his hand. he was filled with great wonder at himself. while the dead staff of wood slowly bloomed in his hands, something hard and cold in his heart seemed to melt. not since he was a small boy had he listened to the singing of the birds with such joy. he dismounted from his horse to gather a handful of wild lilies-of-the-valley. "he even smiled on a whistling peasant boy who passed him on the road. then he thought of the weeping sprite. in all haste he rode back to the bridge. "to the sobbing lad, he said: "'behold how my old staff has grown green and flowers like a rose-bush in june. this is a symbol, my good fellow, that hope blooms in the hearts of us all. you may yet go to heaven.'" at that minute, the limp sails stirred, the ropes rattled in the breeze, and the boat was soon under way. early in the afternoon, the other guests of the party arrived. i could not begin to tell you all the games they played. some were like those of their american cousins, but there were many new ones. next to "blind man's buff," and "last couple out," the best fun was "lend, lend fire." all the children sat in a circle for this game. karin, who had a cane, walked up to erik and rapping on the floor, said, "lend, lend fire." but erik replied, "go to the next neighbour." half-way around the circle karin went, but every one made the same answer. in the meantime, the children were beckoning across to each other and exchanging seats. finally, karin was nimble enough to slip into a chair which was vacant for a second. it happened to be sigrid's place, so it was her turn to take the cane and hunt for fire. mrs. lund played for the children to dance old-fashioned ring dances. sigrid would no more have thought her party complete without these dances in a big circle than if there had been no name-day cake. for of course she had a name-day cake. it did not have any candles, and it was not like any birthday cake you ever saw. across the top of the round loaf of sweetened bread, "sigrid" was written in twisted strips of bread, with cardamom seeds and currants sprinkled all over. where could you find a prettier, cosier supper-room than within the round lilac hedge with its wide opening for a door? here the table was set for the guests. inside the lilac-bush hedge, with her other guests, we must say good-bye to our little swedish cousin. sometime, i hope you will cross the seas and meet her again. she is such a winsome maid, so healthy, happy, and well-mannered, that i am sure you would soon be good friends. the end. the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page illustrations in color. price per volume $ . _by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated)_ =our little african cousin= =our little armenian cousin= =our little brown cousin= =our little canadian cousin= by elizabeth r. macdonald =our little chinese cousin= by isaac taylor headland =our little cuban cousin= =our little dutch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little english cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little eskimo cousin= =our little french cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little german cousin= =our little hawaiian cousin= =our little indian cousin= =our little irish cousin= =our little italian cousin= =our little japanese cousin= =our little jewish cousin= =our little korean cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little mexican cousin= by edward c. butler =our little norwegian cousin= =our little panama cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little philippine cousin= =our little porto rican cousin= =our little russian cousin= =our little scotch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little siamese cousin= =our little spanish cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little swedish cousin= by claire m. coburn =our little swiss cousin= =our little turkish cousin= the goldenrod library the goldenrod library contains only the highest and purest literature,--stories which appeal alike both to children and to their parents and guardians. each volume is well illustrated from drawings by competent artists, which, together with their handsomely decorated uniform binding, showing the goldenrod, usually considered the emblem of america, is a feature of their manufacture. each one volume, small mo, illustrated, decorated cover, paper wrapper $ . list of titles =aunt nabby's children.= by frances hodges white. =child's dream of a star, the.= by charles dickens. =flight of rosy dawn, the.= by pauline bradford mackie. =findelkind.= by ouida. =fairy of the rhone, the.= by a. comyns carr. =gatty and i.= by frances e. crompton. =great emergency, a.= by juliana horatia ewing. =helena's wonderworld.= by frances hodges white. =jackanapes.= by juliana horatia ewing. =jerry's reward.= by evelyn snead barnett. =la belle nivernaise.= by alphonse daudet. =little king davie.= by nellie hellis. =little peterkin vandike.= by charles stuart pratt. =little professor, the.= by ida horton cash. =peggy's trial.= by mary knight potter. =prince yellowtop.= by kate whiting patch. =provence rose, a.= by ouida. =rab and his friends.= by dr. john brown. =seventh daughter, a.= by grace wickham curran. =sleeping beauty, the.= by martha baker dunn. =small, small child, a.= by e. livingston prescott. =story of a short life, the.= by juliana horatia ewing. =susanne.= by frances j. delano. =water people, the.= by charles lee sleight. =young archer, the.= by charles e. brimblecom. cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design. each vol., mo, cloth $ . _by annie fellows johnston_ =the little colonel.= (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. =the giant scissors.= this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "house party" and the "holidays." =two little knights of kentucky.= who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights." =mildred's inheritance.= a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is enabled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. =cicely and other stories for girls.= the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. =aunt 'liza's hero and other stories.= a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. =big brother.= a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. =ole mammy's torment.= "ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. =the story of dago.= in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing. =the quilt that jack built.= a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. =flip's islands of providence.= a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading. _by edith robinson_ =a little puritan's first christmas.= a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christmas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam. =a little daughter of liberty.= the author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation from her introduction, as follows: "one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride,--the ride of anthony severn,--which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences." =a loyal little maid.= a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington. =a little puritan rebel.= this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massachusetts. =a little puritan pioneer.= the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. the little girl heroine adds another to the list of favorites so well known to the young people. =a little puritan bound girl.= a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. =a little puritan cavalier.= the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. _by ouida_ (_louise de la ramée_) =a dog of flanders=: a christmas story. too well and favorably known to require description. =the nurnberg stove.= this beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price. _by frances margaret fox_ =the little giant's neighbours.= a charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden. =farmer brown and the birds.= a little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. =betty of old mackinaw.= a charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little readers who like stories of "real people." =brother billy.= the story of betty's brother, and some further adventures of betty herself. =mother nature's little ones.= curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. =how christmas came to the mulvaneys.= a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. the wonderful never-to-be forgotten christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents. * * * * * transcriber's note: period added after mackie in goldenrod library list. team. little people everywhere gerda in sweden by etta blaisdell mcdonald and julia dalrymple authors of "kathleen in ireland," "manuel in mexico," "umé san in japan," "rafael in italy," "fritz in germany," "boris in russia," "betty in canada," etc. preface the swedish people are a hospitable, peace-loving race, kindly and industrious, making the most of their resources. in the south of sweden are broad farming-lands with well-tilled fields and comfortable red farmhouses; in the central portion are hills and dales, rich in mines of copper and iron which have been famous for hundreds of years. in the cities and towns are factories where thousands of workers are employed, making all sorts of useful articles, from matches to steam-engines. the rivers which flow down to the sea from the western chain of mountains carry millions of logs from the great dark forests. as soon as the ice breaks up in the spring, whole fleets of fishing boats and lumber vessels sail up and down the coast; sawmills whirr and buzz all day long; the hum of labor is heard all over the land. in this northland the winter days are short and cold; but there are the long sunny summer days, when even in the south of sweden midnight is nothing but a soft twilight, and in the north the sun shines for a whole month without once dipping below the horizon. this is a glorious time for both young and old. the people live out-of-doors day and night, going to the parks and gardens, rowing and sailing and swimming, singing and dancing on the village green, celebrating the midsummer festival with feasting and merry-making,--for once more the sun rides high in the heavens, and baldur, the sun god, has conquered the frost giants. just such a happy, useful life is found in this little story. gerda and her twin brother take a trip northward across the baltic sea with their father, who is an inspector of lighthouses. on their way they meet karen, a little lame girl. after going farther north, into lapland, where they see the sun shining at midnight, and spend a day with a family of lapps and their reindeer, gerda takes karen home to stockholm with her so that the child may have the benefit of the famous swedish gymnastics for her lameness. then such good times as the three children have together! they go to the winter carnival to see the skating and skiing; they celebrate yule-tide with all the good old swedish customs; and there is a birthday party for the twins, when karen also receives a gift,--the very best gift of all. contents chapter i. gerda and birger ii. the surprise box iii. on board the "north star" iv. gerda's new friend v. crossing the polcirkel vi. the midnight sun vii. erik's home in lapland viii. four-footed friends ix. karen's brother x. a day in skansen xi. through the locks xii. a winter carnival xiii. yule-tide joys xiv. spurs and a crown xv. the midsummer festival gerda in sweden chapter i gerda and birger if any one had stopped to think of it, the ticking of the tall clock that stood against the wall sounded like "ger-da! ger-da!" but no one did stop to think of it. everyone was far too busy to think about the clock and what it was saying, for over in the corner beside the tall stove stood a wooden cradle, and in the cradle were two tiny babies. there they lay, side by side, in the same blue-painted cradle that had rocked the ekman babies for over two hundred years; and one looked so exactly like the other that even dear grandmother ekman could not tell them apart. but the mother, who rocked them so gently and watched them so tenderly, touched one soft cheek and then another, saying proudly, "this is our son, and this is our daughter," even when both pairs of blue eyes were tightly closed, and both little chins were tucked under the warm blanket. there is always great rejoicing over the coming of new babies in any family; but there was twice as much rejoicing as usual over these babies, and that was because they were twins. little ebba jorn and her brother nils came with their mother, from the farm across the lake, to see the blue-eyed babies in the worn blue cradle; and after them came all the other neighbors, so that there was always some one in the big chair beside the cradle, gazing admiringly at the twins. it was in march that they were born,--bleak march, when snow covered the ground and the wind whistled down the broad chimney; when the days were cold and the nights colder; when the frost giants drove their horses, the fleet frost-winds, through the valleys, and cast their spell over lakes and rivers. april came, and then may. the sun god drove the frost giants back into their dark caves, the trees shook out their tender, green leaves, and flowers blossomed in the meadows. but still the tall clock ticked away the days, and still they questioned, "what shall we name the babies?" "karen is a pretty name," suggested little ebba jorn, who had come again to see the twins, this time with a gift of two tiny knitted caps. "my father's name is oscar," said nils. "that is a good name for a boy." "it is always hard to find just the right name for a new baby," said grandmother ekman. "and the task is twice as hard when there are two babies," added the proud father, laying his hand gently upon one small round head. "let us name the boy 'birger' for your father," suggested his wife, kneeling beside the cradle; "and call the girl 'anna' for your mother." but grandmother ekman shook her head. "no, no!" she said decidedly. "call the boy 'birger' if you will; but 'anna' is not the right name for the girl." anders ekman took his hand from the baby's head to put it upon his wife's shoulder. "here in dalarne we have always liked your own name, kerstin," he said with a smile. "no maid by the name of kerstin was ever handy with her needle," she objected. "it has always been a great trial to your mother that i have not the patience to stitch endless seams and make rainbow skirts. our son shall be birger; but we must think of a better name for the little daughter." "it is plain that we shall never find two names to suit everyone," replied the father, laughing so heartily that both babies opened their big blue eyes and puckered up their lips for a good cry. "hush, birger! hush, little daughter!" whispered their mother; and she rocked the cradle gently, singing softly:-- "hist, hist! mother is crooning and babies list. hist, hist! the dewdrop lies in the flower's cup, mother snuggles the babies up. birdie in the tree-top, do not spill the dewdrop. cat be still, and dog be dumb; sleep to babies' eyelids come!" nils and ebba jorn tiptoed across the room and closed the door carefully behind them. anders ekman took up some wood-carving and went quietly to work; while grandmother ekman selected a well-worn book from the book-shelf, and seated herself in the big chair by the window to look over the norse legends of the gods and giants. she turned the pages slowly until she found the pleasant tale of frey, who married gerd, the beautiful daughter of one of the frost giants. this was her favorite story, and she began reading it aloud in a low voice, while the fire burned cheerfully on the hearth, and the cradle swayed lightly to and fro. * * * * * "njörd, who was the god of the sea, had a son, frey, and a daughter, freyja. frey was the god of the seed-time and harvest, and he brought peace and prosperity to all the world. "in summer he gathered gentle showers and drove them up from the sea to sprinkle the dry grass; he poured warm sunshine over the hills and valleys, and ripened the fruits and grains for a bountiful harvest. "the elves of light were his messengers, and he sent them flying about all day,--shaking pollen out of the willow tassels, filling the flower-cups with nectar, sowing the seeds, and threading the grass with beads of dew. "but in the winter, when the frost giants ruled the earth, frey was idle and lonely; and he rode up and down in odin's hall on the back of his boar, golden bristles, longing for something to do. "one morning, as he wandered restlessly through the beautiful city of asgard, the home of the gods, he stood before the throne of odin, the all-father, and saw that it was empty. 'why should i not sit upon that throne, and look out over all the world?' he thought; and although no one but odin was ever allowed to take the lofty seat, frey mounted the steps and sat upon the all-father's throne. "he looked out over asgard, shining in the morning light, and saw the gods busy about their daily tasks. he gazed down upon the earth, with its rugged mountains and raging seas, and saw men hurrying this way and that, like tiny ants rushing out of their hills. "last of all he turned his eyes toward distant jötunheim, the dark, forbidding home of the frost giants; but in that gloomy land of ice and snow he could see no bright nor beautiful thing. great black cliffs stood like sentinels along the coast, dark clouds hung over the hills, and cold winds swept through the valleys. "at the foot of one of the hills stood a barren and desolate dwelling, alone in all that dark land of winter; and as frey gazed, a maiden came slowly through the valley and mounted the steps to the entrance of the house. "then, as she raised her arms to open the door, suddenly the sky, and sea, and all the earth were flooded with a bright light, and frey saw that she was the most beautiful maiden in the whole world." * * * * * kerstin looked up at her husband and spoke quickly. "that is like the coming of our two babies," she said. "in the days of ice and snow they brought light and gladness to our hearts. let us call the sweet daughter 'gerda' after the goddess of sunshine and happiness." so the two babies were named at last. when the children of the neighborhood heard of it, they flocked to the house with their hands full of gifts, dancing round and round the cradle and singing a merry song that made the rafters ring. the wheels of thin swedish bread that hung over the stove shook on their pole, the tall clock ticked louder than ever, and the twins opened their blue eyes and smiled their sweetest smile at so much happiness. but they were not very strong babies, so anders ekman went off to his work in stockholm and left them in dalarne with their mother and grandmother, hoping that the good country air would make them plump and sturdy. dalarne, or the dales, is the loveliest part of all sweden, and the ekman farm lay on the shore of a lake so beautiful that it is often called the "eye of dalarne." it was in the dales that gerda and little birger outgrew their cradle and their baby clothes, and became the sturdy children their father longed to have them. when they were seven years old their mother took them to live in stockholm; but with each new summer they hurried away from the city with its schools and lessons, to spend the long vacation at the farm. "gerda and birger are here!" they would cry, opening the door and running into the living-room to find their grandmother. "gerda and birger are here!" the news always ran through the neighborhood in a twinkling, and from far and near the boys and girls flocked down the road to bid them welcome. "ger-da! ger-da!" the old clock in the corner ticked patiently, just as it had been ticking for eleven long years. but who could listen to it now? there were flowers and berries to pick, chickens to feed, and games to play, through all the long summer days in dalarne. surely, gerda and birger had no time to listen to the clock. chapter ii the surprise box all day long the gentle breezes blowing through the city streets, and the bright sun shining on the sparkling water of lake mälar, called to the children that spring had come in stockholm. great cakes of ice went floating through the arches of the bridge across the norrström, and gray gulls, sailing up from the bay, darted down to the swirling water to find dainty morsels for their dinner. the little steamers which had been lying idly at the quays all winter were being scraped and painted, and made ready for their summer's work; children were playing in the parks; throngs of people filled the streets;--spring was in the air! but in the ekman household gerda and birger had been as busy as bees all day, with no thought for the dancing blue water and the shining blue sky. their tongues had flown fast, their fingers faster; they had hunted up old clothes, old books, old games; and had added one package after another to the contents of a big box that stood in the corner of the pleasant living-room. "perhaps i can finish this needle-book, if i hurry," said gerda, drawing her chair up to the window to catch the light from the setting sun. "i wanted to send this work-box, too," added birger; "but how can i carve an initial on the cover when i don't know who is going to have the box?" "carve an 'f' for friend," suggested gerda, stopping to thread her needle; but just then there was a sound of chattering voices on the stairs, and work-box and needle-book were forgotten. as birger sprang to open the door, a little mob of happy boys and girls burst into the room with a shout of heartiest greeting. their eyes were sparkling with fun, their cheeks rosy from a run in the fresh spring air, and their arms were filled with bundles of all sizes and shapes. "ho, birger! oh, gerda!" was their cry; "it took us an endless time to get past the porter's wife at the street door, and she made us answer a dozen questions. 'to what apartment were we going? whom did we wish to see? why did we all come together?'" "and did you tell her that you were coming to the third apartment to see the ekman twins, and were bringing clothing and gifts to fill a surprise box?" asked gerda, holding up her apron for the packages. "yes," replied a jolly, round-faced boy whom the others called oscar, "and we had to explain that we didn't know who was to have the box, nor why you telephoned to us to bring the gifts to-night, when you said only last week that you wouldn't want them until the first of june." "there has been a hard storm on the northern coast, and father is going by train as far as luleå, to see if it did much damage to the lighthouses," gerda explained. "he thinks that the storm may have caused great suffering among the poor people, so we are going to send our box with him, instead of waiting to send it by boat in june. he has to start on his trip very early in the morning, so the box must be ready to-night." everyone began talking at once, and a tall girl with pretty curly hair, who had something important to say, had to raise her voice above the din before she could be heard. "let us write a letter and put it into the box with the gifts," she suggested. "ja så! yes, of course! that is good!" they all cried; and while gerda ran to get pen and ink, the boys and girls gathered around a table that stood in the center of the room. "dear yunker unknown:--" began a mischievous-looking boy, pretending to write with a great flourish. "nonsense!" cried sigrid lundgren. "the box is filled with skirts and aprons and caps and embroidered belts, and all sorts of things for a girl. don't call her yunker. yunker means farmer." "well, then, 'dear jungfru unknown:--'" the boy corrected, with more flourishes. "i wish we knew who would get the box, then we should know just what to say," said little hilma berling. "she is probably just your age, and is named selma," said birger; and everyone laughed over his choice of a name. "yes," agreed oscar, "and she lives in the depths of the white northern forests, with only a white polar bear and a white snowy owl for company." "i don't believe we shall ever be able to write a letter," said birger, shaking his head. "how can we write to some one we have never seen?" and he sat himself down on a red painted cricket beside the tall stove and began carving the cover of the work-box. "we have made all the little gifts in that box for some one we have never seen," said sigrid. "it ought to be just as easy to write her a letter." "no, sigrid," birger told her; "it is the hardest thing in the world to write a letter, especially if you have nothing to say. i would rather make a box and carve it, than write half of a letter." "here comes mother. she will tell us what to write," said gerda. "why not write about some of the good times you have together here in stockholm," suggested her mother, and she took up the pen and waited for some one to start the letter. "our dear girl-friend in the north:--" said hilma for a beginning; and as fru ekman wrote at their dictation, first one and then another added a message, until finally she leaned back in her chair and told them to listen to what she had written. * * * * * "we are a club of capital boys and girls because we live in sweden's capital city," she began. "that was from oscar," interrupted gerda; but her mother continued,--"and we send you this box for a surprise. "we go to school and have to study very hard; but we find a little time for play every day. sometimes we go to the park, but when it storms we are glad to stay in the house and work at sewing or sloyd. so, ever since yule-tide, we have been making little gifts for you,--the girls with their needles, the boys with their saws and knives. "we hope you will enjoy wearing the caps and aprons as much as we have enjoyed making them; and if you have a brother, please give him the watch and the leather watch-chain. it is a gift from oscar. "the rainbow skirt is one which gerda wore last summer. she has outgrown it now, and will have to have a new one next year. she hopes it is not too small for you. "if you want to know what stockholm is like, you must think of islands and bridges, because the city is built on eight islands, and they are all connected by bridges with each other and with the mainland. in summer, little steamers go around the city, in and out among the islands; but in winter the lake and all the bays are frozen over, and there is good skating everywhere. "then you should see the twelve girls and boys who are writing this letter, holding fast to one another in a long line, and skimming across djurgården bay or skating around stadenholm, where the king's palace stands. "sometime, if you will come to visit us in stockholm, we will have you join the line and skate with us under the bridges, and up and down the waterways; and we will show you what good times we can have in the city." * * * * * "so we did write a letter after all," sighed birger, as fru ekman finished reading. "now we must sign our names;" and after much discussion and laughter the twelve names appeared on the paper, written in a circle without any beginning or end,--sigrid's and hilma's and oscar's and gerda's and all. "put it in the box and we'll nail on the cover," cried oscar, picking up the hammer and pounding as if he were driving a dozen nails at once. "can't a poor man read his newspaper in peace, without being disturbed by all this noise?" called herr ekman from the next room; but when he appeared in the doorway the merry twinkle in his eyes showed that he cared little about the noise and was glad to see the children having a good time. "i'd like to be going north with this box," said magnus, as he took some nails and began nailing on the cover. "father goes every summer to inspect the lighthouses along the coast," said birger, "and he has promised to take me with him sometime." "and me, too," added gerda; "he wouldn't take you without me." "is it very different in the far north?" asked oscar. "yes," replied herr ekman, "the winter is long and cold and dark; there are severe storms, and deep snow covers the ground; but the boys and girls find plenty to do, and seem to be just as happy as you are," and he pinched oscar's ear as he spoke. "i don't see how they can be happy in the winter when it is dark all night and almost all day," said olaf. herr ekman laughed. "do you think they should go into a den, like the bears, and sleep through the winter?" he asked. "but think of the summer, when it is light all day and all night, too," said sigrid. "then they have fun enough to make up for the winter." "i never could understand about our long nights in winter and our long days in summer," spoke hilma berling. "it is because we live so near the north pole," oscar told her. "now that commander peary of the united states of america has really discovered the north pole, perhaps the geographies will make it easier to understand how the sun juggles with the poles and circles. "i am sorry that it has been discovered," he added. "i always meant to do it myself, when i got old enough to discover anything." "if i could stand on the top of mount dundret and see the sun shining at midnight, i am sure i could understand about it without any geography," gerda declared. "if you should go north with herr lighthouse-inspector ekman this summer, you might meet the little girl who receives this box," said sigrid. "i should know her the minute i saw her," gerda said decidedly. "how would you know her?" questioned birger. "you don't even know her name or where she lives. father is going to give the box to the lighthouse-master at luleå, and he will decide where to send it." "oh, there are ways!" replied gerda. "and besides, she would have on my rainbow skirt." that night, after the children had trooped down the stairs and away to their homes, and after gerda and birger had said good-night and gone to their beds, the father and mother sat by the table, talking over plans for the summer. "i suppose we shall start for dalarne the day after school closes," suggested fru ekman. "no," answered her husband, "i have been thinking that the children are old enough now to travel a little; and i have decided to take them with me when i go north this summer. they ought to know more about the forests, and rivers, and shores of their good old mother svea." chapter iii on board the "north star" it was a sunny morning in late june. the waters of the saltsjö rippled and sparkled around the islands of stockholm, and little steamers puffed briskly about in the harbor. the tide had turned, and the fresh water of the lake, mingled with the salt water of the fjord, was swirling and eddying under the bridges and beating against the stone quays; for lake mälar is only eighteen inches higher than the salt sea, and while the incoming tide brings salt water up the river from the ocean, the outgoing tide carries fresh water down from the lake. just as the great clock in the church tower began chiming the hour of nine, a group of children gathered on the granite pier opposite the king's palace. a busy scene greeted their eyes. vessels were being loaded and unloaded, passengers were arriving, men were hurrying to and fro, and boys selling newspapers were rushing about in the crowd. "do you see the _north star_?" sigrid asked the others. "that is the name of the boat they are going to take." "there it is!" cried oscar; "and there are gerda and birger on the deck." with a merry shout of greeting he ran on board the steam launch, followed by all the other girls and boys. "oh, gerda, how i wish i were going with you," said hilma wistfully. "i should love to cross the arctic circle and see the sun shining all night long." gerda, who was wearing a pretty blue travelling dress, with blue ribbons on her hat and in her hair, threw her arms around her friend. "i wish you were going, too," she answered. "birger is the best brother any girl could have; but he isn't like a sister, and that is what you are to me, hilma." at the same moment, birger was confiding to his friend, "i wish you were going with us, oscar. gerda is a good sister; but she isn't like a brother." all the other boys and girls were talking and laughing together, telling of the strange sights that birger and gerda would see on their trip into lapland; and what they would do if only they were going, too. suddenly a warning whistle from the steamer sent them hurrying back to the quay, where they stood waving their handkerchiefs and shouting good wishes until the twins were out of sight. the vessel's course lay first between two islands, and gerda lifted her eyes to the windows of the king's palace, which stood near the quay of one; but birger found more to interest him in the military and naval buildings on the other. "there is a ship from liverpool, england," said lieutenant ekman, pointing to a vessel which was lying beside the quay in front of the palace. "it is hard to believe that we are forty miles from the ocean when we see such big ships in our harbor," said birger. "how did it happen that stockholm was built so far from the open sea? it would be easier for all these vessels if they didn't have to come sailing up among all the islands to find a landing-place." "lake mälar was the stronghold of the ancient viking warriors," replied his father; "and it was just because there were forty miles of difficult sailing among narrow channels, that they chose to live at the head of the saltsjö, and make this fjord their thoroughfare in going out to the baltic sea." "did they like to make things as hard as possible for themselves?" asked gerda with interest. "not so much as they liked to make it as hard as possible for their enemies," said herr ekman. "centuries ago, hunters and fishermen built their rude huts on the wooded islands at the outlet of mälar lake. they often found it convenient to slip away from their pursuers among these islands; but they were not always successful, for their settlements on the site of the present city were repeatedly destroyed by hostile tribes." "why didn't they build fortifications on the islands and hold the enemy at bay?" questioned birger. "they were too busy sailing off to foreign lands," answered his father. "fleet after fleet of viking ships sailed out of the bays of sweden, manned by the bravest sailors the world has ever known; and they swooped down upon the tribes of europe, fighting and conquering them with the strength of giants and the glee of children." "it was birger jarl who built the first walls and towers to protect the city," spoke gerda. "i remember learning it in my history lesson." "yes," her father replied; "good old earl birger, who ruled the swedes in the thirteenth century, saw how important such fortifications would be, and so he locked up the mälar lake from hostile fleets by building walls and towers around one of the islands and making it his capital." "there is an old folk-song in one of my books which always reminds me of the vikings," said birger. "let us hear it," suggested his father, and birger repeated:-- "brave of heart and warriors bold, were the swedes from time untold; breasts for honor ever warm, youthful strength in hero arm. blue eyes bright dance with light for thy dear green valleys old. north, thou giant limb of earth, with thy friendly, homely hearth." "there is another stanza," said gerda. "i like the second one best," and she added:-- "song of many a thousand year rings through wood and valley clear; picture thou of waters wild, yet as tears of mourning mild. to the rhyme of past time blend all hearts and lists each ear. guard the songs of swedish lore, love and sing them evermore." "good," said lieutenant ekman; "isn't there a third stanza, birger?" but birger was at the other end of the boat. "come here, gerda," he called. "we can see waxholm now." then, as the boat slipped past the great fortress and began to thread its way in and out among the islands in the fjord, the twins stood at the rail, pointing out to each other a beautiful wooded island, a windmill, a rocky ledge, a pretty summer cottage nestling among the trees, a fisherman's hut with fishing nets hung up on poles to dry, an eagle soaring across the blue sky, or a flock of terns flying up from the rocks with their harsh, rattling cry. there was a new and interesting sight every moment, and the sailors in their blue uniforms nodded to each other with pleasure as gerda flitted across the deck. "she is like a little bluebird," they said; and like a bird she chirped and twittered, singing snatches of song, and asking a hundred questions. "i like those old fancies that the vikings had about the sea and the sky and the winds," she said at last, stretching her arms wide and dancing from end to end of the deck. "they called the sea the 'necklace of the earth,' and the sky the 'wind-weaver.'" "i wish i had the magic boat that loki gave to frey," answered birger lazily, lying flat on his back and looking up into the "wind-weaver." "if i had it, i would sail over the whole long 'necklace of the earth,' from clasp to clasp." but gerda was already out of hearing. she had gone to sit beside her father and watch the course of the boat through the thousands of rocky islands that stud the coast. "the captain says that the frost giants threw all these rocks out here when they were having a battle with old njord, the god of the sea," she said. then, as she caught sight of a lighthouse on a low outer ledge,--"why, father!" she cried, "i thought we were going to stop at every lighthouse on the coast." "so we are, after we leave the skärgård," replied lieutenant ekman. "i came down as far as this several weeks ago when the ice went out of the fjord. there are two or three months when all this water is frozen over and there can be no shipping; but as soon as the ice breaks up, the lamps are lighted in the lighthouses and i come down to see them. now it is so light all night that for two months the lamps are not lighted at all unless there is a storm." gerda ran to the rail to wave her handkerchief to a little girl on the deck of a lumber vessel which they were passing. "the lighthouse keepers have a good many vacations, don't they?" she said when she came back. "yes," replied her father; "those on the east coast of sweden have several months in the winter when the baltic sea and the gulf of bothnia are covered with solid ice; but on the south and west coasts the lighthouses and even the lightships are lighted all winter." "why is that?" questioned birger, coming to join them. "there is a warm current which crosses the atlantic ocean from the gulf of mexico and washes our western coast. it is called the gulf stream. this current warms the air and makes the climate milder, and it keeps the water from freezing, so that shipping is carried on all winter," lieutenant ekman explained. just then a sailor came to tell them that their dinner was ready. while they were eating, the launch made a landing at the first of the lighthouses which the inspector had to visit. while their father was busy, the twins clambered over the rocks, hunting for starfishes and sea-urchins, and gerda picked a bouquet of bright blossoms for their table on the boat. at the next stopping-place, which was gefle, the captain took them on shore to see the shipyard where his own launch, the _north star,_ was built; and so, all day long, there was something to keep them busy. as the boat steamed farther north, each new day grew longer, each night shorter, until birger declared that he believed the sun did not set at all. "oh, yes it does," his father told him. "it sets now at about eleven o'clock, and rises a little after one. you will have to wait until you cross the polcirkel and get to the top of mount dundret before you have a night when the sun doesn't even dip below the horizon." "we must be pretty near the arctic circle now," exclaimed gerda. "it is growing colder and colder every minute." "that is because the wind is blowing over an ice-floe," said her father, pointing to a large field of ice which seemed to be drifting slowly toward them. "look, look, birger!" cried gerda, "there are some seals on the ice." "yes," said birger, "and there is a seal-boat sailing up to catch them." "i'm going to draw a picture of it for mother," gerda announced, and she sat still for a long time, making first one sketch and then another,--a seal on a cake of ice, a lighthouse, a ship being dashed against the rocks, and a steam-launch cutting through the water, with a boy and girl on its deck. "oh dear!" she sighed after a while, "i wish something _enormous_ would happen. i'm tired of water and sky and sawmills and little towns with red houses just like the pictures in my geography." "what would you like to have happen?" questioned her father. "i should like to see some of my girl friends," replied gerda quickly. "i haven't had any one to tell my secrets to for over a week." "perhaps something enormous will happen tomorrow," her father comforted her. "we'll see what we can do about it." so gerda went to sleep that night thinking of hilma and sigrid at home; and she slept through the beautiful bright summer night, little dreaming that the boat was bearing her steadily toward a new friend and a dearer friendship than any she had ever known. chapter iv gerda's new friend "look, gerda," said lieutenant ekman, as their launch steamed the next morning toward a barren island off the east coast of sweden, "do you see a child on those rocks below the lighthouse?" gerda looked eagerly where her father pointed. "yes, i think i see her now," she said, after a moment. birger ran to the bow of the boat. "come up here," he called. "i can see her quite plainly. she has on a rainbow skirt." "oh, birger!" cried gerda, "can it be the little girl who received our box? if it is, her name is karen. don't you remember the letter of thanks she wrote us?" as she spoke, the child began clambering carefully over the rocks and made her way to the landing-place. the twins saw now that she wore the rainbow skirt and the dark bodice over a white waist, which forms the costume of the rättvik girls and women; but they saw, also, that she walked with a crutch. "oh, father, she is lame!" gerda exclaimed. then she stood quietly on the deck, waving her hand and smiling in friendly greeting until the launch was made fast to the wharf. "are you gerda?" asked the little lame girl eagerly, as lieutenant ekman swung his daughter ashore; and gerda asked just as eagerly, "are you karen?" then both children laughed and answered "yes," together. "come up to the house, gerda, i want to show you my birds," said karen at once; and she climbed up over the rocks toward the tiny cottage. gerda followed more slowly, looking pityingly at the crutch and the poor, crooked back; but karen turned and called to her to hurry. "i have ever so many things to show you, gerda," she said. "there are no children for me to play with, so i have to make friends with the birds. i have four now, and i am trying to teach them to eat from my hand." as karen spoke, she led the way around the corner of the house, and there, sheltered from the wind, was a collection of cages, mounted on a rough wooden bench. in each one was a bird which had been injured in some way. the largest cage held a snowy owl, and when karen spoke to him he ruffled up his feathers and rolled his head from side to side, his great golden eyes staring at her without blinking. "he can't see when the sun shines," karen explained; "but he seems to know my voice." "what a good time he must have in the long winter nights, when he can see all the time," said gerda. "where did you get him?" "father found him in the woods with a broken wing; but he is nearly well now, and i shall soon set him free," karen told her. "and here is a woodpecker, and a cuckoo, and a magpie," said gerda, looking into the cages. "yes," said karen, "and last year i had an eider-duck, and i often have sea-gulls. sometimes, when there is a big storm, the gulls are blown against the windows of the lighthouse and are hurt. i find them on the rocks in the morning with a broken leg or wing, and then i put them in a cage and take care of them until they can fly away. father and i call this the sea-gull light." "what do you do with the birds in the winter?" asked gerda. "the lighthouse is closed as soon as the gulf freezes over, and then we go to live on the mainland," karen replied. "one of my brothers built a bird-house near our barn, and if my birds are not strong enough to fly away, father lets me take them with me in the cages, and i feed them all winter with crumbs and grain." "how many brothers have you?" "there are five, but they are all much older than i am. they work in the woods in the winter, cutting out logs or making tar; and in the summer they go off on fishing trips. i don't see them very often." "we met a great many vessels loaded with lumber on our way up the coast," said gerda, "and, wherever we stopped, the wharves were covered with great piles of lumber, and barrels and barrels of tar." "the lumber vessels sail past this island all summer," said karen. "i often wonder where they go, and what becomes of all the lumber they carry. there is a sawmill near our house on the shore and it whirrs and saws all day long." "there were sawmills all along the coast," said gerda. "birger and i began to count them, and then there were so many other things to see that we forgot to count." karen stooped down to open the door of the magpie's cage, and he hopped out and began picking up the grain which she held in her hand for him. "i think this magpie is going to stay with me," she said. "he is very tame and i often let him out of the cage. mother says he will bring me good luck," she added rather wistfully. "it must be lonely for you here, with only the birds to play with," said gerda. "you must be glad when the time comes to live on shore and go to school again." for answer, karen looked at her crutch. "i can't go to school," she said soberly; "but my brothers taught me to read and write, and mother has a piano which i can play a little." then her face lighted up with a cheery smile. "when your box came this spring, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. everything in it gave me something new to think about. i often think how pretty the streets of stockholm must look, with all the little girls going about in rainbow skirts, and none of them having to walk with a crutch." "oh, dear me!" exclaimed gerda quickly; "it is not often that you see a rainbow skirt in stockholm. i never wear one there." karen looked surprised. "where do you wear it?" she asked. then gerda told about her summer home in rättvik. "it is on lake siljan, in the central part of sweden, in a province that is called dalarne," she explained. "it is a very old-fashioned place, and the people still wear the costumes which were worn hundreds of years ago." a wistful look had stolen into karen's face as she listened. "i suppose there are ever so many children in rättvik," she said. "oh, yes," answered gerda. "we play together every day, and go to church on sundays; and sometimes i help to row the sunday boat." "what is the sunday boat?" was karen's next question. "there are several parishes in rättvik, and many of the people live so far away from the church that they row across the lake together in a long boat which is called the sunday boat," gerda told her. "and do you have girl friends in stockholm?" asked karen, envying this gerda who came and went from city to country so easily. "yes, indeed," answered gerda. then she smiled and said shyly, "i wish you would be my friend, too. when i go home i can write to you." karen's face flushed with pleasure. "oh, will you?" she cried. "but there will be so little for me to write to you," she added soberly. "after the snow comes, and my brothers have all gone into the woods for the winter, there are weeks at a time when i never see any one but my father and mother." "you can tell me all about your birds," gerda suggested; "and the way the moon shines on the long stretches of snow; and about the animals that creep out from the woods sometimes and sniff around your door. and i will tell you about my school, and the parties i have with my friends. and i will send you some new music to play on the piano." but before they could say anything more, lieutenant ekman had returned from inspecting the lighthouse with karen's father, and was calling to gerda that it was time for them to start for luleå. "good-bye," the two little girls said to each other, and karen went down to the landing-place to watch the launch steam away. gerda stood quietly beside the rail, looking back at the island, long after karen's rainbow skirt and the lighthouse had faded from sight. "i will give you two öre for your thoughts, if they are worth it," her father said at last. "i was thinking that it will make karen sad to hear of my good times this winter," gerda told him. "she will like to have your letters to think about," replied lieutenant ekman cheerfully. then he pointed to a little town on the shore ahead. "there is luleå," he said. "you will soon be travelling on the railroad toward mount dundret and the midnight sun." but although gerda was soon speeding into the mysterious arctic regions, she could not forget her new friend in the lonely lighthouse. chapter v crossing the polcirkel "polcirkel, birger, polcirkel!" cried gerda from her side of the car. "polcirkel!" shouted birger in answer, and sprang to gerda's seat to look out of the window. the slow-running little train groaned and creaked; then came to a stop at the tiny station-house on the arctic circle. the twins, their faces smeared with vaseline and veiled in mosquito netting, hurried out of the car and looked around them. close beside the station rose a great pile of stones, to mark the only spot where a railroad crosses the arctic circle. this is the most northerly railroad in the world, and was built by the swedish government to transport iron ore to the coast, from the mines four miles north of gellivare. as the two children climbed to the top of the cairn, birger said, "this is a wonderful place; is it not, gerda?" his sister looked back doubtfully over the immense peat bog through which the train had been travelling, and thought of the swamps and the forests of pine and birch which lay between them and luleå, many miles away on the coast. then she looked forward toward more peat bogs, swamps and forests that lay between them and gellivare. "i suppose it is a wonderful place," she said slowly; "but it seems more wonderful to me that we are here looking at it. do you remember how it looks on the map in our geography, and how far away it always seemed?" "yes," replied her brother, "i always thought there was nothing but ice and snow beyond the arctic circle." "so did i," said gerda. "i had no idea we should see little farms, and fields of rye, oats and barley, away up here in lapland. father says the crops grow faster because the sun shines all day and almost all night, too; and that it is only eight weeks from seed-time to harvest. "no doubt there is plenty of ice and snow in winter; but just here there seems to be nothing but swamps and forests." "and swarms of mosquitoes," added birger. "don't forget the mosquitoes!" in a moment more the children were back in their seats, and the train was creeping slowly northward, on its way toward gellivare and mount dundret, where, from the fifth of june to the eleventh of july, the sun may be seen shining all day and all night. birger took a tiny stone from his pocket and showed it to his sister, saying, "see my souvenir of polcirkel." but gerda paid little attention to his souvenir, and slipped over to her father's seat to ask a question. "father," she said softly. lieutenant ekman looked up from the maps and papers in his lap. "what do you wish, little daughter?" he asked. "will you please make me a promise?" she begged. "if it won't take all my money to keep it," he answered with a smile. but gerda seemed in no hurry to tell what it was that she wanted, and began looking over the papers in his lap. "what is this?" she asked, taking up a small blue card. "that is my receipt from the tourist agency," he answered. "when i give it to the station master at gellivare, he will give me a key which will open the hut on mount dundret, and let us see the midnight sun in comfort." "how much did you pay for it?" was gerda's next question. "i paid about four kronor for the card and all the privileges that go with it," was the answer. "have you plenty of money left?" asked the little girl. her father laughed. "enough to get us all three back to stockholm, at least," he said. "why do you ask?" "because--" said gerda slowly, and then stopped. "because what?" lieutenant ekman asked again. "because i wondered if we could stop at the lighthouse on our way home and ask karen klasson to go to stockholm and live with us;" and gerda held her breath and waited for her father to speak. "perhaps she would not like to leave her father and mother for the sake of living with us," he said at last. "i think she would, if it would make her back well," persisted gerda. herr ekman laughed. "if living with us would cure people's backs, we might have all the lame children in sweden to care for," he said. "but i want only karen," said gerda; "and i thought it would be good for her to take the swedish medical gymnastics at the institute in stockholm, where so many people are cured every year." lieutenant ekman looked thoughtfully at his daughter. "that is a good idea and shows a loving heart," he said. "but are you willing to give up any of your pleasures in order to make it possible?" gerda looked at him in surprise, and he continued, "i am not a rich man. if we should take karen into our family and send her to the gymnasium, it would cost a good many kronor, and your mother and i would have to make some sacrifices. are you willing to make some, too?" gerda gazed thoughtfully across the stretches of bog-land to the forest on the horizon. "yes," she said at last; "i will go without the furs mother promised to buy for me next winter." lieutenant ekman knew well that gerda had set her heart on the furs, and that it would be a real sacrifice for her to give them up; but if she were willing to do so cheerfully, it meant that she was in earnest about helping her new friend. "yes," he said, after a moment; "if you will give up the furs, we will see what can be done. on the way home we will stop at the lighthouse and ask hans klasson to lend karen to us for a little while." gerda clapped her hands. "oh, a promise! a promise!" she cried joyously. "what a good souvenir of polcirkel!" and she ran to tell birger the news. chapter vi the midnight sun "what time is it, father?" asked gerda, as they reached the top of mount dundret, and lieutenant ekman took the key out of his pocket to open the door of the tourists' hut. "it is half past eleven," replied her father, looking at his watch. "at noon or at night?" questioned gerda. "look at the sun, and don't ask such foolish questions," birger told her. "when the sun is high up in the heavens it is noon; but when it is down on the horizon it is night." gerda looked off at the sun which hung like a huge red moon on the northern horizon. "then i suppose it is almost midnight," she said, "and time to go to bed. i was wishing it was nearer noon and dinner-time." "you'll have to wait for dinner-time and bedtime, too, until we get back to gellivare," her father told her. "when you have travelled so far just to see the sun shining at midnight, you should spend all your time looking at it," said birger, opening his camera to take some pictures. gerda looked down into the valleys below, where a thick mist hung over the lakes and rivers; then turned her eyes toward the sun, which was becoming paler and paler, its golden glow shedding a drowsy light over the hills. "how still it is!" she said softly. "all the world seems to have gone to sleep in the midst of sunshine." "it is exactly midnight," said her father, looking at the watch which he had been holding in his hand. birger closed his camera and slipped it into his pocket. "there," he said, "i have a picture of the sun shining at midnight, to prove to oscar that it really does shine. now i am going to gather some flowers to press for mother;" and he ran off down the side of the hill. gerda found a seat on a rock beside the hut, and sat down to watch the beginning of the new day. the sun gradually brightened and became a magnificent red, tinging the clouds with gold and crimson, and gilding the distant hills. a fresh breeze sprang up, the swallows in their nests under the eaves of the hut twittered softly,--all nature seemed to be awake again. "i've been thinking," said gerda, after a long silence, "that i told hilma i should understand about the midnight sun if i should see it; but i'm afraid i don't understand it, after all." "it is this way," lieutenant ekman began. "the earth moves around the sun once every year, and turns on its own axis once every twenty-four hours." "that is in our geography," gerda interrupted. "the path which the earth takes in its trip around the sun is called its orbit. the axis is a straight line that passes through the center of the earth, from the north pole to the south pole." "that is right," said her father; "and if old mother earth went whirling round and round with her axis perpendicular to her orbit, we should have twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of darkness all over the earth every day in the year." "i suppose she gets dizzy, spinning around so fast, and finds it hard to stand straight up and down," suggested gerda. "no doubt of it," answered her father gravely. "at least she has tipped over, so that in summer the north pole is turned toward the sun, but in winter it is turned away from the sun." "let me show you how i think it is," said gerda eagerly. she was always skillful at drawing pictures, and now she took the paper and pencil which her father gave her, and talked as she worked. "this is the sun and this is the earth's orbit," and she drew a circle in the center with a great path around it. "this is mother earth in the summer with the sun shining on her head at the north pole," and a grandmotherly-looking figure in a rättvik costume was quickly hung up on the line of the orbit, her head tipped toward the sun. "here she is again in winter, with the sun shining on her feet at the south pole," and gerda drew the figure on the opposite side of the orbit with her head tipped away from the sun. "that is exactly how it is," said her father. "but do you understand that, when she is slowly moving round the sun, she is always tipped in the same direction, with the north pole pointing toward the north star; so there comes a time, twice a year, when her head and her feet are both equally distant from the sun, which shines on both alike?" "no," said gerda. "when does that happen?" "it happens in march and september, when mother earth has travelled just half the distance between summer and winter." "oh, i see! this is where she would be;" and gerda made two dots on the orbit, each half-way between the two grandmothers. "good," said her father. "now when she is in that position, day and night, all over the earth, are each twelve hours long. we call them the 'equinoxes.' it is a latin word which means 'equal nights.'" "in march and september do we have a day when it is twelve hours from sunrise to sunset, and twelve hours from sunset to sunrise?" questioned gerda. "yes, and it is the same all over the earth the very same day," repeated lieutenant ekman. "if you will look in the almanac when you go home, you will see just which day it is." gerda studied her drawing for a few minutes in silence. "i think i understand it now," she said at last. "it is easy to understand after a little study," her father told her; "but everyone has to see it for himself, just like the midnight sun. "when the north pole, or fru earth's head, is turned toward the sun we have the long summer days in sweden. when it is turned away from the sun we have the long winter nights. the nearer we go to the pole, the longer days and nights we have. if we could be directly at the pole, we should have six months of daylight and six months of darkness every year." "what did you say?" asked birger, who came around the corner of the hut just in time to hear his father's last words. "we were explaining how it is that the farther north we go in summer, the longer we can see the sun each day," said gerda. "let me hear you explain it," suggested birger, trying to find a comfortable seat on the rocky ground. but gerda drew a long breath of dismay. "oh, birger, you should have come sooner!" she exclaimed. "i understand it perfectly now; but if we go through it again i shall get all mixed up in my mind." lieutenant ekman laughed. "i move that we stay up here and watch the midnight sun until we understand the whole matter and can stand on our heads and say it backwards," he suggested. "i'm willing to stay all summer, if we can drive off in the daytime and see some lapp settlements," said birger, who had made friends with a young laplander that morning at the gellivare station. "but it is daytime all the time!" cried gerda. "when should we get any sleep?" "i must be back in stockholm by the middle of july," said lieutenant ekman; "but if your friend knows where there are some laplanders not too far away, perhaps we can spare time to go and see them." "yes, he does," said birger eagerly. "the mosquitoes have driven most of the herds of reindeer up into the mountains, but erik's family are still living only a few miles north of gellivare." "what is erik doing in gellivare?" questioned herr ekman. "he is working in the iron mines," birger explained. "he wants to save money so that he can go to stockholm and learn a trade. he doesn't want to stay here in lapland and wander about with the reindeer all his life." "so?" said lieutenant ekman in surprise. "your friend erik seems to have ambitions of his own." "look at gerda!" whispered birger suddenly. gerda sat on the ground with her back against the hut, and she was fast asleep. "poor child," said her father, as he carried her into the hut and put her on a cot, "she has been awake all night. when she has had a little rest we will go back to gellivare and look up your friend erik. after we have all had a good night's sleep, we shall be ready to make a call on his family and their reindeer." chapter vii erik's home in lapland "this is the best part of our trip," gerda said, two days later, as she was standing in the shade of some fir trees at one of the posting-stations a few miles from gellivare, waiting for fresh horses to be put into the carts. "i have been reading about laplanders and their reindeer ever since i can remember, and now i am going to see them in their own home." "perhaps you will be disappointed," birger told her. "erik says that his father's reindeer may wander away any day to find a place where there is more moss, and if they do, the whole family will follow them." "where do they go?" asked gerda. "there is a treaty between norway and sweden, more than one hundred and fifty years old, which provides that swedish lapps can go to the coast of norway in summer, and norwegian lapps can go inland to sweden in winter," lieutenant ekman told the children. "yes," said erik, "when the moss is scanty or the swarms of mosquitoes too thick, the reindeer hurry off to some pleasanter spot, without stopping to ask permission. perhaps we have been in camp a week, perhaps a month, just as it happens; but when we hear their joints snapping and their hoofs tramping all together, we know it is time to take down the tent, pack up everything and follow the herd to a new pasture." "i am glad we are out of sight of the photograph shops in gellivare, anyway," birger told erik, when they were seated in the light carts and were once more on their journey. "if i could take such good pictures myself, i shouldn't care; but all my pictures of the midnight sun make it look like the moon in a snow-bank." just then gerda, who was riding with her father, called to birger, "stop a moment and listen!" so the two posting-carts halted while the children listened to the music of a mountain stream not far away. mingled with the sound of the rushing water was the whirr of a busy sawmill in the depths of the woods, while from the tree-tops could be heard the call of a cuckoo and the harsh cry of a woodpecker. soon they were on their way again, pushing deeper and deeper through the lapland forest; their road bordered with green ferns and bright blossoming flowers, their path crossed now and again by fluttering butterflies. "this is just the right kind of a carriage for such a road, isn't it?" said gerda, as the track led through a shallow brooklet. "yes," answered her father; "a few of the roads in these northern forests are excellent; but many of them are only trails, and are rough and rocky. if the cart were not so light, with only one seat and two wheels, we should often get a severe shaking-up." "how does it happen that we can get such a good horse and cart up here among the forests?" asked gerda. "as there is no railroad in this part of lapland, the swedish government very thoughtfully arranges for the posting-stations, and guarantees the pay of the keepers for providing travellers with fresh horses," her father explained. "the stations are from one to two swedish miles apart, and everyone who hires a horse is expected to take good care of him." "i'm afraid we shall have to make this horse go faster, or we shall be caught in a thunder-storm," said gerda, looking up through the trees at the sky, which was growing dark with clouds. "you are right," answered her father; and at the same moment erik looked back and shouted, "we must hurry. perhaps we can reach my father's tent before the rain comes." then, glancing up again at the black clouds, he said to birger, "we shall soon hear the pounding of thor's hammer." "how do you happen to know about the old norse gods?" questioned birger. "i have been to school in jockmock, and i read books," replied erik, urging on his horse to a race with the clouds; but the clouds won, for the little party had gone scarcely an english mile before they were in the midst of a thunder-storm. over rocks and rills, under low-hanging boughs of pine and birch trees rattled the carts along the rough woodland road. the rain poured down in sheets, zigzag lightning flashed across the sky, and a peal of thunder crashed and rumbled through the forest. lieutenant ekman threw his coat over gerda, covering her from head to foot, and called to erik that they must stop. as he spoke, a second flash of lightning showed a great boulder beside the road and erik answered, "here we are at my father's tent. it is just beyond that rock." another moment, and with one last jounce and jolt, the two carts had rounded the turn in the road and stopped in a small clearing beside a lake. the arrival of the carts, or kärra, as they are called in sweden, had brought the whole family of lapps to the door of the tent. there they stood, huddled together,--erik's father, mother, brother and sisters,--looking out to see who was arriving in such a downpour. lieutenant ekman jumped down, gathered gerda up in his arms, coat and all, and ran toward the tent. birger followed, while erik waited to tie the horses to a tree. immediately the group at the doorway disappeared inside the tent, making way for the strangers to enter, and when gerda had shaken herself out of her father's coat, a scene of the greatest confusion greeted her eyes. the frame of the tent was made of poles driven into the ground and drawn together at the top. it was covered with a coarse woolen cloth which is made by the lapps and is very strong. a cross-pole was fastened to the frame to support the cooking-kettle, under which wood had been placed for a fire. an opening had been left at the top of the tent to allow the smoke to escape. birger had often made such a tent of poles and canvas when he was spending the summer with his grandmother in dalarne. at the right of the entrance was a pile of reindeer skins, and there, huddled together with the three children, were four big dogs. the dogs stood up and began to growl, but erik's father, who was a short, thick-set man with black eyes and a skin which was red and wrinkled from exposure to the cold winds, silenced them with a word. he then helped erik spread some dry skins for the visitors on the left side of the tent. the lapp mother immediately busied herself with lighting the fire, putting some water into the kettle to boil, and grinding some coffee. as she moved about the tent, gerda saw that a baby, strapped to a cradle-board, hung over her back. the baby's skin was white and soft, her cheeks rosy, her hair as yellow as gerda's. she opened her blue eyes wide at the sight of the strangers, but not a sound did she make. evidently lapp babies were not expected to cry. the coffee was soon ready, and was poured into cups for the guests, while erik and his brother and sisters drank theirs in turn from a big bowl. lieutenant ekman talked with erik's father, who, like many of the lapps, could speak swedish; but the children were all silent, and the dogs lay still in their corner, their gleaming eyes watching every motion of the strangers. when gerda had finished drinking the coffee, which was very good, she took two small packages from her pocket and put them into her father's hand. "they are for erik's family," she whispered. "birger and i bought them in gellivare." "don't you think it would be better for you to give them out yourself?" he asked; but gerda shook her head as if she had suddenly become dumb, and so lieutenant ekman distributed the gifts. there was a string of shells for the youngest child; a silver ring, a beaded belt, a knife and a cheap watch for the older children; a box of matches and some tobacco for the father, and some needles and bright colored thread for the mother. "we should like to give you something in return," said erik's father; "but we have nothing in the world except our reindeer. if we should give you one of them you might have some trouble in taking it home," and he laughed loudly at the idea. "if you wish to please me, you can do so and help your son at the same time," replied lieutenant ekman. "erik is a good lad. he can read well, and has studied while he has been working in the mines. now he wishes to learn a trade, and we can take him with us to stockholm if you will let him go." erik's father did not speak for a few moments; then he rose and opened the door of the tent, motioning for the others to follow him out into the forest. chapter viii four-footed friends the brief thunder-storm was over, the high noonday sun was shining down into the clearing, and the rumble of thor's hammer could be heard only faintly in the distance. in the trees overhead the birds were calling to one another, shaking the drops of rain from many a twig and leaf as they flitted among the green branches. erik's father took up a stout birch staff which was leaning against the tent, and led the way to the reindeer pasture, followed by his dogs. these dogs are the useful friends of the lapps. they are very strong and brave, and watch the reindeer constantly to keep them together. when the herd is attacked by a pack of wolves, the frightened animals scatter in all directions, and then the owner and his dogs have hard work to round them up again. now, as the dogs walked along behind their master, they stopped once in a while to sniff the air, and their keen eyes seemed to see everything. the country was wild and desolate. as far as the eye could reach, there was nothing but low hills, bare and rocky, with dark forests of fir and birch. it was cold and the wind blew in strong gusts. tiny rills and brooks, formed by the melted snow and the frequent rains, chattered among the rocks; and in the deepest hollows there were still small patches of snow. birger gathered up some of the snow and made a snowball. "put it in your pocket, and take it home to oscar as a souvenir of lapland," gerda suggested. "no," he replied, taking out his camera, "i'll set it up on this rock and take a picture of it,--snowball in july." "you'd better wait until you see the reindeer before you begin taking pictures," called gerda, hurrying on without waiting for her brother. in a few moments more they came in sight of the herd, and saw animals of all sizes, many of them having superb, spreading antlers. "look," said erik's father, pointing to the reindeer with pride, "there are over three hundred deer,--all mine." "all the needs of the mountain lapps are supplied by the reindeer," lieutenant ekman told the children. "these useful animals furnish their owners with food, clothing, bedding and household utensils. they are horse, cow, express messenger and freight train. in summer they carry heavy loads on their backs; in winter they draw sledges over the snow." some of the reindeer were lying down, but others were eating the short, greenish-white moss which grows in patches among the rocks, tearing it off with their forefeet. they showed no signs of fear at the approach of the strangers, and did not even stop to look up at them. two or three moved slowly toward erik when he spoke to them, but not one would touch the moss which he held out in his hand. "this is my own deer," erik told birger, showing a mark on the ear of a reindeer which had splendid great antlers. "he was given to me when i was born, to form the beginning of my herd. i have ten deer now, but i would gladly give them all to my father if he would let me go to stockholm with you." lieutenant ekman turned to the father. "it shall cost him nothing," he said. "are you willing that he should go?" "yes, if he does not want to stay here," replied the father, who had hoped that the sight of the reindeer would make his son forget his longing to leave home. erik nodded his head. "i want to go," he said. "then it is settled," said lieutenant ekman, "and i will see that he learns a good trade." "yes, it is settled," agreed erik's father; "but i had hoped that my son would live here in lapland and become an owner of reindeer. there are not so many owners as there should be." "why, i thought that all laplanders owned reindeer!" exclaimed birger. "no," said his father, "there are about seven thousand lapps in sweden, but only three or four hundred of them own herds. there are the fisher lapps who live on the coast; and then there are the field lapps who live on the river-banks and cultivate little farms. it is only the mountain lapps who own reindeer and spend all their lives wandering up and down the country, wherever their herds lead them." "what do the reindeer live on in the winter when the snow covers the moss?" questioned birger. "the lapps have to find places where the snow is not more than four or five feet deep, and then the animals can dig holes in the snow with their forefeet until they reach the moss," replied his father. "the reindeer are never housed and seem to like cold weather. they prefer to dig up the moss for themselves, and will not eat it after it has been gathered and dried." just then the lapp mother came to speak to her husband, and in a few minutes all the rest of the family arrived. "they are going to milk the reindeer," erik explained to gerda. "how often do you milk them?" she asked. "twice a week," was the answer. "they give only a little milk, but it is very thick and rich." erik and his brother pers went carefully into the herd and threw a lasso gently over the horns of the deer, to hold them still while the mother did the milking. the twins looked on with interest; but to their great astonishment not one of the reindeer gave more than a mug of milk. they had been used to seeing brimming pails of cow's milk at the ekman farm in dalarne. "how do they ever get enough cream to make butter?" questioned gerda. "we never make butter, but we make good cheese," erik's mother explained, as she brought a cup of milk for them to taste. "what do these people eat?" gerda asked her father, when the woman went back to her milking. "the reindeer furnish them with milk, cream, cheese and meat; and when they sell an animal they buy coffee, sugar, meal, tobacco, and whatever else they need. then they catch a few fish and kill a bear once in a great while." "i have killed two bears in my life," erik's father said with pride. "look," and he showed his belt, from which hung a fringe of bears' teeth. "do all the lapps know how to speak swedish?" birger questioned. "and do they all know how to read and write?" added gerda. lieutenant ekman nodded. "most of them do," he replied. "our government provides teachers and ministers for the largest settlements, so that the laplanders may become good swedish subjects." "my brother and i went to school in jockmock last winter," said erik, who had overheard the conversation. "it is a lapp village near gellivare, and my father goes there sometimes to sell toys that we carve from the antlers of the reindeer." a little five-year-old girl, who had hardly taken her eyes from gerda's face, suddenly put up her hand and took off a leather pouch which hung around her neck. opening the pouch, she took from it a tiny bag made of deerskin. gerda had noticed that each one of the family wore just such a pouch, and she had seen the mother open hers, when she was making the coffee, and take from it a silver spoon. from the deerskin bag the child next took a small box made of bone, and by this time birger and all the others were watching her with interest. off came the cover of the box. out of the box came a tiny package wrapped carefully in a bit of woolen cloth, and out of the wrappings came a precious treasure. "look," exclaimed gerda when she saw what it was; "it is a perfect little reindeer!" and so, indeed, it was,--a tiny animal made from a bit of bone, with hoofs, head and antlers all perfectly carved. the child held it out toward gerda, nodding her head shyly to show that she wished to have her take it. but gerda hesitated to do so until erik said, "my father will make her another. you gave her the string of shells, and she will not like it if you refuse her gift." so gerda took the little reindeer, and many a time in stockholm, the next winter, she looked at it and thought of the child who gave it to her, and of the curious day she spent with the lapps in far away lapland. chapter ix karen's brother "how would you like to spend a whole summer here in the forest, watching the reindeer?" lieutenant ekman asked gerda, after the milking was over and the lapp mother had gone back to the tent with her children. "not very well, if i had to live in that tent," gerda answered. then suddenly something attracted her attention, and she held up her hand, saying, "listen!" a faint call sounded in the distance,--a call for help. "this way," cried erik, and dashed off down a path which led toward the river. all the others followed him. "it must be one of the lumbermen," said erik's father. "they often get hurt in the log jams." he was right. when they reached the riverbank they found several men trying to drive some logs out into the current, so as to release a man who had slipped and was pinned against a rock. the bed of the river was rilled with rocks, over which the water was rushing with great force, in just such a torrent as may be found on nearly all the rivers of northern sweden. starting from the melting snow on the mountains, these rivers flow rapidly down to the sea, and every summer millions of logs go sailing down the streams to the sawmills along the eastern coast. thousands of these logs are thrown into the water to drift down to the sea by themselves; but on some of the slower rivers the logs are made up into rafts which are guided down the stream by men who live on the raft during its journey. it was one of the log-drivers who had been caught while he was trying to push the logs out into the channel; and now his leg was broken. "we can take him to gellivare in one of our kärra," said lieutenant ekman, when, with the help of erik and his father, the man had finally been rescued and carried ashore. accordingly, he was lifted into the cart with erik, while gerda snuggled into the seat between birger and her father; and the journey over the rough woodland road was made as carefully as possible. several interesting things were discovered while the doctor from the mines was setting the broken leg. the most important of all was that this stalwart lumberman had a father who was a lighthouse keeper. "ask him if it is the sea-gull light," begged gerda, when she heard of it; "and find out if karen is his sister." and it was indeed so. the young man had been in the woods all winter, and was on his way to the lighthouse, which he had hoped to reach in a few days, for the river current was swift and the logs were making good progress down to luleå. "you shall reach home sooner than you expected," said lieutenant ekman the next morning, "for you shall go with us this very day." "fine! fine! fine!" cried gerda joyously when she heard of it. "pack your bundle, erik, for you are going with us, too." while their clothes, and all the little keepsakes of the trip, were being hurried into the satchels, gerda's tongue flew fast with excitement, and her feet flew to keep it company. "what do you suppose karen will say, when she sees us bringing her brother over the rocks?" she ran to ask birger in one room, and then ran to ask her father in another. at nine o'clock the injured man was moved into the train, the children took their last look at the mining town, and then began their return over the most northerly railroad in the world, back through the swamps and forests, across the polcirkel, and out of lapland. luleå was reached at last and josef klasson was transported from the train to the steamer, "just as if he were a load of iron ore from the mines," birger declared. "not quite so bad as that," said his father, and took the twins to see the great hydraulic lift that takes up a car loaded with ore, as easily as a mother lifts her baby, and dumps the whole load into the hold of a vessel. the children were so full of interest in all the new life around them that josef klasson almost forgot his pain in telling them about his winter in the lumber camp, and the long dark night, when for over a month there was not even a glimpse of the sun, and no light except that of the moon and the frosty stars. it seemed but a very short time before gerda was crying, "i can see the sea-gull light, and karen is out on the rocks." then came all the excitement of landing. the twins told karen about finding her brother, and the reindeer, and the midnight sun, and the logs in the river, all in one breath; while lieutenant ekman explained josef's accident to the lighthouse keeper and his wife, who had both hurried down to the wharf to find out the meaning of the return of the government boat. then, after josef had been welcomed with loving sorrow because of his injury, and they had carried him up to the house and made him comfortable, gerda told about her desire to take karen home with her. at first the father and mother would not hear of such a thing; but when herr ekman told of the medical gymnastic exercises that might cure her lameness, josef spoke from his cot. "let her go," he said. "it is a terrible thing to be lame. these few days that i have been helpless are the worst i have ever known. if there is a chance to make karen well, let her go." and so karen and erik both went to stockholm on the boat with herr ekman and the twins. "you know i told you that i never see my brothers very long at one time," karen said to gerda, after the children had been greeted and gladly welcomed by fru ekman, and they had all tried to make the strangers feel at home among them. "yes," said gerda; "but when you next see josef you may be so well and strong that you can go off to the lumber camp with him and help him saw down the trees." karen shook her head sadly. she could not believe that she would ever walk without a crutch, and it was the first time that she had been away from her mother in all her life. she turned to the window so that gerda might not see the tears that came into her eyes, and looked down at the strange city sights. just then lieutenant ekman came into the room. "oh, father, may we take erik to the djurgård to-morrow?" birger asked. "i want to show him the lapp tent and the reindeer out there. he seems to be rather homesick for the forest, and says that we live up in the air like the birds in their nests." when the four children were asleep for the night, and the father and mother were left alone, they laughed softly together over the situation. "who ever heard of bringing a lapp boy to stockholm!" exclaimed herr ekman; and his wife added, "who but gerda would think of bringing a strange child here, to be cured of her lameness?" chapter x a day in skansen it was in the djurgård that poor erik first learned that he was a lapp,--a dirty lapp. of course he knew that his ancestors had lived in lapland for hundreds of years; but before he went to the djurgård that day with birger and gerda, he had never heard himself called a lapp in derision. the djurgård, or deer park, is a beautiful public park on one of the wooded islands near stockholm. there one finds forests of gigantic oaks, dense groves of spruce, smiling meadows, winding roads and shady paths. through the tree-branches one catches a glimpse of the blue waters of the fjord, rippling and sparkling in the sun; little steamers go puffing briskly to and fro; and great vessels sail slowly down to the sea. in summer, steamers and street cars are constantly carrying people back and forth between the deer park and other parts of the city. it is not a long trip; from the quay in front of the royal palace it takes only ten minutes to reach the park, and day and night the boats are crowded with passengers. people go there to dine in the open-air restaurants and listen to the bands; they go to walk along the beautiful, tree-shaded paths; or they go to visit skansen, one of the most interesting museums in the world. it was to look at the lapp encampment in skansen that birger and gerda took erik to the djurgård. it was to see the birthday celebration in honor of sweden's beloved poet, karl bellman, that they took karen, for gerda had already discovered that karen knew many of bellman's verses and songs. the happy little party started early in the afternoon, and as they walked through the city streets, many were the curious glances turned upon the lapp boy. erik wore a suit of birger's clothes, and although he was five years older, they fitted him well. he was short, as all lapps are, and his face was broad, with high cheek-bones; but he had a pair of large, honest, black eyes which looked at everybody and everything in a pleasant, kindly way. "what is that great, upward-going box?" he asked, as he caught sight of the katarina hissen, on the quay at the south side of the fjord. "that is an elevator which will take you up to the heights above, where you can look over the whole city," was birger's answer. then he whispered to gerda to ask if she thought they might go up in the elevator before going to the deer park. gerda shook her head. "it costs five öre to go up in the lift, and three öre to come down," she replied. "that would be thirty-two öre for us all, and we must save our money to spend in the djurgård. there is the boat now," and she led the way to the little steamer. "i have heard you say so much about skansen," said karen, when they had found seats on the deck together, "that i'd like to know what it is all about." "it is all about every old thing in sweden," laughed gerda. "the man who planned it said that the time would come when gold could not buy a picture of olden times--the old homes and costumes and ways of living--and then people would wish they could know more about them. "so he travelled all over sweden, from one end to the other, making a collection of all sorts of old things to put in a museum in stockholm. then he thought of showing the real life of the country people, so he bought houses and set them up in skansen, and hired the peasants to come and live in them. "when he finished his work, there was an example of every kind of swedish dwelling, from the laplander's tent and the charcoal burner's hut, to the farmhouse in dalarne and the fisherman's cot in skåne. and people were living in all the houses just as they had lived at home,--spinning, weaving, baking, and celebrating all the holidays in the same old way." "and there are cages of wild animals and birds too," added birger, "polar bears and owls and eagles and reindeer--" "that is what i want to see,--the reindeer," interrupted erik; so when the steamer reached the quay at the deer park, the children went at once to find the laplander's tent in skansen. erik stood still for a long time, looking at the rocks, and the lapps and reindeer; and the twins waited for him to speak. gerda expected that he would say it was just like home; but, instead, he turned to her at last and asked, "do you think it is like lapland?" the little girl was rather taken aback at his question. "well, you know, erik," she stammered, "they have done the best they could." erik shook his head. "they could not move the forest, with the rivers and mountains and wild birds," he said. "without them it is not a real lapland home." his whole face said so plainly, "it is only an imitation," that birger could not help laughing. "there is no museum in all europe like skansen," he said at last, quite proudly; "and there are many people who come here to see it, because they cannot travel, as gerda and i did, and see the real homes in the country." "i am one of them," said karen. "this is the only way i shall ever see a laplander's tent and reindeer." "i will show you a house that is just like my grandmother's home in rättvik," suggested gerda, and they walked slowly through the woodland paths, so that karen would not get tired with her crutch. in a few minutes they came upon a place where some peasants, dressed in their native costumes, were dancing folk-dances; for that is one of the pleasant skansen ways of saving the old customs. "oh, let us stop and look at the dancers!" cried karen in delight. "i wonder what they are doing," she added, watching their graceful movements forward and back and in and out. "they are 'reaping the flax,'" said gerda, who knew all the different dances because she often went to skansen with her mother and father on sunny summer evenings. after the flax dance was finished, a company of boys took the platform, and made everyone laugh with a queer, half-comical, half-serious dance which gerda called the "ox-dance." "i should like to dance with them," said erik suddenly. "yes, it is a great deal more fun to dance than to watch others," said gerda kindly; but she moved away from the sight at once, lest erik should push in among the dancers. "this is just the time to go over to the bellman oak," she suggested. "it is the poet's day, and there will be wreaths and garlands hanging on his tree, and a band of music playing some of his songs." erik walked along slowly, his eyes looking back longingly toward the dancing, and finally gerda looked back, too. "see, erik," she said, "the boys have finished, and now the girls are going to dance alone. you would not like to dance with the girls;" and then he followed her willingly to the other side of the island. crowds of people were gathering under the bellman oak, and the four children found a seat near-by, where they could see and hear everything that went on around them. "we must keep erik here, or else he will insist on going to blow in the band," gerda whispered to her brother, as she saw the lapp boy watching the man with the trombone. then she began to talk about karl bellman, the songs and poems he wrote, and how much the people loved him. "he is one of our most famous poets," she said earnestly, and erik looked at her and repeated solemnly:-- "cattle die, kinsmen die, one's self dies, too; but the fame never dies, of him who gets a good name." "why, erik!" exclaimed karen in surprise; "that is from 'the song of the high' by odin, the king of the gods. how did you happen to know it?" "i know many things," said erik with an air of importance. but there were some things which erik did not know. one was, how to play the trombone; and it was his strongest trait that he liked to investigate everything that was new and strange. now, when karen spoke in such a tone of admiration, erik felt that he must find out at once about that queer instrument which made such loud music; and before gerda knew what he was doing, he had jumped up from the ground and walked to the stand where the musicians were playing. "let me try it," he said, and held out his hand for the trombone. gerda was in an agony of distress. "run and get him, birger," she urged. "oh, run quick!" "erik, erik, come here!" cried birger, running after his friend. but before birger's voice reached his ears, the trombonist had said very plainly and harshly, "get away from here, you dirty lapp!" and poor erik was looking at him with shame and anger in his eyes, when birger took hold of his clenched hand and led him away from the bandstand. it was a hard moment for the twins. people were looking at them and laughing, and the words, "lapp! lapp!" spoken in a tone of ridicule, could be heard on every side. "let us go home," suggested gerda, her face scarlet with shame at so much unpleasant attention. "no," said birger stoutly, "let us stay right here and show that we don't care." but karen all at once felt very tired, and when she told gerda about it, the little party went sadly through the crowd and took their places in silence on the return steamer. neither birger nor gerda had any heart to tell their friends the names of the different buildings which they saw from the deck of the boat, although gerda said once, with a brave little effort to make erik forget his shame, "we will go home through erik-gatan." but erik looked at her with troubled eyes and made no answer. not until they were safely within the walls of home did he speak, and then it was to ask, "why did he call me a dirty lapp?" "because many lapps _are_ dirty," replied birger, feeling just as miserable as erik looked. "they don't bathe, nor eat from dishes, nor sleep in beds, as good swedish people do." "i shall bathe, and eat from dishes, and sleep in beds all the rest of my life," said erik, his face very white, his eyes very angry. "and i shall learn to use that strange tool that makes loud music," he added. lieutenant ekman stood in the doorway, listening to his words. "good," he said heartily; "that is the way for you to talk. and you shall learn to use many other tools, too. i have made arrangements to-day for you to work in the ironworks at göteborg, where they make steamers, engines and boilers. i have a friend there who will look after you, and see that you are taught a good trade." "but, father," cried birger, "göteborg is a long way from stockholm! how can erik go so far alone?" "i am going over to göteborg myself next month," replied inspector ekman, "and he can go with me. a new lightship is ready to be launched, and i shall have to inspect it and give the certificate before it is accepted by the government." "let us go with you! let us go, too!" begged the twins, dancing round and round their father. "but what will become of karen?" he asked. gerda and birger stopped short and looked at their new friend. it was plain to be seen that she was not strong enough to take such a trip. fru ekman put her arm tenderly around the little lame girl. "karen will visit me," she said kindly. so it was decided that the twins should go to göteborg with their father by way of the göta canal. when the day for the journey arrived, the satchels were packed once more, and gerda showed karen how to water her plants and feed her pet parrot in her absence. chapter xi through the locks "what do you think of a girl who goes off on two journeys in one summer?" and gerda leaned over the railing of the canal-boat to look at her friends on the quay below. it was the middle of august, and the same group of boys and girls who had seen the twins off to the north in june were now speeding them to the west. "i think you don't care for stockholm any longer," called hilma; while oscar added, "and you can't care for your friends either, or you wouldn't be leaving them again so soon." "i shall be home in just seven days," said gerda, "and if you will all be here on the quay to welcome me, i will tell you the whole story of the wonderful göta canal, and our sight-seeing in göteborg." "your friends will have to meet you at the railroad station," her father told her. "we shall come back by train. it is much the quickest way." "at the railroad station then, one week from to-day," called gerda, as the steamer backed away from the quay, and swung slowly out into the mälar lake. "gerda and birger are the luckiest twins i know," exclaimed olaf, taking off his cap and swinging it around his head, as he caught sight of gerda's fluttering handkerchief. "that boy erik seems to be very fond of birger," said oscar. "and now that the little girl from the lighthouse is going to live with the ekmans this winter, i suppose the twins will forget all the rest of us." "nonsense!" exclaimed sigrid loyally. "they will never forget their friends. besides, i like karen myself. let's go and see her now. she must be lonely without gerda." in the meantime the little party of four--lieutenant ekman, with erik and the twins--were sailing across the eastern end of lake mälar toward the södertelje canal. birger and gerda explored the boat, making friends with some of the passengers, and then found seats with erik on the forward deck, where they could see the wooded shore of the lake. they passed many an island with its pretty villas peeping out among the green trees, and saw gay pleasure parties sailing or rowing on the quiet water. in a short time the boat sailed slowly into the peaceful waters of the södertelje canal. this is the first of the short canals which form links between the lakes and rivers of southern sweden, thus making a shorter waterway from stockholm to göteborg; and while the trip is about three hundred and seventy miles long, only fifty miles is actual canal, more than four-fifths of the distance being covered by lakes and rivers, with a fifty-mile sail on the baltic sea. the principal difficulty in making this waterway across sweden lay in the fact that the highest of the lakes is about three hundred feet above the sea level, and the boats have to climb up to it from the baltic sea, and then climb down to göteborg. this climbing is accomplished by means of locks in the canals between the different lakes. in some canals there is only one lock, but in others there are several together, like a flight of stairs. there are seventy-six locks in all. the boat sails into a lock and great gates are closed behind it. then water pours in and lifts the boat slowly higher and higher until it is on a level with the water in the lock above. the gates in front of the boat are opened, it sails slowly into the next lock, the gates close behind it; and that lock in turn is filled to the level of the one above. the boat now wound along between the high green banks of the södertelje canal until it entered the first of the locks. birger and erik ran to the rail to watch the opening and closing of the gates, and the lowering of the boat to the level of the baltic sea; but gerda preferred to talk with some old women who came on board with baskets full of kringlor,--ring-twisted cakes. the cakes looked so good, and everyone who bought them seemed to find them so delicious, that at last she ran to ask her father for some money; and when the boat had passed the lock and was once more on its way, she presented a bagful of cakes to birger and erik. "the vikings had no such easy way as this of getting from lake mälar out into the baltic sea," said lieutenant ekman, coming up to find the children, and helping himself generously to the kringlor. gerda looked at the gnarled and sturdy oaks that lined the banks of the canal like watchful sentinels. "the vikings must have loved the lakes and bays of the northland," she said. "perhaps they begged all-father odin to let their spirits come back and make their homes in these trees." "no doubt they did," replied her father, gravely enough. "i suppose when the trees wave their arms and shake themselves so violently they are saying to each other something like this: 'see how these good-for-nothing children go in good-for-nothing boats over this good-for-nothing ditch.'" "with their good-for-something father," cried gerda, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a loving kiss. "am i really good for something?" he asked, as soon as he could speak. "well then, you must be good for something, too. in olden times the vikings sailed the seas and brought home many a treasure from foreign shores. see that you take home some treasures from your journey,--something that will remind you of the towns we visit and the sights we see," and he put his hand into his pocket and took out three coins. "the vikings had a fashion of taking what they wanted without paying for it," suggested birger. "you'd better not try it now, my son," replied herr ekman; and he gave each one of the children a krona. "here's a kringla to remind me of södertelje," said gerda, slipping one of the cakes into her pocket; and then the three children went off to the forward deck to watch the boat sail out into the ocean. for fifty miles they sailed among wooded islands and rocky ledges, and then entered the canal which connects the baltic sea with lake roxen. on the way the boat stopped at two or three ports, and each tune the children went ashore to buy a souvenir. "show me your treasures, and i will show you mine," gerda said to erik, after the first stop. the boy shook his head. "i bought something useful," he said, "and i shall send it to my father;" but even with coaxing he would not tell what it was, until they were all ready to show their treasures to lieutenant ekman. so all three of the children agreed to keep their souvenirs a secret, and had great fun slipping off alone to buy them. all day and all night, and all the next day, the boat steamed across the open lakes, glided noiselessly into the quiet canals, or climbed slowly step by step up the locks. toward night of the second day birger suddenly announced, "this is lake viken, and it is the highest lake on the way between the two ends of the canal route. the captain says that it is more than three hundred feet above the level of the sea." "have we seen the prettiest part of the route?" asked gerda. "far from it," was the answer. "the best part of the canal is still before us, at trollhättan, although the next lake that we enter, lake vener, is a lovely sheet of water. it is the largest lake in sweden, and i must visit one of the lighthouses." "and i must call upon one of the trolls when we get to trollhättan," said gerda, shaking her head with an air of importance. "i shall walk up the locks," said birger. "you mean that you will walk down the locks," erik corrected him. "after this the boat will go downstairs until we reach the göta river." and when, on the last morning of the journey, they reached trollhättan, with its famous waterfalls and rapids, the children went ashore and left the boat to walk down the steep hillside by itself, while they ran along beside the canal, or took little trips through the groves to get a better view of the falls. gerda peered under the trees and bushes for a glimpse of the water witches, but she saw not one. "and now for your treasures," said lieutenant ekman, when they were once more on the boat and it was steaming down the göta river to göteborg. "i bought post-cards," birger announced, and took a handful from his pocket. "here are pictures of the giant staircase of locks at trollhättan, lake vener at sunset, the fortress at karlsborg, the castle at vettersborg, and the great iron works at motala." while herr ekman was examining the cards and asking birger all sorts of questions about them, gerda was busy spreading out her souvenirs on one of the deck chairs; and such a variety as she had! there was a box of soap, a bag filled with squares of beet-sugar, a tiny hammer made in the shape of the giant steam-hammer "wrath" at motala, a package of paper made at one of the great paper-mills, lace collars, a lace cap and some beautiful handkerchiefs from vadstena. when her father turned his attention to her collection, he held up his hands in amazement. "are all these things made in sweden?" he asked. "and did you buy them all with one krona?" "they are all made in the towns and cities which we have visited," gerda replied; "but they cost more than one krona. mother gave me five kronor before we left home and asked me to buy handkerchiefs and laces at vadstena. they are the best to be found anywhere in sweden." "and how about your treasures, erik?" asked lieutenant ekman, after he had admired gerda's. erik put his hand into his coat pocket and took out a box of matches. "these are from norrköping," he said. from another pocket he took another box of matches. "and these are from söderköping," he added. then from one pocket and another he took boxes of matches of all sizes and kinds, each time naming the town where they were manufactured; while the twins and their father gazed at him in surprise. "but why so many matches?" asked lieutenant ekman, when at last the supply seemed to be exhausted. "you have matches enough there to light the whole world." "my father will use them to light his fires," replied erik. "matches are a great luxury in lapland. "and besides," he added, "sweden manufactures enough matches to light the whole world. the captain told me that they are made in twenty-one different cities and towns, and that they have taken prizes everywhere." "that is true," said herr ekman. "swedish matches are famous the world over. my young vikings have each made a good collection of souvenirs." at that moment a pretty little maid curtsied before them, saying, "göteborg, if you please." "oh dear," sighed gerda, gathering up her treasures, "here's the end of our long journey over the wonderful canal!" but erik looked down the river to the tall chimneys of the iron-works and said to himself, "and here's the beginning of my work in the world." chapter xii a winter carnival "abroad is good but home is better," quoted birger, as the railroad train whizzed across the country, bearing the twins toward home once more after four happy days of sight-seeing in göteborg. "vacation will soon be over and we shall be back again in our dear old school," exclaimed gerda, with a comical expression on her face. "i feel as if we had been going to the best kind of a school all summer," said her brother, looking out of the window at the broad fields and little red farmhouses cuddling down in the green landscape. "we have been learning about the largest cities, and the canals and railroads, the lakes and rivers, and that is what we have to do when we study geography in school." "if i ever make a geography," and gerda gave a great sigh, "i shall have nothing but pictures in it. that is the way the real earth looks outside of the geographies. there are just millions and millions of pictures fitted together, and not a single word said about them." birger laughed. "i will study your geography," he said, "if i am not too busy making one of my own." "what kind of a geography shall you make?" asked gerda. "i shall put in my book all my thoughts about the sights i see," he answered. "it will read like this, 'the harbor at göteborg made me think of stockholm harbor, with all the different ships that sail away to foreign lands; and of the great world beyond the sea.'" "your geography would never please the children half so much as mine," said gerda; "because we don't all think alike. it makes some people sea-sick when they think of ships." "here we are in stockholm," said lieutenant ekman, gathering up the bags and bundles and helping the children out of the train. "before we write a geography we must see about putting little karen klasson under the doctor's care." but they found that fru ekman had already taken karen to see the doctor, and had made arrangements for her treatment at the gymnastic institute. "the doctor says that i shall be able to walk without a crutch by springtime, if i take the gymnastics faithfully every day," said karen happily. "oh, gerda," she added, "ever so many of your friends have been to see me. they are such kind boys and girls!" "of course they are! they are the best in the world," gerda declared, and it seemed, indeed, as if there could be no kinder children anywhere than those who filled all the autumn days with the magic of their fun and good-will for the little lame karen. bouquets of flowers, and plants with bright blossoms, simple games, and new books found their way to her room. there was seldom a day when one or another of the friends did not come to tell her about some of their good times, or plan a little pleasure for her; and karen seemed to find as much enjoyment in hearing of the fun as if she, herself, could really take part in it. "what is the carnival?" she asked gerda one evening in late november, when the last of the friends had clattered down the stairs, and the two little girls were sitting beside the tall porcelain stove which filled the room with a comfortable heat. "i have heard you all talking about it for days; but i don't know just what it is." "it is a day for winter sports, and all kinds of fun, and you shall sit in the casino at the deer park and see it for yourself," said gerda, giving karen a loving hug. when the day of the carnival arrived at last, and karen sat in the casino, cosily wrapped in furs, and looked out over the djurgård, she knew that she had never dreamed of so much fun and beauty. there had been heavy hoar frosts for several nights, and the trees had become perfectly white,--the pines standing straight as powdered sentinels, the birches bending under their silvery covering like frozen fountains of spray. the ice was covered with skaters, their sharp steel shoes flashing in the sun, their merry laughter ringing out in the cold, crisp air. it seemed as if everyone in stockholm were skating, or snow-shoeing, or skimming over the fields of snow on long skis. even fru ekman, after making karen comfortable in the casino, strapped a pair of skates on her own feet and astonished the little girl with the wonderful circles and figures she could cut on the ice. there was no place for beginners in such a company. and indeed, it almost seemed as if swedish boys and girls could skate without beginning, for many little children were darting about among the crowds of grown people. of course karen's eyes were fixed most often upon the twins, and as they chased each other over the hurdles, or wound in and out among the sail-skaters and long lines of merry-makers, for the first time in her life she had a feeling of envy. when gerda left the skaters at last, to sit for a while beside her friend, she saw at once the thought that was in karen's mind. so, instead of speaking about the fun of skating, she began to talk about the doctor's promise that the lame back would be entirely cured before summer. "and there is really just as much fun in the summer-time," she said, "for then we can swim, and bathe, and row boats on the lake. you can go to rättvik with us, too, and then you shall dance and be gayer than any one else." "oh, see, there are some men on skis!" cried karen suddenly, forgetting her feeling of envy in watching the wonderful speed made by the party of ski-runners who came into sight on the crest of the long hill opposite the ice-basin. the skis, or snow-skates, are a pair of thin strips of hard wood about four inches wide and eight or nine feet long, pointed and curved upward in front. the snow-skater binds one on each foot and glides over the snowy fields, or coasts down the hills as easily as if he were on a toboggan. "that is the best way in the world to travel over the snow," said birger, who had come to find gerda. "see how fast they go!" suddenly one of the men darted away from the others, balanced himself for a moment with his long staff, and then shot down the hill like an arrow. a mound of snow six feet high had been built up directly in his path, and as he reached it, he crouched down, gave a spring, and landed thirty or forty feet below, plowing up the light snow into a great cloud, and then slipping on down the hill and out upon the frozen bay. many others tried the slide and jump: some fell and rolled over in the snow, others lost off their skis, which came coasting down hill alone like runaway sleds, while others made a long leap with beautiful grace and freedom. "this method of travelling across country on skis, when there is deep snow, is hundreds of years old," said fru ekman, who had come to send the twins away for more fun, while she took her place again beside karen. "men were skiing in scandinavia as long ago as old roman times, and magnus the good, who defeated the roman legions, had a company of ski-soldiers. gustav vasa organized a corps of snow-skaters, and gustavus adolphus used his runners as messengers and scouts." at that moment there was a sudden commotion outside the door, and a crowd of the skaters came into the casino for some hot coffee, their merry voices and laughter filling the room. seldom is there gathered together a company of finer men and women, boys and girls, than karen saw before her. descendants of the vikings these were,--golden-haired, keen-eyed and crimson-cheeked. "look at that great fellow, taller than all the others," fru ekman whispered to karen. "he is the champion figure-skater of europe." "he looks like baldur, the god of the sun," karen whispered in reply; and then forgot everything else in watching the gay company. "i have never seen so many people having such a good time before," she explained to fru ekman after a little while. "at the sea-gull light there was never anything like this. it is more like the stories of the gathering of the gods, than just plain sweden. "i suppose birger is going to try for a skating prize some day," she added rather wistfully. fru ekman bent and kissed the little girl. "yes," she answered, "that is why he puts on his skates every day and practices figure-skating on the ice in the canals. but keep a brave heart, little karen. you, too, shall wear skates some day." karen's face lighted up with a happy smile, and a fire of hope was kindled in her heart which made the long hours shorter, and the hard work at the gymnasium easier to bear. chapter xiii yule-tide joys it was the day before christmas,--such a busy day in the ekman household. in fact, it had been a busy week in every household in sweden, for before the tree is lighted on christmas eve every room must be cleaned and scrubbed and polished, so that not a speck of dirt or dust may be found anywhere. gerda, with a dainty cap on her hair, and a big apron covering her red dress from top to toe, was dusting the pleasant living-room; and karen, perched on a high stool at the dining-room table, was polishing the silver. the maids were flying from room to room with brooms and brushes; and in the kitchen fru ekman and the cook were preparing the lut-fisk and making the rice pudding. the lut-fisk is a kind of smoked fish--salmon, ling, or cod--prepared in a delicious way which only a swedish housewife understands. it is always the very finest fish to be had in the market, and before it reaches the market it is the very finest fish that swims in the sea. every fisherman who sails from the west coast of sweden--and there are hundreds of them--gives to his priest the two largest fish which he catches during the season. it is these fish which are salted and smoked for lut-fisk, and sold in the markets for christmas and easter. when gerda ran out into the kitchen to get some water for her plants, she stopped to taste the white gravy which her mother was making for the lut-fisk. then as she danced back through the dining-room to tell karen about the pudding she sang:-- "away, away to the fishers' pier, many fishes we'll find there,--big salmon, good salmon: seize them by the neck, stuff them in a sack, and keep them till christmas and easter." "hurry and finish the silver," she added, "and then we will help mother set the smörgåsbord for our dinner. we never had half such delicious things for it before. there is the pickled herring your father sent us, and the smoked reindeer from erik's father in lapland; and grandmother ekman sent us strawberry jam, and raspberry preserve, and cheese, and oh, so many goodies!" gerda clapped her hands so hard that some of the water she was carrying to her plants was spilled on the floor. "oh, dear me!" she sighed, "there is something more for me to do. we'd never be ready for yule if it wasn't for the tomtar." the tomtar are little old men with long gray beards and tall pointed red caps, who live under the boards and in the darkest corners of the chests. they come creeping out to do their work in the middle of the night, when the house is still, and they are especially helpful at christmas time. the two little girls had been talking about the tomtar for weeks. whenever karen found a mysterious package lying forgotten on the table, gerda would hurry it away out of sight, saying, "sh! little yule tomten must have left it." and one day when gerda found a dainty bit of embroidery under a cushion, it was karen's turn to say, "let me have it quick! yule tomten left it for me." then both little girls shrieked with laughter. birger said little about the tomtar and pretended that he did not believe in them at all; but when gerda set out a dish of sweets for the little old men, he moved it down to a low stool where they would have no trouble in finding it. but now the tomtar were all snugly hidden away for the day, so gerda had to wipe up the water for herself, and then run back to her dusting; but before it was finished, birger and his father came up the stairs,--one tugging a fragrant spruce tree, the other carrying a big bundle of oats on his shoulder. "here's a christmas dinner for your friends, the birds," birget told karen, showing her the oats. for a moment karen's chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears, as she thought of the pole on the barn at home where she had always fastened her own bundle of grain; but she smiled through her tears and said cheerfully, "the birds of stockholm will have plenty to eat for one day at least, if all the bundles of grain in the markets are sold." "that they will," replied birger. "no one in sweden forgets the birds on christmas day. you should see the big bundles of grain that they hang up in rättvik." "come, birger," called his father from the living-room, "we must set up the tree so that it can be trimmed; and then we will see about the dinner for the birds." gerda and karen helped decorate the tree, and such fun as it was! they brought out great boxes of ornaments, and twined long ropes of gold and gleaming threads of silver tinsel in and out among the stiff green branches. they hung glittering baubles upon every sprig, and at the tip of each and every branch of evergreen they set a tiny wax candle, so that when the tree was lighted it would look as if it grew in fairyland. but not a single christmas gift appeared in the room until after all three children had had their luncheon and gone to their rooms to dress for the afternoon festivities. even then, none of the packages were hung upon the tree. lieutenant ekman and his wife sorted them out and placed them in neat piles on the table in the center of the room, stopping now and then to laugh softly at the verses which they had written for the gifts. "will the daylight never end!" sighed gerda, looking out at the red and yellow sky which told that sunset was near. then she tied a new blue ribbon on her hair and ran to help karen. "the postman has just left two big packages," she whispered to her friend. "i looked over the stairs and saw him give them to the maid." "perhaps one is for me," replied karen. "mother wrote that she was sending me a box." "come, girls," called birger at last; "father says it is dark enough now to light the tree." and so it was, although it was only three o'clock, for it begins to grow dark early in stockholm, and the winter days are very short. all the family gathered in the hall, the doors were thrown open, and a blaze of light and color met their eyes from the sparkling, shining tree. with a shout of joy the children skipped round and round it in a merry christmas dance, and even karen hopped about with her crutch. the cook in her white apron, and the maids in their white caps, stood in the doorway adding their chorus of "ohs!" and "ahs!" to the general excitement; and then, after a little while, the whole family gathered around the table while herr ekman gave out the presents. it took a long time, as there were so many gifts for each one, and with almost every gift there was a funny rhyme to be read aloud and laughed over. but no one was in a hurry. they wondered and guessed; they peeped into every package; they admired everything. when the last of the gifts had been distributed, there was the dinner, with the delicious lut-fisk, the roast goose, and the rice pudding. but before it could be eaten, each one must first taste the dainties on the smörgåsbord,--a side-table set out with a collection of relishes. there was a tiny lump in karen's throat when she ate a bit of her mother's cheese; but she swallowed them both bravely, and was as gay as any one at the dinner table. all the boys and girls in sweden are sent to bed early on christmas eve. they must be ready to get up the next morning, long before daylight, and go to church with their parents to hear the christmas service and sing the christmas carols. so nine o'clock found karen and the twins gathering up their gifts and saying good-night. "thanks, thanks for everything!" cried the two little girls, throwing their arms around fru ekman's neck; and karen added rather shyly, "thanks for such a happy christmas, dearest tant." "but this is only christmas eve," gerda told her, as they scampered off to bed. "for two whole weeks there will be nothing but fun and merriment. no school! no tasks! nothing to do but make everyone joyous and happy everywhere. yule-tide is the best time of all the year!" chapter xiv spurs and a crown "rida, rida, ranka! the horse's name is blanka. little rider, dear and sweet, now no spurs are on your feet; when you've grown and won them, childhood's bliss is done then. "rida, rida, ranka! the horse's name is blanka. little one with eyes so blue, a kingly crown will come to you, a crown so bright and splendid! then youthful joy is ended." fru ekman sang the words of the old swedish lullaby as she had sung them many times, years before, when the twins lay in their blue cradle at grandmother ekman's farm in dalarne; but now the boy stood proudly in a suit of soldier gray, and the girl made a pretty picture in a set of soft new furs. it was the morning of the twins' twelfth birthday, and a march snow-storm was covering the housetops and pavements with a white fur coat, "just like my own pretty coat," gerda said, turning slowly round and round so that everyone might see the warm white covering. "the snow will soon be gone," she added, "but my furs will wait for me until next winter." "you may wear them to school to-day in honor of your birthday," said her mother; "but birger's soldier suit seems a little out of season." birger had taken a fancy to have a suit of gray with black trimmings, such as the swedish soldiers wear, and it had been given to him with a new swedish flag, as a match for gerda's furs. lieutenant ekman turned his son around in order to see the fit of the trim jacket. "when you get the gun to go with it," he told the lad, "you will be a second gustavus adolphus." "if i am to be as great a man as gustavus adolphus, i shall have to go to war," replied birger; "and there seems to be little chance for a war now." "there are many peaceful ways by which a man may serve his country," lieutenant ekman told his son; "but king gustavus ii had to fight to keep sweden from being swallowed up by the other nations." "i could never understand how sweden happened to have such a great fighter as gustavus adolphus," said karen; but gerda shook a finger at her. "sh!" she said, "that isn't the way to talk about your own country. and have you forgotten gustav vasa? he was the first of the vasa line of kings; and he and gustavus adolphus and charles xii made the name of vasa one of the most illustrious in swedish history." "karen will never forget gustav vasa," said birger, "after she has been to dalarne and seen all the places where he was in hiding before he was a king." "yes," said gerda, "there's the barn where he worked at threshing grain, and the house where the woman lowered him out of the window in the night, and the stone of mora, on the bank of the river, where he spoke to the men of dalarne and urged them to fight for freedom." "and there's the stone house in mora over the cellar where margit larsson hid him when the danish soldiers were close on his track," added birger. "the inscription says:-- "'gustav eriksson vasa, while in exile and wandering in dalarne with a view of stirring up the people to fight for fatherland and freedom, was saved by the presence of mind of a dalecarlian woman, and so escaped the troops sent by the tyrant to arrest him. "'this monument is gratefully erected by the swedish people to the liberator.'" karen laughed. "how can you remember it so well?" she asked. "it sounded as if you were reading it." "that is because i have read it so often," replied birger. "gustav vasa is my favorite hero. he drove the danes out of the country and won freedom for the swedish people." "he was the father of his country," said gerda, and she seized birger's new flag and waved it over her head. "come, children, it is time for you to go to school," fru ekman told them; and soon karen was trudging off to her gymnastic exercises, and the twins were clattering down the stairs with their books. "that was a good song that mother was singing this morning," birger told his sister. "i'd like to wear spurs on my feet. how they would rattle over these stone pavements!" "i'd rather have 'a crown so bright and splendid,'" said gerda; "but i'll have to be contented with my cooking-cap to-day instead." then she bade her brother good-bye and ran up the steps of the school-house, where, after her morning lessons, she would spend an hour in the cooking-class. at five o'clock the three children were all at home again, and dressed for the party which the twins had every year on their birthday. "it is time the girls and boys were here," said gerda, standing before the mirror in the living-room to fasten a pink rose in the knot of ribbon at her throat. "here they come!" cried birger, throwing open the door, and the twelve children who had come before, bringing packages for the surprise box, came again,--this time with little birthday gifts for the twins. for an hour there was the greatest confusion, with a perfect babel of merry voices and laughter. the gifts were opened and admired by everyone. gerda put on her fur coat and cap, birger showed a fine new pair of skates which his father had given him, and karen brought out a box of little cakes which her mother had sent for the party. but when the children formed in a long line and fru ekman led the way to the dining-room, their excitement knew no bounds. the table was a perfect bower of beautiful flowers. there was a bouquet of bright blossoms at every plate, and long ropes of green leaves and blossoms were twined across the table, in and out among the dishes. at gerda's place there was a wreath of violets, with violet ribbons on knife, fork and spoon; a bunch of violets was tucked under her napkin, and a big bow of violet ribbon was tied on her chair. birger's flowers were scarlet pinks, with scarlet ribbons and a scarlet bow; and at the two ends of the table were the two birthday cakes, almost hidden among flowers and wreaths, with birger's name on one and gerda's on the other, done in colored candies set in white frosting. another happy hour was spent at the table, and then the guests trooped away to their homes, leaving the twins to look over their gifts once more. but the best gift was still to come,--a never-to-be-forgotten gift that came on that wonderful night of their twelfth birthday. all day there had been a strange feeling in the air. when the girls brushed their hair in the morning it was full of tiny sparkles and stood out from their heads like clouds of gold, and birger had found, early in the day, that if he stroked the cat's fur it cracked and snapped like matches, much to fru kitty's surprise. now, when gerda went to look out of the window, she called to the others to come quickly to see the northern lights; for out of the north there had come a gorgeous illumination, filling the heavens with a marvellous radiance such as only the aurora borealis can give. banners of crimson, yellow and violet flamed and flared from horizon to zenith; sheets of glimmering light streamed across the sky, swaying back and forth, and changing from white to blue and green, with once in a while a magnificent tongue of red flame shooting higher than the others. "it is a carnival of light," said gerda, in a tone of awe. she had often seen the northern lights, but never any so brilliant as these. everyone seemed charged with the electricity, and little karen said softly, "i never felt so strange before. the lights go up and down my back to the tip of my toes." "it is the elves of light dancing round the room," said birger with a laugh. "no," said gerda, "it is the tomtar playing with the electric wires." then, as they all stood watching the wonderful display in the heavens, the door opened and lieutenant ekman came into the room. "here is a letter for karen from her mother," he said; "i have had it in my pocket all day." "oh, let me see it," said karen, and she turned and ran across the room. yes, ran,--with her crutch standing beside the chair at the window, and her two feet pattering firmly on the floor. "look at karen," cried gerda. "she has forgotten her crutch!" karen held her mother's letter in her hand, and her two eyes were shining like stars. "i feel as if i should never need my crutch again," she said. then she turned to fru ekman and asked breathlessly, "do you believe that i will?" "i am sure that you won't," replied fru ekman, stooping to kiss the happy child. "i have noticed for a long time that your back was growing straighter and stronger, and you were walking more easily." gerda clapped her hands and ran to throw her arms around her friend. "oh, karen," she exclaimed, "this is the best birthday gift of all! the tomtar sent it on the electric wires." "no," said birger, "it was the elves of light dancing across the room." but karen looked at the little family clustered so close around her. "it is my crown of joy and is from each one of you," she said; "but from gerda most of all." chapter xv the midsummer festival it was the middle of june. school was over and vacation had begun. gerda and birger were on their way to rättvik, taking karen with them so that she might see the great midsummer festival before going to spend the summer at the sea-gull light. "isn't this the best fun we ever had,--to be travelling alone, without any one to take care of us?" asked birger, as the train whizzed along past fields and forests, lakes and rivers. "it feels just as if we were tourists," replied gerda, straightening her hat and nestling close to karen. karen dimpled and smiled. "i don't see your wonder-eyes, such as tourists always have," she said. "that is because we have been to rättvik so many times that we know every house and tree and rail-fence along the way," answered birger. "we have stopped at gefle and seen the docks with their great piles of lumber and barrels of tar; and we have been to upsala, the ancient capital of sweden, and seen the famous university which was founded fifteen years before columbus discovered america." "last summer father took us to falun to visit the wonderful copper mines," added gerda; "but i never want to go there again," and she shivered as she thought of the dark underground halls and chambers. "we saw a fire there, which was lighted hundreds of years ago and has never once been allowed to go out," said birger. "the miners light their lamps and torches at the flame." "look, there are the chimneys of falun now," cried gerda, pointing out of the car window; and a half-hour later the children found themselves at the neat little rättvik station. "six o'clock, and just on time," said grandmother ekman's cheerful voice, and the next moment all three were gathered in a great hug. "is there room for triplets in your house?" asked gerda. "we have outgrown our twinship now, and there are three of us, instead of two." "there is enough of everything, for karen to have her good share," said the grandmother heartily; and they were soon driving along the pleasant country road, toward the red-painted farmhouse and the quiet living-room where the tall clock was still ticking cheerfully. the next morning, and the next, the twins were up bright and early to show karen all their favorite haunts; and the days flew by like minutes. "don't you love it, here in rättvik, karen dear?" asked gerda, on the third day, as the two little girls were busily at work in the pleasant living-room. "yes," replied karen; "but you never told me half enough beautiful things about it. surely there can be no lovelier place in the whole world than the mill-pool where we went yesterday with linda nilsson." karen was coloring the letters in a motto to hang on the wall: and gerda, who was weaving a rug on her grandmother's wooden loom, crossed the room to admire her friend's work. she leaned against karen's chair and read the words of the motto aloud: "to read and not know, is to plow and not sow." "that is grandmother ekman's favorite motto," she said. "she believes that a burning, golden plowshare was dropped from heaven ages ago, in the beginning of sweden's history, as a symbol of what the gods expected of the people; and she says that a well-kept farm and a well-read book are the most beautiful things in the world." birger looked up from the door-step where he was whittling out a mast for one of his boats. "if i didn't intend to be an admiral in the navy when i am a man," he said, "i should come here and take care of the farm. it really is the prettiest farmhouse and the best farm in dalarne." "it certainly will be the prettiest by night, when we have it dressed up for the midsummer festival," gerda declared. "come, birger! come, karen! we must go and gather flowers and birch leaves to decorate the house." "but we must put away our work first," said orderly karen, gathering up her paints and brushes. gerda ran to push the loom back into the corner. as she did so, she said with a smile, "the first rug i ever made was very ugly. it had a great many dark strips in it. that was because my grandmother made me weave in a dark strip every time i was naughty." karen laughed. "how i would like to see it," she said. "oh, i have it now. i will show it to you," and gerda crossed the room and opened one of the chests which were ranged against the wall. "this is my own chest, where my grandmother keeps everything i make," she said, as she lifted the cover and took out a bundle. opening the bundle, she unrolled a funny little rug. pointing to a wide black stripe in the middle, gerda said, "that was for the time i broke the vinegar jug, and spoiled ebba jorn's dress." "oh, tell me about it!" cried karen. "no," replied gerda, "it was too naughty to tell about;" and she put the rug quickly back into the chest. "i didn't know you were ever naughty," said karen, laughing merrily. then, as the two little girls put on their caps and took up their baskets to go flower-hunting, she asked, "who is ebba jorn?" "she lives across the lake, and she is going to be married to-morrow," answered gerda. "we can walk in her procession." karen gave a little gasp of pleasure. "oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. then she stopped and looked down at her dress. "but i have nothing to wear," she said. "all my prettiest dresses went home on the steamer with your father." "we shall wear our rainbow skirts," gerda told her. "and you can wear one of mine." just then she caught sight of a crowd of boys and girls in a distant meadow, and ran to join them; calling to birger and karen to come, too. "they are gathering flowers to trim the maypole for the midsummer festival," she cried. it is small wonder that the people of the northland joyously celebrate the bright, sunny day of midsummer, after the cold days and long dark nights of winter. it is an ancient custom, coming down from old heathen times, when fires were lighted on all the hills to celebrate the victory of baldur, the sun god, who conquered the frost giants and the powers of darkness. on midsummer's eve, the twenty-third of june, a majstång is erected in every village green in sweden. the villagers and peasants, young and old, gather from far and near, and dance around the may-pole all through the long night, which is no night at all, but a glowing twilight, from late sunset till early dawn. there was a great deal of work to be done in preparation for this festival, and such a busy day as the children had! they gathered basketfuls of flowers, and long streamers of ground pine, which they made into ropes and wreaths. they cut great armfuls of birch boughs, and decorated the little farmhouse, inside and out; placing the graceful branches with their tender green leaves wherever there was a spot to hold them. over the doors and windows, up and down the porch, along the fence, and even around the well, they twined the long ropes and fastened the green wreaths and boughs. after a hasty lunch they rowed across the lake and spent the afternoon at the village green, helping to dress the tall majstång; and when their supper of berries and milk and caraway bread was eaten, they were glad enough to tumble into bed, although the sun was till shining and would not set until nearly eleven o'clock. "wait until to-morrow," murmured gerda drowsily; "then you will see the happiest day of the whole year." karen tried to tell her that every day was happy, now that she could run and play like other children; but she fell asleep in the middle of the sentence, and gerda hadn't even heard the beginning of it. "the sun has been dancing over the hills for hours," called grandmother ekman at five o'clock the next morning. "it is time for everyone to be up and making ready for church." all the festival days in sweden begin with a church service, and everyone goes to church. in the cities the people walk or ride in street-cars or carriages; but in dalarne some ride on bicycles, some drive, some sail across the lake in the little steamer, and others row in the sunday boat. grandmother ekman always followed the good old custom of rowing with her neighbors in the long boat, and six o'clock found her at the wharf with the three children, all carrying a beautiful branch of white birch with its shining green leaves. "this is just what i have wanted to do, ever since you told me about it at the sea-gull light," whispered karen, as they found seats in the boat and began the pleasant journey across the peaceful, shining water. gerda was in a great state of excitement. she discovered so many things to chatter about that grandmother ekman said at last, "hush, child! you must compose yourself for church and the bible reading." then gerda became sober at once, and sat quietly enough during the service, until she fell to thinking how lovely the may-pole would look in its gala dress of green, red, yellow and white. "it will be wearing a rainbow skirt, like all the girls in the village," she thought; and surprised her grandmother by smiling in the midst of the sermon, at the thought of how very tall this maypole maiden would be. the may-pole is always the tallest, slenderest tree that can be found, and the one which gerda and karen had helped to decorate was at least sixty feet from base to tip. it had been brought from the forest by the young men of the village, and trimmed of its bark and branches until it looked like the mast of a vessel. hoops and crosspieces reaching out in every direction were fastened to the pole, and it was then decorated with flowers, streamers, garlands and tiny flags. now it was leaning against the platform in the village green, not far from the church, where it was to be raised after the service. when gerda and karen reached the green they found a group of young people gathered about the pole, tying strings of gilded hearts, festoons of colored papers, and fluttering banners to its yard-arms. "now it is ready to be raised!" shouted nils jorn at last, and everybody fell away to make room for the men who were to draw it into its place with ropes and tackle. "suppose it should break!" gasped karen, and held her breath while it rose slowly in the air. as it settled into the deep hole prepared for it, nils jorn waved his cap and shouted. then some one else shouted, and soon everybody was shouting and dancing, and the festival of the green leaf had begun. all day and all night the fun ran high, with singing and dancing and feasting. when there was a lull in the merriment, it was because a long procession had formed to accompany the bride and bridegroom to the church. after the ceremony was over, and the same procession had accompanied them to the shore of the lake, some one called out, "now let us choose a queen and crown her, and carry her back to the may-pole where she shall decide who is the best dancer." oh, it was a hard moment for many of them then, for every maiden hoped that she would be the one to be chosen. but nils jorn caught sight of gerda's merry smile, and nodded toward her. "gerda ekman has seen plenty of dancing in stockholm," he said. "let her be our queen." "yes, yes!" shouted the others; and for a moment it looked as if gerda would, indeed, have her wish to wear a crown. but when she saw karen's wistful look, she turned quickly to her friends and said, "let me, instead, choose the queen; and i will choose karen klasson. i want this to be the happiest day of all the year for her." "one queen is as good as another," said nils jorn cheerfully; so they led karen back to the may-pole and she was made queen of the festival and crowned with green leaves. after a few minutes gerda found a seat beside her under the canopy of birch boughs, and the two little girls watched the dancing together. everyone was happy and jolly. the fiddler swept his bow across the strings until they sang their gayest polka. the accordion puffed and wheezed in its attempt to follow the merry tune. the platform was crowded with dancers, whirling and stamping, turning and swinging, laughing and singing. the tall pole quivered and shook until all the streamers rustled, all the flags fluttered, and all the birch leaves murmured to each other that summer had come and the sun god had conquered the frost giants. "this is truly the happiest day of all my life," karen said; "and it is you, gerda, who have made it so. i was lame and lonely in the cold northland, and you came, bringing me health and happiness." "mother says i must never forget that i was named for the goddess who shed light and sunshine over the world," replied gerda soberly. then she drew her friend closer and whispered, "but think, karen, of all the good times we shall have next year, when you can go to school with me, and we can share all our happiness with each other;" and she clapped her hands and whirled karen off into the crowd of dancers,--the gayest and happiest of them all. {transcriber's note: all material added by the transcriber is surrounded by braces {}. the original has many inconsistent spellings in all the languages used. a few corrections have been made for obvious typographical errors; they have been noted individually. superscripts in the original are indicated by the ^ character. side notes are enclosed in brackets and preceded with sn, thus [sn: side note]. footnotes are numbered with the page on which they start.} journal of the swedish embassy in the years and . a journal of the swedish embassy in the years and . impartially written by the ambassador bulstrode whitelocke. first published from the original manuscript by dr. charles morton, m.d., f.s.a., librarian of the british museum. _a new edition_, revised by henry reeve, esq., f.s.a. in two volumes. volume ii. "a wicked messenger falleth into mischief, but a faithful ambassador is health." proverbs xiii. . london: longman, brown, green, and longmans. . printed by john edward taylor, little queen street, lincoln's inn fields. journal of the swedish embassy in the years and . march , . [sn: whitelocke continues the negotiation.] now was the heat of whitelocke's business, and many cross endeavours used to render all his labours fruitless, and to bring his treaty to no effect. but it pleased god, in whom his confidence was placed, to carry him through all his difficulties, and to give his blessing and success to this negotiation. whitelocke gave a visit to the count de montecuculi, to give him the welcome home from his journey with the queen; who said he had commands to kiss the hand of the prince of sweden, and took the opportunity of accompanying her majesty when she went to meet the prince. he communicated nothing of the business to whitelocke, nor did he think to inquire it of him. after whitelocke returned home, the resident of france and woolfeldt met at his house to visit him, and staid with him three hours. they had much discourse of france, and of the duke of lorraine, and of the policy of the spaniard in entertaining that duke in his service; by means whereof the country where the duke's soldiers were quartered was better satisfied than with the spanish forces, so that there was no tax levied for them, only they took free quarter, and sometimes a contribution upon the receiving of a new officer. and woolfeldt said, that whereas all other princes give wages to their officers and soldiers, the duke gives no pay; but when he makes an officer, the officer pays money to the duke for his commission; and that he knew a captain of horse who gave a thousand crowns for his commission, which the captain afterwards raised upon the country, and the duke connived at it. he told how he was employed to treat with the duke for the transportation of five thousand foot and three thousand horse into ireland, to assist our king; which the duke undertook on condition to have a hundred thousand crowns in ready money, and ships to transport his men from some haven in france, none of which could be effected. [sn: advances from france.] after woolfeldt went away, the french resident asked whitelocke whether france were comprised in the treaty with holland. whitelocke said he had no information thereof. the resident replied, that his master would willingly entertain a good friendship and correspondence with england; and whitelocke said, he believed england would be ready to do the like with france. the resident said, he observed by their discourse that whitelocke had been in france, and that the late king would have given him the command of a troop of horse in france; and he hoped that whitelocke would retain a good opinion of that country, and be their friend. whitelocke replied, that he was very civilly treated in france, and believed that he should have served the late king there, if, by a sudden accident or misfortune, he had not been prevented, and obliged to return for england sooner than he intended; and that he should be always ready (as he held himself engaged) to pay all respects and service to that crown, as far as might consist with the interest of the commonwealth whom he served. _march , ._ [sn: senator schütt explains the delay in the negotiation.] notwithstanding his great words against the commonwealth and present treaty, yet monsieur schütt was pleased to afford a visit to whitelocke, and they fell (amongst many other things) upon the following discourse:-- _schütt._ my father was formerly ambassador from this crown in england, where i was with him, which occasioned my desire to be known to you. _whitelocke._ your father did honour to this country and to ours in that employment, and your excellence honours me in this visit. _sch._ england is the noblest country and people that ever i saw: a more pleasant, fruitful, and healthful country, and a more gallant, stout, and rich people, are not in the world. _wh._ i perceive you have taken a true measure, both of the country and her inhabitants. _sch._ this is my judgement of it, as well as my affection to it. _wh._ your country here is indeed more northerly, but your people, especially the nobility, of a much-like honourable condition to ours; which may cause the more wonder at her majesty's intention of leaving them, who are so affectionate to her. _sch._ truly her majesty's purpose of resignation is strange to foreigners, and much more to us, who are her subjects, most affectionate to her. _wh._ it is reported that she hath consulted in this business with the senators, whereof you are one. _sch._ three senators are deputed to confer with the prince of sweden, upon certain particulars to be observed in the resignation; and i hope that your excellence will consider the importance of that affair, and will therefore attend with the more patience the issue thereof, being necessary that the advice of the prince be had in it. _wh._ have the three deputed senators any order to confer with the prince about my business? _sch._ i believe they have. _wh._ i had been here two months before the queen mentioned this design of hers to the council, and have staid here all this time with patience, and shall so continue as my lord protector shall command me; and as soon as he requires my return i shall obey him. _sch._ the occasion of the delay hitherto was the uncertainty of the issue of your dutch treaty; and at this season of the year it was impossible for you to return, till the passage be open. _wh._ i believe the alliance with england meriteth an acceptance, whether we have peace or war with holland; and for my return, it is at the pleasure of the protector. they had much other discourse; and probably schütt was sent purposely to excuse the delay of the treaty, for which he used many arguments not necessary to be repeated; and he came also to test whitelocke touching advice to be had with the prince about this treaty, whereunto whitelocke showed no averseness. [sn: treacherous reports to england.] whitelocke received his packet of two weeks from england. in a letter from his wife he was advertised that the protector had spoken of his voyage to sweden as if whitelocke had not merited much by it, though he so earnestly persuaded it; and his wife wrote that she believed one of whitelocke's family was false to him; and upon inquiry she suspected it to be ----, who gave intelligence to the protector of all whitelocke's words and actions in sweden, to his prejudice, and very unbeseeming one of his family. this whitelocke, comparing with some passages told him by his secretary of the same person, found there was cause enough to suspect him; yet to have one such among a hundred he thought no strange thing, nor for the protector to alter his phrase when his turn was served. and though this gave ground enough of discontent to whitelocke, yet he thought not fit to discover it, nor what other friends had written to him, doubting whether he should be honourably dealt with at his return home; but he was more troubled to hear of his wife's sickness, for whose health and his family's he made his supplication to the great physician; and that he might be as well pleased with a private retirement, if god saw it good for him, at his return home, as the queen seemed to be with her design of abdication from the heights and glories of a crown. part of the letters to whitelocke were in cipher, being directions to him touching the sound. he had full intelligence of all passages of the dutch treaty, and a copy of the articles, from thurloe; also the news of scotland, ireland, france, and the letters from the dutch resident here to his superiors in holland, copies whereof thurloe by money had procured. he wrote also of the protector's being feasted by the city, and a full and large relation of all passages of moment. the protector himself wrote also his letters to whitelocke under his own hand, which were thus:-- [sn: letter from the protector.] "_for the lord ambassador whitelocke._ "my lord, "i have a good while since received your letters sent by the ship that transported you to gothenburg, and three other despatches since. by that of the th of december, and that of the th instant, i have received a particular account of what passed at your first audience, and what other proceedings have been upon your negotiation; which, so far as they have been communicated to me, i do well approve of, as having been managed by you with care and prudence. "you will understand by mr. secretary thurloe in what condition the treaty with the united provinces is, in case it shall please god that a peace be made with them, which a little time will show; yet i see no reason to be diverted thereby from the former intentions of entering into an alliance with sweden, nor that there will be anything in the league intended with the low countries repugnant thereunto, especially in things wherein you are already instructed fully. and for the matter of your third and fourth private instructions, if the queen hath any mind thereto, upon your transmitting particulars hither such consideration will be had thereof as the then constitution of affairs will lead unto. in the meantime you may assure the queen of the constancy and reality of my intentions to settle a firm alliance with her. i commend you to the goodness of god. "your loving friend, "oliver p. "_whitehall, rd february, ._" _march , ._ [sn: the son of oxenstiern formerly sent to england.] grave john oxenstiern, eldest son of the chancellor, came to visit whitelocke; a ricks-senator, and had been ricks-schatz-master, or high treasurer, a place next in honour to that of his father. he had been formerly ambassador from this crown to england; but because he was sent by the chancellor his father, and the other directors of the affairs of sweden in the queen's minority, which king charles and his council took not to be from a sovereign prince; and because his business touching the prince elect's settlement, and the affairs of germany relating to sweden, did not please our king; therefore this gentleman was not treated here with that respect and solemnity as he challenged to be due to him as an ambassador; which bred a distaste in him and his father against the king and council here, as neglecting the father and the good offices which he tendered to king charles and this nation, by slighting the son and his quality. the discourse between this grave and whitelocke was not long, though upon several matters; and he seemed to be sent to excuse the delay of the treaty with whitelocke, for which he mentioned former reasons, as his father's want of health, multiplicity of business, the expected issue of the dutch treaty, and the like; and the same excuses were again repeated by lagerfeldt, who came to whitelocke from the chancellor for the same purpose. whitelocke had occasion to look into his new credentials and instructions from the protector, which were thus. [sn: whitelocke's new credentials and instructions.] "_oliver, lord protector, etc., to the most serene and potent prince christina, etc., health and prosperity._ "most serene and potent queen, "god, who is the great disposer of all things, having been pleased in his unsearchable wisdom to make a change in the government of these nations since the time that the noble b. whitelocke, constable, etc. went from hence, qualified and commissioned as ambassador extraordinary from the parliament of the commonwealth of england unto your majesty, to communicate with you in things tending to the mutual good and utility of both the nations, we have thought it necessary upon this occasion to assure your majesty that the present change of affairs here hath made no alteration of the good intentions on this side towards your majesty and your dominions; but that as we hold ourself obliged, in the exercise of that power which god and the people have entrusted us with, to endeavour by all just and honourable means to hold a good correspondence with our neighbours, so more particularly with the crown of sweden, between whom and these nations there hath always been a firm amity and strict alliance; and therefore we have given instructions to the said lord whitelocke, answerable to such good desires, earnestly requesting your majesty to give unto him favourable audience as often as he shall desire it, and full belief in what he shall propound on the behalf of these dominions. and so we heartily commend your majesty and your affairs to the divine protection. given at whitehall this rd of december, old style, . "your good friend, "oliver p." the following instructions were under the hand and private seal of the protector:-- _"an instruction for b. whitelocke, constable, etc., ambassador extraordinary from the commonwealth of england to the queen of sweden._ "whereas you were lately sent in the quality of ambassador extraordinary from the parliament of the commonwealth of england unto her majesty the queen of sweden, for the renewing and contracting an alliance and confederation with that queen and crown, according to the commission and instructions you received from the said parliament and the then council of state; and whereas, since your departure hence, the then parliament hath been dissolved, and the government is settled and established in such a way that you will understand by letters from mr. thurloe, secretary of the council, who is directed to give unto you a full account hereof: now lest the work you are upon (which is so necessary in itself to both the nations, and so sincerely desired on our part) should be interrupted or retarded by reason of the said change of affairs, and the question that may arise thereupon concerning the validity of your commission and instructions, i have thought fit, by advice of the council, to write unto her majesty new letters credential, a copy whereof you will receive herewith, which letters you are to present to the queen. and you are also, by virtue of these presents, to let her majesty know that the alteration of the government here hath made no change in the good intentions on this side towards her majesty and her dominions; but that she shall find the same readiness in me to maintain and increase all good intelligence and correspondence with that queen and crown as in any the former governors of these nations. and to that end you are hereby authorized to proceed in your present negotiation, and to endeavour to bring the treaty with her majesty to a good conclusion according to the tenour and effect of the commission, powers, and instructions you have already received, and which i shall by any further act ratify and confirm according as the nature of the business shall require. "before your lordship deliver these letters credential to the queen, or make any addresses to her, you are to inform yourself fully of the reception you are like to have, and whether her intentions be to come to a treaty of amity with this state as the government is now established, that no dishonour may befall us or these dominions in your addresses upon these letters and instructions. given at whitehall this rd of december, . "oliver p." whitelocke made many despatches this day to england. _march , ._ [sn: the queen talks of visiting the protector.] whitelocke waited on the queen and showed her part of the letters which he received from england, whereupon she again asked him if the protector were _sacré_? whitelocke said, no, and that his letters mentioned only a solemnity of entertaining the protector by the city of london. whitelocke also communicated to her majesty the protector's letter to him, and the expression that whitelocke should assure her majesty of the protector's constant and real intentions to settle a firm alliance with the queen; which, she said, she was also most ready to make with the protector. whitelocke then said it might be fit to make some progress in his treaty upon his articles, and particularly in those which concerned amity and commerce, and had no dependence on the issue of the treaty with holland, and therefore might be had in consideration before the other were fully concluded, and the rest of the articles might be considered afterwards; which the queen said should be done, and that she would send an ambassador to the protector. she was very inquisitive concerning london and our universities; by her discourse gave him to imagine she had thoughts of travelling into france, spain, italy, and into england; and asked whitelocke if he thought the protector would give way to her coming thither. whitelocke answered, that the protector would bid her majesty very welcome thither. he was alone with her near two hours, and at his taking leave she desired him to come to her again on monday next, and that then she would read over with him his articles, both in latin and english, which they would consider together; and such things as she could consent unto she would tell him, and what she could not consent unto he should then know from her, and they might mark it in the margin as they went along. yet she said she would have him to proceed in his conference with her chancellor as before, and that nobody should know of that conference between her and whitelocke; but she would so order the business that what they consented unto should be effected afterwards, and that in two hours they might go over all the articles. whitelocke told her majesty he presumed that she would admit of a free debate upon any of them. she said, by all means, that was reasonable; and in case the peace between england and holland did not take effect, that then the ambassador, whom she intended howsoever to send into england, might conclude upon such other articles as should be thought fit. whitelocke asked her if she had any thoughts of being included in the dutch treaty. she said, no, for she had not meddled with the war, and therefore desired not to be included in the peace with them. [sn: reports of the dutch resident adverse to whitelocke.] from the queen whitelocke went and visited piementelle, who showed him a letter he received from a great person in flanders, mentioning that beningen had written to his superiors that the english ambassador and the spanish resident were often together, and had showed great respect to each other, which his highness the archduke liked very well, and gave piementelle thanks for it; and though monsieur beningen did not like of their being so friendly, yet his superiors endeavoured all they could to have amity with england. when whitelocke told him of the english fleet at sea, he said it was great pity the same was not employed. he then showed whitelocke a letter from beningen to his superiors, wherein he taxed whitelocke with omitting the ceremony of meeting prince adolphus at his door. whitelocke repeated to piementelle the carriage of that business as before; and piementelle said, that neither the queen nor himself had ever heard the prince express any dislike of whitelocke's carriage; and that the queen, seeing beningen's letter, said there were many things in it concerning whitelocke which upon her knowledge were not true. it was also said in the letter that the english ambassador had many long audiences with her majesty, and conferences with the chancellor, but that he could not in the least learn what passed between them; with which whitelocke had no cause to be displeased. _march , ._ _the lord's day._--whitelocke had two good sermons in his house, at which divers english and scots, besides those of his family, were present. in the evening the queen passed through the streets in her coach, with divers other coaches and her servants waiting on her, to take the air, though upon this day; and in the night, many disorderly drunkards were committing debaucheries and insolences in the town, and at whitelocke's door. _march , ._ [sn: further excuses for delay.] whitelocke visited senator schütt, who spake in excuse of the delay of his business. whitelocke said-- _whitelocke._ i have already staid long in this place, and nothing is yet done in my business. _schütt._ your stay here hath been of more advantage to england than if they had sent , men into holland, who, by your stay here, will be brought on with the greater desire of making peace with you. _wh._ they know nothing of my negotiation. _sch._ that makes them the more jealous; the slowness of one person is the cause that hitherto you have received no satisfaction, and i doubt not but ere long you will have answers to your contentment. whilst whitelocke was with him the queen sent one of her gentlemen thither to him, to desire him to put off his visit of her majesty till the next day, by reason she had then extraordinary business; and the messenger being gone, schütt said,-- _schütt._ the queen is busy in despatching three senators to the prince, grave eric oxenstiern, monsieur fleming, and monsieur vanderlin, who are deputed for the business of the queen's resignation; and i, in a few days, shall be sent to the prince. _whitelocke._ i pray do me the favour to present my service to his royal highness, whom i am very desirous to salute as soon as i can gain an opportunity; and do hope that his resort to this place will be before i shall be necessitated to return, that i may give myself the honour to kiss his hand. [sn: whitelocke visits the chief justice of sweden.] whitelocke visited the ricks-droitset grave brahe, who is of the noble family of tycho brahe. he was president of the college of justice, and the first minister of state of the kingdom: the name of his office is as much as viceroy, and his jurisdiction is a sovereign court for the administration of justice, and he hath power both civil and military. the office is in effect the same with that ancient officer with us called the chief justice of england. the habit of this chief justice of sweden was a coat, and a furred cap of black, a sword and belt, and no cloak; two soldiers sentry at his chamber-door, which whitelocke had not observed elsewhere but at the court. they had much discourse of whitelocke's business, wherein he testified affections to the commonwealth of england, though whitelocke had been informed that he was not their friend; but he the rather chose to visit him first, and found him very civil: he spake latin very readily, and no french, although whitelocke was told he could speak it well. he inquired much of the commonwealth and affairs of england, and government of it, and seemed well pleased by whitelocke's relation of it. he informed whitelocke of the swedish government, and particularly of his own office. he discoursed much of the prince of sweden, which whitelocke judged the fitter for him to approve, because prince adolphus's lady was this grave's daughter. he told whitelocke that he had been governor of finland ten years together, which province he affirmed to be greater than france, and that the queen's dominions were larger than france, spain, italy, all together. whitelocke asked him if those countries were well peopled, and flourished with corn and good towns. he answered that finland was well peopled, and had store of corn, and good towns; but that it was not so with lapland and other countries further off. but he said that no part of sweden had such towns as were in england, where he had been when he was a young man, which country he much praised; and whitelocke had no cause to gainsay it. piementelle sent to whitelocke an atlas, in four great volumes, in acknowledgment of a vessel of spanish wine which whitelocke had before sent to him for a present. _march , ._ the governor of upsal, monsieur bannier, presented to whitelocke three latin books:-- . the story of sweden; . of the laws of sweden; . of sea affairs; which were not ordinarily to be had. [sn: whitelocke takes the air with the queen.] the queen sent one of her servants to invite whitelocke to take the air with her in the fields; and being come to the castle, she excused her not being yet ready to confer with him upon his articles, as she had promised, but told him that she had ordered something to be written down on that subject to show to him. she took him into her coach, where was the "belle comtesse," the countess gabriel oxenstiern, prince adolphus, piementelle, montecuculi, tott, and whitelocke. the queen was very merry, and they were full of cheerful discourse. being returned to the castle at night, she desired to hear whitelocke's music, whom he sent for to the castle; and they played and sang in her presence, wherewith she seemed much pleased, and desired whitelocke to thank them in her name. she said she never heard so good a concert of music, and of english songs; and desired whitelocke, at his return to england, to procure her some to play on those instruments which would be most agreeable to her. [sn: the chancellor falls ill.] lagerfeldt came to whitelocke in the court, and told him that the chancellor intended to have had a meeting with him this day, but was hindered by falling sick of an ague; but in case his health would not permit him to meet, that then his son eric oxenstiern, by the queen's appointment, would meet and confer with whitelocke about the treaty in place of his father. but whitelocke was not glad of this deputation, wishing much rather to confer with the old man upon this subject, who was good-natured, civil, and affectionate to whitelocke, than with the son, grave eric, who was of a more rugged and self-conceited humour, and not so soon gained by reason and convinced by arguments as the good old man his father used to be. _march , ._ [sn: the chancellor's son resumes the negotiation.] grave eric oxenstiern visited whitelocke, and spake much to excuse the delay of his treaty; and said that his father was very sick of an ague, and he believed the queen would depute some other to confer with him, in case his father's health would not permit him that liberty. _whitelocke._ i am very sorry for the indisposition of your{ } father, and for the delay of my business. i have been here about three months, and nothing is yet concluded. _gr. eric._ the uncertainty of your dutch affair, and the queen's desire to know the issue of it, hath occasioned this delay. _wh._ as the points of amity and commerce, they concern not our dutch treaty. _gr. eric._ you will be sure to receive all satisfaction and contentment on that subject; but there are many particulars of the commerce to be considered. _wh._ i cannot say much upon those particulars; but i was sent hither by my lord protector to testify his respect to the queen and kingdom of sweden, and to offer to them the amity of england, which i suppose that wise and experienced persons as you are will accept of; and for commerce my proposals are general. _gr. eric._ i confess the particulars thereof may more conveniently be treated on by merchants; and we do not so much desire a confederation with any nation as with england. it was supposed by whitelocke, that by the deferring of his business here, the hollanders would be in the more suspense and doubt of the issue of it, and might thereby come on the more freely in their treaty with england; whereas, if the issue of his business here were known, it might perhaps seem less to them than it was now suspected to be. upon this ground, though he spake of the delay, yet he did not so much press for a positive answer, but that he imagined the dutch treaty might be brought to an issue; he intended to put on his business here, and the default hitherto rested on their part, as was acknowledged by their own excuses. [sn: discourse with the chief justice.] whilst eric was with whitelocke, the chief justice came in. and after grave eric was gone the chief justice discoursed much concerning the protector and his family, his extraction and pedigree, his former quality and condition, and his present state and manner of living: to which whitelocke answered truly, and with honour to the protector; and as to his present post, attendants, and ceremonies of his court, he could not give so punctual an account, it being altered since his coming from england. he also inquired particularly concerning the parliament, the forms of their summons, sitting, debating, voting, power, and authority; in all which whitelocke was the better able to satisfy him, having been a member of parliament for almost thirty years together: and then the chief justice inquired further:-- _chief justice._ what opinions of calvin are most in estimation in england? and what is the state of your religion there? _whitelocke._ neither calvin's opinion nor luther's are esteemed in england further than they are agreeable to the holy scriptures of the old and new testaments, which are the rules and contain the state of religion professed in england. but by what state of religion is the profanation of the lord's day, and of images and crucifixes in churches, permitted? _ch. just._ no recreations or works are permitted on sundays till after divine service ended, and then calvin permits them; and luther is of opinion for the historical use of images and crucifixes, but not to pray to them. _wh._ herein both the opinion of calvin and that of luther are expressly contrary to the holy scripture, and therefore not esteemed in these points in england. the chief justice eagerly asserted these opinions not to be contrary to the scripture, but alleged no proof, either from thence or out of human authors, to make good his assertion. after much argumentation hereupon, the chief justice offered to whitelocke that he would move the queen for a speedy despatch of his business; and said, he did not doubt but that satisfaction would be given him therein. whitelocke was the more desirous to get a conclusion of his business while piementelle was here, because of his great favour with the queen; which, with her respects to montecuculi, both great papists, caused whitelocke to have the more doubt of her inclinations. prince adolphus made a great entertainment for montecuculi, piementelle, and most of the grandees in town; but whitelocke was omitted, his humour and principles as to their jollities and drinking of healths not being agreeable to theirs; and he held this neglect no affliction to him. _march , ._ whitelocke visited the ricks-admiral oxenstiern, the chancellor's brother, who received him with great civility; and they discoursed very much of whitelocke's business to the effect as others did. [sn: whitelocke visits the chancellor's eldest son.] he also visited grave john oxenstiern, the chancellor's eldest son, whose carriage was elated. two of his pages were sons of earls, and had the title of earls; his servants were some of them set at his outer door to receive whitelocke; himself vouchsafed to meet him at the inner door, and, with supercilious reservedness of state, descended to say to whitelocke that he was welcome. they discoursed of england, where this grave had been, as is before remembered, and the distaste he there received, which possibly might cause his greater neglect of whitelocke, who took little notice of it. he took upon him to be fully instructed in the affairs of england, and of the laws and government there; wherein whitelocke presumed to rectify some of his mistakes. when he offered to move the queen for despatch of whitelocke's business, he answered, that he had done it himself already, and there would be no need to trouble any other. this occasioned some discourse about the treaty, to which, with great gravity, this general declared his judgement concerning contraband goods, that great care was to be taken therein, not to give any interruption to trade. whitelocke said, that concerned england much more than sweden. then he took care that the english rebels and traitors might have favour in his country; but whitelocke, knowing that he was neither employed nor versed in the business of his treaty, spent the fewer words in answer to his immaterial objections. [sn: whitelocke confers with the queen on the articles.] in the afternoon, whitelocke attended the queen, who excused her not having conferred with him about his treaty. whitelocke told her, that, if it were now seasonable, he had them ready, and they might read them over together; whereunto she consented, and he read them to her. she took out a paper of notes, written with her own hand in latin, her observations upon the articles. . after whitelocke had read the first article, she said there was nothing therein which needed explanation. . the second, she said, would require consideration, and read out of her notes the words "communis interesse," which she desired whitelocke to explain what was meant by them. he told her those words included matter of safety and matter of traffic. she then demanded why the baltic sea was named as to free navigation, and not other seas likewise. whitelocke said the reason was, because at present navigation was not free in the baltic sea; but if she pleased to have other seas also named, he would consent to it. she asked if he would consent to freedom of navigation in america. whitelocke told her he could not, and that the treaties of the commonwealth were comprehended within the bounds of europe. she asked him what he thought the protector would do in case she demanded that liberty. he said, his highness would give such an answer as should consist with the interest of england, and show a due regard to her majesty. . this third article she said she would agree unto, but she thought it necessary that a form should be agreed upon for certificates and letters of safe-conduct, that ships might pass free upon showing of them. whitelocke said, he thought there would be no need of them, especially if the peace with the dutch were concluded. she replied, that if the war continued it would be necessary. . she said she thought there would be no need of this article, and read another which she herself had drawn in latin to this effect--"that if any hereafter should commit treason, or be rebels in one country, they should not be harboured in the other." whitelocke said, the article was already to that purpose, and he thought it necessary for the good of both nations. she said, it would be too sharp against divers officers who had served her father and herself, and were now settled in sweden. whitelocke offered that amendment which he before tendered to the chancellor, which when she read, she told whitelocke, that might include all those men whom she mentioned before. whitelocke said, that, upon inquiry into it, he found not one excepted by name from pardon. she said, for anything to be done hereafter, it was reasonable, and she would consent to it. whitelocke said, that if any hereafter should come into her country, who were excepted from pardon, it was also reasonable to include them in this article. . she said that this and the second article would require further consideration; because if she should consent thereunto, it would declare her breach of the neutrality which she had hitherto kept. whitelocke told her, if the peace were concluded with the dutch, that neutrality would be gone; and if the war continued, he presumed she would not stick to declare otherwise then that neutrality. she said that was true, but she desired that this and the second article might be let alone until the issue of the dutch treaty. . the sixth article, she said, was reasonable. . she took exception to the words "bona à suis cujusque inimicis direpta," which, she said, was a breach of her neutrality. to that whitelocke answered as before upon the fifth article; and she desired it might be passed over as the second and fifth articles, till the issue of the dutch treaty were known. she said she would desire the liberty of fishing for herrings. whitelocke told her that upon equal conditions he presumed his highness would consent to that which should be fit. she asked what conditions he would demand. whitelocke said, those matters of commerce would be better agreed upon with the advice of merchants. . the eighth article she said was equal. . there was no difference upon it. . she judged fit to be agreed upon. . she made some short observations, which by explanation whitelocke cleared, and she agreed. . the like as upon the eleventh article. . to this article she read in latin an objection to the proviso, and said it was reasonable that, if they did break bulk, they should pay custom for so much only as they sold. whitelocke told her that objection showed that there were great men merchants in sweden, and that the objection was more in favour of the merchants than of herself. she said the merchants were crafty indeed; and she did not much insist upon it. . the last article which whitelocke had given in. to this she said it was fit that the men-of-war that should come into the other ports should be to a number ascertained, to avoid suspicion. whitelocke said he would agree thereunto, with a caution, as in the first article, to be added: if they should be driven by tempest, force, or necessity, then to be dispensed with. whitelocke desired her majesty to give him a copy of her objections. she told him, they were only a few things which she had written with her own hand, upon her apprehension of the articles, and that he should have them in writing; but she desired him not to acquaint any person here with this conference. _march , ._ [sn: whitelocke's despatches to england.] upon yesterday's conference with the queen, whitelocke wrote the passages thereof at large to thurloe, to be communicated to the council in england, and to pray their direction in some points which are set down thus in his letters:-- "i shall desire to know the pleasure of my lord protector and council, whether, in case i shall conclude those articles of amity and commerce, omitting the second, fifth, and seventh articles, if his highness will be pleased to approve thereof. i confess my humble opinion is (unless i receive commands to the contrary) that in case the peace be concluded between us and holland, and denmark included, it will be no disadvantage to us to conclude the alliance here, omitting the second, fifth, and that part of the seventh article against which her majesty objected, if she shall insist upon it. "another point wherein i pray direction is upon the sixteenth article of your treaty with the dutch, that either commonwealth shall be comprehended, if they desire it, in treaties with other princes, and notice to be given of such treaties; whether in case your treaty with the dutch shall be agreed, that then notice ought to be given to them of the treaty with the queen of sweden, and the dutch to be offered to be comprehended therein; or whether, the treaty here being begun before that with the dutch concluded, there will be any cause to give such notice to them, or to give notice to the queen of your treaty with the dutch; which you will be pleased to consider. "i am very willing to hasten homewards when i may obtain my lord's order; and that it will be no prejudice here to your service, as i conceive such a conclusion would not at all be. "i presume you have heard of the news at antwerp, which is very fresh here this week, that the archduke hath imprisoned the duke of lorraine in the castle of antwerp, which caused the gates of the town to be shut; and that hath occasioned to your friends here the loss of the comfort of this week's letters from england, the post being stayed there, as i was certified from your resident at hamburg." many despatches were made by whitelocke to his friends in england, as his constant course was. _march , ._ [sn: admiral oxenstiern visits whitelocke.] the ricks-admiral visited whitelocke. he discoursed of the treaty here, and said that the queen had not yet informed the council of it in particular. he much inquired of the nobility of england, of the earls and barons, and of their privileges, and what rank their children had, and of the several orders of knights, and of their original; in which matters whitelocke was able to give him some satisfaction. he told whitelocke that the duke of lorraine was imprisoned for conspiring with the count de bassigni to betray three strong towns to the king of france. [sn: interview with prince adolphus.] whitelocke visited prince adolphus, who also discoursed of his business, as others did. whitelocke told him of his long being here without any answer. the prince said, the queen's designs to introduce a mutation might cause it. whitelocke said he believed that the amity of england deserved so much regard as to be embraced; and that it would be all one whether the treaty should be agreed upon by the queen or by her successor, for it concerned the people and state of both nations; and he presumed that if the queen should consent to it, that his highness's brother would have the like good opinion of it. the prince said it would be most agreeable to his brother, who very much respected the english nation, as generally the swedish people did. he said that he never was present at the council, nor did meddle with any public business; but he doubted not but that whitelocke would receive contentment. whitelocke said he promised himself so much, being the protector had sent him hither to testify his respects to the queen and to the kingdom of sweden, and to offer them the amity of england. the prince also discoursed of the late king of england, and of the proceedings between him and the parliament, with great dislike thereof; to which whitelocke gave him an account, and a modest answer declining that argument with the prince, and telling him that every nation had their particular rights and laws, according to which they were governed. he testified great respect to whitelocke; and when he took his leave the prince conducted him as far as the great court, which he used not to do to others of whitelocke's quality. _march , ._ [sn: the treaty delayed by reason of the queen's abdication.] mr. bloome--who had been formerly a servant to the old duke of buckingham in england, and after that coming to sweden, was entertained by the chancellor, and his great creature, and had been employed by him as a public minister--did the honour to whitelocke to be often with him, and now, after dinner, discoursed much of the revolution which was likely to happen in this country by the queen's resignation; upon which subject whitelocke thought not fit to speak much in company. afterwards in private whitelocke asked mr. bloome if he had heard the chancellor speak of deferring his business till the prince were crowned. bloome confessed he heard the chancellor say that he thought it would be more convenient to have whitelocke's business resolved after the king should be crowned than at present. whitelocke told him (which he supposed bloome would again relate to the chancellor) that all acts of such nature concluded by the queen before her resignation would be held authentic by her successor. bloome said he believed so, but, being the change would be so soon, he thought it might be better to have the business put into the hands of the new king. whitelocke said it would require a long time to expect the new king's settlement, before which he believed his return home might be commanded. bloome said the business would be soon done after the meeting of the ricksdag, which did not use to sit long. by this and other discourses whitelocke found that there was a purpose in some to defer the conclusion of his treaty to the king, which he therefore prepared to prevent. la belle comtesse made a great entertainment and ball for montecuculi and the rest of the gallants this night, though it were the lord's day; but whitelocke nor none of his company were present at it. _march , ._ [sn: whitelocke confers with count eric oxenstiern on the articles.] grave eric came to whitelocke to confer about his treaty, and said to him. _grave eric._ the queen hath commanded me to come to you and to have some conference with you about your proposals, wherein she is pleased to make use of my service, because at this time my father is very ill of an ague, and is not able himself to meet with you; and his former indisposition of health and extraordinary affairs hath been some occasion of hindrance of the despatch of your business, as have also the uncertainty of the issue of your treaty with holland, and our great business of the queen's intentions here. _whitelocke._ i have long expected some answer to be given in my business, the greatest part whereof hath no dependence upon the treaty with holland, and the queen's intentions here have been but lately made known. i have been three months in this place without any answer to my business, although i presume that the amity of england is grateful to this nation, and may merit the acceptance. _gr. eric._ so is the friendship of sweden. _wh._ my lord protector hath testified that by sending me hither. _gr. eric._ the queen hath likewise sent several public ministers to england, and mr. lagerfeldt was a long time there without effecting anything. _wh._ he had answers to his proposals very often, and it was on his part that a conclusion was not had with him. but if you please to proceed to a conference upon my proposals, i am ready to treat with you, as i have always been to treat with my lord chancellor, your father, for whose ill-health i am heartily sorry. _gr. eric._ i am ready in the same way of secresy as it hath been carried with my father, so that mr. beningen in his letters to his superiors saith that the english ambassador did treat with none but the queen alone, and sometimes alone with the chancellor, whereby he could not possibly give any account of those transactions; for he thought that not one person in sweden, except the queen and the chancellor, knew what they were. _wh._ the gentleman hath done me an honour in that expression. _gr. eric._ my coming to your excellence is to proceed in your business; and i desire a consideration may be had of the great losses which the queen's subjects have sustained by the seizing and detaining of their ships by the english. _wh._ this is a new objection, and i am neither empowered nor have ability to cast up such accounts or to take such examinations; but there is a court of justice in england, which i presume has done, and will do, right to any who have cause to complain; and i know that my lord protector will command that justice shall be done to all the queen's subjects; and if any of them have received any injury, they ought to receive a just satisfaction from the parties that did them wrong; and, if you please, i shall mention these things in my letters to england, and when i come thither myself i will personally endeavour that the same may be had fully. _gr. eric._ i hope a just satisfaction will be given herein, without which there can be no solid foundation of amity between the two nations and their people. _wh._ the same is reasonably and mutually to be expected; and i make no question but my lord protector will order right to be done therein. _gr. eric._ the queen's subjects have received great losses under colour of contraband goods, when the same hath not been proved. _wh._ and many of our allies have been found to colour our enemies' goods to the damage of england; but these matters will be proper for an examination elsewhere. they proceeded to the particular articles. . this, eric said, was equal. . he made the same objections as the queen had done, and whitelocke gave the same answers; and eric said that this article depended upon our treaty with the dutch. . eric desired an explanation of the words "omnibus in locis quibus hactenus commercium exercebatur,"--whether that were not intended to include the english plantations in america, because traffic thither, without special license, was prohibited by our commonwealth; and he said it would be unequal for the english to have the full traffic in the queen's dominions, and her subjects not to have the like in our commonwealth. whitelocke answered, that the english desired no traffic in any of the queen's dominions out of europe, and therefore it was equal not to consent to their traffic in america; and that the opinion of the council of state in england had been made known to mr. lagerfeldt in england, in this point; which paper whitelocke then showed, and the grave urged many other arguments, but whitelocke kept himself to the paper of the council. eric said, those transactions of lagerfeldt were remitted to whitelocke's embassy. whitelocke said, that whatever his instructions might warrant, yet it would not become him to do anything contrary to that wherein the council of state had declared their judgement. the same answer whitelocke gave him concerning the herring-fishing, which eric much insisted upon; and as to the pre-emption of the commodities of sweden, mentioned in the council's paper, which whitelocke showed him, eric said that could not be, because those commodities were of very great value, and belonged to several private persons; and he demanded of whitelocke if he thought england would be contented to give a pre-emption of all their cloth. whitelocke said, the cloth of england was likewise of very great value, and there would hardly be found one stock to buy it all, and there were several staples in other countries to vent it at; and he said he thought the best way would be, first to agree upon the general amity and commerce between the two nations, and afterwards, if sweden held it fit, when they sent an ambassador to england, or otherwise, to propound anything concerning the fishing for herrings or the traffic in america, or touching a staple at narva, revel, or gothenburg (which eric likewise discoursed of at large), that the protector would give a fair and just answer. . eric made the same objections that the queen had done, and had the same answers. . the like discourse was upon this article. . the sixth, eric said, was the same in effect with the fourth article, and might be adjoined to it. whitelocke showed him the difference, chiefly in the beginning of this article; and so they passed on. . they had many arguments touching contraband goods, wherein whitelocke held himself to the paper given by the council to lagerfeldt; and eric passed it over, as depending upon the success of the treaty with holland, especially in the words "bona à suis cujusque inimicis direpta." . this, eric thought, would need explanation of the words "in quolibet suorum marium." whitelocke told him that was intended in europe only. . eric said the words "armatis vel inermibus" were not necessary, because by the law of sweden any might carry their arms with them. whitelocke told him that it was not permitted in england for so many together without license. . eric made no objection to this article. . nor any to this article. . nor was anything objected to this article. . eric said the proviso needed explanation as to the point of breaking bulk, as the queen had objected; and whitelocke gave the same answer. . the like objections and answers as before, and consent to the like amendment. eric and much other good company dined with whitelocke, and after dinner they had further discourse on the same subject. and eric promised to give his objections to whitelocke in writing, and to let him know the queen's pleasure upon their conference; which whitelocke intended to know also from the queen herself. the company being gone, whitelocke visited piementelle, who discoursed much touching the duke of lorraine, and of the insolencies of his soldiers, for which the duke would give no right; but if a poor countryman complained to him, that his wife had been ravished by his soldiers, and his goods taken away, the duke would laugh at the poor man, and say to him, "it is my condition: the king of france hath ravished my wife and my estate, and i have got another wife, and maintain myself with the goods of others; and i advise thee to do the same as i have done." piementelle informed whitelocke of a carriage of beningen of much more incivility towards the queen than that which he attributed to whitelocke towards prince adolphus; and whitelocke imparted to piementelle some passages between grave eric and whitelocke, supposing he would tell it to the queen. _march , ._ [sn: interview with general wrangel.] four of the queen's servants did whitelocke the honour to dine with him; and after they were gone, whitelocke visited the field-marshal wrangel, a gentleman of an ancient noble family in this country, son to general wrangel, of whom so often and so honourable mention is made in the german wars under gustavus adolphus, the queen's father. this field-marshal was about thirty-five years of age; his person proper and burly, his countenance martial and ingenuous, and his discourse answerable; his behaviour courteous, and full of cheerfulness in his words and actions. his education was liberal; some time he had spent in foreign parts, and had attained languages and the military part of learning. he was full of knowledge of the mathematics, and well read in story. his genius led him most to warfare, and the sea affairs seemed most suitable to his affections; whereof he would much discourse with whitelocke, and admired his relations of the english fleets and havens. his valour and conduct had commonly the best associate, good success, which he used to improve, not parting with the least advantage. this brought him to the favour of his queen and honour of his country, wherein he was a ricks-senator, and as a field-marshal commanded the army, and was ricks-vice-admiral, which charge he attained in the late war with denmark; and he it was that took the king of denmark's ships in the late fight with them. whitelocke gave him thanks for his favours to whitelocke's son at stockholm; they discoursed of the english navy, whereof wrangel knew many of the ships by name. he told whitelocke that middleton was arrived in scotland with two hundred officers and six thousand arms, which he brought from the low countries. from wrangel whitelocke went to visit woolfeldt, to congratulate his recovery of health. he told whitelocke that, by letters which he received from one of his servants in the low countries, he was advertised that the states had sold above twenty of their ships of war, and that his servant heard the admiral de witt speak of it. he also told whitelocke that he had spoken with many officers of the army, and found all of them wish that the war between england and holland might continue; by which they hoped they should join with the english, and gain advantage by it, and themselves good employment and plunder. but he said that the chancellor and his sons, and their party, desired that a peace might be between the two commonwealths, because they were rich enough, and had an interest in trade, and were no soldiers; and that the queen desired peace among all her neighbours, and although she was very courageous, yet she loved not the wars. _march , ._ [sn: further conference with the queen.] whitelocke waited on the queen, and gave her an account of the conference between grave eric and him. the queen said that grave eric had told her the same things. whitelocke replied, that her majesty should never find other than truth from him. upon the point of damages she seemed satisfied, though she were informed that those matters were remitted to whitelocke's negotiation. to which he answered as he had done before to eric; and she was contented, and said she would send an ambassador to england, by whom the affairs touching the herring-fishing and the erection of a staple and the trade in america might be concluded; and she told whitelocke that she had ordered those things which she judged fit to be added to his articles, to be written down and given to him. she asked whitelocke by what way he purposed to return to england. he said he was doubtful of going by land, and thought the passage from stockholm to lübeck would be the shortest and most convenient for him. she replied, that would be his best way, and that she would give order for some of her ships to be ready to transport him; for which whitelocke thanked her majesty. she discoursed much of england, and asked many questions about the thames and other rivers of england, and of their havens and armies; whereof whitelocke gave her a full account. she asked him in how many days one might go from plymouth to st. sebastian, and many other things on that subject. they also discoursed of religion and the worship and service of god; wherein whitelocke spake plainly and freely to her majesty, and told her that those who made a mock at religion, and were atheists in their opinion, were not only most miserable in their own condition, but brought others likewise into misery; and all of them would find that god would not be mocked, nor such conversation be excused, but would be brought into a sad account in the end; and that there was no foundation in any such people, or in their opinions, but what was sandy and would fail, and all building thereupon would totter and fall down and become rubbish; that the only solid comfort and true wisdom lay in the sincere worship and service of god, which was not only agreeable to the doctrine of truth, but to reason itself. to this, and much of the like discourse, the queen was very attentive, and seemed pleased with it. _march , ._ [sn: despatches from england.] whitelocke received his letters from england, and in those from thurloe he writes thus:-- "the particular account your excellence gives of your negotiation is very acceptable here, as is also your dexterous management thereof. the paper you were pleased to send to me shall be represented to the council; and your excellence may be assured that a due care will be taken of that business, as well for justice' sake as that your present business be not hindered by things of this kind. the bales of the queen's goods shall also be taken care of, and any omissions which have been therein rectified; and i do assure your excellence that the queen's commissary here hath such speedy and effectual despatches in everything he makes application for, that i know he cannot but give notice of it to the queen." then he gives in his letters a full relation of the state of the dutch treaty, and all particulars of it, and the likelihood of its taking effect; and gives intelligence of the french news; and sends copies of beningen's letters from upsal to the states, and of the posture of affairs in england, scotland, and ireland: and concludes,-- "therefore, with my humble thanks for your excellence's favour to me of your weekly letters, and hearty wishes for your safe and honourable return to your friends and relations here, i rest, "your excellence's most humble and faithful servant, "jo. thurloe. "_february , ._" whitelocke received many letters from his private friends, his brothers-in-law, mr. hall, mr. cokaine, mr. eltonhead, sir charles woolsey, colonel sydenham, and one from mr. selden, which for the extraordinary respect thereof, and the person's sake (of whom the queen made often inquiry), is fit to be remembered, and was thus:-- [sn: letter from selden.] "_to his excellence the lord whitelocke, lord ambassador to her most excellent majesty of sweden._ "may it please your excellence, "there is nothing happens here that can be worthy of your knowledge but you meet with it doubtless long before i could send it,--indeed, i think, long before i know it,--so that i cannot present you with any english news: my still keeping in from the open cold air makes me a mere winter stranger in my own country. the best news i have heard since i had the honour to see you, and that which brought me with it an ample store of gladness, was the assurance of your excellence's safety, which a false rumour with great confidence had utterly destroyed here. there is none living can with more hearty affection wish all happiness to you, and good success in your great employment there, and a safe and timely return, than doth most really, "your excellence's most obliged "and most humble servant, "j. selden. "_whitefriars, february , ._" the occasion of that passage in his letter of a false rumour was news brought into england that whitelocke was stabbed and murdered in sweden; and thus his death was with much confidence reported from several hands, and from divers intelligences out of several parts of christendom. whitelocke's friends were much startled at this news, and the more because of former intelligences of designs of that nature against him, whereof they wrote him word; and he was glad to read the news, and that, through the goodness of god, he was able to confute those reports. they were kept from whitelocke's wife by the care of his friends, till one in gladness came to give her joy that the ill news of her husband was not true; which brought the whole matter to her knowledge, and herself to great perplexity upon the sudden apprehension and fright of it, though there was no truth in it. whitelocke, that he might not seem wholly to neglect the queen's favour, had sent a packet of his letters which had no secrets unto monsieur bonele, the queen's commissary in england, who wrote back an account to whitelocke of his care of them, and of the command he had received from the queen so to do, and prayed whitelocke to speak to the queen on bonele's behalf. _march , ._ [sn: prince adolphus visits whitelocke.] prince adolphus visited whitelocke, and they discoursed much of england and of whitelocke's business; whom the prince persuaded to stay in patience for an answer, and he doubted not but that he would receive satisfaction. whitelocke said that hitherto he had been very patient, and would continue so, and not importune anybody to speed his answer, being it concerned both nations; and he believed that sweden would be as well disposed to entertain the amity of england as england had been in the offer of it. but whitelocke thought fit to inform the prince and some others that he thought his residence here would not be long, and that as soon as my lord protector should send his letter for his return to england (which he expected in a short time), he would presently take his journey. they discoursed also touching his brother, who was to succeed, and of the brotherly affection between them; as also of the proposal which had been heretofore made in the ricksdag of the queen to marry his royal highness, and the council's advice and endeavours to further the same; and how it was not brought to pass, the queen being wholly adverse to marriage, but causing the succession of the prince palatine to be enacted by the ricksdag after her majesty, if she had no children. and in these particulars the prince was free in his discourse, but whitelocke thought not fit for him to be so. [sn: letter of jonathan pickes.] whitelocke communicated to some of his company a letter which he received from a member of a congregation in london, which was thus:-- "_for his excellence the lord ambassador whitelocke at sweden._ "my lord, "the wise and holy carriage of solomon before the queen of sheba are more lasting monuments of his praise than his targets of gold, or magnificent temple. the glory of saints is a glorious name, by which, though dead, yet they speak. god will not be ungrateful, nor unfaithful to forget or not to recompense any labour of love. the interest of christ,--what greater jewel in the world! and yet how little liked and loved by the world! all seek their own, not the things of jesus christ. the best, the noblest, the most lasting, yet not minded: our own things, poor, low, uncertain, unsatisfactory, yet pursued. the heart runneth after the wedge of gold, and the mind seeks for greatness. give me honour, or else i die: a crown here is more desired than heaven hereafter. divine love hath great danger accompanying it, but the recompense is answerable: 'be thou faithful unto death, and i will give thee a crown of life.' learned paul counts all things but dung and dross to holy christ; and moses esteemed reproaches for christ, and afflictions with the people of christ, greater riches than the treasures of egypt or the honours at court. and now, sir, will you have the meaning of all? it is only a christian motive to you to eye the highest lord and the best interest with the greatest industry; that his honour, which is best of all, be dearer to you than all country honour: life, world, are not to be named in the day of his glory. oh mind him who will not forget you in the least! there's none in heaven like him: can there be anything on earth compared to him? two things are chiefly to be minded in all actings,--the springs from whence, and the centre to which, all moves. if love to god be the spring of all, and glory for god the centre of all, then the heart is upright in all. remember the blessed sound, 'well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful in a little, but thou shalt be enjoyer of much; enter into thy lord's joy.' and truly, sir, you have been not a little in my thoughts to god for you; so hath it emboldened me thus to speak to god for you. my soul and many more have been set a-praising god on your behalf, for that noble christian testimony and dislike of that wicked custom of cup-health pledging; whereas a christian's health is god, and his cup salvation. and blessed be the lord, that did give you to dislike the ball of pleasure, and that the lord of that day was so precious. go on nobly for the lord; give your testimony against the wicked customs of a strange country or dying world; bear his image in all your transactions, and follow his steps who was the most glorious ambassador that ever was; and in this motion the lord fill your sails with his gales, make you holily successful, and give you to see your land and relations full of heavenly fruition, is the humble and hearty desire of one of the least sons of zion, ready to serve the lord in you or yours. "jonathan pickes." _march , ._ doctor whistler made a copy of latin verses upon the queen's abdication, which, for the ingenuity and fancy, were worthy the sight of a prince; and whitelocke sent them to the queen, who was much taken with them. whitelocke was so pleased with those verses that, having a little leisure, himself turned them into english.[ ] whitelocke having sent to know if the queen were at leisure that he might wait upon her, she returned an excuse that she was not well: she came away sick from the public schools, where she had been to grace the disputations of a young swedish baron with her presence. [sn: effect of the peace with holland.] senator bundt visited whitelocke, and discoursed with him in english, which he spake indifferently well, and was the only swede he conversed with in that language. part of their discourse was to this effect:-- _bundt._ mr. beningen, the holland resident in this court, acquainted me that his superiors have concluded the agreement with england: only some provinces desire a more express inclusion of the king of denmark than is yet contained in the articles; and they are much troubled that, being upon the conclusion of the treaty, you make so great preparations of war, and have so powerful a fleet at sea; and we here do much wonder what should be your design to have so strong a fleet, and so soon out at sea. _wh._ the design is for the defence of the commonwealth; and it is our custom not to trust to the success of any treaties, which is uncertain, but to prepare for all events. if the treaty be agreed, it will be religiously observed on our part, and the navy will be employed to scour the seas of pirates and enemies, that trade may be free and safe; and we always use in time of peace to have a fleet at sea; and if the war continue, we shall be the more ready, by the blessing of god, to maintain our right. but what suspicion have you here of our navy? _bundt._ we suppose it may be employed to open the passage of the sound, and make the trade and navigation there free. _wh._ the hindrance of navigation there is more prejudicial{ } to sweden than to england. we can have our commodities at gothenburg and in other places, without passing the baltic sea. _bundt._ many amongst us know not what to think of your fleet, and it troubles some. _wh._ i hope we shall be in nearer amity, and then you will be pleased at it. have the senators consulted about the matters of my treaty, or of remitting it to the new king? _bundt._ we have not advised any such thing, but believe the best way for effecting your business will be by the queen herself; and if any tell you the contrary, they are much mistaken in the affairs of this kingdom, and do not give you a right understanding of them. this being wholly contrary to what was informed by monsieur bloome, the chancellor's creature, caused whitelocke the more to mind it, and endeavour to obviate that prejudice of delay to his business; and finding by this discourse with bundt how much the dutch resident and others here were amused at the english fleet now at sea, he made use thereof, and gave advice of it to his superiors in england. _march , ._ [sn: intrigues of the dutch resident against whitelocke.] whitelocke sent to inquire of the queen's health; and it being the lord's day, she was in her chapel. divers english and scots of the town came to whitelocke's house to hear sermons there; and among them was monsieur ravius, who acquainted whitelocke that one of the queen's chaplains asked ravius how long whitelocke intended to stay in sweden. ravius said he would shortly return to his own country. the chaplain replied, he did not believe that, but he thought whitelocke would stay here a long time, and that he durst not return to england because of the displeasure of the protector against him. and when he was answered that whitelocke came hither not in the posture of a man out of favour, and that the protector since his accession to the government had sent him new credentials, and expressed much favour to him, and sent to be certified what respect the queen gave him, the chaplain replied that whitelocke was sent hither purposely to be removed out of england, and because he had been of the former parliament; to which ravius said, that many who were of the former parliament were now in public offices, as whitelocke was. there was cause to believe that this and many the like stories were feigned by the holland resident and other enemies of the commonwealth, to asperse whitelocke and his business, and to give some obstruction to it; but whitelocke took little notice of such things, only he thanked monsieur ravius for his defence of whitelocke and of the truth. it was also related to whitelocke that the inauguration of his royal highness could not probably be performed till the feast of st. john the baptist, and that then nothing could be concluded in his business till the feast (as they expressed it) of the holy archangel st. michael next following, because it was fit to be remitted to the prince for his final agreement thereunto; and so the treaty must necessarily receive a deferring till that time, which, they said, would be best for whitelocke's affairs. whitelocke told them that it would be somewhat difficult to persuade him that such a delay of his business would be best; he was sufficiently convinced of the contrary, and that such an obstruction would render his treaty wholly fruitless both to england and sweden, and that he hoped to be himself in england long before the time which they prefixed for the beginning of his treaty with the new king; and that he daily expected the commands of the protector touching his return home, which he should readily and willingly obey, whether his treaty here should be concluded or not. he spake the more to this effect, and the oftener, that the same might come to the ear of the chancellor and other senators. _march , ._ [sn: peace signed between england and the united provinces.] whitelocke visited piementelle, who communicated to him the news of the duke of lorraine, and that the united provinces of the netherlands had ratified the articles with england. whitelocke asked if groningen had consented. he said yes, but with this restriction, that the prince of orange should be comprised in the treaty, which might yet cause some obstruction in it. whitelocke imparted to him some of his news, and imparted such passages of his conferences and business as he desired might by him be related to the queen. [sn: senator schütt affects to be favourable to the treaty.] senator schütt visited whitelocke, and staid with him above two hours. they discoursed of many things unnecessary to be remembered; some was thus:-- _schütt._ i am sorry that the business of your treaty goes on so slowly; but i hope you will excuse it, in regard the chancellor is not quick in despatches, and affects long deliberations in great matters. _whitelocke._ that is an argument of his prudence and well weighing of things before he come to a resolution; and certainly he hath had sufficient time of deliberation in my business. _sch._ the chancellor sometimes may take more time than is necessary for one business, and borrow it for another; he knows the advantages of times and seasons, and how to improve them. _wh._ i have found it so; but methinks my business should have been so acceptable as to have prevented such great delays. _sch._ your negotiation as to the amity with england was in consideration with the council here before your arrival; and all of us agreed that it was more desirable than any other. _wh._ i believe it would be agreeable to you, who are persons of great experience, knowing the interest of your own country, and how considerable the english nation is; and this caused a belief in me that i might promise myself an answer to my proposals before my departure from hence. _sch._ the great affairs of this kingdom, and the change likely to happen, have put a stop to all other business; and in case your negotiation cannot be brought to a conclusion during your stay here, yet it may be agreed upon afterwards by an ambassador to be sent from hence to england. _wh._ my lord protector having testified so much respect to the queen, as he hath done in sending me ambassador hither, for me, after four or five months' residence and negotiation in this place, to be sent home again without any conclusion of my business, but the same to be remitted to the sending of an ambassador from hence to england, would be no answer to the respect of the protector in sending me hither. _sch._ the parliament sent your excellence hither, as i understood, and not the protector. _wh._ my coming hither was at first by my lord protector's desire, he being then general, and without his earnest request to me i had not undertaken it; and since his access to the government i have received new credentials from him, by virtue whereof only i have negotiated, and am the first public minister employed by his highness. _sch._ it is a very great respect which the protector hath manifested to you, and by you to our queen and nation, and that which you say carries reason with it. i shall do all that possibly may lie in my power to testify my respects and service to his highness and commonwealth of england, and to your excellence their honourable ambassador. _wh._ you are pleased to express a great honour and esteem for my lord protector and for his servant, whereof i shall not fail, by any service in my power, to make acknowledgment to your excellence. there were many other compliments and discourses between them; and the senator fell into a relation of russia, where he had been, and of the great duke's bringing at one time into the field an army of , men, divided into three parties, whereof one part fell upon poland, and had lately taken divers considerable places in that kingdom; and much more he spake of this exploit, which is omitted. _march , ._ [sn: senator schütt's duplicity.] whitelocke was somewhat surprised by the carriage of senator schütt to him yesterday, and with his freedom of discourse, which showed him either to be a courtier and versed in the art of simulation, or the reports made of him to whitelocke to be untrue. now he seemed clearly for the league with england; before, he expressed himself against it; now he showed civility and respect to whitelocke and to his superiors; before, he spake disdainfully of them and their affairs. but an ambassador must hear and see many things, and yet take no notice of them; must court an enemy to become a friend, as he believed he had done to schütt, who, after acquaintance between him and whitelocke, became very friendly. but whitelocke held it requisite to keep at somewhat more distance with him than with others, because he had been informed that there was not much of kindness between the chancellor and this gentleman, which was confirmed by discourse this day with lagerfeldt. _lagerfeldt._ i entreat your excellence's excuse for my long absence, which hath been occasioned by an employment lately bestowed on me by her majesty, which takes up my time in the discharge of it. _whitelocke._ i do congratulate the honour and favour of the queen towards you, in this part of a reward for your good service in england, whereof i was a witness and have affirmed it to her majesty. what is the office she hath given you? _lag._ it is the vice-president of the college of trade. _wh._ i suppose the office is profitable as well as honourable. _lag._ a competent salary is annexed to the office, and with us no person doth serve in any office or public employment, but he hath a salary for it from the state. _wh._ that is honourable, and for the advantage of the state. one of your ricks-senators was here with me yesterday, and i had much discourse with him about my business. _lag._ which of them was with your excellence? _wh._ the senator schütt, whom i saw not before. _lag._ i wonder at his visit; did he express much respect to your commonwealth? _wh._ as much as any i have met with. _lag._ i much wonder at it; but shall advise your excellence not to depend much upon this gentleman, nor to be over-free in your discourse with him; for he hath been under a cloud, and is very intimate with the holland resident. _wh._ i thank you for your caution; but i have communicated nothing to him but what might be published. _lag._ my lord eric oxenstiern hath, by the queen's command, some papers touching your business to be imparted to you. _wh._ do you remember the effect of them? _lag._ they contain some explanation of the articles given in by your excellence, and some additions offered to them, but not much differing from those exhibited by you. they had much discourse about these additions and explanations, whereof whitelocke endeavoured to get as much knowledge from lagerfeldt as he could beforehand, that he might be the better prepared to debate upon them when they should be produced; and he declared his sense positively against some of them to lagerfeldt, which proved an advantage. some of those additions mentioned by lagerfeldt, being upon his report to grave eric of whitelocke's judgement upon them, were left out of grave eric's paper. [sn: further conference with grave eric oxenstiern.] in the afternoon grave eric came to whitelocke, and they had this discourse together:-- _gr. eric._ here is a paper, which i shall read unto you, containing some matters wherein i desire your consideration, being they relate to the treaty, as touching contraband goods; that there may be such a liberty, that trade be not impeached, that prizes may not be brought into the ports of friends, nor enemies admitted into the havens of the friends and allies of either nations; that the fishing for herrings and the trade in america may be free for the swedes, and that they may have satisfaction for the wrongs done to them by the english at sea. _whitelocke._ here is very much in these particulars to which i have formerly given my answer, and can give no other. england hath had no reason to give a liberty of contraband goods when their enemies deny it, and it were hard to forbid friends to bring prizes into the ports of friends, being no prejudice to the owner of the port, but a discourtesy to the friend; neither is it reason to deny a friend to enter into my harbour because he is an enemy to another that is my friend also, whose quarrel i am not bound to wed. for the liberty of herring-fishing, it may be had from our commonwealth upon reasonable conditions; and for the trade in america, i am not instructed to assent to anything therein, but i supposed it had been intended to send from hence to the protector about it. and for satisfaction of wrongs, i know none done by the english to the queen's subjects, and imagined that her majesty had been satisfied in these points. _gr. eric._ i have order to acquaint you with these particulars, and to confer with you about them, being esteemed by us just and reasonable. _wh._ after my attendance here three or four months without any answer to my proposals, i did not expect to receive new ones from you so different from those which i gave in with equal respect to the good of both nations; and i having offered the friendship of england to you in general, you answer that it will be accepted, but upon particular and hard conditions. _gr. eric._ i confess there hath been too much delay in your business, but it hath been occasioned by the uncertainty of the issue of your treaty with holland. _wh._ the issue of that treaty is not yet known, and the articles given in by me had no relation thereunto, and were proposed three months since. _gr. eric._ at present we take it for granted that the peace is concluded between you and holland, and that now you are good friends. _wh._ i wish we may be so; and if that peace be concluded, there is the less need of your proposals touching prizes, contraband{ } goods, etc. _gr. eric._ though the peace be concluded between you, yet it is prudent to make those provisions, in case of a new war with them or others. _wh._ i shall desire a copy of your particulars. _gr. eric._ you shall have them; and i desire you to read this paper, which is an order of the council of state in england, delivered to mr. lagerfeldt when he was there, whereby these particulars are remitted to your negotiation. _wh._ this paper bears date after my departure from england, and i never saw it before, nor received any particular instructions on this subject. _gr. eric._ if you are not satisfied touching the point of damages sustained by her majesty's subjects in the taking of their ships and goods by the english, there may be witnesses examined here for proof thereof. _wh._ i cannot erect a court or commissioners, or consent to examination of witnesses, in this place and upon this occasion; nor can i take accounts of merchants; i confess my ignorance. _gr. eric._ it may be contained in the treaty that justice shall be done, and satisfaction given to my countrymen for the wrongs done to them. _wh._ that cannot be so expressed without accusing our commonwealth, and at least confessing wrongs done, and implying that justice hath not been done; but i can assure you that the commonwealth hath done, and will do, justice to their friends and to all persons, and i shall do all that lies in my power for that end. _gr. eric._ i shall inform the queen what hath passed in our conference, and know her majesty's pleasure therein. _march , ._ monsieur lyllicrone informed whitelocke that prince adolphus had taken a solemn leave of the queen, and was gone into the country. whitelocke asked if it was upon any discontent; lyllicrone said he knew not. whitelocke asked if he would not be at the ricksdag; lyllicrone said he believed the prince did not intend to be at it, but to travel _incognito_ with a few servants into france and italy. [sn: the french advances resumed.] the french resident visited whitelocke in the afternoon, and seeing his coaches and horses ready to go abroad to take the air, offered, with many compliments, to bear whitelocke company, which he could not refuse. the resident acquainted whitelocke that monsieur bordeaux, now in london, had received a commission from the king of france to be his ambassador to the protector, and that bordeaux had written to this gentleman here, to salute whitelocke on his part, and to signify to him that bordeaux would be willing to entertain a correspondence with whitelocke, and had expressed much affection to his person. whitelocke answered that he should be ready to testify all respect and service to monsieur bordeaux, and desired the resident to testify the same to him at his next opportunity. lagerfeldt came to whitelocke, who had some trouble in discourse with them both together,--the resident speaking only french, and lagerfeldt only latin, and he must answer them in their respective languages. after the resident was gone, lagerfeldt discoursed with whitelocke about the treaty, particularly of the new proposals showed him by grave eric. whitelocke gave the same answers to lagerfeldt as he had done to eric: then lagerfeldt said, that by command of the queen, he was to tender to whitelocke a copy of articles. whitelocke asked if they were the same that grave eric yesterday imparted to him, and whether lagerfeldt had any speech with the queen this day about them. lagerfeldt said they were altered in some part, so as to make them the more acceptable to whitelocke, and that he had a few words with the queen about them. this caused whitelocke to marvel that the queen should pretend to him that she was sick, and therefore put off the audience which he desired this day, and yet her majesty found herself well enough to peruse and debate with lagerfeldt these articles; but he said nothing thereof to others, only made thereof his own observations and use, as he saw occasion. lagerfeldt and he perused these new articles, and had much discourse upon them, and in effect the same as with grave eric. [sn: whitelocke's amusements in his household.] in the long winter-nights here, whitelocke thought fit to give way to some passages of diversion to please his people, and to keep them together in his house, and from temptations to disorder and debauchery in going abroad, besides the danger of the streets in being late out. he therefore had music, both instrumental and vocal, in concert, performed by those of his own family, who were some of them excellent in that art, and himself sometimes bore his part with them. he also gave way to their exercise and pleasure of dancing in his great chamber, that he might be present at it, and admitted no undecent postures, but seemly properties of habits in their shows. he encouraged public disputations in latin among the young men who were scholars, himself present in the great chamber, and appointing a moderator; and this exercise they found useful and pleasant, and improving their language. to this end likewise they had public declamations in latin, himself giving them the question, as "an quodcunque evenerit sit optimum," etc., so that his house was like an academy. _march , ._ [sn: whitelocke again negotiates with the queen.] whitelocke attended the queen; and after some discourses of pleasantries, they fell upon the treaty, and whitelocke said to her:-- _whitelocke._ my business, madam, is now brought to a conclusion. _queen._ is it to your liking? _wh._ pardon me, madam, if i say it is not at all to my liking; for in the articles which grave eric sent me there were many particulars to which i could not agree, and i much wondered to receive such articles from him, being persuaded that your majesty was before satisfied by me in most of the particulars in them. _qu._ what are those particulars? the articles whitelocke had in readiness with him, and his observations upon them, having taken pains this morning to compare their articles with his own, and to frame his objections upon them. the queen wrote down the objections with her own hand, and then entered into a debate with whitelocke upon the whole, and seemed to be satisfied in most of the points insisted on by whitelocke; but was stiff upon the law relating to ships of war which is mentioned in her eleventh article, and upon some other particulars. after the debate, she desired that whitelocke would the next morning bring to her his objections in writing; and then she said, "we will not be long before we come to a conclusion of this business." whitelocke thought it convenient to make his addresses to the queen herself, and, as much as he could, to decline conferences with her commissioner grave eric, whom he found more than others averse and cross to him in his treaty. and the queen was pleased to admit whitelocke to this way, and was not displeased to have applications in this and other affairs of the like nature to be made upon her person; whereof whitelocke had private information before from piementelle, woolfeldt, and others, whose advice he pursued herein with good success. her majesty also permitted whitelocke to have a free debate with her upon the points controverted, and would return answers to every argument with as much reason and ingenuity as any of her ministers of state, and be sooner than they satisfied with what was reason. she told whitelocke that she marvelled that he, having received those long articles but late the last night, should be able to make objections, and to enter into a debate upon all of them this day, when her people had much longer time to frame these articles. whitelocke answered, "yes, by two or three months." after some other discourse, whitelocke left her in a pleasant humour. being returned home, lagerfeldt came again to him to sift him, and to know what answer the queen had given to his objections upon the new articles. but whitelocke fitted his inquiry, and thought not convenient to communicate to him more than what might advantage his business to be reported to grave eric; and because, in all conferences with the queen, no person was admitted to be present with them, not her own commissioners for the treaty, or any of the senators, for the secresy of the business, which was much to the liking of whitelocke, and furtherance of the treaty. they had much discourse upon the new articles, to the same effect as formerly; and lagerfeldt said he doubted not but the queen would in a short time conclude it to whitelocke's satisfaction. after this discourse whitelocke inquired of lagerfeldt how the chancellor's health was, and what physicians were about him. lagerfeldt said he was still sick of his ague, and had no physician attending him but one who had been a chirurgeon in the army, and now constantly lived in the house with the chancellor as a humble friend, sat at his table, and had a pension from him of four hundred rix-dollars a year; who had some good receipts, especially for the stone, which agreed with the chancellor's constitution, which this chirurgeon only studied and attended. and so it was generally in this great and large country. whitelocke met with no doctor of physic or professed physician in any town or country, not any attending the person of the queen herself; but there are many good women, and some private persons, who use to help people that are diseased by some ordinary known medicines; and their diseases are but few, their remedies generally communicated, and they live many of them to a great age. [sn: letters and despatches from england.] whitelocke received letters from england, which were always welcome, especially bringing the good news of the welfare of his relations. he received very respectful letters from the earl of clare, sir charles woolsey, colonel sydenham, the master of the rolls, mr. reynolds, lord commissioner lisle, and divers others, besides his usual letters from his wife, mr. hall, mr. cokaine, his brothers-in-law, and divers other friends. in those from thurloe he had the particular passages of the dutch treaty, and that he believed the peace with them would be concluded; and in those letters thurloe also writes thus:-- "your excellence's of the th of january i communicated to his highness and to the council, who, although they do not by this transaction of the queen very well understand her intentions as to the peace, yet they are very much satisfied with the management thereof on your part, and commit the issue thereof unto the lord, who will either bless your endeavours by bringing things to a desired issue, or otherwise dispose of this affair to the glory of god, the good of the commonwealth, and the comfort of yourself who are employed in it. "the council, upon consideration of the whole matter, did not find it necessary to give you any further directions, nor did his highness, especially seeing his last letters but one did express his sense upon that treaty, and nothing hath occurred since which hath given any cause of alteration. "the french king and cardinal, seeing themselves disappointed at the hague as to their inclusion in that treaty, endeavour to effect it here; and to that purpose the cardinal sent hither one monsieur le baas to congratulate his highness, and to assure him of the friendship of the king; and that, if he pleased, the king would banish charles stuart and his family out of his dominions, and proclaim the protector in france; and hath since sent a commissioner to monsieur bordeaux to be ambassador. "the spanish ambassador doth also very much court his highness and the present government. don francisco romero, captain of the guard to the archduke, arrived here the last night, to congratulate his highness in the duke's name. "i have moved the council in the two papers your excellence trusted to my care. what order the council hath been pleased to make thereupon you will see by their enclosed order, and my care shall not be wanting to see an effectual execution thereof. "your excellence's humble and faithful servant, "jo. thurloe. "_ th february, ._" the council's order was this:-- "at the council chamber, whitehall. "_friday, th of february, ._ [sn: order in council on the swedish prizes.] "on consideration of several papers which came enclosed in a letter from the lord ambassador whitelocke, and were this day presented to the council, containing some complaints made by divers of the subjects of her majesty of sweden, viz. concerning a swedish galliot called the 'land of promise,' and a ship called the 'castle of stockholm,' and certain goods taken out of the 'gold star' of hamburg, and claimed as belonging to alexander ceccony, gentleman, principal officer of the queen's wardrobe: _ordered_, that several copies of the said papers be forthwith sent to the judges of the court of admiralty and to the commissioners for prize goods, to whom it is respectively referred, diligently to inform themselves of the true state of the said ship and goods, and what proceedings have been had in the court of admiralty or prize office touching the same or any of them, and thereof to make report to the council. and it is especially recommended and given in charge to the said judges that both in these and in all matters concerning the said queen or her subjects, which do or shall depend before them, all right and fair respect be given upon all occasions; and that whatsoever of the said goods belonging to her majesty's servant they shall discover, be by them ordered to be forthwith delivered. "ex^r w. jessop, "clerk of the council." this order whitelocke caused to be translated into latin, and sent copies of it to the chancellor, to grave eric, to mr. ceccony, and to others; and he showed it to the queen, and all were pleased with it, hoping for further fruit of it, and esteeming whitelocke to be in good credit with his superiors. _march , ._ [sn: reports of the negotiation to england.] whitelocke made his despatches for england, and wrote above twenty letters to several of his friends there, finding it grateful to them to receive letters from him at such a distance; and that answers to letters are expected, and ill taken if neglected; that they cost little, and please much. he was hindered by woolfeldt, who made a long visit to him, though upon the post day; at which he wondered, in regard woolfeldt had been himself often employed as a public minister, and knew so well what belonged to the making of despatches. to recover his lost time, whitelocke (as he often used when business pressed him) wrote one letter himself and dictated two others to his secretaries at the same time, and so, in effect, wrote three letters at once. the letter which he now wrote to secretary thurloe contained his whole transactions since his last letters to him; and the conclusion of the letter, showing the state of his negotiation, was this:-- "this afternoon grave eric came to me from the queen, who desired that my audience, appointed this day, might be put off till the holidays were past, and said that by reason of the sacrament upon easter day, this day and tomorrow were to be spent in preparation thereunto; but he told me that she commanded him to receive my objections to his articles in writing, the which i gave him according to that large paper which you will receive herewith. we had very much debate upon the particulars, much of it according to what i have mentioned before. "i have thought fit to send you this large paper that you might see the whole business before you at one view, and it hath cost me some pains. i shall continue my best endeavours to bring your business to a good effect. i am put to struggle with more difficulties than i could expect, and their policy here is great. one may soon be overtaken with long, intricate, and new proposals; but i hope god will direct me, whom i do seek, and shall not wilfully transgress my instructions. "when i speak with the queen, she seems to be satisfied; and then some of the grandees seek to persuade her to a contrary opinion, and to keep me from her, and lay objections in the way to cross it (for we want no enemies here). i then endeavour again to satisfy the queen, and break through their designs as well as i can; to do which, and to get a good despatch against all opposition, and yet so as not to supplicate anything from them, nor in the least to prostitute the honour of my lord protector and of the commonwealth, or to prejudice them, is a task hard enough for a great favourite, much more hard for a stranger, and whose differing principles may render him the less acceptable. however, i shall hope that the lord will direct me for the best, whether they agree with my judgement or not. "if i can conclude with them, i shall presently be upon my return, and hope within a week or two to receive his highness's order to give me leave to come home. what i cannot consent to or obtain at present, i presume they will be contented to have referred to a future agreement, wherein there can be no prejudice (in my humble opinion) to your affairs. "i ask your pardon for my tedious informations, wherein i take no pleasure; but supposing the business to require it, i presume you will excuse "your very affectionate friend to serve you, "b. whitelocke. "_upsal, th march, ._" most of the night was spent by whitelocke in making his despatches for england; neither did he neglect any one friend from whom he had received the favour and kindness of their letters to him here; by which civility he obtained the more advice and intelligence from england, and made good use of it in this court. his constant letters from his wife and other private friends he also found of much comfort and advantage to him. _march , ._ [sn: new year's day, old style.] this day, by the swedish computation as well as that of england, is the first day of the year . mr. bloome came to whitelocke with a compliment from the chancellor, that he was sorry he could not visit whitelocke before his going out of town, because he was ill, and retired himself into the country, to be quit from business and to recover his health; and at his return he would come to whitelocke and confer with him. this gentleman whitelocke apprehended to be often sent to him as a spy, to inquire of his intentions, and therefore he thought good to make use of him by telling such things to him as whitelocke thought and wished might be again reported by bloome unto the chancellor. therefore, among other discourses, whitelocke told bloome that france, spain, portugal, italy, holland, switzerland, denmark, and other princes and states, had sent their public ministers to the protector, desiring friendship with him; but his highness having sent his ambassador into this kingdom, they had testified so little respect to him, that in three or four months' time they had not vouchsafed to give him an answer to his proposals. mr. symonds, an englishman, excellent in his art of graving and taking off pictures in little, in wax, for which he had regard in this court and promises of money, this person often frequented whitelocke, his countryman, and his house, and after some time made a request to whitelocke to speak to the queen in his favour. whitelocke, knowing that ambassadors' offices ought not to be cheap, told symonds in a kind of drollery that surely he could not expect such a courtesy from him, since, being an englishman, he had not acquainted the english ambassador with any matter of consequence, nor done any service to his country, since whitelocke's arrival here; that when he should deserve it, whitelocke would be ready to do him service. _march , ._ [sn: whitelocke reproves the english for disorder on the lord's day.] _the lord's day._--divers english and scots came to the public duties of the day in whitelocke's house; and amongst other discourse whitelocke learnt from them that waters, one of his trumpets, going late in the evening to his lodging, was set upon by some drunkards with their swords, and wounded, whereof he continued very ill. whitelocke examined and reproved some of his company for disorders committed by them on the lord's day and other days, which he told them he would not bear; and it was the worse in their commitment of those crimes, and the less reason for them to expect a connivance thereat, because whitelocke had so often and so publicly inveighed against the profanation of that day in this place; but among a hundred some will be always found base, vicious, and wicked. _march , ._ [sn: festivities of easter monday.] this being easter monday, some of whitelocke's people went to the castle to hear the queen's music in her chapel, which they reported to whitelocke to be very curious; and that in the afternoon was appointed an ancient solemnity of running at the ring. some italians of the queen's music dined with whitelocke, and afterwards sang to him and presented him with a book of their songs, which, according to expectation, was not unrewarded. whitelocke went not abroad this festival-time to visit anybody, nor did any grandees come to visit him; he had an imagination that they might be forbidden to do it, the rather because piementelle and woolfeldt, who were accustomed to come often to him, had of late refrained to do it, and had not answered whitelocke's last visit in ten days. the queen had also excused her not admitting whitelocke to have audiences, by saying she was busy or sick, when, at the same time, piementelle and others were admitted to her presence, and for two or three hours together discoursed with her. this was resented and spoken of by whitelocke so as it might come to the queen's ear. _march , ._ [sn: the swedes desire to defer the treaty until the new reign.] after the master of the ceremonies had dined with whitelocke, and was in a good humour, he desired whitelocke to withdraw from the rest of the strangers, and that he might speak privately with him; and going into the bedchamber, the master told him that he had heard from some that whitelocke had expressed a discontent, and the master desired to know if any had given him offence, or if there were anything wherein the master might do him service. whitelocke said he apprehended some occasion of discontent in that he had attended here near four months, and had not yet obtained any answer to his proposals. the master excused the delay in regard of the queen's purpose of quitting the government. whitelocke said he believed that occasioned much trouble to her majesty, and which gave him cause to doubt that his frequent visits of her majesty might give her some inconvenience. he replied that whitelocke's company was very agreeable to the queen, though at present she was overcharged with business. _whitelocke._ i do acknowledge the favours i have received from her majesty, and your civilities to me, for which i shall not be ungrateful. _mast. cer._ would it not be of advantage to your business to attend for the conclusion of it until the coronation of our new king, to be assented to by him; by which means the alliance will be more firm than to have it done by the queen so near her quitting of the government? _wh._ i shall hardly stay so long a time as till the beginning of the reign of your new king, nor have i any letters of credence or commission but to the queen; and i believe that all acts done by her before her resignation will be held good, and particularly this touching the friendship with england, which, i suppose, will be also very agreeable to his kingly highness, and be inviolably observed by him. _mast. cer._ i do not doubt but that the new king will observe the alliance which the queen shall make with england, but perhaps it might better be made with the new king himself; and although you have no letters of credence to him, yet you may write into england and have them sent to you. _wh._ that will require more time than i have to stay in this place. i believe the new king will not be crowned yet these two or three months; and it will be two months from this time before i can receive new credentials from england, and two or three months after that before i can return home; by which account i shall be abroad yet eight months longer, which will be till the next winter; and that would be too long a time for me to be absent from my family and affairs in england. _mast. cer._ i shall speak with the queen in this business, and shortly return to you. it was imagined by whitelocke that the master of the ceremonies was purposely sent to him to sound him touching the deferring of the treaty; and the like errand mr. bloome came to him about; and whitelocke fully declared to them his distaste of any thought thereof, and the more at large and positively because he knew what he said would be reported to the full to her majesty and to the chancellor. _march , ._ the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke from the queen to excuse whitelocke's not having had audiences when he desired them; which he said was because her majesty had been so full of business, which had hindered her, and particularly because of the holidays; but he said, if whitelocke pleased to have his audience tomorrow, the queen would be glad to see him. whitelocke desired the master to return his thanks to her majesty for her favours, and to let her know that he should be ready to attend her at such time as she should appoint. the master said he would acquaint her majesty herewith, and so went away in the midst of dinner. [sn: lord douglas visits whitelocke.] the lord douglas, a scotsman, came to visit whitelocke. he is an ancient servant to this crown; he was a page to king gustavus adolphus, and by him preferred to military command, wherein he quitted himself so well that he was promoted to be general of the horse, and was now a baron and ricks-stallmaster, or master of the horse, in sweden. he excused himself that he had not oftener visited whitelocke, being hindered by his sickness of an ague, which had held him thirty weeks, and had not yet left him. he said that the next day after his arrival here the queen asked him if he had been to see the english ambassador, and that whitelocke was much obliged to the queen for her good opinion of him: whereof whitelocke said he had received many testimonies, and of her respects to the protector and commonwealth as well as to their servant. douglas said, that besides her respect to the protector, she had a particular respect for whitelocke; with much discourse of that nature. [sn: further excuses for delay.] he then went to visit his old comrade colonel potley, who was ill and kept his chamber. he fell upon the discourse that it would be convenient for whitelocke to stay here till the coronation of the new king, that the treaty might be concluded by him: to which the same answers were given by whitelocke as he had before given to the master of the ceremonies. whilst the lord douglas was in whitelocke's house, grave eric came to whitelocke by command of the queen, to excuse the delay of his business, and that some of his audiences had been remitted. he said, her majesty had been informed by the master of the ceremonies that whitelocke should say he had demanded audiences three times, and could not obtain one. whitelocke answered, that there was a little mistake therein, though there was something near it, and said, it was not his desire to occasion trouble to her majesty. eric answered, that the queen desired whitelocke would excuse her by reason of the holidays, during which time they did not use in this country to treat of any business, and that the queen had likewise many other hindrances; but that whensoever it should please whitelocke to come to her majesty, he would be very welcome. he said, he was going out of town to his father to conduct him hither, and that within a day or two he would visit whitelocke, and that his business would have a speedy despatch. whitelocke wished him a good journey, and that he and his father might have a safe and speedy return hither. piementelle sent to whitelocke to move the queen to grant her pardon to a swede who had killed another, for which by the law he was to die; and piementelle offered to second whitelocke, if he would entreat the queen for her pardon to the homicide. whitelocke desired to be excused herein, alleging that he, being a public minister, it was not proper for him nor for piementelle to interpose with her majesty in a matter of this nature, and particularly touching her own subjects, and in a matter of blood; but this denial piementelle seemed to take ill, and to be more strange to whitelocke afterwards. the holidays being past, piementelle had his audience appointed this day to take his leave of the queen. whitelocke sent his son james and some others of his gentlemen to be present at it, who reported to whitelocke that piementelle spake to the queen in spanish, and that she answered him in swedish, which was interpreted by grave tott; that piementelle observed very much ceremony, and when he made his public harangue to the queen he grew very pale and trembled, which was strange for a man of his parts, and who had been so frequent in his conversation with her majesty. but some said it was a high compliment, acted by the spaniard to the life, to please the queen, who took delight to be thought, by her majesty and presence, to put a dread and daunting upon foreigners; which in a truth she was noted often to do when public ministers had their audiences in solemnity with her majesty. _march , ._ [sn: an interview with the queen.] one of the queen's lacqueys came to whitelocke's house in dinner-time, to desire him, from the queen, to come to her at two o'clock. whitelocke was a little sensible of the quality of the messenger, and therefore himself would not speak with him, but sent his answer by one of his servants, and accordingly waited on the queen. he was met at the guard-chamber by grave tott and divers of the queen's servants, with more solemnity than ordinary, and presently brought to the queen. after her excuse of his not having had audiences she fell into discourse of his business. whitelocke presented to her a form of articles, according to his own observations upon those articles he had formerly given in, and upon those he received from grave eric. thereupon the queen said to him, "you will not consent to any one of my articles, but insist upon all your own." whitelocke showed her wherein he had consented to divers of her articles, and for what reasons he could not agree to the rest. they had discourse upon the whole, to the same effect as hath been before remembered. the queen told whitelocke, that if those articles should not be concluded, that nevertheless the amity between the two nations might be continued. whitelocke answered, that it would be no great testimony of amity, nor proof of respect to the protector and commonwealth, to send back their servant after so long attendance, without effecting anything. the queen said she would despatch his business within a few days, and, she hoped, to his contentment. whitelocke told her it was in her majesty's power to do it; that he could not stay until the change whereof people discoursed, and that he had her majesty's promise for his despatch, which he knew she would not break. then the queen fell into other discourses, and in particular of poetry; which occasion whitelocke took to show her a copy of latin verses made by an english gentleman, a friend of whitelocke's, and sent over to him hither, and which he had now about him, and knew that such diversions were pleasing to the queen.[ ] at his leisure hours, whitelocke turned these verses into english, which ran thus:-- "_to the most illustrious and most excellent lord, the lord whitelocke, ambassador extraordinary to the most serene queen of sweden. an ode._ whitelocke, delight of mars, the ornament of gownmen, from thy country being sent, tribunals languish; themis sad is led, sighing under her mourning widow's bed. without thee suitors in thick crowds do run, sowing perpetual strife, which once begun, till happy fate thee home again shall send, those sharp contentions will have no end. but through the snowy seas and northern ways, when the remoter sun made shortest days, o'er tops of craggy mountains, paths untrod, where untamed creatures only make abode, thy love to thy dear country hath thee brought, ambassador from england. thou hast sought the swedish confines buried in frost, straight wilt thou see the french and spanish coast; and them fast bind to thy loved britany in a perpetual league of amity. so wilt thou arbitrator be of peace, her pious author; thou wilt cause to cease the sound of war, our ears it shall not pierce; thou wilt be chancellor of the universe. christina, that sweet nymph, no longer shall detain thee; be thou careful not to fall, prudent ulysses, under those delights to which the learned circe thee invites. thy chaste penelope doth call thee slow; thy friends call for thee home; and they do know new embassies, affairs abroad, at home, require thy service,--stay till thou dost come. thou, keeper of the seal, dost take away foreign contentions; thou dost cause to stay the wars of princes. shut thou janus' gate, ambassador of peace to every state." the queen was much delighted with these and other verses which whitelocke showed her; read them over several times, and desired copies of them, which whitelocke sent her; and in this good humour she wished whitelocke to leave with her a copy of his articles as he had now revised them, and to come to her again the next day, when she would give him a further answer, and, she hoped, to his contentment. [sn: spain suspected of intriguing against the treaty.] woolfeldt visited whitelocke, and excused his long absence by reason of the holidays. he informed whitelocke with much freedom, that it was against the interest of spain that england and sweden should be in alliance together, and that whitelocke's negotiation had been hindered by the spanish resident here, more than by any other. whereunto whitelocke said little positively, but compared his words with the late carriage of piementelle,--especially since whitelocke did not so heartily entertain the queen's motion (which probably piementelle put her upon) to have the spaniard included in the league with england and sweden, which whitelocke was not empowered to treat upon, and whitelocke also remembered the deferring of his audiences lately desired.[ ] but these things he was to keep to himself, and to court woolfeldt, which he did, and piementelle likewise, who came to visit whitelocke whilst woolfeldt was with him, and made the same excuse as he had done for his long absence. they had much general discourse, but nothing (as usually before) touching whitelocke's business. piementelle said he purposed to depart from upsal within seven or eight days; that yesterday he had taken his leave of the queen, and came in the next place to take his leave of whitelocke, who gave him thanks for this honour, and said he was sorry for the departure of piementelle, whereby he should have a very great loss in being deprived of the acceptable conversation of so honourable a friend. [sn: despatches from england complaining of delay.] whitelocke received many letters from england; in those from thurloe he saith:-- "i am sorry your last letters give us no greater hopes of that which we so much long for, to wit, your excellence's speedy return home; it seeming by them that the treaty was not much advanced since your last before, notwithstanding the great care and diligence used by your excellency for the promoting thereof, as also the great acceptance you have with the queen and court, as is acknowledged by other public ministers residing there. it is now more than probable they will expect the issue of the dutch business before they will come to any conclusion; as also to see what terms we are like to be upon with france, that so the queen may manage her treaty with england accordingly, which i suppose she may not be long ignorant of. in the meantime his highness thinks he is somewhat delayed on her part." then thurloe relates all the passages of the dutch ambassadors, and that, in effect, they had agreed to the articles; of the endeavours of the french to have a league with the protector, and no less of the spaniard. and he writes at large the news of the archduke, as also that of scotland and ireland, and confutes the rumour of a discontent in the army of the protector. in another letter from thurloe of a later date, received by the same post, he saith thus:-- "his highness understands by your excellence's last letters, that the treaty with the queen of sweden will much depend upon the treaty with the dutch here, and until the issue of that be known no great matter is to be expected from your negotiation: concerning which, it being very probable that before the next ordinary it will be seen what issue the dutch treaty will be brought unto, his highness will refer his further directions to you till then; leaving it to your excellence to proceed upon the former instructions as you shall find it convenient, and for his service according as affairs now stand." the clause in this letter, of referring further directions till after the issue of the dutch treaty, was some trouble to whitelocke's thoughts, fearing it might delay his return home; but he laid hold upon the latter part of this letter, whereby it is left to whitelocke to proceed upon the former instructions as he should find it convenient and for his highness's service; which, as it reposed a great trust in whitelocke, so it gave him warrant to conclude his treaty, and obliged him to the more care to perform that trust which they had so fully put in him. [sn: claim on behalf of the swedish ships in england.] mr. bonnele representing to the protector the losses which the swedes suffered by the ships of england, the protector caused an answer thereunto to be returned, the copy whereof was sent by thurloe to whitelocke, and was thus:-- "whereas mr. bonnele, resident of the queen of sweden, hath, by a paper of the th of march, remonstrated to his highness that several ships and goods belonging to the said queen and her subjects are taken at sea by the ships of this state, and brought into these parts, contrary to the declaration of the council of state, st april, , whereby they did declare, that for preventing the present obstruction of trade, all ships truly belonging to the queen or her subjects, of sweden, that should bring with them certificates from her said majesty, or the chief magistrate of the place from whence they come, grounded upon the respective oaths of the magistrates and loaders that the said ship and lading do belong _bonâ fide_ to the said queen or her subjects, and to no stranger whatsoever, should and might freely pass without interruption or disturbance. his highness hath commanded that it be returned in answer to the said resident, that although the said declaration was to be in force for the space of three months, in which time a form of passport and certificates was to be thought of for preventing fraud and collusion, yet no provision of that nature having been yet agreed upon, and it being contrary to his intention that the goods and ships belonging to her said majesty or subjects (with whom he desires to conserve all good correspondence) should in the meantime suffer inconvenience or prejudice by the ships of this state, hath renewed, as he doth hereby renew, the said declaration with respect to the present treaty now on foot between the two nations, wherein some course may be provided for preventing the said frauds. "and to the end there may be the better effect of this declaration, his highness hath given order to the judges of the admiralty that if any ships or goods be brought into these parts belonging to her majesty or subjects, that the producing of certificates according to the said declaration, in open court and upon oath made by them that do produce such certificates, that they are good and authentic, and obtained without fraud or deceit, that the judges shall thereupon (there being no proof before them to the contrary) discharge the said ships or goods without further delay. provided that such ships were not bound with contraband goods to the ports or harbours of any of the united provinces. "for the herring-buss, there having been proceedings thereupon in the court of admiralty, and a sentence of condemnation given against her as belonging to the enemies of this state, his highness does not conceive that it can be expected from him to interpose in matters belonging to the decision of that court; besides, the law having in the ordinary course provided a remedy, by way of appeal, in case of wrong or injustice done by that court. "for the goods of mr. alexander cecconi, supposed to be taken by a ship belonging to this state, orders have been given by the council concerning them, and some return made upon those orders; and the said commissary may rest assured that speedy and effectual justice will be done in that particular. "jo. thurloe. "_march th, ._" these orders of the council whitelocke caused to be translated into latin, that he might communicate them as he saw occasion. _march , ._ [sn: reports to england.] whitelocke despatched a great number of letters to his friends in england: in those to secretary thurloe he gave a full account of all transactions of his negotiations and passages here since his last letters. this day, though the post-day, woolfeldt again visited whitelocke, to his no little interruption in his despatches; yet from him whitelocke learned many things in relation to denmark, for the advantage of england, and woolfeldt testified great affection and respect to the protector and commonwealth. he was also interrupted by his attendance upon the queen, according to her appointment. the chancellor came forth from her as whitelocke went in, and he told whitelocke that the queen, hearing of his being without, had sent to desire him to come in to her. whitelocke read some of his news to the queen, and the paper which the protector had caused to be given to her commissary bonnele at london; upon which whitelocke took the boldness a little to paraphrase, and her majesty was well pleased with it. they fell into discourse of the treaty, much to the same effect as formerly; but whitelocke staid the less time with her majesty, because he presumed that the chancellor and his son waited without to speak with her about his business. she promised whitelocke to send him an answer of his business the next day, and that one of her ships should be ready at the dollars (the mouth of the haven of stockholm) to transport him to lübeck when he should desire it; which was acceptable to whitelocke to think on, and he thanked her majesty for it. thus was march passed over, full of trouble, yet nothing effected in his business. footnotes: [ ] [the ambassador's verses i have ventured to omit, as alike destitute of elegance, point, or metre.] [ ] "_ad illustrissimum et excellentissimum dominum, dominum whitelocke, legatum angliæ extraordinarium apud serenissimam sueciæ reginam. ode._ "vitloce, martis deliciæ, decus gentis legatæ; te sine, languidum moeret tribunal, et cubili in viduo themis ingemiscit. denso cientes agmine cursitant, et sempiternas te sine consuunt lites, neque hic discordiarum finis erit, nisi tu revertas. sed te nivosum per mare, per vias septentrionum, per juga montium, inhospitales per recessus duxit amor patriæ decorus. legatus oras jam sueonum vides bruma sepultas; mox quoque galliam, hispaniam mox cum britannis foedere perpetuo ligabis. sic pacis author, sic pius arbiter gentes per omnes qua sonuit tuba dicere; cancellariusque orbis eris simul universi. christina, dulcis nympha, diutiùs ne te moretur: qui merito clues prudens ulysses, sperne doctæ popula deliciasque circes. te casta tentum penelope vocat, vocant amici, teque aliæ vocant legationes, te requirunt ardua multa domi forisque. custos sigilli tu dirimes cito pugnas forenses, bellaque principum legatus idem terminabis: tu (sera candida) claude fanum." [ ] [this change was probably the consequence of the negotiations then going on between louis xiv. and cromwell in london, which had excited the jealousy of the spanish court, as is stated by thurloe in the next page.] april. _april , ._ [sn: a capital execution in sweden.] in the morning, in the market-place, near whitelocke's lodging, was an execution of one adjudged to die for a murder. the offender was brought into the midst of the market-place, which was open and spacious, and a great multitude of people spectators. the offender kneeled down upon the ground, a great deal of sand being laid under and about him to soak up his blood, and a linen cloth was bound about his eyes: he seemed not much terrified, but when the company sang a psalm, he sang with them, holding up his hands together, and his body upright, his doublet off. he prayed also with the company, but made no speech to them; nor did any other speak to the people. the executioner stood behind him, with a great naked sword in his hand and a linen apron before him, and while the offender was praying the headsman in an instant, at one back-blow, cut off his head, which fell down upon the sand; and some friends took it from the executioner, and carried it away with the body to be buried. presently after this execution was past, two other offenders for smaller crimes were brought to the same place, to suffer the punishment of the law, which they call running the gauntlet,--a usual punishment among soldiers. [sn: running the gauntlet.] the people stood in length in the market-place about a hundred yards, leaving an open space or lane between them of about five yards' distance; then the offender, being naked to the waist, was brought to one end of the lane or open place. the people had rods or switches of birch given to as many as would take them; the offender was to run or go, as he pleased (and one of them walked but a spanish pace), from one end of the lane of people to the other, twice or thrice forward and backward; and all the way as he went, the people who had the switches lashed the offender as he passed by them, harder or softer, as they favoured him. these are the most usual ways of executions which they have for criminal offences, and they do not execute men by hanging, which they say is only fit for dogs; but in cases of great robberies and murders sometimes they execute justice by breaking the offenders upon the wheel, and leave the quarters of the body upon it; some whereof were in the way as whitelocke passed in his journey by the great wilderness. [sn: vestiges of the scandinavian mythology.] in the afternoon senator schütt came to whitelocke and invited him to take the air to see the town of old upsal, about a mile off; and being there, schütt showed him three great mounts of earth, cast up by the hands of men, for monuments in memory of their ancient famous kings, whose seat had been here, and the place of their coronation. these mounts had been dedicated to three of their pagan gods: the one to the god whom they call teuo, who was mars, and from him they have the name of the day of the week _teuosdag_, which we call tuesday, and the germans _tuisconsdæg_, and the latins _dies martis_; the second mount was dedicated to their god woden, so they called mercury, and from thence their day of the week is named _wodensdag_, which we also call wednesday, the germans _wodensdæg_, and the latins _dies mercurii_; the third mount was dedicated to their goddess freya, so they called venus, and from thence comes the name of their _friedsdag_, which we call friday, the germans _frigdæg_, and the latins _dies veneris_. there were also other relics of decayed mounts, which whitelocke guessed to have been dedicated to their other gods, from whom they gave the names of the other days of the week: as, to thor, whom they called jupiter, and, from whence the day _thoresdag_, which we call thursday, the germans say _thorsdæg_, and the latins _dies jovis_; another mount dedicated to their god setorn, from whence they call _setornsdag_, as we say saturday, the germans _sæternsdæg_, and the latins _dies saturni_; another mount dedicated to sunnan, as they call the sun, and from thence that day _sunnandag_{ }, as we say sunday, the germans _sunnandæg_, and the latins _dies solis_; the last mount dedicated to monan, that is the moon, and from thence the name of their _monandag_, which we call monday, the germans _monandæg_, and the latins _dies lunæ_. [sn: the war between muscovy and poland.] in discourse upon the way, schütt informed whitelocke of the matter of the embassy from the great duke of muscovia to the queen of sweden, which was to acquaint her majesty that the great duke had begun a war against the king of poland, because in a letter of his to the great duke he had omitted one of his great titles,--a heinous offence, and held by the great duke a sufficient ground of war, and of his resolution to sacrifice the blood of his fellow-christians to satisfy his wicked pride. another ground of the war was because a certain governor of a province in poland, in a writing, had placed the name of the father of the great duke before the name of the present great duke; which was so great an indignity, that for the same the now great duke demanded of the king of poland to have the head of that governor sent to him, and that not being done, was another cause of the begun war. to this the queen answered, that it did not appertain to her to give her opinion in a matter of this nature, whether she did approve or disapprove of what was done by the great duke, but she did presume that the king of poland would therein give fitting satisfaction to the great duke; and that she did wish that there might be peace between these two princes and all the princes of christendom. and with this answer the envoys of the great duke returned as wise as they came. [sn: denmark threatens hamburg.] schütt also communicated unto whitelocke an intelligence that the king of denmark had levied some forces which he designed against hamburg,--pretending injuries done to him by that city in relation to his pretensions of dominion there, which probably might occasion a war between denmark and that free city, which had strength and riches and people and wisdom to defend themselves; and schütt advised whitelocke that if this should be so, that then he should take his voyage some other way, and that it would be a great disturbance and danger to him to go by hamburg and those quarters, which would be infested with soldiers, and that then it would be his best way to return by gothenburg; but he did persuade whitelocke by all means to salute the prince of sweden by the way of his return. whitelocke said he thought it not probable that the king of denmark would at this time engage in a war against hamburg, and that his levying of soldiers might breed a jealousy in the crown of sweden; that the certainty thereof could not be long undiscovered, and accordingly he should govern his own resolutions; that it would be difficult for him to stay in his journey to salute the prince, but he much desired and intended it before his departure. _april , ._ although the lord's day, yet the english and scots who were in the town, and not of whitelocke's family, went abroad to take the air, and did not resort, as they used to do, to whitelocke's house to the exercises of divine worship, which were duly performed in his private family; and after those _sacra peracta_, whitelocke retired himself to his private studies and meditations upon the word of truth. this day likewise the queen went abroad to take the air, and passed through the town in her coach, attended by many gentlemen and others in her train, to the ill example of her people, and after the bad custom of this place. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke takes the air with the queen.] the queen sent to whitelocke to invite him to accompany her to take the air. by the way whitelocke visited woolfeldt, who had much discourse with him about the english fleet then at sea. from him whitelocke went to court, and attended the queen in her coach to take the air. they had not much discourse about his business, and he thought not fit to interrupt her majesty's pleasures with serious discourses, but sought to delight her with matters of diversion and mirth. when they were come back to the castle, the queen said to whitelocke:-- _queen._ tomorrow my chancellor will present you with the articles drawn up by him, with some alterations which i judge to be reasonable; and that shall be my final resolution about them. _wh._ hath your majesty commanded any mention in those new articles concerning contraband goods? _qu._ there is a specification of them. _wh._ indeed, madam, i can hardly consent to any alteration upon the subject of contraband goods, whilst the edict of the hollanders is in force thereupon. _qu._ after you have considered these new articles, we will speak together again about them. then the queen retired to her chamber, and whitelocke being come home, the secretary canterstein came to him from the chancellor to excuse his not coming to visit whitelocke, and said that, by the queen's command, the chancellor had sent a new copy of articles to whitelocke. he presently read them, and had much discourse with the secretary upon them, who said he did not doubt but that, after communication with the chancellor, whitelocke would receive satisfaction. _april , ._ whitelocke visited piementelle, and they had this discourse:-- _piementelle._ the ambassador of denmark did me the honour to visit me, and we had much discourse together about the english fleet now at sea; he told me that in it were ten thousand foot soldiers embarked for the north, which would occasion great trouble to the king his master, if it should be so, which i acknowledged. _whitelocke._ your excellence knows that i have not been at the council of state in england for six months last past, so that i know not the secret designs of my lord protector; but i believe it is no very difficult matter to land men in denmark. _piem._ what progress hath the french ambassador made in the treaty between you and france? _wh._ if the queen will be pleased to give my despatch, i hope to be upon the place before the treaty with the french be concluded. i have somewhat to communicate to the protector touching a treaty with spain, which your lordship very well knows; and it would be to purpose that his highness should know it before the conclusion of a treaty between england and france.[ ] _piem._ i am assured that the queen will despatch you in good time. but i advise your excellence in your return not to pass by denmark, for it is ill trusting of that king; but your better way will be to lübeck, and from thence to hamburg, and if you do not find ships ready there, you may travel by land to cologne, and from thence to dunkirk; which will be much better than to go by holland, where they do exceedingly exact upon strangers, and your commonwealth hath more enemies there than in any other place, besides the common people are rude and insolent. _wh._ i am engaged to you for your good advice, which i intend to follow. after their discourse, whitelocke presented piementelle his medal in gold very like him, and it was received by piementelle with much affection. then piementelle entreated whitelocke to give him a passport for his servant, who had the charge of conducting his baggage by sea to dunkirk, that he might freely pass the men-of-war of england; the which was willingly done by whitelocke, under his hand and seal.[ ] _april , ._ [sn: conference with the chancellor.] in the morning whitelocke went to the chancellor's lodging, and found his son grave eric with him. the chancellor made a long apology to excuse the delay of the treaty, and said:-- _chancellor._ my indisposition of health hath chiefly occasioned the delay, yet was i so solicitous of your business, that i entreated the queen to appoint some other person in my stead, who might confer with your excellence; and her majesty was pleased to appoint my son for that service. _whitelocke._ i was very sorry for your excellence's want of health, both in regard of my affection to your person, and in respect of the protraction of my business; yet i was glad that your son, my lord eric, was appointed to confer with me, and had rather have the transaction of my business by yourself or some of your family than by any other. i am now come to you to confer upon those articles which yesterday i received from you. then whitelocke gave the chancellor a paper of his animadversions upon his articles. the debate began upon the ninth article; and as to the sale of goods taken from enemies and prohibiting the buying of arms, the chancellor said this would abolish their trade, and would be of no advantage to england, because those arms, and equally as good, might be had from other places; and if the english did light upon them, they would have the benefit by it. whitelocke said it would be a great inconvenience to furnish the enemies of either nation with arms which could not be had elsewhere than in england or sweden, and that this clause would put a bridle in the mouths of the enemies of either nation. the chancellor and his son replied that arms might be had in the province of liége,[ ] and in many other places in germany; that sweden scarce afforded any other commodities but arms, or such things as were serviceable for war; and that the queen would by no means be induced to that clause as whitelocke would have it. then they debated upon the eleventh article, the issue whereof was for whitelocke to consent to a special designation of prohibited goods. whitelocke desired that the catalogue and designation of them might be referred to his return into england, and he would agree that within two months after that there should be a specification of prohibited goods in the name of the protector. the chancellor urged that the specification might be now agreed upon, and produced a paper specifying them, which they alleged was delivered by the council in england unto bonnele. whitelocke said he did not remember the same, and that he was ignorant what goods were prohibited by the dutch placard, which was fit to be known before any specification made by him. upon the twelfth article whitelocke urged, that as to the form of the letters of safe-conduct, it might also be referred to his return into england. they produced a form exhibited by lagerfeldt to the council in england, and desired that the same form might be now agreed upon. whitelocke answered that the council of state had not approved the form given in by lagerfeldt, and therefore it was not fit for him to consent to it; nor could he apprehend any reason why they should not consent to refer the agreement of a form unto his return to england; and the rather, because in the meantime the subjects of the queen might enjoy the benefit of an edict made by the protector in great favour of them, which declaration whitelocke had caused to be delivered to the chancellor. to the thirteenth article, as to satisfaction of damages, their debate was to the like effect as formerly. upon the sixteenth article they had also debate. whitelocke desired that the words "de usu littorum in piscatione" might be altered to these words, "de piscatione et usu littorum." they alleged that this would seem to deny their fishing upon their own coasts. whitelocke said, the other would seem as if england had given up their right as to the fishing, and left all at liberty to those that pleased to take it. this was the sum of the debate of near three hours. the conclusion was that they would certify the queen of all these matters, and in short acquaint whitelocke with her answer; which he desired might be as speedy and positive as they pleased, because if they should reduce him to that necessity, that before he could agree he must send to the protector to know his pleasure, he could not receive an answer of his letters in less than two months' space, within which time the queen purposed to resign her government, and then his commission would be at an end. the chancellor said he desired whitelocke should be speedily in england, not only for the sake of his wife and children, but likewise because then they could promise themselves that they had a good friend in england. [sn: alarm excited by the english fleet.] whitelocke visited the french resident, who was very inquisitive what might be the design of the english fleet now at sea; whereunto, as to much other of his discourse, whitelocke did not much study for answers, only he was careful not to let fall any words which might lessen their amusement about the fleet.[ ] in the evening woolfeldt visited whitelocke and discoursed of the same matter; whereof whitelocke made some use and of this gentleman, to heighten their jealousies about this fleet. woolfeldt acquainted whitelocke that the ambassador of denmark had made a complaint against him to the queen, that woolfeldt had deceived the late king of denmark of certain sums of money, which he should have disbursed for the late king of england against the parliament; and that the present king of denmark having been informed that woolfeldt had lost his papers at sea, and so could not produce his acquittances, the king took the advantage thereof against woolfeldt, and now, by his ambassador, charged him before the queen for those moneys: but that he disappointed the danish ambassador by producing before the queen his papers and acquittances, which his enemies believed had had been lost; and so was justified before the queen, to the great discontent of the ambassador. whitelocke said he was very glad that woolfeldt came so well off, and that he perceived the queen had, by the the treaty, a capacity, as well as by his residence, to examine and do right in such matters. [sn: conversation of a danish gentleman who betrays his country.] this day whitelocke had discourse about norway and the sound with a danish gentleman of great quality and experience whom he had obliged, who desired to have his name concealed;[ ] but part of this discourse follows:-- _dane._ now is a good time for the protector to send some ships towards these parts. _whitelocke._ what places are there in norway considerable as to the interest of england? _dane._ there are two places in norway not far from gothenburg which are easy to be taken, and are excellent harbours, wherein england might keep some ships constantly, and command all that pass by to the baltic sea. _wh._ what are the names of those places? _dane._ the one of those havens is called marstrang; but that i do not like so well because of the paternoster rocks, which are very dangerous for coming out if the wind sit northerly, and the fort there is commanded by the hills near it. but the other place, called flecker town, is an island, and hath a going-in and coming-out two ways; it is an excellent harbour, and ships may ride in it at such a distance from the land (being a broad water) that none from the land can hurt them. there is a little fort in this island which may easily be taken, not having above forty or fifty men in it, and the works decayed. those who assail it must land their men on the south-east side of the island, the fort being on the other side, and they may easily be masters of it; and from thence having some ships, they may go in and out at their pleasure, and command all passing by; and none can come into the harbour to them if they make up the fort, which is soon done, and the passage not above musket-shot to be commanded, and there are no guns there of any consideration at this time. _wh._ how shall they do for victuals there to get fresh from the land? _dane._ there is plenty of butter and cheese, sheep and hogs; and the poor country people will be no trouble to you, but be willing to be commanded by you. _wh._ what towns are there near it? _dane._ higher in the country is bergen, the chief town for trade there, and rich enough. your ships may easily come into that harbour, and plunder the town and get a great booty, and return to fleckeren town again. _wh._ is there anything to be done at iceland? _dane._ i wonder you do not send, in august or september, four or five ships to iceland, being men-of-war. they may have twenty or thirty dutch ships, laden with fish, butter, and hides, which will make no resistance at all; and it would be a rich prize, and might be had without danger or difficulty. _wh._ is the castle of elsinore so strong a piece that it cannot be taken without much expense and danger? _dane._ this will not be the best design for england: it is a small, strong castle, and doth not signify much; though it be esteemed a piece of importance, it is not so. _wh._ it commands the passage of the sound. _dane._ most men believe so, but it is mistaken. i have seen an experiment to the contrary, that a boat, being placed in the middle of that narrow passage of the sound, they shot at it from the castle of elsinore, and likewise from the castle of helsingborg on the other side, with the greatest guns they had, and yet they could not reach the boat from either side by two thousand paces; nor is it so narrow in the passage but that a ship may, when she pleaseth, sail by those castles in despite of them. _wh._ what harbour is there at elsinore? _dane._ there is no harbour for ships to ride in, and in foul weather they will be in danger to be all lost, because they must ride in the open sea, which there is extreme perilous; and therefore elsinore is not worth the keeping, if england had it. but their best design would be to go directly to the town of copenhagen with fifty or sixty good ships, with landsmen in them; and it is easy enough to take that town, for the works of it are not strong, nor is it well guarded, and it would be easier to take that town than elsinore; and if england were masters of it, the castle would quickly come in to them; and at the town they should have a good haven for their ships, and a small matter would build a better fort near the town than elsinore is, and would command the passage more than the castles do, and make you masters of the sound and of all the trade of the baltic sea. _wh._ what revenue would be gained thereby? _dane._ more than will maintain your ships and forces there, and will command all the island of zealand. _wh._ i should be glad to meet you there. _dane._ if you summon me by your letters, i will give you a meeting at copenhagen, or those whom the protector will send thither; and if you will meet me there, i doubt not but to show you a way to get that town without much difficulty; and then you will have all the isle of zealand, which is the best part of denmark, and the rest will follow, being weary of the present tyranny and ill-usage of their king. and if you were masters of zealand, you might thereby keep in awe the swede, the hollander, and all the world that have occasion for the commodities of the baltic sea. _wh._ why then doth not the king of denmark now keep them in such awe? _dane._ because he hath neither the money nor ships nor men that england hath. _wh._ what is the ground and reason of payment of the tolls at elsinore, if ships may pass by without the leave of the castles there? _dane._ because that is known but to a very few; and what i have told you is under secresy, and i desire that none but the protector may know it from you; and as for the grounds of paying the tolls at elsinore, it is rather from the keeping of the lights in jutland and upon that coast, than from any command that elsinore hath of the ships that go that way. _wh._ i have heard those lights are very useful. _dane._ unless they were kept, it would be impossible for ships to sail there in the long nights in winter; and the trade doth enforce them to come that way in october and november, when the nights are very long, because of bringing wine into those parts after the vintage, which is in september. _wh._ they are likewise to carry home corn, which is not inned till august and september. did not the hollanders refuse to pay the toll? _dane._ once they did, and thereupon the last king of denmark, by advice, commanded that the lights upon the coast should not be kept; and the hollanders in that autumn lost above thirty ships upon the danish coast, and came and entreated the king that the lights might be kept again, and promised to pay the tolls as formerly, and have done so ever since. _wh._ let me say to you, in freedom, how can you, being a native of denmark, satisfy yourself to discover these things to me, whereby prejudice may come to your country? _dane._ i do not think i betray my country in this, though, my country having left me to be an exile, i might justly leave them; and wheresoever i breathe and am maintained is more my country than that where i was born, and which will not let me breathe there; yet in this i think i may do good service to denmark, to free them from the tyranny they are under, and to bring them into the free government of the protector, to whom i shall do any service in my power. but for the king of denmark, he is governed by his queen and a few of her party, men of no honour nor wisdom nor experience in public affairs, but proud and haughty, according to the way of these parts of the world. _wh._ i shall not fail to make known to the protector your great affections to him. _april , ._ [sn: effects of the english fleet in the north.] monsieur miller, who had been resident at hamburg for her majesty, came to visit whitelocke, and after dinner discoursed much of the english fleet now at sea, which, he said, did amuse all the northern parts of the world, what the design thereof might be. whitelocke did not lessen the wonder, especially in relation to denmark; yet affirmed nothing positively, as indeed he could not. he inquired of monsieur miller if the king of denmark were making any preparations at sea, or of land forces, or had any design towards hamburg. miller said he knew of none, and in his discourse gave whitelocke good information of the government, strength, and trade of that hanse town. the secretary canterstein came to whitelocke from the chancellor, and brought to him the articles upon which they had last treated, now altered according to whitelocke's desire, except that which concerned the forbidding of our enemies to buy arms in the countries of our confederates. he also delivered to whitelocke the draft of a preamble for the articles, and another article for the ratifying of all the rest; whereunto whitelocke consented, and thanked god that his business was brought so near to a good conclusion. whitelocke received his packet from england, and thurloe wrote that the protector was sensible of the queen's delaying of whitelocke, but approved his proceedings. he sent this enclosed order:-- "at the council chamber, whitehall: "_friday, martii, ._ [sn: order in council in the matter of a swedish prize.] "on consideration of a letter, this day read in council, sent from the lord ambassador extraordinary with her majesty of sweden, mentioning, among other things, the taking of the ship 'charity,' paul paulsen, master, by a private man-of-war, and the carrying of her into dover, and the hard usage of the master and mariners, which ship is claimed by some citizens of gothenburg, subjects of the said queen: "_ordered_, that it be referred to the commissioners of the admiralty speedily to put this matter in a way of examination; and, for their information in the premises, to send for the commander of the said man-of-war, and to receive a particular account and satisfaction concerning the disposal of the ship and goods, and the usage of the master and mariners, and thereupon to state the whole case and report it to the council, to the intent speedy justice may be done therein; and the said commissioners are likewise to take order that all further proceedings touching the said ship, or her lading or disposal of any part thereof, be stayed and forborne till their report made and further order thereupon shall be given by the council. "w. jessop, clerk of the council." thurloe wrote that in case the information given to whitelocke were found to be true, that the parties offending would be severely punished and right done to those who were injured; and that the council were very sensible hereof, as a hindrance to whitelocke's proceedings and a dishonour to the protector. he also wrote unto whitelocke that there was little scruple now of an agreement upon the dutch treaty, which was as good as concluded; and he sent the news of france and of scotland and ireland, as well as that of england, as he constantly used to do. whitelocke caused this order to be translated into latin, and made use of it for the advantage of his business. a description was given to whitelocke, in writing, of the manner of making gunpowder in these parts, and of their mills and vessels for it, not unlike in many things to their way in england. _april , ._ [sn: the queen's plans after abdication.] whitelocke waited on the queen, and she was pleased to discourse with him to this effect:-- _queen._ i am resolved to retire into pomerland, and this summer to go to the spa to drink the waters for my health. _whitelocke._ give me leave, madam, to put you in mind of two things to be specially taken care of: one is the security of your own person, the other is the settling of your revenue. your majesty, being of a royal and bountiful spirit, cannot look into such matters so much beneath you as expenses or accounts; and if care be not taken therein, and good officers, your majesty may be disappointed and deceived. _qu._ i thank you for this counsel. i intend to have mr. flemming with me, to take charge of my revenue; he is a discreet, wise man, and fit for that employment, and to order the expenses of my house; i believe he will neither deceive me himself nor permit others to do it, for he is faithful to me. _wh._ such a servant is a jewel. i hope care is taken that your majesty's revenue be secured in such a manner that you shall not depend upon the pleasure of any other for the receipt of it, but to be in your power as mistress of it, not as a pensioner. _qu._ it shall be settled according to the advice you gave me, and i thank you for it. _wh._ madam, i account it a happiness if in anything i may be serviceable to your majesty. whom doth your majesty take with you beside mr. flemming of that quality? _qu._ i desire the company of mr. woolfeldt and his lady, if they will go with me. _wh._ i suppose they will be very serviceable to your majesty; and i hope it will not be long, after the business here effected, before you transport yourself into pomerland, lest any designs should be against your liberty, for, madam, in this age there be few persons to be trusted. _qu._ that is too great a truth, and i thank you for the caution. i could freely trust yourself with any of my concernments; and if you will come to me into pomerland, you shall be as welcome as any man living, and we will be merry together. _wh._ i humbly thank your majesty for your great favour to your servant, who hath a wife and children enough to people a province in pomerland, and i shall bring them all thither to do your majesty service. _qu._ if you will bring your lady and all your children and family thither, and settle yourself there, you shall want nothing in my power, and shall be very welcome to me. _wh._ i am your majesty's most humble servant; and i pray, madam, give me leave to ask your majesty, whether you judge it requisite for me to wait on the prince of sweden before my going out of this country. _qu._ i think it very fit and necessary for you to see the prince before you leave this country; it will be taken as a respect from the protector to him, and if you do not, it will be looked upon as a neglect of him. _wh._ i am obliged to do all that lies in my power to enlarge the protector's interest. _qu._ the prince being to succeed in the crown, and in so short a time, it will be fit to keep a fair correspondence with him and to show respect to him, whereof your visit will be a good testimony. _wh._ madam, your opinion will be a great direction to me in my affairs. _qu._ i think it will be an advantage to your business for you to speak with the prince himself, who will take it in good part, and hold himself the more obliged to the observance of what shall be agreed upon in your present treaty, being acquainted therewith by you that made it. _wh._ i hope the treaty which your majesty shall make will be observed by any who shall succeed you; but i acknowledge it is very advisable for me to have some discourse with his royal highness, to give him an account of the treaty, and i shall inquire where i may attend him. _qu._ you must go from hence to stockholm, and so to nordköping, and the castle where the prince now resides is within a league of that town; you may have my coaches and horses to transport you, and my servants to guide you thither. _wh._ i humbly desire your majesty to make choice of any of my coach-horses or saddle-horses that may be useful for you, and to command them; they are all at your majesty's service. _qu._ i shall not make choice of any; but if you bestow any of them upon me, they will be very acceptable. _wh._ i humbly acknowledge your majesty's great favour in affording a despatch to my business. _qu._ i wish you with the protector, because i see you are a faithful servant to him, and worthy to serve any prince in christendom. _wh._ your majesty ever had a favour for me, and in nothing more than in my despatch. _qu._ i think it not fit for you to be in sweden too near the time of the coronation of the new king; and then to go away, and not to see him, would be worse. _wh._ i do intend, upon your majesty's advice, to salute him before my going away, and shall desire that the ships may meet me near the place where his royal highness is. _qu._ i will give order for it, and will be gone myself not long after; if i had staid here i should have been glad of your longer stay. whitelocke took his leave of the queen, and, being returned home, field-marshal wrangel visited him, and after dinner, being in a good humour, discoursed freely and much of the english fleet at sea. whitelocke showed him a draught of the ship 'sovereign,' with her dimensions, guns, and men, wherewith he was much pleased. he told whitelocke that, by command of the queen, he had prepared ships for whitelocke's transportation from stockholm to lübeck. [sn: whitelocke reports on the treaty to thurloe.] whitelocke made his despatches for england, and in his letters to thurloe gave this account of the treaty:-- " . their first article differs not in substance from the first which i proposed, and therefore i did not object against it; but as to all of them, i reserved a liberty to myself of further consideration and objection. i did a little stick upon the word 'colonias' in this article, lest it might tend to anything of commerce in america; but finding it only to relate to the amity, i passed it over. " . the first part of it agrees in substance with my sixth article, the latter part of it with my fourth article; only i objected against their words in this article, 'in damnum illius,' who should be judge thereof, and the omission of that part of my fourth article against harbouring of enemies and rebels. " . their third article agrees in substance with my second article, but is more general, not naming the sound, and explaining the word 'aliorsum' in my second article; and i desired that the word 'populos' might be added after the word 'subditos.' " . their fourth in the beginning agrees with my third article; that of it touching the trade of america and the fishing i answered, as i gave you a former account, and thereupon denied it, as also that part of it which concerns importation of goods in foreign bottoms, being contrary to our act of parliament. in this latter end of their fourth article they likewise bring in again the business of fishing implicitly in the words 'maribus, littoribus,' etc., and therefore i desired that all that part might be left out, and in lieu thereof i offered the latter part of my third article beginning with the words 'solutis tamen,' etc., and the last of my reserved articles to be admitted; or else, i desired that this whole article of theirs might be omitted, and in lieu thereof my third article, and the last of my reserved articles to be admitted; and they likewise insist to have these words added if that part of their fourth article be omitted, viz. 'quoad americæ commercium, piscationem halecum, et mercium importationem, de his in posterum erit conventum.' " . their fifth article agrees in substance with my eleventh, only hath more words to express the same matter. " . their sixth agrees in substance with my thirteenth article, with the addition of words for kind usage, and the omission of the proviso in my thirteenth article as to breaking of bulk; which yet seems to be supplied by the latter part of their sixth article, of conforming to the ordinances of the place. " . agrees with my reserved article, marked with fifteen, only the words 'nihil inde juris' i thought fit to be omitted, because in the treaty we are not to meddle with particular rights; yet the sense and desire thereof is answered in the words for restitution. i offered them, if they liked not this, my fifteenth article, which is one of those reserved, omitting only that part as not conducing to this article, viz. 'et si lis,' etc. " . agrees in substance with my twelfth article, only the expressions here are longer; and that for justice to be had agrees with the latter part of my reserved article fifteenth. " . in the general differs not in the substance from my seventh, and the beginning of my reserved articles; and the laws in this ninth article, first, second, third, and fourth, are not contrary to the substance of mine; but to the fifth i excepted, as contrary to part of my seventh article, and to their sixth law, as to bringing in of ships and goods from enemies; both which nevertheless, in case we have peace with the dutch, will be more to our advantage, in my humble opinion, to continue in than to be omitted; as also that not to contend in the harbours; and so the first, second, third, and fourth laws. the seventh law, i humbly conceive, not differing in substance from my articles, nor disadvantageous to england. to their sixth law i desired that my seventh article might be added, the which they denied, as to forbid enemies to either to buy arms, etc. " . agrees in part with my ninth, only the latter part of it seems to bring in the trade of america, and a liberty contrary to the act of navigation; but they insist that the same is saved by the latter words of this article, 'modò consuetudines antiquæ;' but i was not satisfied herewith, and desired that that part of it which is marked might be omitted, and the latter part of my ninth article, viz. 'utrisque utrinque observantibus,' etc. inserted, which i humbly conceive will help it; or else i desire that this tenth article may be wholly omitted, and in lieu thereof my ninth may be agreed. " . to this article of theirs i wholly excepted, because it agrees not with any of mine, nor with reason, that when our enemies have forbidden any to bring contraband goods to us, that yet we should permit them to be brought unto our enemies. they told me that the queen had sent unto the states to repeal that placard of theirs. i answered, that when i was certified that that placard was repealed, i would then desire to know the protector's further pleasure herein; but before that be done, i thought it would be in vain to trouble him about it. " . is not expressly in any of my articles, but agreed by the council of state unto mr. lagerfeldt, only the form of the letters of safe-conduct not fully assented unto; therefore i desired that the same might be remitted to a future agreement; but as to the rest of this article, it is not repugnant to the substance of mine, that the navigation and commerce may be free. " . in the first part of it agrees almost _verbatim_ with my tenth article; the latter part of it, concerning satisfaction for losses, is much altered from what it was at first exhibited, and is now put on both parties, and referred to future agreement, wherein there can be no prejudice to our commonwealth; but before, it was reproachful to the justice thereof and laid on our part only; now it is no more than what the council and state promised in their papers to mr. lagerfeldt. " . agrees in substance with my ninth article. " . contains the substance of my fifth article, but is expressed more generally, and, as i humbly believe, no less to the advantage of our commonwealth. "i found more readiness in the queen to consent to what i proposed than in her commissioners; but some things she told me she could not consent to, because they were against the interest of her people, and were not considerable to england. i gave her thanks for my despatch. she said she had an ambition to have the honour of making an alliance with the protector herself before she quitted the government, and that she might testify her respects to him, and therefore had gone as far as possibly she could; and indeed there is now very little difference, but only in words and expressions, from the sense and substance of what i first proposed. and i presume that what is here agreed by me will give good satisfaction and contentment to the protector and council, and i apprehend it clearly within my instructions; acknowledging the goodness of god to me in this business, where i met with so many difficulties, and of so great weight, that yet in a fortnight's time it should be brought to a full conclusion, with honour and advantage to the protector and present government, for which i have taken all care. "the articles are not yet drawn up, but i hope we shall sign them the next week, and presently after i intend to demand audience to take my leave and to remove from hence, and, as soon as i can, to come to lübeck, and from thence to hamburg; and i have by this post humbly desired my lord protector to appoint some of his ships to meet me at hamburg as soon as they can, for my transportation from thence to england. and i humbly entreat your favour to put his highness in mind of it, and that you will take care that the orders may be had, and the ships to come as soon as may be to the elbe, to hamburg, where i shall stay for them, or till i receive his highness's further commands; and i choose this way as the shortest, and where i shall meet with any despatches that may come from england. i presume you will be troubled with an importunate suitor for hastening my return. "i received your letters of the th march, and the order of the council concerning the swedish ship, for which i return my humble thanks. the queen, and the chancellor and others here, were much satisfied with it. the chancellor and his son have been very civil to me, and lately furthering my despatch. i hope the same goodness of god which hath hitherto brought me through this great business will give me a safe return to my dear country and friends, where i may have opportunity with thankfulness to acknowledge your constant favour and kindness to "your affectionate friend to serve you, "b. w. "_upsal, april th, ._" _april , ._ [sn: a masque at court.] the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke from the queen, to desire his company this evening at a masque; and they had this discourse:-- _whitelocke._ present my thanks to her majesty, and tell her i will wait upon her. [sn: precedence claimed by denmark.] _mast. cer._ what would your excellence expect in matter of precedence, as in case you should meet with any other ambassador at the masque? _wh._ i shall expect that which belongs to me as ambassador from the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland; and i know no other ambassador now in this court besides myself, except the ambassador of the king of denmark, who, i suppose, hath no thoughts of precedence before the english ambassador, who is resolved not to give it him if he should expect it. _mast. cer._ perhaps it may be insisted on, that he of denmark is an ambassador of an anointed king, and you are only ambassador to the protector--a new name, and not _sacré_. _wh._ whosoever shall insist on that distinction will be mistaken, and i understand no difference of power between king and protector, or anointed or not anointed; and ambassadors are the same public ministers to a protector or commonwealth as to a prince or sultan. _mast. cer._ there hath always been a difference observed between the public ministers of kings and of commonwealths, or princes of inferior titles. _wh._ the title of protector, as to a sovereign title, hath not yet been determined in the world as to superiority or inferiority to other titles; but i am sure that the nation of england hath ever been determined superior to that of denmark. i represent the nations of england, scotland, and ireland, and the protector, who is chief of them; and the honour of these nations ought to be in the same consideration now as it hath been formerly, and i must not suffer any diminution of that honour by my person to please any whatsoever. _mast. cer._ i shall propose an expedient to you, that you may take your places as you come: he who comes first, the first place, and he who comes last, the lower place. _wh._ i shall hardly take a place below the danish ambassador, though i come into the room after him. _mast. cer._ but when you come into the room and find the danish ambassador set, you cannot help it, though he have the upper place. _wh._ i shall endeavour to help it, rather than sit below the danish ambassador. _mast. cer._ i presume you will not use force in the queen's presence. _wh._ master, it is impossible for me, if it were in the presence of all the queens and kings in christendom, to forbear to use any means to hinder the dishonour of my nation in my person. _mast. cer._ i believe the danish ambassador would not be so high as you are. _wh._ there is no reason why he should: he knows his nation never pretended to have the precedence of england, and you, being master of the ceremonies, cannot be ignorant of it. _mast. cer._ i confess that your nation always had the precedence of denmark when you were under a king. _wh._ i should never give it from them though they were under a constable. _mast. cer._ if you insist upon it, the danish ambassador must be uninvited again, for i perceive that you two must not meet. _wh._ i suppose the gentleman would not expect precedence of me. _mast. cer._ i can assure you he doth. _wh._ i can assure you he shall never have it, if i can help it. but i pray, master, tell me whether her majesty takes notice of this question of precedence, or did she wish to confer with me about it? _mast. cer._ the queen commanded me to speak with you about it, hoping that the question might be so composed that she might have the company of you both at her entertainment. _wh._ i shall stay at home rather than interrupt her majesty's pleasures, which i should do by meeting the danish ambassador, to whom i shall not give precedence, unless he be stronger than i. _mast. cer._ the queen makes this masque chiefly for your excellence's entertainment, therefore you must not be absent, but rather the danish ambassador must be uninvited; and i shall presently go about it. [sn: order on the swedish ships.] whitelocke returned a visit to grave eric, and showed him the order of the council touching the swedish ships, much in favour of them, and which seemed very pleasing to the grave; but he also showed to whitelocke several letters which he had received from masters of swedish ships, of new complaints of taking of their ships; and he desired that the order showed him by whitelocke might be extended to those whose ships had been since taken; which whitelocke promised to endeavour, and said that he should be in a better capacity to serve him, and to procure discharges for their ships and goods, when he should be himself in england; and therefore desired that, by his despatch, they would hasten him thither, which the grave promised to do. at his going away, grave eric invited whitelocke to dine with him on monday next, and to come as a particular friend and brother, and not by a formal invitation as an ambassador. whitelocke liked the freedom, and promised to wait on him; and was the more willing to come, that he might see the fashion of their entertainments, this being the first invitation that was made to him by any person in this country. general grave wirtenberg visited whitelocke. he is a finlander by birth, of an ancient family, who had applied himself wholly to the military profession, wherein he became so eminent, and had done so great service for this crown, that he was had in great esteem, especially with the soldiery. he was a ricks-senator, and one of the college of war, and at present had the charge of general of the ordnance, which is of higher account here than in england, being next in command to the generalissimo, and over the soldiery which belong not to the train, and is often employed as a general. this gentleman seemed worthy of his honour; he was of a low stature, somewhat corpulent, of a good mien, and plain behaviour, more in the military than courtly way. his discourse declared his reason and judgement to be very good, and his mention of anything relating to himself was full of modesty. he took great notice of the english navy and soldiery, and of the people's inclinations and violent desires of liberty. he spake only swedish and high dutch, which caused whitelocke to make use of an interpreter, his kinsman andrew potley. [sn: the masque.] in the evening, according to the invitation from the queen, whitelocke went to court to the masque, where he did not find the danish ambassador. but some of the court took notice of the discourse which had been between the master of the ceremonies and whitelocke touching precedence, and they all approved whitelocke's resolution, and told him that the queen highly commended him for it, and said that he was a stout and faithful servant to the protector and to his nation, and that she should love him the better for it; nor was the contest the less pleasing because with the dane in sweden. from eight o'clock at night till two the next morning they were at the masque, which was in the usual room fitted for the solemnity, in which the queen herself was an actor. the floor where they danced was covered with tapestry and hung about with red velvet, but most adorned by the presence of a great number of ladies richly dressed and beautified both by nature and habit, attending on their mistress; and there were also many senators, officers, courtiers, and nobility,--a very great presence of spectators. the music was excellent, especially the violins, which were many, and rare musicians and fittest for that purpose. the queen herself danced very well at two entries: in the first she represented a moorish lady, in the second a citizen's wife; in both the properties were exactly fitted, and in all the rest of the actors and dancers. there were no speeches nor songs; men acting men's parts, and women the women's, with variety of representations and dances. the whole design was to show the vanity and folly of all professions and worldly things, lively represented by the exact properties and mute actions, genteelly, without the least offence or scandal. it held two hours; and after the dances the queen caused her chair to be brought near to whitelocke, where she sat down and discoursed with him of the masque. he (according to his judgement) commended it and the inoffensiveness of it, and rare properties fitted to every representation, with the excellent performance of their parts by all, especially by the moorish lady and citizen's wife; at which the queen smiled, and said she was glad he liked it. he replied, that any of his countrymen might have been present at it without any offence, and he thanked her majesty for the honour she gave him to be present at it. the queen said she perceived that whitelocke understood what belonged to masques and the most curious part of them, the properties,--with much like discourse; after which she retired to her chamber, and whitelocke to his lodging. _april , ._ monsieur bloome came to dine with whitelocke, and to put him in mind of grave eric's request{ } to him to dine with him the next day. he also sent to invite whitelocke's two sons and colonel potley. [sn: the spanish envoy departs with rich presents.] in the afternoon piementelle came to take his leave of whitelocke, and said he intended to begin his journey the next morning. whitelocke offered himself or his coaches and servants, to attend him out of town; but he said it was not the custom when a public minister departed from a place to use any ceremony, but to leave him to the liberty of ordering and taking his journey, but thanked whitelocke for his favour. though it were the lord's day, yet piementelle fell into discourse of the last night's masque, which he could not be present at publicly as formerly, because he had taken his leave of the queen and senators, yet, being desirous to see it, was admitted into the tiring-room; and he told whitelocke that after the queen had acted the moorish lady and retired into that room to put off her disguise, piementelle being there, she gave him her visor; in the mouth whereof was a diamond ring of great price, which shined and glistered gloriously by the torch and candle light as the queen danced; this she bade piementelle to keep till she called for it. piementelle told her he wondered she would trust a jewel of that value in the hands of a soldier; she said she would bear the adventure of it. and when the masque was ended, piementelle offered the ring again to the queen, who told him that he had not kept it according to her commands, which were till she called for it, which she had not yet done, nor intended as long as she lived, but that he should keep it as a memorial of her favour. the spaniard had cause to rest satisfied with the queen's answer and her real and bountiful compliment, the ring being worth ten thousand crowns, which he brought away with him, besides many other jewels and presents from the queen of great value, not publicly known. he took leave of whitelocke and of his sons, colonel potley, and the gentlemen, with great civility. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke dines with grave eric oxenstiern.] between eleven and twelve o'clock, the usual dining-time here, whitelocke, with his sons and potley, attended only by two gentlemen, one page, and two lacqueys, went to grave eric's lodging to dinner. his rooms were not stately nor richly furnished, but such as could be had in that place. the outer room for servants was like a little hall; within that was a larger room, narrow and long, where they dined; within that was a smaller room hung with tapestry, used for a withdrawing-room: all below stairs, which is not usual in these parts. grave eric met whitelocke at the door of the lodging; in the dining-room was his father the chancellor, and divers friends with him. the father and son went in with whitelocke to the withdrawing-room, where, after a quarter of an hour's discourse, they were called to dinner, the meat being on the table; then a huge massy basin and ewer of silver gilt was brought for them to wash--some of the good booties met with in germany. after washing, one of the pages (after their manner) said grace in swedish. the table was long and narrow; in the middle of it, on the further side, under a canopy of velvet, were set two great chairs: whitelocke sat in the right-hand chair, and woolfeldt in the other, on his left-hand. on the other side of the table, over against these, were set two other like great chairs; in the right-hand chair sat the ricks-droitset, and in the left-hand chair the chancellor. by whitelocke sat grave gabriel oxenstiern and senator vanderlin in lesser chairs, and by woolfeldt sat whitelocke's sons and potley. on the other side, in lesser chairs, by the droitset, sat the senators beilke and bundt the younger; by the chancellor sat senator bundt the elder and baron douglas; at the upper end of the table sat grave eric, and at the lower end stood the carver. the dishes were all silver, not great, but many, set one upon another, and filled with the best meat and most variety that the country did afford; and indeed the entertainment was very noble--they had four several courses of their best meat, and fish and fowl, dressed after the french mode. they had excellent rhenish wine, and indifferent good sack and claret; their beer very thick and strong, after the manner of the country. when the four courses were done, they took off the meat and tablecloth, and under it was another clean cloth; then they brought clean napkins and plates to every one, and set a full banquet on the table, and, as part thereof, tobacco and pipes, which they set before whitelocke as a special respect to him, and he and two or three more of the company took of it as they sat at table; and they so civilly complied with whitelocke as not to observe their own customs, but abstaining from healths or any excess. they all sat bare at the table, according to their usage, chiefly (though no occasion were for it at this time) to avoid the trouble of often putting off and on their hats and caps in healths. they were full of good discourse, more cheerful than serious. most at the table spake or understood somewhat of english, for which reason they were chosen to accompany whitelocke here, as a compliment to his nation; they discoursed also in several other languages, as swedish, high dutch, french, and latin. after dinner, which was very long, they sat yet longer at the table, whitelocke expecting when they would rise; till douglas informed him, that he being the guest, and an ambassador, they used it as a respect to him, that none of the company would offer to rise till he first arose from the table. as soon as this was known to whitelocke, he presently rose and the rest with him, and the chancellor and he retired into the withdrawing-room; where, after compliments and thanks for his noble treatment (which it was said the father made, though put out in the son's name, and was full of respect and magnificence), whitelocke thought fit to show to the chancellor his powers to treat, and they had conference to this effect. [sn: whitelocke exchanges his full powers.] _whitelocke._ father, if you please to peruse this writing, you will be satisfied that the protector, since the late change of government in england, hath thought me worthy to be trusted and furnished with sufficient power as to this treaty. _chancellor._ my dear son, this is very full, and a large testimony of the good opinion your master hath of you. all your powers and the originals of your commissions (according to custom) are to be left with us, to be registered in our chancery. _wh._ i suppose you will also deliver to me the originals of your powers, to be enrolled (according to the english custom also) in our chancery. _chan._ that shall be done. _wh._ the like shall be done on my part; and the protector will be ready to do whatever shall be judged further necessary for the ratifying of this business. _chan._ it will be requisite that you let me have in latin your instructions from the protector. _wh._ i shall cause it to be done, except such part of them as are secret. _chan._ that which is to be reserved in secresy i desire not to see; there will be sufficient besides to show your powers. _wh._ they will fully appear. _chan._ i should counsel you, before your departure out of this kingdom, to make a visit to the prince of sweden; he will take it in good part, and it will testify a respect of the protector to him, and render the alliance the more firm. _wh._ it is my purpose to visit the prince; not that i am in doubt of the validity of the treaty made with the queen, unless the prince approve of it, but, as you advise, to show the respect of the protector to his kingly highness, and to acquit myself of a due civility. _chan._ it will be fit for you to do it; and i shall advise you, at your return home, to put the protector in mind of some particulars which, in my judgement, require his special care. _wh._ i shall faithfully do it, and i know they will be received with much the more regard coming from you: i pray do me the favour to let me know them. [sn: oxenstiern's advice to cromwell.] _chan._ i would counsel the protector to take heed of those dangerous opinions in matters of religion which daily increase among you, and, if not prevented and curbed, will cause new troubles, they never resting till themselves may domineer in chief. _wh._ will not the best way to curb them be to slight them, and so they will fall of themselves? _chan._ i doubt they have taken too much root to fall so easily; but if they be not countenanced with preferments, they will the sooner wither and decay. _wh._ that will surely lessen them. _chan._ the protector must also be careful to provide money and employment for his soldiers, else he will hardly keep them in order. _wh._ that is very requisite; and for money there is good provision already made. _chan._ he must likewise be watchful of the king's party, who will be busy at work, especially upon the new change. _wh._ the care thereof is the life of our affairs, and his highness is most vigilant. _chan._ it behoves him to be so, for they that could not vanquish him by arms will endeavour to do it by craft and treachery of your own party, which you must look to. _wh._ he hath good intelligence of their plots. _chan._ it will also be prudence in him to let the people see that he intends not to rule them with an iron sceptre, nor to govern them by an army, but to give them such a liberty and enjoyment of the benefit of their laws that the continuance of his government may become their interest, and that they may have no cause to desire a change; else, though they must bear the yoke for a time, yet as soon as they meet with an opportunity they will shake it off again. _wh._ this is counsel proper to come from such a mind and judgement as yours is, and i shall not fail to report it to his highness; and your excellence hath rightly stated the disposition of my countrymen, who love peace and liberty, and will hardly brook slavery longer than they are forced to it by necessity; and the best way to govern them is to let them enjoy their laws and rights, which will rule them better than an iron sceptre. _chan._ it is the disposition of all generous and free people, as the english are, whom i truly respect, and him that is their head, that gallant person the protector. they had much other discourse; and after being together till six o'clock, the father and son, and the chancellor and whitelocke, called one another, and all the company parted. _april , ._ [sn: the queen proposes a secret article.] the chancellor had promised to procure whitelocke his despatch in a few days. he sent canterstein to communicate to him the articles drawn in form, with the amendments, to see if there were any mistake in them. whitelocke and the secretary perused them together, and agreed on all except two or three points, in which was some small difference; and canterstein promised to hasten the engrossing of them. many strangers dining with whitelocke made him the later in his visit to the queen, to take his leave of her majesty before her intended journey to see her mother. she promised whitelocke that during her absence she would leave order with the chancellor and his son to conclude the treaty, and at her return she would do what belonged to her for the speedy despatch of whitelocke, to his contentment. she promised also to give order to her chancellor about the business of guinea, whereof they had much discourse. she was pleased to propound to whitelocke a secret article to be between her and the protector, and not to be in the treaty between her commissioners and whitelocke, nor to be known to any of them. she said, that if it might be done, she should take it in very good part; but if whitelocke thought it not likely to be done, then she would think no more of it. she said the substance of what she desired was that it might be agreed, by a particular article between the protector and her, that in case those here should not perform what they promised to her upon her resignation of the government, that then it should be in the power of the protector to break the treaty now made, and not to be bound by it. whitelocke was much troubled at this proposal, and upon a great difficulty in it--that if he should deny it, the queen might be distasted and break off from his treaty; and to consent to it he had no commission, nor held it reasonable; but he told the queen that it was a matter of great weight, deserving her majesty's serious thoughts what to do in it. he said he had no instructions upon any such article as this, nor could agree to it; but if her majesty pleased to have such an article drawn up, and to sign it herself and send it to the protector, he promised to use his best interest to persuade his highness to a consent thereunto, and to sign it at whitelocke's return to england, and so to return it to her majesty. she said that woolfeldt should confer with whitelocke about the drawing up of such an article, whom she would trust in it, but not any of the swedes, because it might concern them, and occasion prejudice to them. whitelocke agreed that woolfeldt was a fit person to be trusted in this business, and one with whom he should willingly confer about any service for her majesty; that he believed something might be done herein to the queen's advantage, but whether in this way of a secret article, and as part of the treaty, he doubted, lest thereby offence might be given, and the treaty thereby, as to both parts, be weakened. the queen replied that it would keep those here in some fear lest if they should break with her, that then the protector would not keep the treaty with them. whitelocke thought it best to be at some reserve in this article of secresy, not wholly to dissuade the queen from it, lest she might be distasted. he saw advantage to the protector to have it put into his power to break the treaty upon this occasion; but he doubted the honour and clearness of it, and therefore he judged it best to say the less at this time. only he observed what a condition the queen had brought her affairs unto when she thought not fit to trust any of her countrymen in this business; and before her resignation she distrusted the performance of the conditions of it towards herself, and therefore would have this secret article as a bridle to them. but as she distrusted her own party, so she testified great confidence in the protector and in whitelocke, to whom she propounded this secret article of so much concernment to her. whitelocke persuaded her majesty to appoint faithful persons to order her revenue for her, and not to stay long here after her resignation, because she would then find a great difference in the carriage of persons to her. she said she had taken care about her revenue as he had advised her, and that she would be gone out of sweden presently after her resignation; that she expected the alteration of men's carriages towards her after it, but it would not trouble her; that the world was of such a condition, that nothing of respect was to be looked for but where advantage was hoped for by it. she never esteemed the fawnings of men for their own ends, but her own private contentment and satisfaction. whitelocke sent his son james and his secretary (earle) to canterstein with a copy of the form which whitelocke intended to follow in the instrument intended to be delivered by him, where he put the protector's name first, and some other small variations, as usage required; wherewith canterstein promised to acquaint the chancellor and to return an answer. whitelocke employed his son for his experience to be gained in these affairs. _april , ._ [sn: woolfeldt opposes the secret article.] mr. woolfeldt having done whitelocke the favour to dine with him, they retired and discoursed privately to this effect:-- _woolfeldt._ the queen was pleased the last night to send for me, and to communicate to me the matter of a secret article which, she said, she had before imparted to you. _whitelocke._ what is your opinion of such an article? _woolf._ truly, i dissuaded her from it, as not convenient, in my poor opinion, for either party. _wh._ i know your judgement is grounded upon solid reason. _woolf._ my reasons are, because this article is to be kept secret, and to be added as a part of the treaty by her majesty without the knowledge of those here, which, when it shall come to be known, will give them the more cause of objection and hatred against her for it, and expose her to more inconveniences than it can bring advantage to her; and therefore i thought it better for her majesty to forbear it. _wh._ your reasons were the true ones: was her majesty convinced by them? _woolf._ she seemed to make more doubt of it than at first, but told me that you were not much against it, and desired to confer with me about it while she was out of town, and she wished me to prepare something against her return. _wh._ as i told her majesty, i can consent to nothing in this point, having no instructions in any matter of this nature, as you will easily believe; but if her majesty shall think fit to have anything drawn up by way of a secret article, all that i can do will be to present it to the protector at my return home, and i know he will be as ready as any person to show respect to the queen; but what he will do as to a consent in this particular i cannot tell, but am doubtful lest it may be apprehended as a weakening of the treaty and alliance. _woolf._ that is a great and true objection against it; and, in my opinion, it would be better for the queen to write a letter to the protector in general compliment, and in it to desire him to be a friend to her, and to give her his assistance upon any occasion that may fall out concerning her; and this letter may be sent by you, and delivered by your hand to the protector, when you may acquaint him with anything further or more particularly relating to her majesty. _wh._ i think this will be much the better way; and if such a letter be sent by me, i hope i shall be able to procure such an answer, or, upon any occasion, such a return as will be to the contentment of her majesty. but in case the queen should sign such an article, and then the protector should not approve it, it would distaste the queen and her friends, and she would be censured to have done too low an act in it. _woolf._ i had yesterday a long discourse with the chancellor about your affairs of england, and particularly of your fleet now at sea--what should be the design of having so strong a fleet at sea, the sea-war between you and your enemies being reported at an end, and peace concluded; and whether your design might be for france or spain or portugal. _wh._ or for the defence of england. _woolf._ he was much amused about it. _wh._ i hope that was not lessened by you. _woolf._ no indeed; i endeavoured to amuse him more, and told him, that for france, england did not care to have it; it would be but a charge and no benefit to them, and embroil them in a long chargeable war. _wh._ england hath had experience thereof formerly when they were masters of france, and many of us think our own country as good as france. _woolf._ i am of that opinion; and i told him there was as little probability for any design against spain because of its distance, and little advantage to england by a war with them. _wh._ i hope you commended a kingdom called denmark? _woolf._ i first told him that for portugal or the indies the like objections were against any design for them; but as for denmark, i told him that england had just cause to make war upon that king, and that it would be no hard business to gain upon him; and the advantage of traffic made me think that to be the most probable design of any other to be intended by this great fleet of england, wherein it is most likely for you to gain advantage to your commonwealth and to give offence to none, having a just cause of quarrel against him. _wh._ your brother the king of denmark hath given cause indeed to be visited. _woolf._ i shall inform you of one thing, of which you may now make advantage. your king james made a treaty with the last king of denmark concerning the isles of the orcades, which were claimed by the dane as part of their territories; and after the death of king james and our last king, that then, upon payment of £ , by the dane, he should have the orcades again. now both these kings being dead, according to that treaty it is in the liberty of the king of denmark to redeem those islands; and it would be good for you, in the treaty with that crown, who would be included in your treaty with the hollanders, to have a clause for the present king of denmark to quit his pretences to the orcades upon the treaty with king james. _wh._ this is a very material thing, and i shall not fail to do somewhat in it, if i can return to england time enough; and i thank you for putting me in mind of it. [sn: discussion on the guinea settlements.] grave eric came to whitelocke, who had much discourse with him touching guinea, and the injuries done by the swedes to the english there. _grave eric._ one of the principal persons of the swedish plantation there is now in this country, and complains of injuries done by the english to the swedes there. i think it may be fit to hear both the complaints of the one and of the other part, and thereupon to come to some agreement upon the whole matter. _whitelocke._ i have here many examinations taken upon oath concerning this matter. _gr. eric._ those complaints ought to be determined by the king of that country, who sold the lands to the planters, and can resolve all differences about that matter. _wh._ i believe that the complaints of this nature are properly to be made to the queen, whose subjects are concerned in them, and they are always under her rule. _gr. eric._ the queen will make no difficulty to do justice in this case, and i hope that the protector will do the like. _wh._ you need not at all to doubt it. _gr. eric._ this messenger, now come to me, hath brought me letters from the queen, in which there is mention of this business. _wh._ why may not an article touching guinea be inserted with the rest? _gr. eric._ that will not be convenient, because the articles are entirely concluded and engrossed on our part; and this of guinea is but a particular business, which till now came not under consideration, nor hath been examined, and it will be better to have an article by itself upon this subject. _wh._ i am satisfied with your reason, and think this way will be no disadvantage to the merchants of either nation. i desire an addition to the article touching passports, that none shall do anything contrary to the letters of passport. _gr. eric._ i cannot consent to that, for it will render the whole article fruitless in both parts; and there is another article, that in case any shall act anything in prejudice of the treaty, he shall be punished. in consideration of this article, and in regard that the agreement touching the form of passports was remitted to something to be done therein afterwards, and he found eric stiff against any alteration, whitelocke did not think it material to insist further upon it. as to that which whitelocke desired to the last article of ratification, that the words "vel successoribus suis" might be omitted, eric said he would consent thereunto if he found it material, and desired the business might be finished; and he desired whitelocke to excuse a little small delay at present by his absence for a few days, he being necessitated to go out of town tomorrow, but at his return all should be concluded; and as soon as the queen came back, the whole business should be finished, which had been done before, but by reason of the queen's unexpected journey. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke confers with the chancellor, and invites him to dinner.] in the morning the chancellor came to whitelocke and staid with him near three hours. they had much debate touching guinea, to the like effect as before with his son; they had also debate about the amendments which whitelocke had desired might be inserted in the articles, chiefly that touching passports, to which the chancellor would by no means agree. he likewise said to whitelocke:-- _chancellor._ the queen caused the articles to be copied out, to the end (as i believe) to communicate them to the prince, which will be for the greater validity of the treaty and alliance. _whitelocke._ i am glad her majesty is pleased to take the advice of the prince in this business, and am willing to promise myself that nothing is contained in the articles which he will not approve. _chan._ i believe the same. _wh._ this might be the occasion that my business was not finished before her majesty's going out of town. _chan._ i myself am also going into the country, and come now to take my leave of you. _wh._ i hope you will return before her majesty. _chan._ i purpose to stay abroad but four or five days; and i find that frequent exercise and change of air tendeth very much to the improving of my health. _wh._ i do heartily wish your health, and hope that the queen and you will shortly be in town again, and that then my business will be finished. _chan._ there is no doubt but that your business will be despatched within a very few days after the queen's return. they had much other discourse touching the affairs of england, in which the chancellor testified much respect to england and to the protector. whitelocke invited the chancellor to dinner to his house, but he excused himself, alleging that his age and infirmities would not permit him to take a meal out of his own house, or at the houses of some of his children, where he might enjoy the same liberty as at his own house. whitelocke told him that he should have the same liberty at his house, who was one of his sons, as he could take at the houses of any other of his children; but the chancellor earnestly desired to be excused, and whitelocke thought not fit further to importune him, but desired him to hasten his return hither, which he promised to do. whitelocke received his letters from england, and in that from thurloe he writes:-- [sn: letters from thurloe.] "there hath been consideration taken of your return home, but the issue of the treaty with the dutch not being yet known, his highness's resolutions as to your return are deferred until the next; the difficulty of that business lies in the article relating to the danes, etc. all things else remain as they did by my last, so that your excellence will be saved this week the labour of reading my long letter. this day we have a fast for the great drought. "my lady was here with me to hasten your return, wherein i should be glad to be instrumental. i pray god preserve your excellence, and bless the affairs under your hand. i am, "your excellence's humble servant, "jo. thurloe. "_march th, ._ "i saw a letter to his highness from upsal, wherein some expressions were used as if your excellence were like to be removed from the seal. his highness commanded me to assure you that there are no such intentions, but much the contrary, whereof your excellence will have real demonstrations upon all occasions." _april , ._ [sn: passport given to a swedish ship.] grave eric desired whitelocke to give a passport to a swedish ship bound from stockholm to portugal. the chancellor requested the same, and both father and son engaged to whitelocke that there was nothing aboard the vessel, nor any design in her voyage, against england; that she was freighted for portugal only, and that they should esteem the favour as done to themselves, because they had a share in the goods on board this ship. whitelocke, though he were hardly persuaded to give his passports to swedish ships or to any other, yet considering the time when this was desired, and the persons desiring it, he thought not fit to deny it, but gave it in this form.[ ] whitelocke gave an account in his letters this day to thurloe of all passages of moment since his last, and wrote further:-- [sn: letters to thurloe.] "my letters, i confess, have been tedious heretofore, but i ask your pardon, and do hope that my business is now at such a period that i shall not have occasion to trouble you with the like. "there is little to do here at this time; almost all the great lords and courtiers are gone out of town, so that here is a lamentable silent place. i shall be heartily glad to receive my lord's order to authorize my return; but my business being now ended, i presume i may expect his pleasure at any other place. i purpose to visit the queen-mother and the prince of sweden, because other ambassadors have done it, and i have been particularly invited to it. i think it will be a respect from my lord protector which they will take very kindly, and may be some strength to the alliance, and is not the less requisite for me, because our enemies report that none but mechanics are of our party; but since our being here the swedes acknowledge the contrary. "i hope within two or three weeks to be at sea, and that my god, who hath hitherto been so good to me, will give me a safe return to my lord and to my native country, to whom i wish all prosperity. "your affectionate friend to serve you, "b. w. "_upsal, th april, ._ "i hope you will pardon the importunity of my wife's solicitation, being for my return. i have been informed this week that some holland ships are loading here with ordnance and other provisions of war. i hope his highness hath been pleased to give order for two or three ships to be at hamburg for my transportation into england, and therein i entreat your favour. "b. w." in this letter whitelocke also gave advice, what he had been informed touching the treaty between king james and the last king of denmark concerning the orcades, with his humble opinion what was fit to be done in that business, upon the comprehension of the dane in the dutch treaty, yet nothing was done therein; however, whitelocke was satisfied in the acquittal of himself to have done his duty. upon the earnest request of some scots and english gentlemen on the behalf of colonel halsall, now in this town, whitelocke gave him this pass.[ ] _april , ._ [sn: excursion with the french resident.] the resident of france having desired whitelocke that when he went abroad to take the air he would give him leave to accompany him, whitelocke sent to him, this fair day inviting and leisure not hindering it. they went together in whitelocke's coach to a wood, about an english mile from upsal, full of pines, fir-trees, and juniper, and very fair and pleasant walks in it. the beauty of the day and place had also invited thither at this time the ambassador of denmark and the holland resident, who, perceiving whitelocke's coaches and company, crossed out of the way where they were, and betook themselves to another walk; but whitelocke kept on in his, and with the french resident had much general discourse, but little of matters of state, because they could not trust one the other; yet whitelocke learnt from him the condition of several persons in principal credit in the court of france, and the way of their management of affairs. this gentleman was very civil and courteous and good company, desiring the conversation of whitelocke, which he afforded him both going abroad and in his house, to which the resident did him the favour to be no stranger. whitelocke told him he purposed to go by nordköping, and by the way to visit the queen-mother and the prince, and to have his ship meet him there. the resident said the ship could not easily come to nordköping, being no good harbour; but his best way would be to go from thence to calmar, and his ship to meet him there, the haven being open and the ship may come near the town; and that nordköping was the midway between stockholm and calmar, and the ship might be as soon at calmar as at nordköping; that the passage to lübeck was much easier from calmar than from nordköping, and with a good wind might be made from calmar in two days. but hereof whitelocke intended to have the advice of some swedes. _april , ._ [sn: great wealth of the oxenstiern family.] monsieur bloome this lord's day dined with whitelocke, and told him that the chancellor had left him in town to keep whitelocke company in the absence of the chancellor, and to assure him that the chancellor would return again in a very few days. whitelocke made much of him, and had good informations from him. he said that grave john oxenstiern, the chancellor's eldest son, had at that time, whilst his father was alive, above £ , sterling of yearly revenue, which he had from his father and by his wife, an inheritrix; and that grave eric, the second son, had in his father's lifetime near £ , sterling of yearly revenue, besides what both of them might expect from their father: and therefore both father and sons might, as they did, live in great state and with attendance of much port and ceremony. grave leonhough bestowed a visit on whitelocke. he is a senator and one of the college of war, a person of great esteem and good parts; his conversation was full of civility; his discourse (in french) was rational, and for the most part upon matter of war, history, and the mathematics. in his company was an officer, his brother-in-law, who had served the king of portugal in his late wars, and was a civil person, and seemed a gallant man. this grave had been long bred up in the wars, and was now a major-general; and his discourse showed him to be knowing and modest. he demanded of whitelocke many questions touching the affairs of england, and particularly of the late civil dissensions there, and had a full account thereof from whitelocke, by which he seemed to receive much satisfaction, and acknowledged that he had not heard the truth before, and that this relation justified the proceedings of the parliament. he spake nothing to whitelocke touching his business of the treaty, nor did whitelocke mention it to this grave, whom he never saw before, and because it was a day for other duties. _april , ._ [sn: a serenade to whitelocke.] upsal being very empty, by the absence of the queen and all the great lords, who were retired to their country-houses, but most of them to stockholm, it was given out that her majesty would not return to this place, but remain at stockholm, and that the general assembly should be held there; which was not believed by whitelocke, because the queen had assured him that she would return to upsal within eight or ten days, and she never brake her word with him. her absence, and the leisure which they had thereby, gave opportunity to some of her musicians (italians and germans) to pass a compliment on whitelocke, to come to his house, and with great ceremony to entertain him with their vocal and instrumental music, which was excellent good; and they played many lessons of english composition, which the gentlemen who were musical of whitelocke's family brought forth unto them. _april , ._ [sn: the swedish army.] whitelocke returned a visit to the grave leonhough, whose lodgings were but mean, such as the town would afford, but his treatment was with great civility. amongst other discourse he inquired touching the discipline of war and ordering the soldiery in england, who, he said, must be well paid, or else they could not be kept in good order. whitelocke acknowledged that to be very true, and said that in england special care was taken for the constant and due pay of the armies much beyond other countries, by which means they were kept in the best and strictest discipline of any armies in the world; that violence or plunder, contrary to the articles of war, was severely punished. the grave acquainted whitelocke that he was to go out of town the next day to a general muster, about four leagues from hence, within the province where he had the government; which occasioned whitelocke to inquire of him, and to be informed that this was the standing militia of the country, and that the manner of it was thus:-- the whole militia of sweden in the country, besides the standing forces of their armies in service, doth consist of , horse and foot, whereof , horse and , foot in the several provinces are constantly in a readiness to be drawn forth in fourteen days' time. in sweden are about horse and , foot, and in finland and the other provinces about horse and , foot: in all, above , . that the crown is not at any charge for the pay of these militia forces, unless they are drawn forth into actual service, and then they are paid as their other army forces are, which is not very much or constant; but when they are in an enemy's country they live upon the country, and take contribution, if not plunder; and somewhat is allowed them by the crown, as so much in money (which is a very small proportion) and such a weekly quantity of bread, butter, and cheese for every foot-soldier, and a like proportion for the horsemen; whose charge may be guessed at by that of their officers, of whom it was affirmed that the allowance to a captain of horse was his stove and his stable, and twenty rix-dollars a year. his stove they call his fire, candle, and entertainment for himself; his stable, that is horse-meat, and room, and shoeing; and for himself from the crown (besides what he gets from the country) but twenty rix-dollars a year, with the like proportion for other officers and soldiers. the manner of maintaining their militia forces in the country was said to be this:--a horseman was quartered in the house of a boor, or husbandman; if the man will work himself and his horse with the boor, to help him in his husbandry, then the boor gives the man and his horse entertainment freely, and hath their work for it, which is more worth than their meat, and the boor will give the man perhaps some small sum of money besides. by this way the boor hath an advantage--the work of a man and a horse for their meat only; and the horseman hath an advantage--his own and his horse's meat, besides what the crown allows him, and himself and horse kept in better condition by it; and without his work, the boor is not compellable to find him but his lodging only. in like manner it is for the foot-soldier. he is quartered with a boor, and must work for the boor, or have no diet from him; but they do work generally, and by that means the soldier is kept out of idleness. the countryman hath a benefit by his work for his diet only, whereas he must give diet and wages to a servant; and the soldier by his work hath his diet besides what the state allows him, and so he and his landlord are both well pleased. but the crown hath the greatest advantage, which hereby saves the great pay which otherwise they must allow; and yet these forces are constantly in a readiness when the occasions of the crown require their service. the officers of these militia forces have no pay at all but when they are in actual service, neither do they expect any pay, being gentlemen of quality and interest in the country: the chief of whom, who are fit for it, are made colonels; the next to them lieutenant-colonels, majors, captains, and inferior officers, according to their rank of the country gentlemen, known and beloved among their neighbours, with whom their interest and power, increased by their command, makes them the better followed and obeyed. when they write out any from the militia to serve in the armies, these officers and the lords of the boors appoint them; and if any offend, they are presently written out to send abroad into russia, poland, germany, and other parts, from whence they do not all return safe, but are kept in great awe and obedience. this day here fell a great quantity of snow, and was in one night so hard frozen that it would bear a cart; the english wondered at it, but not this country men, the like being here usual at this time of the year and after. the countess of brahe, wife of the ricks-droitset, sent a gentleman to whitelocke to acquaint him that there was a parcel of timber, cut and lying ready within four miles of gothenburg, which did belong to her former husband, and was cut for the building of a ship; but by reason of her husband's death the ship was not built, and she offered the timber to whitelocke at a reasonable price. but he, finding that it had been cut four years, and lay far from the water-side, made an excuse that it would be necessary to have it viewed, which his hastening away would not now permit; but he returned thanks to the countess for her respects in the offer of it. _april , ._ [sn: preparations for the abdication.] monsieur bloome and divers others, having dined with whitelocke, acquainted him that the chancellor intended to return hither the next day after the queen. whitelocke said he hoped the chancellor would have been here before her majesty; but this was an argument to confute the report that the queen would stay at stockholm and hold the ricksdag there. another argument was, the queen's officers removing and altering some of the hangings in whitelocke's house, being longer and fitter for the rooms to be furnished in the castle for the ricksdag than those which they put up in their places in whitelocke's lodging. _april , ._ [sn: swedish mines.] in pursuance of former discourse with monsieur bloome, and by the desire of mr. bushel in england to whitelocke to inquire into it, he received a paper in french, from a person here employed about the mines, to inform him by what means this person might be treated with to be brought into england for improving of our mines there. [sn: hawks.] whitelocke also, by desire of a worthy friend in england, furnished himself with a direction how he might procure some hawks out of this country, and chiefly from the isle of deulandt, where the best hawks are; and he had gained much acquaintance with grave gabriel oxenstiern, great falconer and master of the queen's hawks, who promised his furtherance of whitelocke's desires herein, and to assist and direct any servant whom he should send hither for that purpose. [sn: mrs. penn.] one catharine penn, an englishwoman, the widow of an officer of the queen's army, entreated whitelocke to present for her a sad petition to the queen for some arrears due to her husband, which matters whitelocke was not forward to meddle with; but this being his countrywoman, and of the ancient family of penn in buckinghamshire, to which he had an alliance, whitelocke did undertake to present her petition to the queen. he undertook the like for a decayed english merchant residing at hamburg, who petitioned the queen for moneys owing to him at bremen, where he could have no justice from the governor, vice-chancellor, and others in authority; and this he undertook to move to the queen, upon the earnest request of mr. bradshaw, resident for the protector at hamburg, by his letters this day received. he was also presented with a latin epistle from one jonas olaii, begging for some charity, and who, to be sure to go high enough, gave throughout his letter the style of "illustrissime comes and celsitudo tua," for which his gift from whitelocke was the less. [sn: trade with muscovy.] in this day's packet whitelocke received letters from the muscovia company in england, signed by the governor and consuls, in which they set forth the decay and loss of their trade in muscovia by supplantation of the dutch, and the great duke's disfavour to them, which they hope may be altered upon the late change of government in england; that they understand there is now in this court an ambassador from the great duke to the queen; and they desire whitelocke, that if this ambassador do visit him, or if he think fit to visit the russian ambassador, that he would intimate this matter to him, which they hope may much further their purpose of sending to the great duke for recovery of their trade. by this post whitelocke received these letters from the secretary thurloe:-- [sn: despatch from thurloe.] "_for his excellence my lord ambassador whitelocke, at upsal, in sweden. these._ "my lord, "your letters of the th of february arrived here five or six days later than usual, and this day's post is not yet arrived. the peace with the dutch hath been in such an uncertain condition, that it was very hard to make a judgement concerning the issue of it. in the end of the last and beginning of this week it was more probable that the war should continue than otherwise; and your excellence will see by the enclosed papers, which passed between the commissioners of his highness and the ambassadors (which i have sent to you because there is contained in them the true state of the treaty as it stood whilst the differences lasted); the last of those papers will let your excellence see that they are now very near a closure; and the truth is, that there is now nothing wanting but the drawing up of things into form, and the signing on both sides, which i believe will be effected within three or four days at furthest. but because we cannot rely upon the peace as made until it be actually signed, his highness will defer the sending instructions to you in reference either to your present negotiation or returning home until the next, when your excellence may certainly except them; and in the meantime your excellence may rest assured that there hath been no other cause in delaying instructions to you upon this subject but the desire that there is in everybody to give you clear directions in so doubtful a case as this. if your staying or returning did depend upon your own negotiation there, it were easy to leave you to your own guidance; but when it rests merely upon the conclusion of the present treaty here with the dutch, it is not possible to give you any instructions which you may with safety act upon until the issue thereof be perfectly known; and after that, your excellence shall not be an hour without the knowledge of his highness's pleasure thereupon. "it is certain this state hath moved upon christian grounds only in making this peace: we have not been beaten or frightened into it; the dutch have not yet any fleet at sea, nor can have this month, if the war should continue. in the meantime we have a hundred and forty sail at sea, and better ships than we have had at any time heretofore, which gives occasion to all our neighbours to wonder at our intentions thereby. "since i began my letter i have been with the dutch ambassador, and every article is agreed word for word, so that nothing now remains to be done but to write them over and sign, which will be done upon monday next. it is not possible for me to send unto your excellence a copy of the articles as they are now agreed; i hope to do it by the next, when you will be satisfied concerning the reports i hear there are in sweden, concerning the honourable terms the dutch have gotten by this treaty. i know not what men may expect in matters of honour; i am sure the true interest of the nation, both in point of trade and otherwise, is provided for more fully than ever hath been in any treaty made between these states. "the french ambassador had a public audience on monday last. there is joined with him in commission one monsieur le baas, in quality of a commissary, who is a great confidant of the cardinal's, and a very crafty man. the french doth certainly intend by all means to make a league with his highness, and offers very frankly and considerably as to our present interest. the spaniard thinks he saith more to invite the protector to look that way and embrace an alliance with him; and sure he is the steadier friend, and hath the better and more considerable trade.[ ] "the news i have either from france or holland this week your excellence will receive enclosed. the affairs in scotland do not much alter: middleton is very active to get an army, but keeps in the most northerly parts. we never met with any of their forces but we beat them--the last letters being that we fell upon a party and took forty prisoners and sixty horse, which is all we have from thence. "i have done my utmost to get the swedish ships released; but to say the truth, although some of the swedes are innocent, yet many of them appear to be deceivers, which makes the rest fare the worse. i endeavoured to get a resolution of the case your excellence wrote about by your former letters, so as to have sent it by this post, but could not; the orders which have been made about it since my last i have sent, whereof your excellence may see the care that is had to do justice therein. "what your excellence is informed concerning the preferring of the agent of the swiss to lagerfeldt in their farewell, is a great mistake. i know no honour done to him at his going away, but the sending the answer of his letter to him by the master of the ceremony; he had neither gift nor entertainment that i know of. "i hope the copy of the articles of the dutch treaty, which i formerly sent, your excellence hath received before now. i am sorry to hear that your entertainment in sweden begins to be like my lord st. john's in holland; but i trust the lord will continue his protection to yourself and family, which is the prayer of "your excellence's humble servant, "jo. thurloe. "_march , ._ "monsieur bonnele, the queen of sweden's commissary, hath desired audience to deliver a letter congratulatory to his highness from the queen. the superscription is not very right; besides, your excellency having writ nothing about it, some difficulty hath been in the delivery of it; but yet at last resolved to receive it as it is." this letter is inserted to show by it the constant way and course of intelligence, and the generality and clearness of it, between thurloe and whitelocke, whereby his business and reputation in this court was very much advanced, and whitelocke made great use and advantage by it. the papers usually enclosed in thurloe's letters were many, and contained all particulars of moment touching the dutch treaty, as also relating to the affairs of england and of most parts of christendom. one clause in this letter of thurloe's, that, after the dutch treaty had concluded, his highness would send new instructions to whitelocke, for his direction to proceed in the treaty in sweden,--this gave much trouble and perplexity of thoughts to whitelocke. he could not imagine what those new instructions should be. if they should be contrary to what he had already agreed, it would be not only to the dishonour of whitelocke, but of the protector likewise and of the english nation, for him to go back from what he had before assented to, and to go out here with a snuff, retracting his former agreement, or else he must proceed contrary to his instructions, which would not be ratified; and both of these mischiefs great enough. he was in suspense whether he should seal the articles here beforehand, or expect the receipt of these instructions before he signed them. he considered that if he should defer the signing of the articles till after the receipt of those new instructions, that then they could not at all be signed by the present queen, who intended to continue but one week in the government, and if she did not sign in that time she could not sign at all; but the whole must be remitted to a new treaty with the new king, upon new credentials, commission, and instructions, which would require much time and trouble. he thought not fit to communicate his doubts, but resolved with himself to proceed to the finishing of the treaty without staying for new instructions from england, because otherwise all his negotiation would become fruitless; and he held himself obliged, in honour and conscience, to make good what he had already assented unto before any mention of new instructions came to him, and what he had done being pursuant to his former instructions, and in his judgement for the advantage and good of england. he was also willing to persuade himself that the new instructions would extend only to the order of his return, and was so to be taken by thurloe's letter, and to the close of his whole negotiation; wherein he had done nothing, and resolved not to do anything, but what he believed to be just and honest. he was also troubled lest the queen should put off the treaty upon some distaste about the secret article, and yet pretend only the absence of her chancellor; but whitelocke left all to the providence of god, and his blessing upon honest and diligent means, wherein he resolved not willingly to be wanting. and whether to put it off or to proceed to the despatch of it seemed the more difficult, because of a letter from his wife, wherein she wrote that thurloe said to her, that it was fit her husband should receive certain instructions what to do before his coming away, because, if he should do anything too suddenly, without good warrant, it might cost him his life. this indeed were a worthy and meet recompense for all the hardships, perils, and faithful services undergone and performed for those who were then in power; but his hope and expectation of reward was from above the highest of them. _april , ._ [sn: despatches to thurloe.] whitelocke made his despatches for england, and part of his letters to thurloe was this:-- "the queen and court being out of town, this is a solitary place. the danish ambassador and the dutch resident are still here. the spanish, german, and muscovite envoys are gone away. my business remains in a readiness to be signed, which is appointed upon the queen's return; and she is looked for every day. if they be not signed within these few days, it cannot be done by her at all, because she intends to resign the government the beginning of may, and perhaps the prince may be crowned in june; and two or three months after that will pass before new credentials can be sent from his highness, and it may be two or three months in ceremony and despatch of the business, by which time another winter will be here. "upon which considerations i humbly conceive it much more for the service of my lord to despatch my business here out of hand, and the rather because of the conclusion of the dutch treaty, which i hope will prove very prosperous to our nation. "my articles had been signed before the queen's going away but that she was willing to communicate them to the prince before her commissioners signed them, which i likewise thought very fit to be done, in regard he is so near the succession; and i likewise intend to salute him from my lord protector before my going out of this country. "i am now only in expectation of his highness's further commands and instructions concerning my return, which i hope for by the next post. "i give you most hearty thanks for the papers, which are not only a comfort but very useful to me here. i received formerly from you a copy of the dutch articles, and if i did not return you thanks for them, i confess i forgot myself, and likewise if in one of my letters i did not acquaint you that the queen had an intention (as she told me) of sending a congratulatory letter to my lord the protector; but how the direction of it was i know not, because i never saw it; but i take it as a particular favour to me, that his highness was pleased to receive it, though it were not as it ought to have been, wherein he hath answered the respect of the queen, who excepted against my credentials, but yet received them. "i am exceeding glad of your good conclusion of the dutch business, which, i am persuaded, will be of great advantage to our nation; and i look upon the issue of my business here being agreed before the issue of our treaty with the dutch was known, to be both a particular respect to the protector and government, and less difficult than it would have been if transacted after our agreement with the dutch. "they are much amused in these parts at our gallant fleet, and so early at sea; and i permit them all their conjectures, neither have they gained much allay of them from me by their inquisitiveness. "i had a compliment sent me the last night from the dutch resident, that he hoped ere long to have an opportunity to come and visit me; i answered, that i should not be wanting in that civility which became me. "i was entreated by the citizens of stockholm to receive this suit of theirs in the enclosed paper. "b. w. "_april , . upsal._" _april , ._ [sn: university library at upsal.] the french resident visited whitelocke, and, seeing him ready to go take the air, offered him his company, which whitelocke could not refuse. they went together to the library of this university, where there are many good books, for the most part brought out of germany; but it is not extraordinary, nor exceeding the public libraries in england and elsewhere. one of whitelocke's gentlemen held it not exceeding his lord's private library at his own house in england, as he affirmed to some of the scholars here, who were not pleased therewith, nor would easily believe that the english ambassador's library in his private house was to be compared to that of their university. the keeper of this library is one doctor lovenius, there present, a learned and civil person, who hath published several books in print, touching the laws and government and antiquities of his country, in good latin; and both himself and his works are worthy of esteem. he was attending upon whitelocke all the time of his being in the library and in the public places of the university, and informed him of such things as he inquired touching the same; and, to gratify their civility, whitelocke sent them twenty of his own books which he had in his house, all of them english authors, as the primate of armagh's works, sir henry spelman, selden, and others; which was a present very acceptable, and kindly received by the university from him. [sn: university of upsal.] they affirm this university to be very ancient; but there are no colleges or public houses for the maintenance of the scholars, or public revenue belonging to them; so that they do not live together in bodies or companies by themselves, but every one severally as he can agree or find for his convenience. but here are divers public rooms or schools where the professors and scholars use to meet and perform their exercises openly; and the rooms of their library are three, about twenty foot square apiece. there are all sorts of professors for the arts and sciences, who are promised good salaries, but they complain that they are not well paid; and though some of them be very learned, yet they take not much pains; it may be according to the proverb, "mal payé mal servi"--he that is ill paid doth but ill service. some counted the number of scholars to be about three hundred, which is not more than may be found in one college in england. they make great preparation by printing their theses and publishing them, and inviting the grandees to their disputations, where the queen in person is sometimes present, though the exercise is only the art of well disputing, except in some of their professors and eminent persons. their university is a kind of corporation, like others, their want of supplies not affording them so much perfection, and their defect of government giving them liberty and temptation to disorder, to which they are much addicted; but in their sermons, whilst the english were among them, they would propose them as a pattern of civility and pious conversation. their government is by a chancellor, who at present is the ricks-chancellor; and it hath constantly been in the hands of some eminent and great person. [sn: cathedral of upsal.] whitelocke and the resident visited the cathedral church, which is fair and large, built with brick, and covered with copper. they affirm it to be one of the most ancient churches of europe, and that the gospel was here early planted, but earlier in the church of old upsal, which is of a quadrangular form, and formerly dedicated to their heathen gods. their cathedral, they say, was the seat of an arch-flamen; and in the places of arch-flamens and flamens, upon their conversion to christianity (as in england, so here), bishops and archbishops were instituted; and now their cathedral, as other churches, is full of images, crucifixes, and such other furniture as the lutheran churches tolerate, and is little different therein from the popish churches. the resident and whitelocke took also a view of the castle and city of upsal. the castle is near the town, seated upon the point of a hill; it is built of brick, plastered over, strong and beautiful. if it had been finished, the design was to have had it four-square; but two sides of it only are built. it had been very large and noble if it had been perfected. as it is, it contains many rooms, and sufficient for the court; some of them are great and stately, but up two stories, after the fashion of that country. if it had been finished, it would have equalled any other, if not the castle of stockholm itself. [sn: environs of upsal.] the prospect from the castle is very beautiful; the country round about it pleasant and fruitful, and distinguished into meadows, pastures, and arable fields, and the river sale passing through them, which loseth itself about half a league from thence into a great lake. the river is navigable with boats of about twenty or thirty tons, many leagues together, going through the lake also; it is not muddy, nor unfurnished with the fish of those parts, and is about half as broad as the thames at henley. it runs at the foot of the hill on which the castle stands, and the town is built upon it; and it waters most part of the streets, to their great commodity. it is for this reason called upsal, because ubbo--who, they say, was the son of gomer, the son of japhet, the son of noah--this ubbo built this town upon the river sale, and therefore called it, after his own name, ubbo sale, by contraction of speech now called upsal. all agree it to be one of the most ancient of their cities, the metropolitan see of their archbishop, and in old time the residence of their kings, and where they were invested with the regal dignity. the country about it seemed one of the most pleasant and fruitful of these parts. the town itself is not much beautified with stately buildings, not above nine or ten houses being built with brick; the rest of them, after the fashion of their country, built with great bodies of fir-trees, and covered with turf; the fairest of their brick houses was that where the english ambassador lodged. this city hath not much trade, and therefore not much wealth. the government of it is according to the municipal law of the country, and as other cities are; their head officer is a burgomaster, who hath for his assistants a council, in the nature of the common councils in our corporations in england, consisting of the principal burgesses and inhabitants of the city, who have power, with the burgomaster, as to making of ordinances, and in the government. in their journey to take the air the resident and whitelocke had much discourse touching the images in their church, and about the observation of their sabbath; wherein the resident was furnished with the usual arguments of the papists, and was answered by whitelocke, and was not so positive as most of his persuasion use to be. he discoursed also about the dutch treaty in england, to get from whitelocke what he could to report to the danish ambassador and dutch resident; for which he was fitted by whitelocke's answers to him. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke punishes two of his retinue for neglect of the lord's day.] this being the lord's day, many gentlemen of the english and scots nation then in town came to whitelocke's house to the morning sermon, and most of them staid the afternoon sermon also. and so many strangers being there attentive in the holy duties, it gave the greater cause of scandal and offence to whitelocke that divers of his own family were absent, whereas, by his orders, they were all enjoined to a constant attendance, especially at those religious exercises; nevertheless some of them (particularly mr. castle and andrew potley) were therein more in fault than others, and, after many admonitions, would not reform, but made it their common practice almost every lord's day in the afternoon to be absent, and to go abroad and take the air. whitelocke considering the reproach and scandal, and the ill example hereby to his family, and the doing of that by some of them against which he had spoken so much here to the people of this place, upon which it would be collected that either he had not the power over his own people to order them as he judged fit, or else that he and the rest of his company were dissemblers, and found fault with that in others which they either acted or tolerated in themselves;--whitelocke finding two absent on this day, he gave order to his steward to see their trunks and goods carried out of his house, and themselves dismissed of further attendance on him, and removed from his family. yet afterwards, upon the interceding of others for them, and their own submission, the punishment was suspended; and when they perceived that whitelocke was in earnest, it caused a reformation, both in those two and in others, as to this duty and in other particulars. [sn: the queen returns to upsal.] about nine o'clock this evening the queen came to town. she had in her train but one coach with six horses, and three horsemen; so little ceremony did she observe as to her own port, but would rather make this sudden and private return than break her word with whitelocke, whom in a compliment she had promised to be here again within a few days; and she kept her word honourably and constantly. but whitelocke was sorry that she continued her old custom, too frequent here, of travelling upon the lord's day. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke pays his court to the queen.] whitelocke waited on the queen to give her the welcome home, and found her lodgings changed, leaving the better rooms for the prince. she excused her long stay out of town, and said she would now have no more delay in his business, but it should be forthwith despatched. whitelocke told her that the chancellor and his son were not yet come to town, but he humbly thanked her majesty for the speed of her return. she assured him that her chancellor and his son would be in town the next day, and that she should not have come to town so soon but for his business; that the day after her chancellor's coming the articles might be signed. she likewise discoursed with him about the secret article, that in case those here should not perform justly with her, that then the protector should not be bound by this treaty. whitelocke told her that woolfeldt and he had conference about it, and had fully considered it, and were both of opinion that it would be unfit for her majesty to make such an article, and it might turn to her prejudice; but whitelocke said, that if she pleased to write to the protector, and to leave her letters with whitelocke to procure an answer from his highness to her majesty, whereby his care for her good and assistance to her might appear, and the letter to be fit to be shown, it might be of more advantage to her than such a secret article, to which he was not empowered to assent, but it must be remitted to the protector; and whether he would consent to it in that way or not, was doubtful; and when it should be known to those here, it would be distasteful. upon this the queen seemed fully satisfied as to the secret article to be laid aside and not more thought on. whitelocke advised her as formerly touching her liberty, and not long continuing here after her resignation; and she thanked him for his advice, and said, that in case those here should not deal justly with her, she hoped she should find the protector a friend to her, and that she did put herself upon his nobleness and friendship. whitelocke told her, that the protector was a great lover and maintainer of justice and honour, and had a particular affection to her majesty, which he believed she would find him ready to manifest upon this or any other occasion, and find him a true friend to her; wherewith (poor lady!) she seemed much comforted, having brought her affairs to so low an ebb as this was, and thus high was the protector's reputation here. as to the general business of the treaty with whitelocke, she said it would be fit to have the articles signed tomorrow, and that whitelocke soon after should have his audience, and she would give order to have it done accordingly. she asked whitelocke if he would bear her company to take the air, which he did; and she riding a horse managed to the great saddle, who was troublesome, she came into her coach, and caused whitelocke to sit in the same boot with her, that they might discourse the more privately. there were also in her coach the senator rosenhau, grave tott, and steinberg. [sn: whitelocke presents his black horses to the queen,] the queen freely told whitelocke that if he would not sell his horses, as she understood he would not, that yet she should take it for a favour if he would let her have one of his sets of coach-horses, which would do her great service in her intended journey, they being fitter for travel than any she had. whitelocke told her they were all at her majesty's service; that he thought it not becoming him to sell them, but if she pleased to accept them, she should freely have them; that he thought his black horses fittest for her and best, and there were eight of them, and the other set he intended to present unto the prince{ }; that, she said, would be very well, and she kindly thanked him and accepted of his compliment. [sn: some distilled waters,] whitelocke also told the queen that he had a small cabinet of glasses of spirits of waters, essences of excellent kinds, extracted; but he believed that her majesty did not much esteem such things, and they were too inconsiderable to make a present of them to the queen-mother, if she had any liking of them. the queen said her mother was much pleased with such essences, and that she would send them to her from whitelocke. he asked when he should bring them, and an english bible which he promised to the queen. she said, tomorrow if he pleased, and that at all times he should be welcome to her. _april , ._ grave eric sent his secretary to whitelocke to inform him of his being come to town purposely for the despatch of his business, and for the signing of the articles; and he desired to know what time this afternoon he might have the liberty to come and visit whitelocke, after he had been with the queen. whitelocke told the secretary that he should be glad to see his lord after whitelocke had likewise been at the court; and there they met. whitelocke went in to the queen and presented her with the cabinet of essences, which was of green velvet, lined with silver lace very richly; within it were about twenty glasses of spirits of the rarest kinds, each glass stopped with a silver head of english silver, to screw off and on, and a lock and key of the same; and opening the cabinet the queen smelt of most of the glasses, but tasted none of them; she highly commended them and the cabinet, especially the english silver, whereof she had some discourse, and said she would send them to her mother, who would be very glad of them. [sn: and an english bible;] then according to his promise he presented her majesty with an english bible, of a very fair print and richly bound; and upon that they had this discourse:-- _whitelocke._ if your majesty would be pleased to spend some time in reading this bible, and comparing it with those in other languages, it would be a great help to your understanding of the english, if your majesty have any further thoughts thereof. _queen._ my desire still is to gain the english tongue, and i think this which you mention will be a good way to learn it. i ask your pardon that you staid so long before you came in to me; nobody told me of your being without, and i am ashamed of this incivility. _wh._ the incivility, madam, is on my side, by interrupting your greater affairs; but i come not now as an ambassador, but as a particular servant to bring this bible to your majesty. _qu._ it is a noble present, and there was the less reason to make you stay for admittance with it. [sn: and exhorts her majesty to read it.] _wh._ this book was presented to me by an english doctor, with a letter mentioning the text that the beræans were accounted the more noble because they received the word with gladness, as i hope your majesty will. _qu._ i receive it from you with much thankfulness, and shall gladly make use of it as the best of books. _wh._ your majesty, by often reading it, and comparing it with other bibles, will not only thereby gain advantage as to the language, but the highest comfort to your soul. _qu._ i have used to read much in the bible, and take great contentment in it. _wh._ your majesty will find more contentment and comfort in the study of this book than of all other books whatsoever, and therefore i do humbly recommend the often reading of it to your majesty. _qu._ i doubt you have an ill opinion of me that you so earnestly persuade me to this, as if you thought me too backward in it. _wh._ i only give my humble advice to your majesty, out of my own experience, of the great comfort, wisdom, and true pleasure which is to be met with in this book, and nowhere else, and that all things out of it are of no value. _qu._ i am full of the same opinion; but there are too many who have not so venerable an opinion of it as they ought to have. _wh._ there are indeed, madam, too many who mock at this book, and at god himself, whose book it is; but these poor worms will one day know that god will not be mocked, and that they and their reproaches will sadly perish together; and i am glad to hear your majesty's distaste of such wicked ones. _qu._ surely every good christian ought to distaste such men and such opinions. they had much more discourse upon the same subject, wherein whitelocke spake the more, because he found the queen more inclined to it now than he had perceived her to be at other times. being come from the queen, he spake with grave eric in another room, whose opinion was that it would be fit to sign the articles on the morrow, and said that his father would be returned time enough to do it. whitelocke doubted that, by reason of his weariness after his journey, it might not be then convenient. eric replied, that there would be nothing to be done that would occasion trouble, the signing and putting the seals to the articles already prepared and agreed on was all that was to be done. whitelocke demanded if the power given by the queen to her commissioners were sealed. eric said it was not, but that canterstein would be in town this evening, and would see all done. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke complains of further delays.] grave eric came to whitelocke's house, and this discourse passed between them:-- _whitelocke._ it seems to me somewhat strange that after all things agreed between her majesty's commissioners and me, i should yet attend three weeks to obtain one half-hour for the signing of the articles. _grave eric._ the queen's going out of town hath occasioned it, and the great business touching her resignation, which hath so taken up all men's thoughts and counsels, that there hath been hardly room left for any other matter; and when the queen goes away, those of the council also take the liberty to go into the country; and upon such extraordinary changes as these are, it is no strange thing for public ministers to be retarded; and the same thing hath been practised upon your changes in england. _wh._ i have not observed, either in england or elsewhere, that after an agreement upon a treaty, and nothing remaining but to sign and seal, that they have used afterwards to delay it three weeks together; yet i am willing to promise myself that the servant of the protector may expect from this crown as much respect as any other public minister. _gr. eric._ there hath been more respect showed to you than hath been accustomed to any other. i believe your business may be despatched in half an hour; and if my father return this evening time enough to do it, it may be done this night; if not, then without fail tomorrow morning. _wh._ i am the more earnest herein, looking upon it as my duty to the protector and my respect to this crown, to avoid any occasion of discontent between the two nations; and therefore i shall freely tell you that it will be very material to have the articles signed this day or tomorrow, before i receive this week's letters, by which i expect to understand that the articles between england and holland are signed; among which articles one is, that neither the one nor the other confederate shall make any alliance with any other prince or state, without first giving notice thereof to the other confederate. now if the articles between the protector and the queen be signed before i have notice of this by the dutch articles being signed, the signing of our articles here first will be without exception in this point; but if i receive this information from england before the articles be signed here, it will be doubtful whether then i shall be in a capacity afterwards to sign the articles here, whereupon sundry inconveniences will ensue, which i would willingly prevent. _gr. eric._ this is indeed a material point, and i am much startled at it. i shall go and see if my father be come to town, that i may acquaint him with it, and doubtless the business may be finished tomorrow. _wh._ what do you resolve to do in the matter i proposed touching guinea? _gr. eric._ the person concerned in that business is now in town; i shall bring him to you to give you information therein, and upon speaking together we may come to some conclusion in it. i think the best way will be to prepare an article to this purpose, that all injuries done by the one or the other party in the several plantations in guinea, and the satisfaction and damages to be given to the parties grieved, be upon the whole matter remitted to the consideration and arbitrement of persons to be chosen, as well by the company of english merchants trading to those parts as of the merchants of this country having interest in the plantations there. _wh._ i think this may be a good expedient for this business; and i shall rather submit to it than depart from hence, without any agreement at all, to have this matter, either now or at some other time, to be taken into consideration; and therefore if you please to direct an article to be drawn up to the effect proposed by yourself, and to send it to me to be perused, i shall be willing to consent to any reasonable settlement of this business; so as my countrymen, the english merchants interested in that plantation, may have no cause to believe that i have neglected what was specially recommended to me on their behalf, and that my superiors may see my care in this as well as in other matters. in the evening monsieur bloome sent word to whitelocke that the chancellor was come to town, and that canterstein was expected this night. presently whitelocke sent to the chancellor to know how he did after his journey, and when he might have the liberty to visit him. the chancellor answered that he was well, and purposed this evening or tomorrow morning to go to the queen, and afterwards he would send to whitelocke to let him know what time they might meet to finish his business. this seemed to whitelocke a little different from the ordinary rules of civility--that when he sent to the chancellor to know at what time he might come to him, the chancellor answered that his purpose was to go to the queen; but whitelocke hoped that the intent was to receive her majesty's direction in his business. _april , ._ [sn: signing the articles again deferred till the morrow.] lagerfeldt came to whitelocke from the chancellor to tell him that the chancellor was come to town purposely for the signing of the articles. whitelocke said he was much obliged to the chancellor for so great a favour, and that, after three weeks elapsed since the articles were agreed, he might now hope it would be thought seasonable to confirm that agreement with hand and seal. lagerfeldt answered that it might be done this day, and therefore he came to whitelocke that his secretary might meet with the queen's secretary, and they together might examine the books, which in the evening may be signed and sealed by both parties. _whitelocke._ hath monsieur canterstein procured the queen's patent to authorize her commissioners to conclude this treaty? _lagerfeldt._ it must be done before the signing of the articles, and then you may have your audience when your excellence pleaseth. _wh._ it were fit to have that done. _lag._ i know not whether the presents which her majesty intends to make to your excellence and your company be yet ready; and i know the queen intends to express as much honour to you as she hath done to any ambassador whatsoever. _wh._ i desire no greater honour than the despatch of my business, and liberty to return home. _lag._ i shall serve your excellence therein to the utmost of my power. in the afternoon whitelocke sent his son james and his secretary earle, and swift, with the articles and papers touching his business, unto canterstein, where they examined them and corrected what was mistaken. they asked at what hour whitelocke might repair to the chancellor for signing the articles. canterstein answered, that the chancellor was weary with his journey; but he went to him and brought word that, if whitelocke would come to the chancellor about five or six o'clock this evening, he would be ready to confer with him. this being reported to whitelocke by his son, he sent him back to canterstein to know whether the queen had sealed the grant of power to her commissioners, who brought word that it was not done, and that the queen went out of town this evening, and returned not till tomorrow. after this message, and when whitelocke saw that his letters of this week were not come, he sent to the chancellor to let him know that he feared it might be troublesome to him for whitelocke to come to him this evening, and that, if he pleased, whitelocke would come to him the next morning. to which the chancellor willingly agreed, and appointed their meeting tomorrow, betwixt eight and nine o'clock in the morning. the chancellor inquired whether whitelocke had yet received his letters from england. the servant of whitelocke said that the letters were not yet come, but that by the last week's letters the news came that the peace between england and holland was certainly concluded; to which the chancellor said, i desire to be excused. by these passages whitelocke perceived that their little design was, notwithstanding all he had endeavoured, that before they would sign the articles they desired to see this week's letters; which he took as directed by the good hand of providence, in regard that by this means he should be the more excused in what he intended to do, having staid for this week's letters and received none, and the politicians here would be deceived in their expectation. he wondered at the queen's going out of town before she sealed the commission to her deputies: some thought the reason to be, because her intended presents were not yet ready. whitelocke received a letter from the protector's resident at hamburg, wherein this was part:-- "_for his excellence my lord ambassador whitelocke, extraordinary ambassador from england with the queen of sweden. humbly these._ "the english letters are not yet come, but from holland they write that two expresses were come on the st instant, with letters assuring that the peace was concluded and mutually signed, and that, as soon as the ratification could arrive in england from the states general, hostility should cease. "i am, my lord, "with tender of my humble service, "your excellence's most humble servant, "ri. bradshawe. "_hamburg, th april, ._" whitelocke made use of this intelligence as far as it would go; and some others in this town had the same news from holland. _april , ._ [sn: the signing of the treaty.] at the time appointed whitelocke and his company came to the chancellor's lodging, with whom was his son grave eric and secretary canterstein. whitelocke's son james and his secretary earle were admitted into the room. all the time of their being there secretary canterstein was uncovered and did not sit. whitelocke's son james was also bare, as became him, but was admitted to sit down at the lower end of the table, on the same side with his father, who sat at the upper end, and the chancellor over-against him, and grave eric by his father. the chancellor acquainted whitelocke that the queen had shown the articles to the prince, who did well approve of them, and desired to have a strict league and friendship with the protector, and that the prince was ready in what should appertain to him to contribute to that end. whitelocke answered that the protector would esteem the friendship of the prince a great honour to him; and to show his desire of it, that whitelocke intended to salute the prince from the protector. the chancellor and his son said that it would be very necessary for whitelocke to do so, and that the prince intended to come nearer to this city, and then whitelocke might have the better passage to his court by water by the lake meter, than to go to him by a land-journey; and that from the prince he might, by the same lake, be transported to stockholm. after many ceremonies and compliments, with apologies for the delay of the sealing of the articles, they fell to their business. grave eric read the articles prepared by whitelocke, and his father overlooked them; whitelocke's son james read the articles prepared by the chancellor, and whitelocke overlooked them; and some mistakes being amended, whitelocke asked whether the queen's commission to give them power were sealed. they answered, it was prepared, and that the queen would seal it, and it was usual to be done at any time after the sealing of the articles; that yesterday it was not fully ready for the queen before her going out of town, but that she intended to be here again this day, and all would be ready for her sealing. the chancellor directed canterstein to read the copy of the instrument for giving power to the queen's commissioners, and desired whitelocke to give to him the commission of the protector to whitelocke, who said that he had formerly delivered to them a copy of it, which was then read; and the chancellor took exception to it, because there was no mention in it of ratifying what should be here agreed upon by whitelocke; who answered that this clause of ratification was in his first commission under the great seal of england, unto which the commission and powers given him since by the protector do refer; and he offered to deliver into their hands that commission under the great seal. and if they should require that whitelocke might yet have a larger power, whereof he thought there was no need, (they might perceive by the protector's letters that he would not scruple to give it,) whitelocke said that he would take it upon him, at his return to england, to procure it to be done; but he said he could not leave with them the protector's letters and instructions to him, because part of them was secret. the chancellor said it was the custom to deliver the original letters of power into the hands of the other party, that they might be registered in the public acts of the chancery, and that whitelocke should receive their commissions to carry with him into england; that if he would pass his word that, at his return to england, he would procure new and larger powers, and take care to send the letters of them hither from the protector, they should be satisfied therewith: which whitelocke promised to do, and desired that the queen would ratify all that should be done here before her resignation, and keep the ratification by her until the protector should seal letters of ratification on his part, and then they might be exchanged and mutually delivered. the chancellor consented hereunto, and asked what seal the protector used in these public businesses. whitelocke said he used his own seal. the chancellor asked if he did not use the seal of the commonwealth, in regard that this league was between the queen and kingdom of sweden and the protector and commonwealth of england. whitelocke said that the protector might, if he pleased, command the seal of the commonwealth to be affixed to the letters of ratification, which he believed would be done if they desired it; and that, by the same reason, it was fit that the letters of ratification here should be under the great seal of sweden. the chancellor said that in sweden, when the government was in the hands of commissioners, the king or queen not being crowned, it was usual for some chief men, of alliance to the deceased king, to make use of his private seal, and of no other; that if this treaty were with the poles or danes, or others, that being wanting in their letters which was in whitelocke's, he would not proceed any further with them until they should procure a fuller power and commission; and he said he had been present at many treaties which had been broken off upon a less defect than appeared in whitelocke's letters. but in regard their business was with the protector, whom the queen and himself did so much honour and had so great a confidence in him, and upon whitelocke's promise to procure such a power as they desired to be enlarged to him from the protector, the chancellor said they were ready to confirm the articles with their seals. whitelocke took upon him what they desired, and then the chancellor and his son eric sealed that part of the articles which whitelocke had prepared, and whitelocke sealed the other part of the articles which had been prepared by the chancellor and his son grave eric.[ ] the queen's commissioners insisted to have the date of these articles th of april, because then they were fully agreed, and the time after was for engrossing and preparing them to be signed and sealed; and whitelocke did not oppose their desire herein. thus, after a long and intricate (it might be said vexatious) transaction of this great affair for near five months together, all bitter oppositions, cunning practices, and perplexed difficulties being removed and overcome, through the goodness and assistance of the only wise counsellor, the prince of peace, it pleased him to give a good issue and happy success in the conducting of this treaty by him who accounts his great labour and hazards in this transaction well bestowed, and humbly prays that this treaty may prove to the honour of god, the interest of the protestant cause, and the good of both nations therein concerned. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke's passport through flanders.] though whitelocke received no letters this week from england, yet he had some from hamburg and from flanders, among which was one from don piementelle full of civility and compliment, giving whitelocke notice of his safe arrival in flanders, and advising him to take that way in his return; and in it was a letter in spanish from piementelle to the prince of mamines in flanders, to be made use of by whitelocke if he should have occasion there, for the more safety and accommodation of his journey. this letter whitelocke caused to be translated:-- "most excellent sir, "my lord whitelocke, the lord ambassador extraordinary of england, having finished his embassy in this court, is resolved to return through this province, having passed from hamburg to cologne, and that he may go to brussels with better security, he desires a passport from your highness to the lord archduke. i, having written that it may be despatched, and added that it may be remitted to your excellence, do entreat you to order that the said despatch may be delivered to the party whom the said lord ambassador shall send from cologne for it; and that, he passing through this town, his lordship, by his civil entertainment, may understand the favour your excellence doth afford me, i owing to this honourable person many and singular respects, which i desire to manifest and acknowledge. i am confident your excellence will assist me herein, and will be disposed to employ me in many services of yours in madrid, whither i am commanded to go, by order from my lord the king, and shall begin my journey within three or four days, by way of brussels, where i hope to find your excellence's commands, which i assure you i shall esteem in all places and obey with the highest punctuality. god preserve your excellence the many years of my desires. "your excellence's greatest servant, "ant^o pimentel." in the letter which whitelocke wrote to thurloe, after an account of the passages since his last, he wrote thus:-- [sn: report of the signing of the treaty to thurloe.] "having received no letters by the post yesterday from england, i was contented to seal the articles of our treaty; for if but a few days should be intermitted, they could not have been signed at all, because upon tuesday next the ricksdag, or parliament here, is appointed to meet, and within two or three days after their meeting the queen intends to resign her government, and it will be some time after before the prince be crowned. i shall have much to do to despatch the necessary ceremonies here of my public audience, to take my leave of the queen, with the many visits i am to perform, according to the custom to which i am to conform, in regard of the honour of his highness and our nation; for he who neglects these ceremonies here is censured for a mechanic or a boor. i intend from hence to go to the prince of sweden, to salute him from my lord protector, as i am advised that the prince expects and desires it. from thence i purpose to go to stockholm, where i am to take ship for lübeck; and from thence to hamburg, where i shall attend his highness's further commands, or some ships to be sent for my transport into england, which i earnestly entreat you to procure in time. "i hope, before my going from hence, to receive his highness's order, which i long since wrote for, concerning my return; but however, my business being effected here, i presume i may, without displeasure to his highness, be upon my return homewards; the rather, because upon the change which is shortly to be here my commission will be at an end. "the queen intends, shortly after her resignation, to go to the spa, which i have cause to believe. in those parts they say the king of the romans will wait upon her, but that i doubt. "her majesty hath showed extraordinary affection and respect to my lord protector; so hath the chancellor and his son grave eric, and my lord lagerfeldt, etc." [sn: whitelocke's interview with the queen after the signing of the treaty.] whitelocke waited on the queen, and gave her an account of the signing and sealing of his articles; whereupon she said:-- _queen._ i am glad that this business is done to your satisfaction. _whitelocke._ there remains only your majesty's sealing your letters of full power to your commissioners who treated with me. _qu._ i sealed them this morning. _wh._ then my humble suit is, that your majesty would appoint a day for my audience to take my leave. _qu._ this is saturday, but if you desire it you may have it on friday next. _wh._ would your majesty's leisure permit to give me audience on tuesday or wednesday next, they being no holidays? _qu._ the assembly is to sit on tuesday, and at their first meeting i shall have a great deal of business with them, which will hinder me from any other affairs. _wh._ i humbly pray your majesty to appoint it as soon as your own leisure will permit, for i shall have many businesses and ceremonies after it to perform, before my going away. _qu._ on monday next i will appoint a day; and touching the secret article, about which i formerly discoursed with you, i have now altered my opinion, and am resolved to follow the advice that you and mr. woolfeldt have given me. i will write a letter under my own hand to the protector to the effect you advised, and deliver it to you to be presented to him. _wh._ this will be much the better way. _qu._ i desire you to be careful of the letter; and before i seal it i will show it to you for your advice in it. _wh._ madam, i shall have a special care of it, and to procure an answer of it from the protector, i hope, to your majesty's contentment, that you may make use of it if there shall be occasion; and i believe the protector will be a firm friend to your majesty. _qu._ i doubt it not, nor your respects to me. _wh._ i am engaged by your many favours to serve your majesty with all faithfulness. _qu._ i had some clothes in a ship coming hither, and the ship is taken, and my clothes detained in england, so that i cannot get them to wear. _wh._ if your majesty want clothes, i have a piece of english stuff at my house, which cost two shillings a yard; and, if that were not too dear for your majesty's wearing, i would send it to you. _qu._ two shillings a yard is dear enough for me: i pray send your stuff hither, and i shall willingly accept of it, and thank you for it. _wh._ will your majesty be pleased on monday next to go into england? _qu._ hardly so soon; yet perhaps i may one day see england. but what is your meaning in this? _wh._ madam, monday next is the first day of may, a great day in england; we call it may-day, when the gentlemen use to wait upon their mistresses abroad to bid the spring welcome, and to have some collation or entertainment for them. now your majesty being my mistress, if you will do me the honour, that, after the custom of england, i may wait on you on may-day, and have a little treatment for you after the manner of england; this i call going into england, and shall take it as a very great favour from your majesty. _qu._ if this be your meaning of going into england, i shall be very willing, as your mistress, to go with you on monday next, and to see the english mode. lagerfeldt and the master of the ceremonies dining with whitelocke, he inquired of them what was to be done by him as to presents to any of the queen's servants or officers who had done him respect in his business, or being here, and what other things were requisite to be done by him, according to the usage of ambassadors in this court before their going away, and when he might obtain his audience to take his leave. the master of the ceremonies gave him good and chargeable instructions; and lagerfeldt agreed in most points with him, and, upon whitelocke's entreaty, undertook to see that the letters of full power to the queen's commissioners, and the recredentials to whitelocke, should be perfected and brought to him, and a day of audience appointed. lagerfeldt told whitelocke that the queen was willing to present him with some of this country's commodities, as copper, to carry with him into england, if it would be as acceptable to him as other presents of diamonds and the like; and he said he hoped there was no order of the commonwealth of england to forbid the receiving of such presents by their public ministers. he said, that formerly he asked of monsieur chanut, the french ambassador here, if he would accept a present of copper, and he willingly accepted it, and carried it with him, saying, that he rather desired copper than diamonds or jewels, because he could better sell the copper than jewels, and make money of it. whitelocke said, that whatsoever her majesty pleased to bestow on him should be welcome to him, and that he liked the commodities of this country as well as those of the indies, and that for chanut's reason. he said that the protector had not forbid him to receive any testimonies of the queen's respect to him, as she used to do to all public ministers; that the order of the commonwealth forbidding gifts or presents to public ministers was not now in force; that he thought her majesty's bounty to him, and his justification of the acceptance of it, might be the more from such valuable presents as her majesty had done him the honour to receive from him, and his intention to bestow all his horses upon her, and such as she would appoint, which, for the honour of the commonwealth, he would not sell. _april , ._ [sn: whitelocke accepts a present of copper.] berkman and monsieur bloome dined with whitelocke, and took occasion to magnify the respects of the chancellor and his son, grave eric, to the protector and to whitelocke, who was not backward to join in those eulogies, and to acknowledge the respects. berkman said that canterstein was to bring some writings to whitelocke, and that lagerfeldt had spoken to the queen to present whitelocke with some copper; that she had given order for two hundred ship-pound of copper to be brought from the mines to stockholm, to be put aboard whitelocke's ship, ready to be carried away with him; that every ship-pound was here worth forty dollars, and was as much as three hundred english pounds, which he cast up in the whole to the value of about £ sterling. and whitelocke was satisfied in his own conscience that he might honourably receive it, having given to the queen as many presents already as were worth £ , and engaged to her his horses, which were worth about £ more, besides the gifts and gratuities which he had liberally given, and intended to give, to the queen's servants and officers; and that, in recompense of above £ given away, he might well receive a present of the value of £ . grave leonhough visited whitelocke, and had much discourse with him, not so proper for this day. footnotes: [ ] [an ingenious device of whitelocke's to lead the spaniard to hasten the business of the treaty with sweden, which he was suspected of having retarded.] [ ] the french, and english copies of the passport were these:-- "comme ainsi soit que don antonio piementel de prado, envoyé extraordinaire de sa majesté le roi d'espagne à sa majesté la reine de suède, soit maintenant sur son retour de ce lieu à neufport en flandres, dont son excellence est gouverneur; et qu'il ait jugé à propos d'envoyer partie de son train et bagage par mer de hambourg à dunquerque, ou public autre port des provinces unies à présent sous l'obéissance de sa dite majesté le roi d'espagne; et pour leur procurer d'autant plus sur convoi, m'ait désiré, comme ambassadeur extraordinaire de son altesse monseigneur le protecteur de la république d'angleterre, d'ecosse, et d'irlande, vers sa majesté la reine de suède, de lui donner passeport: ces présents sont pour requérir tous ceux qui ont commandement par mer ou par terre, et tous officiers et autres de la dite république auxquels il peut appartenir, de permettre le porteur des présents, joos froidure, serviteur du dit don antonio piementel, avec son navire et biens sous sa charge (à savoir, vingt caisses contenantes toutes sortes de meubles, comme vaisselle d'argent, tapisseries, linges, habits, lits de camp, et autres coffres et choses pareilles, et tout conduit par le susdit joos froidure, et les caisses marquées d. a. p.), de passer paisiblement et sans empêchement quelconque jusqu'au dit dunquerque, ou autre port des provinces unies de présent sous l'obéissance de sa dite majesté le roi d'espagne. donné sous ma main et sceau, à upsale en suède, ce ème d'avril, . b. whitelocke." "whereas don antonio pimentel de prado, envoy extraordinary from his majesty the king of spain unto her majesty the queen of sweden, is now upon his return from this place unto newport, in flanders, whereof his excellence is governor, and hath thought fit to send part of his train and goods from hamburg by sea unto dunkirk, or some other port now in obedience to his said majesty the king of spain, in the low countries; and, for the better conveyance of them, hath desired a pass from me, being ambassador extraordinary from his highness my lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, unto her said majesty the queen of sweden; these are therefore to desire all commanders by sea or land, and all officers or others, of the said commonwealth, whom it may concern, to permit the bearer hereof, joos froidure, servant unto the said don antonio pimentel, with the ship and goods under his charge, viz. twenty chests or packages, containing all sorts of household stuff, as vessels of silver, tapestries, linen, apparel, field-beds, and other coffers and such like things, marked with d. a. p., to pass unto the said port of dunkirk, or any other port now in obedience unto his said majesty the king of spain in the low countries, quietly and without any molestation. given under my hand and seal, at upsal, in sweden, this th day of april, . b. whitelocke." [ ] [it is curious to remark at the present time ( ) how the same questions have arisen out of the state of war. the list of contraband articles established by whitelocke's treaty is still in force as between england and sweden, and liége is still the great resource of the continent for arms.] [ ] [cromwell was already preparing the two armaments at portsmouth, one of which afterwards became the mediterranean fleet, under blake, of thirty-five ships, and the other, of thirty-two ships, sailed in the following year under penn and venables for the west indies.] [ ] [this gentleman is doubtless the same m. woolfeldt whom whitelocke frequently refers to; for in a manuscript addressed to his children, woolfeldt is mentioned by name as a person entertaining similar sentiments towards his native country. he was a danish nobleman nearly connected by marriage with the king of denmark, but who had incurred the displeasure of the court, and been driven into exile on account of this marriage.] [ ] "whereas peter gerbrant, citizen of stockholm, and commander of a ship belonging to her majesty the queen of sweden, called the 'sudermanland,' loaden with corn and other swedish merchandises, is now bound for lisbon, in portugal, and, for his better passage, hath desired of me, being ambassador extraordinary from his highness the lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, unto her majesty the queen of sweden, to give him my pass and letters recommendatory: these are therefore to desire all commanders and officers by sea or land, and all others of the said commonwealth whom it may concern, to permit the said peter gerbrant, together with his said ship and lading, to pass unto the said port of lisbon quietly and without any molestation; and so to return from thence unto stockholm, with such lading as the said master shall there think fit to take into his ship. given under my hand and seal at upsal, in sweden, this th day of april, . b. w." [ ] "whereas the bearer hereof, lieutenant-colonel robert halsall, had a pass from colonel robert lilburne, commander-in-chief of the forces in scotland under his highness the lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, to transport himself, his servant, and necessaries into sweden upon his occasions, and, having despatched his business, he hath made his request to me, being ambassador from his said highness the lord protector to her majesty the queen of sweden, to grant him my pass for his return into scotland: these are therefore to desire all commanders by sea or land, and all officers and others of the said commonwealth whom it may concern, to suffer him, the said lieutenant-colonel halsall, quietly to pass into scotland, he acting nothing prejudicial to the commonwealth aforesaid; and further i desire that the commander-in-chief in scotland will be pleased to show unto him, the said lieutenant-colonel, such favour at all times as he shall there deserve. given under my hand and seal, at upsal, in sweden, this th of april, . b. whitelocke." [ ] [these words show that the contest between the french and spanish alliance in london was still going on; but they did not convey the truth to whitelocke, for it was against spain that the great armament previously mentioned was destined to be used, in the expedition to st. domingo and the conquest of jamaica.] [ ] the treaty thus signed ran in the following terms:-- [sn: text of the treaty.] "we whose names are subscribed, axel oxenstiern, chancellor of the kingdom and provincial judge of the west norlanders, of lapland, heredalia, and jemptia, earl of south morea, free baron in kimitho, lord in tiholme and tydoen, knight of the golden spur; and eric oxenstiern, son of axel, general president of the college of trade, earl of south morea, free baron in kimitho, lord in tydoen, viby, and gorwallen, senators of the kingdom of sweden, and plenipotentiary commissioners of the most serene and most potent prince and lady the lady christina, by the grace of god queen of the swedes, goths, and vandals, great prince of finland, duke of esthonia, carelia, bremen, veherden, stettin, pomerland, cassubia and vandalia, prince of rugia, and lady of ingria and of wismar; do make known and testify that formerly there hath been a great amity between the swedish and english nations, for which, to renew and increase the profit of it, it very well happened that the most illustrious and most excellent lord bulstrode whitelocke, constable of windsor castle, and at this time one of the keepers of the great seal of england, being sufficiently authorized to treat of the following affairs, came to the s.r.m. our lady, by commandment and in the name of oliver, lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, ambassador extraordinary from these countries and of the aforesaid commonwealth. the same also our most s.r.m. hath benignly commanded us, who have the same and sufficient power, that after we should have considered with the aforesaid lord ambassador about the things which would be judged the most convenient to establish the liberty of commerce and navigation, and to corroborate the mutual amity in this time, that some certain things should be determined and written in form of articles of mutual alliance. "therefore we, after a good deliberation together, agreed touching the affairs hereafter written, as they are by these following laws which are in this treaty, and by their clear words and without difficulty expressed. that is:-- " . that hereafter there be a good, sincere, firm peace and correspondence between the queen and kingdom of sweden and the lord protector and the aforesaid commonwealth, and between all and every one of the dominions, kingdoms, countries, provinces, islands, lands, colonies, towns, peoples, citizens, inhabitants, and all and every one of the subjects of either of the party, so that they may mutually embrace in entire love and affection. " . the aforesaid confederates and subjects, people and inhabitants of either, shall, when occasion shall be presented, advance the common profit, and shall, if they know of any imminent danger or conspiration or machination of the enemies, admonish one another, and shall hinder them as much as lies in their power. neither shall it be permitted to any of the confederates to do or treat by him, or by any other whatsoever, to the prejudice or damage of the lands and dominions of either, whatsoever they be, or in whatsoever place, either by sea or land. the enemies or rebels or adversaries shall in nowise be suffered, neither shall the rebels or traitors who undertake under the state of the other be received in his countries, and shall much less give them counsel, aid, or favour, nor shall admit that his subjects, people, or inhabitants should do anything like. " . the queen and kingdom aforesaid and the lord protector and commonwealth aforesaid shall, as much as in them lies, endeavour to take care, with all candour and affection, to remove all the hindrances which hitherto have interrupted the liberty of navigation and commerce between both the nations, as much in the dominions, lands, seas, and rivers of either of the confederates with other people and nations. they shall also endeavour to advance and defend the liberty of navigation and commerce against all sorts of disturbers for the reasons agreed upon in this treaty, or upon which hereafter they may agree, nor shall suffer, either through themselves, their subjects, or people, any offence to be committed or done against this institution. " . for it is consented and agreed that the inhabitants and subjects of the aforesaid confederates be free to travel by sea or land into the kingdoms, countries, provinces, lands, islands, towns, cities, villages, walled or unwalled, fortified or no, ports, dominions whatsoever freely, or without safe-conduct, general or special, to go and thence to return, and thence to stay or pass over, and all the while to buy victuals and things necessary for their use, and are to be treated with all benevolence. and also it shall be lawful for the subjects, citizens, and inhabitants of either of the confederates to exercise merchandise and commerce in all places wherein any commerce hath hitherto been exercised, and the same merchandise may be carried in or forth according to their pleasure, paying nevertheless the usual tax, and observing the laws and ordinances of the aforesaid kingdom and commonwealth; supposing on both sides that the people, subjects, and inhabitants of either of the confederates shall have and possess in the countries, lands, dominions, and kingdom of the other as full and ample privileges, and as much freedom, liberty, and immunity, as any stranger possesseth, or shall possess, in the said dominions and kingdoms. " . the merchants, masters of ships, pilots, seamen, and others, their ships, merchandise, and all goods in general of the said confederates and their subjects and inhabitants, shall not be apprehended or detained in the lands, ports, shores, harbours, or dominions whatsoever in alliance with the other, for any public use, expedition of war, or other cause, much less for any private man's use by virtue of any edict, general or special; neither shall they be molested or constrained by violence or injury or anything of that kind: provided that arrests be not prohibited if they are made according to the ordinary form of law, justice, and equity; they shall not neglect the punishment of any for private affection. " . and if one or more ships of the subjects, citizens, or inhabitants, be they of war or of burden and private men's, shall be forced by tempests, or pursued by pirates and enemies, or any urgent necessity to the harbour or shores of the other confederate, and be forced to call for protection, they shall be received there with all benignity, humanity, and friendship, and at no time to be hindered, and all victual, reparation, and things fit for use at the ordinary price; they shall not be prohibited to depart or go out of the port or harbour by any pretence whatsoever, as long as they have not committed anything against the statutes, ordinances, and custom of the place where their ships are brought and where they shall sojourn. " . likewise, if one ship or more of war or of private men of the other confederate, and of the subjects and inhabitants, shall be shipwrecked or cast on the coast of the dominions of the other confederate, or for the future may suffer detriment, they may be relieved and helped at a price agreed on, so that whatsoever shall be saved from the shipwreck shall be preserved and restored to the true owner or his factor. " . and if the subjects and inhabitants of the other confederate, whether they be merchants, their factors, servants, masters of ships, pirates, seamen, or others, have occasion to travel into the dominions of the other confederate, or if anything shall come in their name before a court of justice, or suits for their debts, or for any other lawful reason wherein they may need the help of the magistrate; in these things he shall be benign and ready for equity's sake, and shall administer justice without delay or unnecessary circumstances, and they shall not be hindered in their journey by any pretence, but whithersoever they go are to be used friendly, and shall have the liberty either in going or returning to carry and wear arms for their private defence, and to walk into the harbours, seaports, and in any public place of the other confederate armed; provided they give no occasion of just suspicion to the governors or magistrates of any place of any design against the public or private peace, but chiefly they are to behave themselves modestly, and to live without any injury. " . it is lawful for the foresaid confederates and both their people to buy and export out of any of their countries, dominions, and kingdoms, all sorts of arms and provision of war, and freely and safely to carry their ships into what ports, stations, and harbours of the other confederate they please, and there to sojourn and from thence to go; and they are to carry themselves modestly, peaceably, and conform to all the laws and customs of the place, and they may trade there without any hindrance; likewise the ships of war have free leave to come to the ports, havens, and stations of the other confederates. but nevertheless, if there be a manifest suspicion in their number, they may forbid their access, without they have obtained leave of the confederate in whose ports they are (unless they are drawn in by tempests, or force, or danger, or chief magistrate), and are not to stay longer than the governor or chief magistrate will give them leave. " . it shall be lawful for the subjects and inhabitants of the kingdom of sweden to travel into all the countries of england, scotland, and ireland, and likewise to pass beyond land or sea, and other people that commerce with them, to exercise trade in all kind of merchandise, and to bring them thither and carry thence at their pleasure. the people of the aforesaid commonwealth shall enjoy the same liberty in the kingdoms, dominions, and territories of the queen and kingdom of sweden, but upon condition that they shall observe the respective laws, ordinances, and particular rights of both nations, and of those things which concern the traffic. " . although it be prohibited by the former articles of this league and friendship, that neither of the confederates shall give aid or assistance to the enemies of the other, nevertheless it is no way to be understood that it is denied to the confederate and his subjects and people who is not in war to have commerce and navigation with the enemies of that confederate who is in war: provided only in the meantime, until it may be more fully agreed upon, all laws hereunto pertaining, that none of those commodities called contraband (of which a special designation or catalogue shall be agreed upon within four months from this time) shall be carried to the enemies of either, upon peril that if they be found out by the other confederate, they shall be taken as prize without hope of restitution. " . but lest this free navigation or passage by land or sea with other nations, of the one confederate, his subjects, or people, during the war of the other confederate, should be a deceit to the other confederate, and may conceal commodities and hostile goods by deceit, pretending the name of a friend, for that reason, to remove suspicion and fraud, it is thought fit that the ships, waggons, merchandises, and men belonging to one of the confederates, in their journeys and navigations shall be armed with letters of safe-conduct, commonly called passports and certificates, which shall be signed by the chief governor or magistrate of the province or city from whence they come, and in all them those forms to be observed which shall be agreed upon within the space of four months next ensuing; but where the merchandises, goods, shipping, and men of one of the confederates, or of his subjects or people, in the open sea, straits, ports, stations, lands, and places whatsoever, shall be met with by the ships of war, public or private, or by the men, subjects, and people of the other confederate, or by any means shall be in one place together, then exhibiting only their letters of safe-conduct and certificates, nothing shall be further required of them, nor inquired of them, nor inquiry made as to their goods, shipping, or men any further, much less shall any injury, damage, or trouble be offered to them, but, as is before signified, they shall be freely dismissed to proceed in their intended journey. and in case anything be done by either party contrary to the genuine sense of this article, either of the confederates shall cause severe punishment to be inflicted upon those who shall do contrary hereunto, their subjects and people, and shall take care that satisfaction be made without delay to the other grieved confederate, or his subjects and people, fully of all their losses and expenses. " . also, if it shall fall out hereafter during this friendship and league, that any of the people and subjects of either of the confederates shall take part with, or design anything against this league, the agreement between the aforesaid confederates shall not thereby be interrupted or dissolved, but nevertheless shall continue and wholly remain; but those particular persons only who have broken this league shall be punished, and right and justice shall be administered to those who have received injury, and satisfaction shall be made of all damages and wrong within a twelvemonth's time after restitution demanded. and if the foresaid delinquents and persons guilty of the violence committed shall not yield themselves and submit to justice, or within the prefixed time shall refuse to make satisfaction, they, whosoever they are, shall at length be proclaimed enemies to both states, and their estates, goods, and whatsoever things they have shall be confiscated and sold for a just and full satisfaction of the wrongs by them done, and those offenders and guilty persons, where they shall come into the power of either state, shall suffer also deserved punishment according to the nature of their offence. but restitution and satisfaction for the losses and damages which either of the confederates hath suffered by the other during the war between england and the united provinces of the netherlands shall be made and afforded without delay to the party wronged, or to his subjects. " . the present treaty and confederation shall not at all derogate from the pre-eminence, right, and dominion whatsoever of either of the confederates in their seas, straits, and waters whatsoever; but they shall have and retain the same to themselves in the same fulness as they have hitherto enjoyed the same, and of right belongs unto them. " . whereas therefore it is the principal purpose of this league that the same freedom of navigation and merchandising as is expressed in the former articles should be and remain to either confederate, his subjects and people, in the baltic sea, the strait of the sound, the northern, western, british, and mediterranean seas, and in the channel and other seas of europe, it shall therefore earnestly be endeavoured by common counsel, help, and assistance, that the foresaid mutual freedom of navigation and commerce shall be established and promoted in all the before-mentioned seas, and, if occasion require, shall be defended against disturbers who would interrupt it, prohibit, hinder, constrain, and force it to their own will and the injury of the confederates; and both the confederates shall willingly and mutually afford their goodwill and readiness to promote the benefit and to take away the prejudice of either of the confederates, always saving to either nation the leagues with other kingdoms, commonwealths, and nations which have been heretofore made and are in force; but neither of the confederates for the future shall make any league or alliance with any foreign people or nations whatsoever to any prejudice of this present mutual league, without the knowledge beforehand and consent of the other confederate; and if anything shall hereafter be agreed otherwise, it shall be void, and shall wholly give way to this mutual agreement; but of the manner of mutual aid or assistance to be given for defence of this league, and freedom of commerce and navigation, where it shall be necessary and reason shall require it, it shall be specially agreed upon according to the circumstances of time and all other things. " . concerning other advantages to be enjoyed, and rules according to which the ships of war shall demean themselves which shall come into the ports or stations of the other confederate, of the trade to be had in america, also of the commodities of fishing for herrings and other fish whatsoever, of the staples and marts to be appointed for trade, and of other matters and conditions which may be required for the greater evidence of the former articles, as by a particular treaty and mutual contract shall be hereafter agreed. " . but those matters which we have agreed in the former articles shall forthwith from this moment of time obtain full force and be sincerely and rightly observed by either party, and by all who are under their obedience, faith, and command. and to the end that for the time to come they may be the more established, and remain firm as well by her royal majesty as also by the lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, and the territories thereunto belonging, in the name of his highness and the said commonwealth, these presents, with the proper subscriptions of the hands of her majesty and of his highness, shall be subscribed, signed, and ratified. "in confirmation of all these things which are above written, and for sufficient testimony thereof that on the part of her royal majesty our most clement lady they shall be most religiously and fully observed, and be ratified within the time prefixed, we have subscribed these presents with our proper hands, and armed them with our seals. dated at upsal, the th day of april, in the year . "axel oxenstiern, "eric oxenstiern axelius." may. _may , ._ [sn: preparations for departure.] lagerfeldt, berkman, and the syndic of gothenburg, after dinner with whitelocke, discoursed and advised him touching his departure. lagerfeldt said he believed the queen would give whitelocke audience on friday next, before which time her presents would not be ready for whitelocke and his company; he said also, that he heard the prince intended to be in this town within a few days, and if it should be so, then it would be better for whitelocke to stay here, and expect his coming hither to salute him here, than to go out of his way so far as to the prince's court; in which matter whitelocke said he would entreat the queen's advice. lagerfeldt said further, that the queen had commanded some copper to be brought to stockholm, and to be put aboard the ship where whitelocke was to be embarked, or in some other ship as he should appoint, it being a present intended for him by the queen. the syndic acquainted whitelocke that the city of gothenburg would send into england, to prepare there for an accord concerning traffic between the english merchants and that town, wherein they hoped to have the assistance of whitelocke at his return to england, wherein he promised his advice and furtherance. a danish gentleman of quality and experience gave a visit to whitelocke, advised him the way of his journey, and gave him good information touching denmark, to be communicated to the protector, as that the english merchants might pass the sound without paying any tax, if the protector would insist upon it. whitelocke, in drollery, asked him why he would discover these things to a stranger, which turn so much to the prejudice of his own country. he answered that he did this to testify his respects to the protector, and that he did not betray his country, but his country had betrayed him; and that was his country where he breathed and had present nourishment.[ ] mr. woolfeldt visited whitelocke, and, among other discourses, related to him the story of this gentleman and his lady, which was to this effect, by his and others' relation:-- [sn: woolfeldt's history.] this gentleman was of a noble family and extraction in denmark, grew into great favour with the last king, whose daughter by a second wife he married; and the present king, her brother, made him viceroy of norway, governor of the isle of zealand and of the sound, and a senator of the kingdom and great master of denmark; and he had been employed thirteen times as an ambassador. "his lady, the daughter and sister of a king, was of excellent comeliness of person and behaviour, humbly knowing her distance, of a sweet disposition, and of rare parts, both of mind and body; especially deserving praise for her high and entire affection to her husband, who, notwithstanding his great parts and abilities, and the many perils he had undergone in the service of his king and country, yet after all, by the whisperings and false suggestions of backbiters, his enemies, was traduced to the king for being too much a friend to the people's liberty, and an opposer of the king's absolute power; but beyond all this (as some gave it out), that he was too familiar with one of the king's mistresses; so it was that the king took high displeasure against him. parasites took the occasion to please the king by invectives against one under a cloud; his parts attracted envy, and his merits were too great for any other recompense but his own ruin. "to avoid the king's wrath and his enemies' malice, and to preserve his life, which was aimed to be taken away with his fortune, he was compelled to fly from his country and seek his security in foreign parts. his lady, though a tender, modest woman,--though the sister of the king regnant, high in his favour and the interest of her alliance; though pressingly enticed to cast off her affection to her husband; though unacquainted with any hardships,--yet so entire was her conjugal love and piety, that, rather than part with her husband, she would leave all her relations and pleasures of a court and her dear country, and put herself, though with child, into the disguise of a page, to attend him in his flight as his servant. "it may be imagined that such a servant was not unkindly used; but the greatest trouble was, that being on shipboard to cross the baltic sea, the poor page whispered the master that she had a longing desire to some cherries which she saw in the town as they came to the ship. here was the difficulty: if her lord did not go on shore and procure some cherries for the page, it might cost her life; if he did go on shore, and in the meantime the ship should go off, he and his page would be parted, and his own life endangered. it was reason and honour that persuaded him rather to hazard his own than such a page's life; therefore, having effectually dealt with the master of the ship for a little stay, he soon found out a pretence to go on shore, and neglected not to hasten back again with his provision of cherries, and to find out a way of distributing a large share of them to her that longed for them. after which they happily set sail and arrived in sweden, where, by articles between the two crowns, those in his condition have sanctuary and protection." in the afternoon whitelocke went to court, where he met with canterstein, who excused himself that he had not yet brought to whitelocke the queen's letters of full power to her commissioners, which he said the queen had signed two days before, and that he had been sick, otherwise he had delivered them before this time. whitelocke asked him if his recredentials were prepared. he said they were ready for the queen to sign when she pleased, and that nothing in his charge concerning whitelocke should receive any delay by his occasion. whitelocke gave him thanks for his care, and promised his remuneration. [sn: whitelocke entertains the queen on may-day.] this being may-day, whitelocke, according to the invitation he had made to the queen, put her in mind of it, that, as she was his mistress, and this may-day, he was, by the custom of england, to wait upon her to take the air, and to treat her with some little collation, as her servant. the queen said the weather was very cold, yet she was very willing to bear him company after the english mode. with the queen were woolfeldt, tott, and five of her ladies. whitelocke brought them to his collation, which he had commanded his servants to prepare in the best manner they could, and altogether after the english fashion. at the table with the queen sat "la belle comtesse," the countess gabrielle oxenstiern, woolfeldt, tott, and whitelocke; the other ladies sat in another room. their meat was such fowl as could be gotten, dressed after the english fashion and with english sauces, creams, puddings, custards, tarts, tansies, english apples, _bon chrétien_ pears, cheese, butter, neats' tongues, potted venison, and sweetmeats brought out of england, as his sack and claret also was. his beer was also brewed and his bread made by his own servants in his house, after the english manner; and the queen and her company seemed highly pleased with this treatment. some of her company said she did eat and drink more at it than she used to do in three or four days at her own table. the entertainment was as full and noble as the place would afford and as whitelocke could make it, and so well ordered and contrived that the queen said she had never seen any like it. she was pleased so far to play the good housewife as to inquire how the butter could be so fresh and sweet, and yet brought out of england. whitelocke, from his cooks, satisfied her majesty's inquiry, that they put the salt butter into milk, where it lay all night, and the next day it would eat fresh and sweet as this did, and any butter new made, and commended her majesty's good housewifery; who, to express her contentment in this collation, was full of pleasantness and gaiety of spirit, both in supper-time and afterwards. among other frolics, she commanded whitelocke to teach her ladies the english salutation, which, after some pretty defences, their lips obeyed, and whitelocke most readily. she highly commended whitelocke's music of the trumpets, which sounded all supper-time; and her discourse was all of mirth and drollery, wherein whitelocke endeavoured to answer her, and the rest of the company did their parts. it was late before she returned to the castle, whither whitelocke waited on her; and she discoursed a little with him about his business and the time of his audience, and gave him many thanks for his noble treatment of her and her company. _may , ._ [sn: the swedish full powers.] whitelocke sent to the master of the ceremonies to know if he had desired a time for his last audience, who promised to do it. canterstein brought to whitelocke the queen's letters of full power to her commissioners, under her hand and the great seal of sweden, which were of this tenour.[ ] having received this commission, whitelocke delivered to canterstein his commission under the great seal of england, and the copy of his new instructions from the protector, except what was secret in them. canterstein, the master of the ceremonies, and monsieur bloome, were frolic at dinner with whitelocke, and made many caresses to him, and extolled the chancellor's care and high respect to whitelocke, in bringing his treaty to so good an issue; and after dinner bloome told whitelocke that the chancellor had advised the queen to make a noble present to whitelocke, which was not yet ready, and that had retarded his last audience. the master of the ceremonies, from the queen, desired whitelocke to have a little patience for a few days; that she expected the arrival of the prince within six or seven days in this town, by which means whitelocke would have a fair opportunity to salute him here, without further trouble; and that the queen would give him audience within two days before the arrival of the prince, and so he should receive no disturbance in his voyage. whitelocke saw no other remedy for this but patience. _may , ._ [sn: the guinea question.] whitelocke visited grave eric. they fell into discourse, among other things, touching guinea, to this effect:-- _whitelocke._ it is requisite that we come to some conclusion about the business of guinea. _grave eric._ i think it fit; and for your further information, here is the answer in writing of the swedes who are concerned therein unto the complaints of the english company in that business. _wh._ will you leave the writing with me? _gr. eric._ i shall send you a copy of it. _wh._ the complaints of the english have been proved by depositions of witnesses. _gr. eric._ those depositions were taken in the absence of the other party; and, if you please, witnesses may be produced here on the part of the swedes. _wh._ witnesses produced here will be also in the absence of the other party, though i had leisure and commission to examine them on oath. _gr. eric._ you may see in this map of guinea how the plantations of the swedes, english, and hollanders do lie, and are mingled and near to one another. _wh._ the king of that place made a grant to the english, for them only to dwell and traffic in that country; and the swedes afterwards drove the english, by force, out of their fortifications. _gr. eric._ the english had no fortifications there; all the fort they had was a little lodge with two rooms only in it, out of which the swedes did not force them; and both the hollanders and swedes were planted in this place before any grant made to the english, and the swedes had a grant from the same king, whereof this is a copy. _wh._ it will be material to compare the dates of these two grants: if that to the english was first, then the other to the swedes was of no validity; and the like of the contrary. if you will favour me with a copy of the grant made to the swedes, i will compare it with that made to the english, and return it to you. _gr. eric._ you shall command it. mr. woolfeldt, being visited by whitelocke, told him that the queen was extremely pleased with his treatment of her. whitelocke excused the meanness of it for her majesty. woolfeldt replied, that both the queen and all the company esteemed it as the handsomest and noblest that they ever saw; and the queen, after that, would drink no other wine but whitelocke's, and kindly accepted the neats' tongues, potted venison, and other cates which, upon her commendation of them, whitelocke sent unto her majesty. woolfeldt showed a paper of consequence written by himself in spanish, and he read it in french to whitelocke, being perfect in those and other languages. he said, that whatsoever he wrote he did it in a foreign language, to continue the exercise of them. the paper showed how the english might be freed from paying tolls at the sound. whitelocke entreated a copy of this paper in french, which woolfeldt promised. a great quantity of snow fell and covered the houses and fields, and was hard frozen: a matter at this time strange to the english, but ordinary here. _may , ._ mr. boteler, a scotsman, confidently reported great news to the disparagement of the affairs of england, that the highlanders of scotland had given a great defeat to the english and killed five hundred of them, which news was soon confuted by whitelocke. [sn: a literary dinner party.] the senator vanderlin, and his brother the master of the ceremonies; dr. loccenius, a civilian, keeper of the library in this university; another gentleman, professor of eloquence here; mr. ravius, professor of the eastern tongues; and a french gentleman, captain of one of the companies of guards, doing whitelocke the honour to dine with him, had very learned discourse, particularly of languages and of the affinity between the swedish, english, danish, and high dutch tongues, whereof they gave many instances, and whitelocke was able to add to them. the professors discoursed only in latin, as most proper for them; the others in french; and they hold it a discourtesy if a man be not answered in the same language which he speaks. they also extolled the prince and the protector; and the senator said that there was not any person who came so near to the eminency and grandeur of the protector as the prince of sweden did. [sn: the dutch resident salutes whitelocke on the peace.] the company being gone, whitelocke went to the accustomed place, the great wood, to take the air; and as he was walking in the broad way there, he perceived the coach of the dutch resident coming towards him; and perceiving the english ambassador to be walking there, the resident alighted out of his coach and came on foot towards whitelocke. whether he came after whitelocke in a handsome design or contrivance for their first salutation, or that it was by accident, whitelocke did not examine, but thought fit to answer the civility of the resident by walking back towards him to meet him. they saluted each other and their company with great respect. the resident began the compliment to whitelocke in french, telling him that he was very glad of the opportunity to have the happiness to salute whitelocke, which he would not neglect to do, perceiving him in this place; and that he would take the first occasion to do himself the honour to visit whitelocke at his house. whitelocke answered, that the resident should be very welcome when he pleased to do that honour to whitelocke as to bestow a visit on him; and that he was also very glad of the opportunity which had now presented itself, whereby he had the contentment of being acquainted with the resident. they fell into general discourses, and, among the rest, of the conclusion and ratification of the treaty between the two commonwealths, and of the advantage which thereby would arise to both of them, and to the protestant party.[ ] as they were walking together the queen passed by them, being in that wood also to take the air. when she came near, she saluted them with great respect, and spake to them aloud, "je suis ravie de vous voir ensemble, je vois que la paix est faite." and so the queen went on her way, and whitelocke took leave of the resident. [sn: a despatch from thurloe.] at his return to his house whitelocke found his packet from england ready to entertain him, and thurloe's letter was this:-- "my lord, "your letter of the th of march arrived here this morning, whereby you are pleased to give a very particular and exact account of all proceedings in this treaty you are upon; i presently communicated the contents thereof to his highness and the council, with whom he was willing to advise, and thereupon he was pleased to send you the instructions which your excellence will receive herewith, which are fully agreeable to your own desire in that behalf. the former instructions had come sooner, if the issue of the dutch treaty had been sooner known; now, through the blessing of god, it is fully concluded, and your excellence will receive herewith the articles, as they are signed by the commissioners of his highness and the lords ambassadors of the united provinces. they signed them upon wednesday, at night, and the next morning the ambassadors sent them away to be ratified by their superiors, which they will do without difficulty or scruple, as we believe. "your excellence will see by those articles made with the dutch, that the second and fifth article is omitted out of your instructions; that these two treaties will very well stand together; and for the notice to be given to the dutch, it is clear to me that it will not be necessary, in respect that this treaty was not only begun, but as good as finished, before the conclusion with the dutch. "and for the fourth article, and the proviso your excellence is pleased to send, that being so clearly within the substance of your former instructions, i thought it needless to add any instruction about it now. "his highness in the beginning of this week was pleased to send for the great seal, and kept it in his own custody two days, and now hath disposed it unto your excellence, sir thomas widdrington, and your confrater my lord lisle. his highness is very much resolved upon a good and solid reformation of the law, and proceedings in the courts of equity and laws: the matter of law he hath committed unto mr. justice hale and mr. john vaughan; the reformation of the chancery to my lord widdrington, mr. attorney-general, and mr. chute,--being resolved to give the learned of the robe the honour of reforming their own profession, and hopes that god will give them hearts to do it; and, that no time may be lost, the next term is adjourned. "the french ambassador desires very much to get a despatch of his business. his highness hath at length appointed him commissioners to treat, but no progress hath been yet made thereupon. the speech that he made at his first audience your excellence will receive by this. "the portugal presseth much now to come to an agreement also, and to close the treaty which hath hanged so long; and so doth the spaniard. "i pray for your excellence's safe return home and rest. "your excellence's humble servant, "jo. thurloe. "_april th, ._" whitelocke's new instructions from the protector: "o. p. "_additional instructions to my lord whitelocke, our ambassador extraordinary to her majesty the queen of sweden._ "having considered the particular account you have given by your letters weekly of your negotiation in sweden, and the delay which hath been on the part of that court in the treaty you are upon, we might well have given you positive orders for your speedy return. "but observing that the letters and despatches between this and sweden are a month in their way, and not knowing how affairs may alter in that time with you, and the pretence of their delay--to wit, the uncertainty of the issue of the treaty between us and the united provinces--being removed, as you will see by these letters, which will assure you of the full conclusion thereof, we have thought it more convenient to leave you a latitude in that particular, and to give you liberty (as we do hereby) to return home at such time as you shall find it for the service of the commonwealth. " . whereas, by your letter of the th of march, , you have represented the particular debates which you have had upon all the articles of the treaty, and the exceptions taken by the queen upon the second, fifth, and seventh articles, you are hereby authorized to omit the second and fifth articles out of the treaty, as also the words 'bona à suis cujusque inimicis direpta' out of the seventh article, if the queen shall still insist thereupon; and as for the comprehending the dutch in this treaty with the queen of sweden, notice shall be given from hence, if it shall be found necessary. " . you have hereby power to agree with the queen of sweden that she and her subjects may fish freely for herrings in the seas of this commonwealth, paying the recognition of the tenth herring, or for a lesser recognition, so as it be not less than the twentieth herring, or the value thereof in money. "_whitehall, th april, ._" the order of the council touching the great seal sent by thurloe was this. the title of the order was thus:-- [sn: whitelocke, widdrington, and lisle reappointed of the great seal.] "_order of the council approving of the commissioners of the great seal._ "_tuesday, th april, ._ "at the council at whitehall: "_resolved_, that the council doth approve of the lord ambassador whitelocke to be one of the lords commissioners of the great seal. "_resolved_, that the council doth approve of sir thomas widdrington, knight, serjeant-at-law, to be one of the lords commissioners of the great seal. "_resolved_, that the council doth approve of john lisle, esquire, to be one of the lords commissioners of the great seal. "by the command of his highness mr. serjeant widdrington and mr. lisle were called in, and being come to the table, his highness declared that the lord ambassador whitelocke and themselves had been nominated by his highness, and approved by the council, to be commissioners for the great seal; and his highness did deliver unto the said mr. serjeant widdrington and mr. lisle the said great seal; and then the oath appointed by the ordinance was read by the clerk of the council, and was taken by each of them. "ex^r w. jessop, "clerk of the council." the guinea company sent by this packet a letter to whitelocke of thanks for his care of their business, and that they could not buy the swedes' interest in guinea, and referred the whole matter wholly to whitelocke. the examinations in the court of admiralty touching the ship 'charity,' enclosed in thurloe's letters, made it appear that the swedes had not injury done them, as they complained, and that the goods belonged to hollanders, and not to the swedes; but only coloured by the hollanders under the name of swedish ship and goods, though they were not so. whitelocke made use of these examinations as he saw cause, and found that martin thysen had an interest in these goods. [sn: reception of the french ambassador in london.] the enclosed speech of the french ambassador to the protector was full of compliment, giving him the title of "serene altesse," and as much as could be well offered by the french, seeming to desire a league and amity with the protector. the ambassador was received with great state and solemnity, answerable to the honour of his master the king of france, with whom the protector had a good mind to close at this time, the rather to frustrate the hopes of the king of scots of assistance from thence, where he was now entertained, caressed, and made believe he should have all aid and furtherance for his restitution, which the protector sought to prevent by the interest of the cardinal mazarin, whose creature this ambassador was. _may , ._ [sn: the queen's presents to whitelocke and his suite.] lagerfeldt acquainted whitelocke that the queen intended to gratify him with a gift of as great value as had been bestowed upon any ambassador before; and that she having received from whitelocke many brave horses and many native goods of england, and whitelocke having undertaken, at his return to england, to provide for her majesty several other commodities, she held it reasonable to requite him with some commodities of this country, if whitelocke thought fit to accept of them. whitelocke answered that it did not become him to prescribe bounds to her majesty's favour, but only to refer himself to the queen's judgement herein. lagerfeldt replied that the queen intended to bestow her gift upon him in copper, and gave order that it should be put aboard a ship, to be consigned by him to some of his friends at london, or as he pleased to dispose it. whitelocke desired of lagerfeldt that although the articles were signed, that yet he in the instrument might prefix to the title these words "serenissimi ac celsissimi domini," which words whitelocke did observe to be in the protector's title to the dutch articles, which was not known to whitelocke before the articles were signed here. lagerfeldt promised to acquaint the chancellor herewith, and to bring his answer. whitelocke waited upon the queen, and acquainted her with his news from england, and of the consummation of the treaty of peace between england and the dutch, whereof she said she was very glad, and thanked whitelocke for his news. he then entreated her majesty to appoint a day for his audience to take his leave of her majesty, which she told him should be shortly done; then she desired his company with her in her coach, to take the air. he waited on her, and besides there was in the coach grave tott, grave vandone, and the countess christina oxenstiern. the queen was not very pleasant, but entertained some little discourses, not much of business; and after a short tour, returning to the castle, retired into her chamber, and whitelocke to his lodging. _may , ._ lagerfeldt returned answer to whitelocke, of his motion to insert the words "serenissimi ac celsissimi domini" into the protector's title, that he had acquainted the chancellor with it, who also had communicated it to her majesty, and she willingly assented thereunto; and it was inserted accordingly. he brought with him monsieur carloe, governor of the swedish company for guinea, with whom whitelocke had much discourse upon the same points as he had before with grave eric; and carloe denied all that the english merchants had affirmed, and he continued before and after dinner very obstinate in it. secretary canterstein brought to whitelocke the queen's letters of the grant of two hundred ship-pound of copper for a present to him, which letters were thus.[ ] in the afternoon the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke's house, and presented to him, from the queen, a handsome jewel, which was a case of gold, fairly enamelled, and having in the midst of it the picture of the queen, done to the life, and very like her. it was set round about with twelve large diamonds, and several small diamonds between the great ones. he told whitelocke that, by command of her majesty, he presented her picture to him; that she was sorry it was not made up so as might have been worthy of his reception; but she desired, if he pleased, that he would do her the honour to wear it for her sake, and to accept the picture in memory of the friend that sent it. whitelocke answered that the queen was pleased to bestow a great honour upon him in this noble testimony of her favour to him, of which he acknowledged himself altogether unworthy; but her majesty's opinion was otherwise, as appeared by such a present as this. he did with all thankfulness accept it, and should with great contentment give himself occasion, by the honour of wearing it, to remember the more often her majesty and her favours to him, her servant, for which he desired the master to present his humble thanks unto her majesty. after he had been with whitelocke, the master went to whitelocke's two sons, and in the queen's name presented to each of them a chain of gold of five links, and at the end of the chain a medal of gold of the queen's picture; the chains and medals were valued at four hundred ducats apiece. then he presented, in the queen's name, to colonel potley, to dr. whistler, to captain beake, and mr. earle, to each of them a chain of gold of four links, and at the end of each chain a medal of gold of the queen's picture; these chains and medals were valued at two hundred ducats apiece, or thereabouts. then he presented, in the queen's name, to mr. stapleton, mr. ingelo, and mr. de la marche, to each of them a chain of gold of three links, with a medal of gold of the queen's picture at the end of each chain; the chains and medals were valued at about a hundred and sixty ducats apiece. to mr. walker he presented a chain and medal of gold of three links, shorter than the rest, of about the value of a hundred and thirty ducats; to captain crispe and to mr. swift, to each of them a chain of gold of two links, with a medal of gold to each of them, of about the value of a hundred ducats apiece. [sn: disputes caused by the queen's presents.] walker the steward, and stapleton, gentleman of the horse to whitelocke, were discontented, because their chains were not of four links apiece; and they and others took exceptions because their chains were not so good and valuable as those given to potley and beake,--so seditious a thing is gold. but whitelocke endeavoured to satisfy them by the reasons why the chains of potley and beake were better than theirs: the one having been an ancient servant of this crown, and the other being commander of the guards of the protector; and nothing was due to them, but only the queen's free gift and bounty was in all of them, and therefore not to be excepted against by any of them. notwithstanding this admonition, they met and discoursed together in discontent about this business, and gave thereby occasion of displeasure to whitelocke. whitelocke being in the mood to take the air, the holland resident came thither, where they walked and discoursed together; and in their return the resident and two of his gentlemen, vorstius and another, went in whitelocke's coach, who brought the resident to his lodging, and there had a civil treatment, and found by discourse that the resident was not well satisfied with his being in this court. whitelocke did not hitherto make a visit to any person since he had received his presents from the queen, after which, in ceremony, he must first visit her majesty to give her thanks, and then he is at liberty to visit others. _may , ._ _the lord's day._--monsieur bloome, and mr. de geeres, the rich merchant of sweden, after dinner with whitelocke, discoursed much about matters not so proper for the day. walker and stapleton attending whitelocke and walking in the evening, he again spake to them about their presents as formerly; but found stapleton stiff in his opinion, and to intend to send back his present to the master of the ceremonies as refusing it; but whitelocke required him not to do so, lest it should be taken as an affront to whitelocke and to the protector himself, as well as a disdaining of the queen's present, which was her majesty's free gift without any obligation. _may , ._ [sn: warrant for the copper.] the warrant formerly inserted was sent to the officers of the treasury, who thereupon made their order to the under-officers for the delivery of the copper accordingly, which order was brought to whitelocke in the swedish language. [sn: the guinea case.] the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke to inform him that the queen had appointed wednesday next, the th of this month, for his last audience to take his leave. whitelocke said he was sorry it could not be sooner. the master excused it by reason of the great affairs of the queen upon the meeting of the ricksdag. grave eric and lagerfeldt came to whitelocke and debated with him the business of guinea. _grave eric._ i shall read to you this paper, which is in latin and in french,--an answer to the complaints of the english, and denies all their allegations. _whitelocke._ the allegations of the english are proved by oath; here are the depositions. _gr. eric._ the answers of the swedes are upon oath likewise. _wh._ but the english are in the affirmative. _gr. eric._ the swedes have like complaints against the english, which are to be proved by oath in the affirmative also; and in such case the parties or their procurators must appear before the ordinary and competent judges, which will require a great deal of time; but we being to treat with you as an ambassador, we propose that there may be an abolition of all past injuries of the one side and the other, and that there may be an agreement and friendship, and free trade there for the future. _wh._ this will be very proper for the time to come, but it will be no satisfaction for the injuries already done. i have no power from the protector or company of english merchants to make any such agreement; but for what concerns the public, i can make an accord with you, and the satisfaction of damages for wrongs past may be remitted to the determination of the commissioners. _gr. eric._ i shall show you a project in writing, that all the houses and possessions of the one part and the other may continue in the same estate for the time to come as they are in at present. _wh._ to agree to this were to give up the right of the english merchants, and to acknowledge that they have no cause of complaint; whereas i demand in justice a reparation and satisfaction for those injuries whereof they complain. _gr. eric._ then the business must be decided before the judges, witnesses on both sides must be heard, and we must insist upon it that the houses and possessions continue in the same estate as they now are. _wh._ you must pardon me that i cannot assent hereunto. thus their debate broke off. monsieur ravius came to whitelocke in the name of the bishop of stregnes, to acquaint him that if he had any english horses which he would bestow upon the prince, that they would be very acceptable to him, and that whitelocke would very much gratify himself thereby. whitelocke said that his saddle-horses were not worth the presenting to his royal highness, the best of them being already given away; but he had a set of coach-horses which he intended to reserve and to present unto the prince, if he pleased to accept them. ravius said they would be very acceptable to him. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke compliments the danish minister on the peace.] the king of denmark being included in the treaty between england and the dutch, and so become a friend, whitelocke was advised to send first a compliment to the danish ambassador now residing in this court; which, when whitelocke doubted lest thereby he might diminish the honour of england by sending to the dane before the dane had first sent to him, the master of the ceremonies and others instructed him that it was the constant custom for the ambassador that comes last to send first a compliment to him that had been in the court before; whereupon whitelocke did send one of his gentlemen to the danish ambassador, to visit and compliment him. now the secretary of the ambassador of denmark came to whitelocke, in the name of his lord, to give him thanks for the honour he had done him in sending one of his servants to salute him, and to congratulate the good news of the agreement between england and the dutch, wherein the king his master was comprised. the secretary said that the confirmation thereof was also come to his lord by the way of holland and of denmark, for which news his lordship was very joyful, and would himself have given a visit to whitelocke but that his want of health detained him in his lodging. whitelocke told the secretary that he was very sorry for his lord's indisposition of health, and wished his good recovery; that he was heartily glad of the news which gave him occasion to send to his lord to congratulate with him, and that he would take an opportunity to visit him in person when it might be without prejudice to his excellence's health. berkman came to whitelocke to give him an account of a message wherein he had employed berkman to the marshal wrangel, to desire him, in whitelocke's name, that the ship appointed to transport him might fall down from stockholm to the dollars, for whitelocke to come on board her there, which would save him a hundred miles by sea from stockholm thither, there being a nearer way by a third-part from stockholm to the dollars for boats to pass. berkman said he found wrangel very civil, and ready to do what whitelocke should desire of him for his accommodation, and that he had ordered the ship forthwith to fall down to the dollars; for which whitelocke desired monsieur berkman to return his thanks to the marshal. the ricks-admiral sent to whitelocke, expressing much civility and readiness to serve him, and desired to know if one ship would be sufficient for his transportation; that, if he pleased, there should be more provided for him. whitelocke returned thanks, and that he hoped he should not have occasion to put them to the trouble of more ships for his transportation than that already ordered for him. [sn: whitelocke invited to the ceremony of abdication.] the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke, by the queen's command, to know if he and his company pleased to see the meeting of the ricksdag; that he had provided a place for that purpose, where they might be unknown and unseen, and yet see all the ceremony and hear all the harangues; that if whitelocke would see it, the master would call him at eight o'clock in the morning and wait upon him to the place; but he said that the danish ambassador had some thoughts of being there also, and if he came first to the place he would take the uppermost seat. whitelocke then desired the master to call him early enough that he might be there first, because he should hardly permit the danish ambassador to sit above him. the master said he would be sure to call whitelocke early enough, but he believed that the danish ambassador would not be there because of his ill health. the master told whitelocke that monsieur bloome had informed him that some of whitelocke's gentlemen took exceptions to the presents sent them by the queen. he protested, upon his soul and his honour, that he had no hand in the disposing of these presents, but that all was done by the officers of the chamber of accounts, and that the queen did not meddle with it; but when he showed her a catalogue of the officers of whitelocke's house, she marked them how she would have the presents bestowed; that how the matter might be altered afterwards he was wholly ignorant, and that he had order, under the hands of the officers, to make the distribution as he had done; and he hoped none of the gentlemen would be offended with him, who had done nothing but as he was ordered by those over him. whitelocke told him that, in so great a family as his was, it would be difficult to please every one; that these presents were the queen's favours, which she might distribute as she pleased, and every one ought to be contented therewith; that some of his company had discoursed hereof more than belonged to them, but that he would take order in it himself. they had also this further discourse:-- _whitelocke._ do you expect the arrival of the prince here on friday next? _mast. cer._ the queen is not assured of his arrival that day, but she will go out on horseback, accompanied with all her nobility, to meet him. _wh._ will it be expected that i go out likewise to meet him? _mast. cer._ that cannot be, because it will be after your last audience, and when you have taken your leave of the queen, so that you cannot then appear in public nor in any public action, because it will be to present yourself before those of whom you had taken your leave before. _wh._ but after my last audience i may in private see the queen? _mast. cer._ yes, for that is but a particular visit; and so you may visit any of your friends after your last audience. _wh._ i intend likewise to salute the prince after my last audience. _mast. cer._ you may do it, because it will be but a particular visit. _wh._ i hope his royal highness will treat me with the same civility and respect as he useth to any other ambassador. _mast. cer._ that he will infallibly do. monsieur chanut, the french ambassador, when he was in this court, did always give the right hand to the prince after the proposal had been made of declaring him prince-heritier of the crown, though the ricksdag had not then confirmed it. but chanut made difficulty of it at the prince's lodging, because he was not the son of a king, yet afterwards he did it both there and elsewhere. _wh._ there is more reason for me now to do it, because the proposal is to be made of investing him with the crown. what was the manner of the prince's reception of chanut, where did he meet chanut at his coming, and how far did he go with him at his taking leave? _mast. cer._ the prince received chanut at the door of the chamber where he had his audience; and when the ambassador went away, the prince brought him to the same place and no further; and i believe he will give the same respect to your excellence, and as much to you as to any public minister. _wh._ i can desire no more. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke attends a wedding at court.] lagerfeldt came to whitelocke and acquainted him that there was a special article to be agreed upon touching the business of guinea, which the queen and the chancellor were willing might proceed for the despatch of whitelocke, and that grave eric would have come to him about it, but that he was ill and had taken physic. he told whitelocke that the queen said he might have his last audience that day if he pleased; but if he would be present at the solemnity of the nuptials which were this evening to be celebrated at court between the baron horne and the lady sparre, and if he desired to see the assembling of the ricksdag tomorrow, then it would be requisite to defer his audience till friday, because when he had taken his leave of the queen it would not be proper for him afterwards to appear in public. whitelocke said he had rather be dismissed than to be present at any solemnities; that her majesty had taken him captive by her noble presents, so that it was not fit for him to come abroad in public. he asked lagerfeldt if the prince would be here on friday next; if so, then it would not be convenient to have his audience put off to that day. lagerfeldt said he doubted that the prince would not be here so soon. an officer on horseback, accompanied with several other horsemen, with four kettle-drums and eight or ten trumpets beating and sounding before them, made proclamation in several parts of the town that all persons who were summoned to appear at the ricksdag should give their attendance at the place appointed in the queen's castle of upsal tomorrow by eight o'clock in the morning, upon pain of half-a-dollar mulcted for every default. the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke from the queen, and acquainted him to the same effect as lagerfeldt had done, touching his last audience. the master also, by the queen's command, invited whitelocke to the wedding at court this night; and if he pleased to see the manner of the assembling of the ricksdag, that he had order to take the care of it, and that it would be no hindrance to his going away, because the prince did not come hither till tuesday next. whitelocke said he was sorry that the prince would come no sooner to this place, but since it was the pleasure of the queen that he should wait upon her this evening, he would obey her commands; and as to the time of his audience, he submitted to her pleasure. the ricks-admiral sent again to whitelocke, to know if he would have any more ships provided for his transportation. whitelocke returned his thanks, and that he intended not to take any of his horses with him, and therefore should not need any more ships than were already ordered. studely, one of whitelocke's servants, returned to him from stockholm with an account that the ship appointed for his transportation was not yet ready, which retarded his voyage to his trouble. between ten and eleven o'clock at night the master of the ceremonies came to whitelocke's house, with one of the queen's coaches, to bring him to the wedding at court. he desired whitelocke's two sons to go into that coach, who excused themselves that they had not been in that coach formerly. the master said that when one went to an audience there were certain formalities to be observed, but going to a wedding was another thing; that now the queen had sent her coach for whitelocke as her guest, and it was proper for his sons to go with him. whitelocke wished them to observe the direction of the master, who governed in these things. they went to the bridegroom's house, where were many of his friends; his uncle the ricks-admiral, marshal wrangel, and other senators and noblemen. as soon as whitelocke alighted out of the coach, the bridegroom's brother was there to receive him and bid him welcome; near the door the bridegroom met him, and gave him thanks for the favour in honouring his wedding with his presence. whitelocke said he was very ready to testify his respects to the nobility of this country, and particularly to himself, and took it for an honour to be invited into such company. whitelocke was instructed by the master of the ceremonies, that by the custom of this country the bridegroom takes place of the king, and the bride of the queen, during the solemnities of the wedding; accordingly whitelocke gave the right hand to the bridegroom. after a little discourse they took their coaches;--first the gentlemen, then the lords, then the senators, then the ricks-admiral and senator bundt, who, being next of kin, was to give the bride in marriage; after bundt went whitelocke, and after him the bridegroom, who had precedence in the queen's coach, which went last, and whitelocke next before it, and the other coaches in their order; the bridegroom's coach last of all, as the best place. the like order they observed in their going in the castle. at the head of the stairs the master of the ceremonies met them, and brought them to the presence-chamber, where the queen was with the bride and a great company of gallant ladies. the bridegroom kissed her majesty's hand, and then the bride's hand; the rest of the company did the like. between the queen and whitelocke passed a little discourse. _whitelocke._ madam, i give you humble thanks for your invitation of me to these solemnities. _queen._ it is an honour to us that such an ambassador will be present at our ceremonies. _wh._ i likewise return my most humble thanks to your majesty for your many favours, and the noble presents you have been pleased to bestow on me and on my company. _qu._ sir, you mock me; i am troubled i could not do according to that respect which i bear you. this is only a custom of our country to persons of your condition, and i hope you will take it in good part. _wh._ it is more suitable to your majesty's bounty than to anything i can call desert in me, who have a most grateful sense and acceptance of your majesty's favours. [sn: ceremony of the marriage.] the bride and bridegroom were both clothed in white tabby, his suit laced with a very broad gold and silver lace. the bride had on her head a coronet set full of diamonds, with a diamond collar about her neck and shoulders, a diamond girdle of the same fashion, and a rich diamond jewel at her breast, which were all of them of great value, and by some reported to be the queen's jewels, lent by her to the bride for that time. they went all to the great hall; first the noblemen, then the senators, then the bridegroom between bundt and whitelocke, then the bride between two graves, then the queen and her guards. then the queen presently took her chair of state; at her right-hand at a little distance sat the bride against her; at the queen's left-hand sat the bridegroom, next to him whitelocke, and then bundt. after they were all sat, bundt rose up and went towards the queen, and spake in swedish with a loud voice to this effect, as it was interpreted to whitelocke:--that baron horne, a gentleman there present, of an ancient and noble family, desired to have in marriage a lady who was servant to her majesty, of the ancient and noble family of the sparres; then he spake much of the pedigrees and in the praise of both the families; after that he addressed himself to the bride and bridegroom, giving them good counsel as to the condition which they were entering into, and their demeanour to one another. then some friends led the bridegroom to a place in the midst of the hall purposely railed in, and then they fetched the bride thither also and placed her by the bridegroom; then a grave churchman, one of the queen's chaplains, turning himself to the queen, pronounced the words of marriage after a form in a book which he read, and being interpreted to whitelocke, he found it the same in effect with the words of marriage in the english liturgy. the ceremony of joining them in marriage being ended, two graves with torches came to the bridegroom and bride and led them around; two other lords with torches followed after them, many ladies two by two. the bride being brought to her seat by the bridegroom, he then took the queen by the hand and they walked between the torches; then the bride came and took whitelocke by the hand and they walked after the queen. whitelocke brought the bride again to her place, and being instructed that he was to take the queen and march the round with her also, whitelocke did it, and all this was a solemn walking to the sound of drums and trumpets. after which, every one returned to their places, and then they set to dancing of the brawls; and the queen came to whitelocke to take him out to dance with her, who excused himself. [sn: whitelocke dances with the queen.] _whitelocke._ madam, i am fearful that i shall dishonour your majesty, as well as shame myself, by dancing with you. _queen._ i will try whether you can dance. _wh._ i assure your majesty i cannot in any measure be worthy to have you by the hand. _qu._ i esteem you worthy, and therefore make choice of you to dance with me. _wh._ i shall not so much undervalue your majesty's judgement as not to obey you herein, and i wish i could remember as much of this as when i was a young man. after they had done dancing, and whitelocke had waited upon the queen to her chair of state, she said to him-- _qu._ _par dieu!_ these hollanders are lying fellows. _wh._ i wonder how the hollanders should come into your mind upon such an occasion as this is, who are not usually thought upon in such solemnities, nor much acquainted with them. _qu._ i will tell you all. the hollanders reported to me a great while since that all the _noblesse_ of england were of the king's party, and none but mechanics of the parliament party, and not a gentleman among them; now i thought to try you, and to shame you if you could not dance; but i see that you are a gentleman and have been bred a gentleman, and that makes me say the hollanders are lying fellows, to report that there was not a gentleman of the parliament's party, when i see by you chiefly, and by many of your company, that you are gentlemen. _wh._ truly, madam, in this they told a great untruth to your majesty, as i believe they have done in several other particulars. i do confess that the greatest part of our nobility and gentry were of the king's party, but many of them likewise were of the parliament's party; and i, who am sent to wait upon your majesty, can, without vanity, derive to myself an ancient pedigree of a gentleman. they would not have given the honour to any but a gentleman to kiss your majesty's hand, and you are pleased to do your servant right, and his company, by acknowledging that our superiors have commanded gentlemen to wait on you. _qu._ i assure you that i esteem it the greater honour done to me, and you are the more welcome to me because you are a gentleman; and had i not known and found you to be so, your business would not have been so well despatched as it is. i see you have all the qualities of a gentleman, and i believe that you were excellent in your music and dancing in your younger days. _wh._ i was bred up in the qualities of a gentleman, and in my youth was accounted not inferior to others in the practice of them; but it is so long since i used this of dancing, especially after we learned to march, that had it not been to obey your majesty, i should hardly have been drawn to discover my deficiencies. _qu._ you have discovered nothing but what tends to your honour and to my contentment; and i take it as a favour that you were willing to lay aside your gravity and play the courtier upon my request, which i see you can do so well when you please. after the dancing ended, there was brought into the hall a sumptuous banquet, the hof-marshal with his silver staff ushering it, and after that distributed. the queen and all the company went back in the same order to the presence-chamber, and there the queen bid the bride and bridegroom good-night, and so all went to their lodgings, divers of the nobles waiting on the bride to her chamber. the queen told whitelocke that she believed the prince would be here on tuesday next, and that whitelocke should have his audience on friday next. whitelocke took his coach, after it had waited nine hours at the castle. _may , ._ [sn: the abdication of queen christina.] early in the morning the master of the ceremonies came to accompany whitelocke to the castle, to see the manner of the assembly of the ricksdag, and brought him and his company to the castle to an upper room or gallery, where he sat privately, not taken notice of by any, yet had the full view of the great hall where the ricksdag met, and heard what was said. the danish ambassador did forbear to come thither, as was supposed, because of whitelocke being there. the french resident sat by whitelocke, and conversed with him. the great hall, two stories high, was prepared for the assembly. an outer chamber was hung with cloth of arras; in the antechamber to that were guards of the queen's partisans; in the court was a company of musketeers. the great hall was hung with those hangings which were before in whitelocke's lodgings, with some others added, and was very handsome. on each side of the hall, from the walls towards the middle of the room, forms were placed, covered with red cloth, for seats for the members, and were all alike without distinction, and reached upwards. three parts of the length of the hall, in the midst between the seats, was a space or lane broad enough for three to walk abreast together. at the upper end of the hall, on a foot-pace three steps high, covered with foot-carpets, stood the chair of state, all of massy silver, a rich cushion in it, and a canopy of crimson velvet richly embroidered over it. on the left side of the chair of state were placed five ordinary chairs of crimson velvet, without arms, for the five ricks-officers; and on the same side below them, and on the other side from the foot-pace down to the forms, in a semicircular form, were stools of crimson velvet for the ricks-senators. about nine o'clock there entered at the lower end of the great hall a plain, lusty man in his boor's habit, with a staff in his hand, followed by about eighty boors, members of this council, who had chosen the first man for their marshal, or speaker. these marched up in the open place between the forms to the midst of them, and then the marshal and his company sat down on the forms on the right of the state, from the midst downwards to the lower end of the hall, and put on their hats. a little while after them entered at the same door a man in a civil habit of a citizen, with a staff in his hand, followed by about a hundred and twenty citizens, deputies of the cities and boroughs, who had chosen him to be their marshal. they all took their places upon the forms over-against the boors in the lower end of the hall, and were covered. not long after, at the same door, entered a proper gentleman richly habited, a staff in his hand, who was marshal of the nobility, followed by near two hundred lords and gentlemen, members of the ricksdag, chief of their respective families, many of them rich in clothes, of civil deportment. they took their seats uppermost on the right of the state, and whilst they walked up to their forms the citizens and boors stood up uncovered; and when the nobility sat and put on their hats, the citizens and boors did so likewise. a little after, at the same door, entered the archbishop of upsal with a staff in his hand, who by his place is marshal of the clergy. he was followed by five or six other bishops and all the superintendents, and about sixty ministers, deputies, or proctors of the clergy. while they walked up to their places all the rest of the members stood up uncovered; and when they sat down on the uppermost forms on the left side of the state, and put on their hats and caps, the rest of the members did the like; these were grave men, in their long cassocks and canonical habit, and most with long beards. all the members being thus sat, about a quarter of an hour after entered the captain, followed by divers of the queen's guard, with partisans. after them came many gentlemen of the queen's servants, uncovered, with swords by their sides and well clad, two and two together. after them came the ricks-senators in their order, the puisne first. after them the ricks-officers, all bare. after them came the queen, and kept off her hat in the hall, some of the officers of the court and pages after her. in this order they went up in the open place in the midst of the forms, all the members standing up uncovered. the queen's company made a lane for her to pass through, and she went up to her chair and sat down in it; and all the company, except the members of the council, went out of the hall, and all the doors were shut; the members sat in their places uncovered. after the queen had sat a little, she rose, and beckoned to the chancellor to come to her, who came with great ceremony and respect; and after a little speaking together he returned to his place, and the queen sat down again a little time; then rising up with mettle, she came forward to the utmost part of the foot-pace, and with a good grace and confidence spake to the assembly, as it was interpreted to whitelocke, to this effect:-- [sn: the queen's speech.] "the occasion, my friends, wherefore you are called together to this diet will in some sort appear strange to you; for being so unusual, and as it were unheard of, it cannot be understood without great astonishment. but, gentlemen, when you shall a little reflect upon what hath passed some years since, you will then perceive that it is no new thing, but long since premeditated, and by me wished and intended. "it is sufficiently known to you what hath formerly passed as to the succession of my most dear cousin to this kingdom; and i esteem myself very happy that all things at present are in such a posture that thereupon i may bring my purpose to effect, which is, to offer and to give into the hands of my most dear cousin our most dear country and the royal seat, with the crown, the sceptre, and the government. i need not repeat this subject to you; it sufficeth that all may be done for the good of the country and the prosperity and security of my most dear cousin, to whom you have formerly given this right, and have found him capable to govern you and this kingdom, which he deserves by his great spirits and rare qualities, joined with his heroic actions, witnessed by divers encounters. "and since there is nothing wanting but time to put in execution the succession of my most dear cousin to the government of this kingdom, which depends only upon myself,--and of my purpose nothing remains but to make you parties, which is the only occasion of my calling you together, and which i shall more at large declare unto you by my proposal,--i doubt not but you will consent thereunto, whereby you will testify at this time, as you have done at all times before, your faithfulness and obedience to me. "also i give you thanks that, with so much duty, you are come to this diet, and that with so much affection and loyalty you have demeaned yourselves towards me and our most dear country during my government, so that i have received much content by your deportment; and if in these ten years of my administration i have merited anything from you, it shall be this only which i desire of you, that you will consent to my resolution, since you may assure yourselves that none can dissuade me from my purpose. "you may be pleased also to take in good part what hath passed during the time of my government, and to be assured that herein also, as well as in all other things, my intention hath been always to serve our most dear country. there remains nothing but my wishes that all may work to the glory of god, to the advancement of the christian church, and to the good and prosperity of our most dear country and of all her inhabitants." [sn: the archbishop's speech.] after the queen had spoken she sat down again, and after a little pause the archbishop of upsal went out of his place into the open passage, and making his obeisance to the queen, he, as marshal of the clergy and in their name, made an oration to her majesty, which was somewhat long; but the effect thereof was interpreted to whitelocke to be an acknowledgment of the happy reign of her majesty, whereby her subjects had enjoyed all good, peace, and justice and liberty, and whatsoever were the products of a blessed government. he then recited the great affections of this people to the king her father, and to her majesty his only child; their duty and obedience to her in all her commands; that no prince could be more happy than her majesty was in the affections and duty of her subjects, nor could any people be more contented in the rule of their sovereign than her people were; he therefore used all arguments and humble entreaties to her majesty to desist from her intention of resigning the government, and to continue to sway the sceptre of this kingdom, wherein he did not doubt but that the blessing of god would be with her as it had been, and that it would be to his honour and to the good of this kingdom if her majesty would hearken to the humble desires of the clergy in this particular. then he acknowledged the virtues and admirable abilities of the prince, whose succession would come in due time; that, her majesty reigning at present with so much satisfaction both to this church and state, he humbly desired, in the name of the clergy, that she would be pleased, though to her own trouble, yet for her subjects' good, to continue still to be queen over them. after he had ended his speech, making three congees, he went up to the queen and kissed her hand, and with three more congees returned to his place. then the marshal of the nobility, going forth into the open place between the forms, made his oration in the name of the nobility, much to the same purpose as the archbishop had done, and, after his oration ended, with the like ceremony kissed her majesty's hand, and returned to his place. then the like was done by the marshal of the burgesses, and all to the same effect. [sn: the boor's speech.] in the last place stepped forth the marshal of the boors, a plain country fellow, in his clouted shoon, and all other habits answerable, as all the rest of his company were accoutred. this boor, without any congees or ceremony at all, spake to her majesty, and was interpreted to whitelocke to be after this phrase:-- "o lord god, madam, what do you mean to do? it troubles us to hear you speak of forsaking those that love you so well as we do. can you be better than you are? you are queen of all these countries, and if you leave this large kingdom, where will you get such another? if you should do it (as i hope you won't for all this), both you and we shall have cause, when it is too late, to be sorry for it. therefore my fellows and i pray you to think better on't, and to keep your crown on your head, then you will keep your own honour and our peace; but if you lay it down, in my conscience you will endanger all. continue in your gears, good madam, and be the fore-horse as long as you live, and we will help you the best we can to bear your burden. "your father was an honest gentleman and a good king, and very stirring in the world; we obeyed him and loved him as long as he lived; and you are his own child, and have governed us very well, and we love you with all our hearts; and the prince is an honest gentleman, and when his time comes we shall be ready to do our duties to him as we do to you; but as long as you live we are not willing to part with you, and therefore i pray, madam, do not part with us." when the boor had ended his speech, he waddled up to the queen without any ceremony, took her by the hand and shook it heartily, and kissed it two or three times; then turning his back to her, he pulled out of his pocket a foul handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes, and in the same posture as he came up he returned back to his own place again. when the orations were all ended, one of the queen's secretaries, by her command, read unto the assembly a paper, which whitelocke procured to be given to him in a copy, and translated into english. [sn: the queen's declaration to the diet.] _the proposition of her majesty of sweden to the estates assembled at upsal the th of may, in the year ._ "since for certain reasons her majesty found it good and necessary to assemble the estates of the kingdom at this time, and that they have given testimony of their obedience in their coming together, her majesty hath great cause to rejoice that the good god hath preserved our country from all apparent harms, and principally from the contagious sickness of the plague, which spread itself in divers places the last autumn, but at present is ceased, so that we may meet together in all safety. her majesty rejoiceth in the good health of her faithful subjects; and this obligeth us not only to return humble thanks to our good god, but the more to supplicate him for the future to avert his fatherly chastisements from us. "also her majesty understands with great joy, that the scarcity and dearth in the late years is now changed into fruitfulness and abundance, so that the last year there was not only very great abundance of all things which the earth produceth, but further, thanks be to god, we have cause, according to appearances, to hope this year will be no less fruitful; the which great blessing of god to this country clearly shows us the great obligations which we have to him. "also her majesty calls to mind, that which she graciously mentions to her faithful subjects, how the country, within the limits thereof, is at present in a good and peaceable condition, and so hath been kept by divine providence, and the faithful care of her majesty, in times of danger; and when war, and the imminent perils accompanying the same roundabout us, had the sway, yet we always continued in quiet without taking part in others' quarrels, and for this end hath always endeavoured to entertain a sincere friendship and good correspondence with her neighbours and allies. "and as to the neighbourhood of denmark, her majesty hath nothing to fear, since she hath given no occasion in anything but of sincere friendship and firm peace. "in like manner, with all possible care, by her commissioners, hath composed the differences touching the limits between her and the great duke of muscovy; and although the said duke hath signified to her majesty by divers envoys that he would justify the expedition of war newly made by him against the polanders, with all the reasons thereof, yet since that is a business which can no way involve her majesty and the crown of sweden, there is no cause to fear it; provided their actions be watched, and{ } that, by little and little, preparation be made, if there shall be cause to apply some remedies. "with the king and crown of poland is continued the amnesty for twenty-six years, formerly accorded; and although her majesty wisheth that this amnesty had been converted into a perpetual peace,--and for this end she hath caused pains to be taken twice at lübeck, by the mediators and her commissioners, and although they are not yet agreed,--nevertheless her majesty understands so much on the part of poland that they are not disaffected to the renewing of the treaties for a longer time, so that her majesty hath no cause but to promise herself at length a favourable success therein. "with the emperor and roman empire her majesty, since the peace executed in germany, hath continued and maintained good amity and correspondence; and for this end she hath her ambassadors there, who have their places in the present diet for the principality of bremen, verden, and pomerland, among the other members of the empire who do there maintain and observe the interests of her majesty; and for the conclusion of the peace of germany her majesty hath resolved, by a great embassy, to accept the possession and investiture, from the emperor, of the conquered countries. "also her majesty hath a good correspondence and friendship with france and spain by fit means and a good alliance. "but particularly her majesty rejoiceth that the perilous war made in the ocean between the powerful commonwealths of england and the united provinces (by which we have received very great damage in our trade throughout, as it appeareth) is appeased and ended; and that, since, her majesty hath made an alliance with the commonwealth of england for the security of navigation and commerce, so that the faithful subjects of her majesty may thereby hope to have great advantage and profit. "in this posture and state of affairs, her majesty thinks it fit to prosecute her intention, which she hath conceived some years since, and to put the same in execution, that is, to give up the kingdom of sweden and her sceptre to his royal highness, the most high, most illustrious prince charles gustavus, by the grace of god designed hereditary prince of the kingdom of sweden, count palatine of the rhine in bavaria, prince of jülich, cleves, and bergen; and this is the only business which her majesty hath to propose to her faithful subjects at this time. "her majesty also hath this gracious confidence in all the estates here now assembled, that when they shall consider with what dexterity, pains, and travail her majesty for ten years hath managed the affairs of this kingdom, and with such good fortune that all the counsels and intentions of her majesty have been followed with such happy success, that the state, with great honour and reputation, hath escaped many difficulties of war, and yet enjoys such quiet, that they cannot judge or conclude that her majesty would now make any alteration were it not for the good and safety of this nation. "the estates, which have been formerly assembled, know very well how earnestly her majesty pressed that the kingdom and government might be provided of a successor, thereby to avoid and cut off the sudden accidents which happen when a government is uncertain; for which reason the estates in that point did agree and think good heretofore that his highness should be chosen and made hereditary prince and successor to the crown. all this her majesty did propose and urge till it was brought to the effect which that time produced. "and to the end that her majesty, during her life, may have the pleasure to see the happy effect of this design, and that the entire government may be rendered into the hands of his royal highness, therefore her majesty hath resolved to quit the crown and the privileges of it, and to put them into the hands of his royal highness. "and although this resolution of her majesty may seem strange and unexpected to the estates of the kingdom, nevertheless, according to her gracious confidence, she believes that they will consent to her quiet in retiring herself from so heavy a burden, by their contributing an assent to the proposed alteration. "her majesty likewise assures herself (as the estates by their former acts have always testified) of the esteem which they have of the person and of the rare virtues and well-known qualities of his royal highness; and that they will find that he will employ them to a prudent government and to their great advantage, and that at length they will not be deceived by this change, or any ways prejudiced: for which end her majesty promiseth and offereth to contribute all her advice and counsel and endeavour,--chiefly that his royal highness, before his entry into the government, may assure the estates and effectually do that which the kings of sweden upon the like occasions have used to do, and are by the laws and customs obliged unto. "and on the other part, that the estates and all the subjects of sweden be obliged to render unto his royal highness that respect, obedience, and all those rights which appertain to a king, and which they are obliged to perform. "and as her majesty hath considered and resolved upon the means whereby her majesty may enjoy a yearly pension to be settled upon her during her life, and having communicated her purpose therein to his royal highness the successor to the crown, so she graciously hopeth that her faithful subjects and the estates will be content therewith, humbly receiving and consenting to what her majesty hath graciously disposed. "her majesty graciously requires all the estates of the kingdom that they would, as soon as may be, consider this business, to the end that the resolution taken by her majesty may in a short time be brought unto effect. "her majesty most graciously thanks all her faithful subjects for the obedience, honour, and respect which every one of them hath faithfully testified to her majesty during the time of her government; so that her majesty hath received full contentment by their most humble demeanour, which hereafter, upon all occasions, she will acknowledge with all gratitude. "her majesty also hopeth that her most faithful subjects will be satisfied, and give a good construction of the faithful care which her majesty hath employed for all in general and their happiness, and chiefly for the gracious affection which she hath testified towards every one in particular. "her majesty wisheth that the most high and most powerful god would conserve and protect our dear country, with all the inhabitants thereof and all the subjects, from all harm; and to conclude, that the estates of the kingdom, as well in general as in particular, may continue and increase from day to day, and may for ever flourish." after this proposition was read, the queen's servants were called in, and she went out of the hall, attended by them and the ricks-senators in the same way and manner as she came in; and after she was gone, first the archbishop of upsal and the clergy following him; second, the marshal and nobility; third, the marshal and burgesses; fourth, the marshal and boors, went out of the hall in the same order as they first came in; and when they were all gone, whitelocke returned to his lodging. [sn: the solemnities of the marriage resumed.] about eleven o'clock in the evening, the master of the ceremonies came to bring whitelocke to the remainder of the solemnities of the marriage. whitelocke, in no good condition to go abroad, having sat up the last night, yet rather than discontent the queen and the nobility, who had sent for him, he went with the master in the queen's coach to the bridegroom's lodging in the castle, who met him in the outer chamber and brought him into another room where were many senators and lords; they all took their coach, and went in the same order as the day before to the queen, where the bride and ladies were expecting them. they came all to the great hall, where the queen and the company took their places, and the drums beating and trumpets sounding. a gentleman entered the hall carrying a spear or pike covered with taffeta of the bridegroom's colours, all but the head, which was silver, worth about twenty crowns; he stood by the bride, holding the spear in the middle, both ends of it about breast-high, and the bridegroom was brought and placed by his bride. then senator bundt made a solemn speech to the queen, which (according to the interpretation made to whitelocke) was to thank her majesty for the favour which she did to the bride and bridegroom in permitting the nuptials to be in her court; and he acquainted the queen, and published to the company, what dowry the bridegroom had given that morning to his bride, with two thousand ducats for her provision; and that twelve of the nobility, of the alliance and friends to them both, were witnesses thereunto, and were to take care that the money should be disposed to the use of the wife and children, in case she survived her husband. then a gentleman read aloud the names of the twelve witnesses, who, as they were called one after another, making their honours to the queen, went and laid their right hands on the spear; and then was published the dowry and augmentation thus by these twelve witnesses. after this the spear was laid down at the feet of the bride, and all, making their solemn reverences to the queen, took again their places. then the same gentleman that laid down the spear, took it up again and threw it out of the window into the great court; where a multitude of people stood expecting it, and scrambled for the head of it, and for the taffeta, which they tore in pieces and wore in their hats as the bride's favours. after this ceremony ended, the bridegroom came and took the bride by the hand, and they marched after the torches to the sound of the drums and trumpets; after that the bridegroom took the queen by the hand, and the bride came and took the english ambassador by the hand, and other noblemen took their several ladies, and they marched two and two amidst the torches and to the same loud music as they had done the night before. after this the noblemen and ladies went to dance french dances and country dances; but whitelocke having watched the night before, and not being well, he privately withdrew himself from the company and retired to his house, wondering that the queen, after so serious a work as she had been at in the morning, could be so pleased with this evening's ceremonies. _may , ._ [sn: despatches from england.] about one o'clock the last night, whitelocke, coming from the solemnities of the court, received two packets of letters from england. he had the more cause to remember the time, because then, although midnight, he could perfectly read his letters without any candle or other light than that of the heavens, which in this season of the year scarce leaves any night at all, but so as one may well read all the night long with the help of twilight. the letters from thurloe of the first date acquainted whitelocke that now he had sent duplicates of the last instructions by a ship going to sweden. in thurloe's second letters, dated th of april, he mentions the instructions sent formerly to whitelocke, and acquaints him again with the effect of them, and the protector's order, by which he leaves it to whitelocke to return home when he shall judge it fit; and that if he should stay the ceremonies of the coronation of the new king, it would occasion great delay. and he writes further:-- "but in truth we cannot believe, notwithstanding all that is said, that her majesty will quit her crown, being so well qualified in all respects to govern as she is, and seems to be very well accepted of her people." then he again mentions the signing of the peace with the dutch, and that the protector had appointed commissioners to treat with the french, spanish, and portugal ambassadors, but had not yet declared himself to any of his neighbours. "that the business in scotland was well; that the protector had taken away colonel rich's commission, whereof the officers of his regiment were glad; that many congratulatory petitions to his highness came from divers counties, one from bucks; that the protector proceeded to reformation of the law and ministry, and i hope he will merit as well in that as in the military affairs. i return your excellence my humble thanks for your acceptance of my endeavours to serve you; i can say they come from an honest heart, which very really embraceth every opportunity wherein i may manifest myself "your excellence's faithful humble servant, "jo. thurloe. "_whitehall, th april, ._" whitelocke received several letters in these packets from mr. cokaine; one, dated the nd of april, saith thus:-- "you will have leave from his highness to take your first opportunity to come away, and i hope it will not be without bringing your business to a happy and an honourable issue, which is the constant subject of our requests to the lord for you, and i doubt not but we shall have a comfortable answer. in the meantime i think, as i have hinted to your excellence in former letters, it will not be amiss if you draw good store of bills upon us, though but _pro formâ_, that we may get as much money for you as we can before your return, and that you may have a sufficient overplus to pay all servants' wages off, which i believe will amount to a considerable sum; and upon this peace i hope it will be no hard matter to get your bills paid, especially if your excellence please withal to write to my lord protector and mr. thurloe and some of the council about it. i could wish that you would make what haste you can home, for i am informed by a special hand that there is great labouring to make a chancellor whilst you are absent, and to take that opportunity to put you by, whom i believe they doubt to be too much a christian and an englishman to trust in their service; but i hope god will give you a heart to submit to his will, and to prize a good conscience above all the world, which will indeed stand us in stead when all outward things cannot in the least administer to us. "your excellence's most humble servant, "geo. cokaine. "_april nd._" in another letter from mr. cokaine he saith:-- "mr. thurloe was pleased to acquaint me that it was his highness and the council's pleasure to make some alteration in the chancery; that it was determined that your lordship and sir thomas widdrington and my lord lisle should have the custody of the great seal, and i believe an act to that purpose will pass within few hours; but i perceive this business was not done without some tugging; but my lord protector and john thurloe are true to you, and now i am out of all fears that any affront should be offered you in your absence. mr. mackworth deserves a letter from you; but nothing, i pray, of this business. indeed mr. thurloe hath played his part gallantly and like a true friend, for which i shall love him as long as i live." in other letters from mr. cokaine in this packet, dated th april, he saith:-- "your old servant abel is much courted by his highness to be his falconer-in-chief; but he will not accept it except your excellence had been here to give him your explicit leave to serve his highness, and told me, without stuttering, he would not serve the greatest prince in the world except your excellence were present, to make the bargain that he might wait upon you with a cast of hawks at the beginning of september every year into bedfordshire. it is pity that gallantry should hurt any. certainly it is a noble profession that inspires him with such a spirit. "my lord protector this week hath expressed great respect to your excellence upon the death of the clerk of the peace of bucks. some of the justices came up and moved his highness to put one into his place, who thereupon asked who was _custos rotulorum_. they answered, the lord ambassador whitelocke. he thereupon replied that the place should not be disposed of till his return. they urged it again with many reasons; but he gave them the same answer, only with this addition, that he was to return sooner than perhaps they were aware of." by this packet whitelocke received letters from mr. selden, which were thus:-- "_for his excellence the lord whitelocke, lord ambassador from the state of england to her majesty of sweden._ "my lord, "your excellence's last of the rd of february brought me so unexpressible a plenty of the utmost of such happiness as consists in true reputation and honour, as that nothing with me will equal or come near it. first, that her most excellent majesty, a prince so unparalleled and incomparable and so justly acknowledged with the height of true admiration by all that either have or love arts or other goodness, should vouchsafe to descend to the mention of my mean name and the inquiry of my being and condition with such most gracious expressions. next, that your excellence, whose favours have been so continually multiplied on me, should be the person of whom such inquiry was made. all the danger is, that your noble affection rendered me far above myself. however, it necessitates me to become a fervent suitor to your excellence, that if it shall fall out that her majesty and you have again leisure and will to speak of any such trifle as i am, you will be pleased to represent to her majesty my most humble thanks, and my heart full of devotion to her, of which i too shall study to give, if i can, some other humble testimony. god send her most excellent majesty always her heart's desires, and the most royal amplitude of all happiness, and your lordship a good despatch and safe and timely return. "my lord, your excellence's most "obliged and humble servant, "jo. selden. "_whitefriars, march nd, ._" whitelocke had also in this packet letters from his old friends mr. hall, mr. eltonhead, the lord commissioner lisle, his brothers wilson and carleton, mr. peters, sir joseph holland, and divers others; also letters from hamburg, from mr. bradshaw, the protector's resident there, with some intercepted letters from the king's party, as sir edward hyde and several others. [sn: his audience of leave-taking.] this day being appointed for whitelocke's last audience, he was habited in a plain suit of very fine english cloth of musk-colour, the buttons of gold, enamelled, and in each button a ruby, and rich points and ribbons of gold; his gentlemen were in their richest clothes; his pages and lacqueys, above twenty, in their liveries. in the afternoon two of the ricks-senators, with the master of the ceremonies, came with two of the queen's coaches to whitelocke's house, to bring him to his audience. he received them with the usual ceremony, and after they had sat a little while in his bedchamber, one of the senators said that by the queen's command they were come to him to accompany him to his audience which he had desired this day, and that her majesty was ready to receive him. whitelocke answered, that he was always desirous to wait upon her majesty, and not the less now because it was in order to return to his own country. they made no long compliments, but went down and took their coaches. the noblemen's coaches sent thither to accompany him went first, then followed his two coaches, and last the queen's coaches. in the last of them sat the two senators in the fore-end, whitelocke in the back-end, and the master in the boot; the gentlemen in the several coaches, the pages and lacqueys walking and riding behind the coaches. at the bridge of the castle was a guard of musketeers more than formerly, of about two companies, with their officers; they made a lane from the bridge to the end of the court. as soon as whitelocke was alighted out of the coach, the ricks-hofmeister with his silver staff met him at the stairs' foot, very many of the queen's servants and courtiers with him very gallant. whitelocke's gentlemen went first, two and two up the stairs; after them the queen's servants, then the master of the ceremonies, then the hof-marshal, then the two senators and whitelocke between them, followed by his sons, his chaplains, physician, secretaries, and steward, and after them his pages and lacqueys. in this order they mounted the stairs, and through the great chamber to the guard-chamber, where the queen's partisans stood in their rich coats, with the arms of sweden embroidered with gold, their swords by their sides, and rich halberds gilded in their hands; they stood in a fixed posture, more like images than men. when they came to the audience-chamber, there was scarce room for any of whitelocke's gentlemen to come in; but by the civility of the queen's servants room was made for them, and they made a lane from the door of the chamber to the upper end near the queen, who was upon a foot-pace covered with carpets, and a rich canopy over her head. her habit was black silk stuff for her coats, and over them a black velvet jippo, such as men use to wear; she had upon her breast the jewel of the order of the knights of amaranta; her hair hung loose as it used to do, and her hat was after the fashion of men. a great number of senators and of civil and military officers and courtiers,--many more than ordinarily did appear at any audience,--stood all bare about her, and a few ladies were behind her. she stood upon the carpets before the state with her hat on; and when whitelocke came first into the room, and pulled off his hat, the queen presently pulled off her hat; and when whitelocke made his honours, she answered him, though at that distance, with a short curtsey. after his three obeisances, being come up to the queen, he kissed her hand; then the queen put on her hat, and whitelocke{ } put on his hat, and after a little pause, with high silence and solemnity in all the company, whitelocke took off his hat, and the queen took off her hat likewise, and all the time of his speaking both of them were uncovered. whitelocke, having made his ceremonies, spake to the queen thus:-- [sn: whitelocke's farewell speech.] "madam, "i confess that the time of my absence from my relations and concernments in my own country would have seemed very tedious, had i not been in the public service and honoured with admittance into your majesty's presence, whose favours, answerable to your greatness though above my merit, have been enlarged towards me during the whole time of my residence under the just and safe protection of your majesty; the which,--with the civilities of those most excellent persons with whom i treated, and of those who have been pleased to honour me with their acquaintance in your court,--i shall not fail to acknowledge with all respect. "but, madam, to your majesty i shall not presume to return any other acknowledgment than by the thanks of my lord the protector, who is able to judge of the affection shown to him, and to the commonwealth whereof he is the head, by the honour done unto their servant. "madam, it is your great judgement in the public interest, and your desire to advance the good of your own state and that of your neighbours, and the particular respect that you bear to my master, whereby the business trusted to my care by his highness is brought to such an issue as i hope will be a solid foundation of great and mutual prosperity to both these nations. "i have nothing to add on my part, but to entreat that my failings and errors, not wilfully committed, may be excused; to take my leave of your majesty, and to assure you that there is no person who honours you more than i do, and who shall be more ready to lay hold on any opportunity whereby i may endeavour, to the utmost of my power, to contribute to the happiness and prosperity of your royal majesty and of your people." as it was done at whitelocke's first audience, so he now ordered it, that monsieur de la marche, one of his chaplains, did, at the end of every sentence, as whitelocke spake, interpret the same to the queen in french. during all the time of his speaking to the queen she looked him wistly in the face and came up very near unto him, as she had done at his first audience,--perhaps to have daunted him, as she had done others, but he was not daunted; and when he had made an end of speaking, after a little pause the queen answered him in the swedish language, which was then interpreted in latin to whitelocke, to this effect:-- [sn: the queen's reply.] "my lord ambassador, "it may well be that your stay in this place, where you have been so ill accommodated, and your absence from your near relations and native country, hath been tedious to you; but i can assure you that your residence in my court hath been a contentment to myself and to those who have had the honour to converse with you in this place; and it would have been a blemish to me and to all under my government if in this time anything of injury or danger had fallen out to your person or to any of your people. i hope i may say that there hath been no such thing offered to you, and i am glad of it. "i do not know that your judgement hath deceived you in anything but this, that you have too great a value of my understanding of public affairs. it hath been your prudent management of the business committed to your trust by the protector, and my particular respects to him and to your commonwealth, with the good inclinations of the people of this country towards you, and the general interests of the protestant party, which have brought your business to effect, and which, i hope, will occasion much good and happiness to these nations and to all the evangelical party. and truly, sir, your demeanour on all occasions requires from us this testimony, that we have found much honour and great abilities to be in you; and i should be very unwilling to part with so good company, were it not in order to your own satisfaction for your return to england. "i know no errors committed by you here, but desire your excuse of the want of those expressions of our respect which this place would not afford. the thanks are due to you for your patience, and for the affection which you have testified to me and to this nation, from whom you may depend upon a firm friendship and amity, with a true respect to the protector and commonwealth of england, and an honourable esteem of yourself in particular, to whom we wish a safe and prosperous return to your own country." after the queen had done speaking, whitelocke had some private discourse of compliment with her in french, to give her majesty thanks for her noble treatment of him and many favours to him; then, according to the usage of this court, he delivered to mr. lagerfeldt, standing by, a copy of his speech, in english, signed by him with his hand, and another copy of his speech in latin, not signed by him, to be presented to the queen. then whitelocke took his leave, and kissed her majesty's hand, who gave him the _adieu_ with great respect and civility. he was conducted back to his coach with the same ceremony as he was brought to his audience; and the same two senators, with the master of the ceremonies, returned with him to his house, and after usual compliments passed between them, they returned to the court. the trouble of the day was not yet ended; but after whitelocke had come from the court, lagerfeldt brought to him the articles touching guinea which were agreed upon and signed and sealed by the queen's commissioners, as the other part of them was by whitelocke.[ ] after the great toil of this busy day, a yet greater toil must be undergone by whitelocke to make his despatches for england. by his letters to thurloe he again acquainted the council with the good conclusion of his treaty, and with his taking leave of the queen in his last audience; and sent him copies of the speeches, and gave an account of the business of guinea, with all material passages since his last letters, and his resolution and way of return home. he also answered the letters of every one of his friends, which were very many; but that to his wife, as he was afterwards informed, caused much trouble and passion, that by this date of the letter, th may, she perceived that he was not removed from upsal in his journey to return homewards. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke takes leave of his friends.] whitelocke began his visits and compliments to take his leave of his friends in this court; and herein he was to be very exact, and not to omit any one who had given him the honour of former visits. he, to be the less subject to mistakes, set down in writing the names of those whom he was to visit, which made a long catalogue; but he must get through it, as part of the business of an ambassador. and this day he began by visiting the french and holland residents, and the grave leonhough, whose discourses were concerning the peace between england and the dutch, the english strong fleet at sea, of the queen's resignation, and other general themes not necessary to be repeated. [sn: the sound dues.] woolfeldt gave a visit to whitelocke and discoursed on the same subjects, but more particularly of the interest of england and the payment of toll to the king of denmark at the sound, wherein whitelocke had good information from him, and such as, if it had been hearkened unto, would have been of great advantage to the protector and commonwealth of england. so great an interest whitelocke had gained in the affection and friendship of this gentleman, that he would not conceal from him anything that he knew, who knew more than any other that whitelocke met with concerning the sound, the king of denmark, the court and courtiers here, or whatsoever related to whitelocke's business and to england. _may , ._ this lord's day sir george fleetwood did whitelocke the favour to bear him company at his house, and told him that the queen and her lords were pleased with his deportment at his last audience, and with his speech then made, which they commended, but is here omitted. he and others also acquainted whitelocke that the queen took great pleasure at his carriage at the solemnity of the nuptials at court, and that he would dance with them; and both the queen and her courtiers said that the english ambassador knew how to lay aside the gravity of an ambassador when he pleased, and could play the courtier with as good a grace as any one that ever they saw, with much to the like effect. _may , ._ [sn: a private audience of the queen.] whitelocke visited marshal wrangel and general wittenberg, and went from thence to the castle to visit grave tott, who told him that the queen had altered her purpose of sending him into england, and would do him the honour to retain him with her, but that yet he hoped in a short time to see england. whitelocke said he should be glad to meet him, and to do him service there. they discoursed of the queen's residence in pomerland, or some other place near this country, and of the discommodities and inconveniences which would arise thereby. whitelocke told him that if the queen had leisure, that he should be glad to wait on her; and tott went presently to know her pleasure, and promised to bring word to whitelocke if he might see the queen, and did it at the lady jane ruthven's lodging, whither whitelocke was gone to take his leave of that lady; whence he brought whitelocke to the traverse of the wardrobe, where her majesty came to him and conducted him into her bedchamber, where they thus discoursed:-- _whitelocke._ i humbly thank your majesty for admitting me to be present at the meeting of the ricksdag. _queen._ how did you like the manner and proceedings of it when you were there? _wh._ it was with the greatest gravity and solemnity that i ever saw in any public assembly, and well becoming persons of their quality and interest. _qu._ there be among them very considerable persons, and wise men. _wh._ such an assembly requires such men, and their carriage showed them to be such; but, madam, i expected that your chancellor, after he spake with your majesty, should, according to the course in our parliaments, have declared, by your direction, the causes of the council's being summoned. _qu._ it belongs to the office of the chancellor with us to do it; and when i called him to me, it was to desire him to do it. _wh._ how then came it to pass that he did it not, when his place and your majesty required it? _qu._ he desired to be excused, and gave me this reason, that he had taken an oath to my father to use his utmost endeavour to keep the crown on my head, and that the cause of my calling this diet was to have their consents for me to quit the crown; that if he should make this proposition to them, it would be contrary to the oath which he had taken to my father, and therefore he could not do it. _wh._ did not your majesty expect this answer? _qu._ not at all, but was wholly surprised by it; and when the ricksdag were met, my chancellor thus excusing himself, there was nobody appointed by me to declare to them the cause of their meeting; but rather than the assembly should be put off, and nothing done, i plucked up my spirits the best i could, and spake to them on the sudden as you heard, although much to my disadvantage. _wh._ indeed, madam, you were much surprised; and i cannot but wonder that you should have no intimation given you beforehand of your chancellor's resolution; but your majesty will pardon me if i believe it proved no disadvantage to you, when i had the honour to see and hear with how excellent a grace and how prince-like your majesty, in so great an assembly and on a sudden, delivered your mind and purpose. _qu._ you are apt to make the best construction of it; you see i did adventure upon it, remembering that they were my subjects, and i their queen. _wh._ madam, you spake and acted like yourself, and were highly complimented by the several marshals, but above all the rest by the honest boor. _qu._ was you so taken with his clownery? _wh._ it seemed to me as pure and clear natural eloquence, without any forced strain, as could be expressed. _qu._ indeed there was little else but what was natural, and by a well-meaning man, who has understanding enough in his country way. _wh._ whosoever shall consider his matter more than his form will find that the man understands his business; and the garment or phrase wherewith he clothed his matter, though it was rustic, yet the variety and plain elegancy and reason could not but affect his auditors. _qu._ i think he spake from his heart. _wh._ i believe he did, and acted so too, especially when he wiped his eyes. _qu._ he showed his affection to me in that posture more than greater men did in their spheres. _wh._ madam, we must look upon all men to work according to their present interest; and so i suppose do the great men here as well as elsewhere. _qu._ here i have had experience enough of such actings; i shall try what they do in other places, and content myself, however i shall find it. _wh._ your majesty will not expect to find much difference in the humours of men, as to seeking themselves, and neglecting those from whom they have received favours. _qu._ it will be no otherwise than what i am armed to bear and not to regard; but your particular respects i shall always remember with gratefulness. _wh._ your majesty shall ever find me your faithful servant. do you intend, madam, to go from hence to pomerland? _qu._ my intentions are to go presently, after my resignation, to the spa; but wheresoever i am, you have a true friend of me. _wh._ there is no person alive more cordially your majesty's servant than i am. _qu._ i do believe it, or else i should not have communicated to you such things as i have done. _wh._ your majesty hath therein expressed much confidence in me, which i hope shall never deceive you, however my want of abilities may not answer your majesty's favours to me. _qu._ i have no doubt of your faithfulness, and you have sufficiently manifested your abilities. give me leave to trouble you with the company of a gentleman, my servant, whom i purpose to send over with you to england, to take care for those things which i desire to have from thence. _wh._ he shall be very welcome to me and my company, and i shall give him my best assistance for your majesty's service. _qu._ i shall thank you for it, and command him to obey your directions. _wh._ madam, if you please to accept a set of black english horses for your coach, i shall take the boldness to send them to your stables; and pray your majesty that the master of your horse may furnish me for my journey to stockholm. _qu._ i do thankfully accept your kindness, and all mine are at your service. _wh._ i have interrupted your majesty too long. i desired the favour of this opportunity to present my most humble thanks to your majesty for all your noble favours to me and my company. _qu._ i entreat your excuse for the meanness of my presents. i could not do therein what i desired, nor after your merit. _wh._ madam, there is nothing of my merit to be alleged; but your majesty hath testified much honour to the protector and commonwealth whom i serve. _qu._ england is a noble country, and your master is a gallant man. i desire you to assure him, on my part, of all affection and respect towards him. _wh._ your majesty may be confident of the like from his highness; and your humble servant will heartily pray for your majesty's prosperity, wherever you are. _qu._ i wish you a happy voyage and return to your own country. after he came from the queen, whitelocke met with the baron steinberg, master of her horse, whom he acquainted with what he had moved to her majesty, and he was very forward to accommodate whitelocke. [sn: discourse with grave eric on the customs of swedish nuptials.] from hence he went and visited grave eric oxenstiern, who discoursed with him about the solemnity of the nuptials at court, and asked him how he liked it. _wh._ they were very noble; but i pray, my noble brother, instruct me what the meaning was of the dowry given by the bridegroom to the bride the next morning; and what do you call that dowry? _gr. eric._ by the ancient custom of this country, the next morning after the wedding-night the husband bestows upon his wife a gift of money according to his estate, to show how he is pleased with the cohabitation, and to make some provision, in case of his death before her, for the wife, and children which he shall have by her; and this we call a _morgen-gaven_--a morning's gift. _wh._ the same word _morgen-gaven_ is in the old terms of our english laws, and expounded to signify a second dowry, and hath much affinity with this of yours and in that of your twelve witnesses who testified the contract of marriage and the _morgen-gaven_; to which our trials by twelve men, whom we call juries because they are sworn, are somewhat like, and they are so many witnesses as well as judges of the fact. _gr. eric._ i believe your customs and ours had the same original. _wh._ i find much resemblance between them and yours. what do you call the twelve that laid their hands on the spear? _gr. eric._ we call them the twelve witnesses (_les douze témoins_). _wh._ what do you call the spear or pike which the gentleman held? _gr. eric._ we call it _weppun_. _wh._ we have the same word, weapon, for all manner of arms and warlike instruments. what do you call the laying of their hands upon the spear? _gr. eric._ we call it _tack_,--_weppun-tack_, to touch the spear. _wh._ we have also the word _tack_, for touching; and we have, in the northern parts of england, a particular precinct or territory which we call a wapentake, and a territorial court of justice there which we call a wapentake court; and a very learned gentleman from whom i received letters in my last packet, selden, derives the name of wapentake from _weapon_ and _tack_; and saith they used to come to that court with their weapons, and to touch one another's weapons, from whence came the appellation of wapentake. _gr. eric._ tacitus observes that at the public assemblies and councils of the germans, they used to meet with their weapons, and when anything was said that pleased them they would touch one another's spears or weapons, and thereby make a noise, to testify their consent and approbation. _wh._ your ceremony of laying down the spear at the feet of the bride puts me in mind of another passage in tacitus, 'de moribus germanorum;' that when a man was married, he used to bring his arms and lay them at the feet of his bride, to signify that he would not take them up nor go forth to war, being newly married, without the leave of his wife, to whom he had now given the command of himself and of his arms. _gr. eric._ our customs and those of the ancient germans have much resemblance; but i never heard so good observations upon the ceremonies of a wedding as your excellence hath made. _wh._ i am delighted with these antiquities; but your excellence shows your opinion to be that of a brother. from grave eric, whitelocke went to visit the senator schütt, and lynde, who lodged in one house, and met him at the door; and this day he made seven visits, besides his attendance upon the queen, hastening to get over these matters of compliment and ceremony, that he might be upon his journey to stockholm. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke entertains a party of ladies.] whitelocke visited general douglas, who had been to visit him before, and now showed great respect unto him, and gave him many thanks for the english horse which whitelocke had bestowed on him. after this, whitelocke visited the ricks-admiral and the senators rosenhau and bundt. in the afternoon he visited woolfeldt, who brought whitelocke into the room where his lady and other ladies of great quality were with her. whitelocke imagined some design to be herein, because it was a thing so unusual to bring gentlemen and strangers into the company of their ladies; and it fell out to be so, for whitelocke, discoursing with the lady woolfeldt, who spake perfect french, she complained that she knew not where to have a place to see the entry of the prince into upsal. whitelocke knowing his house to be conveniently situate for that purpose, and understanding the lady's complaint, he, to free her from the danger of not seeing that solemnity, offered to her and to the rest of the ladies in her company, to command his house, which if they pleased to honour with their presence to see the entry of the prince, he should take it as a great favour from their excellencies; and the ladies readily accepted of his offer. they presently came to whitelocke's house. with the lady woolfeldt was the countess john oxenstiern, the countess eric oxenstiern, the countess tott, the baroness gildenstiern, and seven or eight other ladies of great quality. before the prince came into the town, whitelocke caused a collation to be set on the table for the ladies, all after the english fashion, creams, tarts, butter, cheese, neats' tongues, potted venison, apples, pears, sweetmeats, and excellent wine. they ate heartily, and seemed to be much pleased with it and with the ambassador's discourse, who strove to be cheerful with the ladies, and found it not unacceptable to them. [sn: the entry of the prince.] the prince's entry and reception into upsal this evening was thus:--the day before, by the queen's command, notice was given to all the senators, the nobility, gentry, and persons of quality about the court and in town, to come in their best equipage on horseback, at one o'clock this afternoon to the castle, to attend the queen on her going out to meet the prince. they accordingly resorted to the court, a very great number, and attended the queen forth in this order, all passing and returning by whitelocke's window. first, major-general wrangel marched in the head of four troops of horse of upland, proper men and well armed, their horses not tall but strong; every horseman carried ready in his hand one of his pistols, and his sword by his side, and most of them were well habited. then marched colonel bengt horne in the head of the gentlemen and servants of the senators and other volunteers, marching three and three abreast. after these rode about six of the queen's kettle-drums and twelve trumpets. then came mr. eric flemming, governor of copperberg, marshal of the nobility, followed by the heads of the families of the nobles in the same order as they are matriculated in the ricksdag. they were generally very rich in clothes and well horsed, lords and gentlemen of principal note and consideration in their country, and members of the ricksdag; they also rode three and three abreast. after them rode mr. gabriel gabrielson, marshal of the court, and was followed by all the senators then in town, being about thirty, riding two and two abreast, grave in their habits for the most part, and well horsed. then came the ricks-stallmaster and the hof-stallmaster--that is, the master of the horse of the kingdom, and the master of the horse of the court--riding bareheaded. after them came the queen, gallantly mounted, habited in her usual fashion in grey stuff, her hat on her head, her pistols at her saddle-bow, and twenty-four of the gardes-du-corps about her person. after the queen followed the great chamberlain, grave jacob de la gardie, and grave tott, captain of the guards, both bareheaded. after them the grave donae, gustavus oxenstiern, and gustavus jean banier, riding bareheaded. then rode all the gentlemen of the queen's chamber, then the pages of her chamber. after them, in the last place, marched colonel line, in the head of four companies of the guards, well armed, and indifferently well habited. in this order they marched about half a league out of town, to the place appointed to meet the prince, who was there attending. when they came thither, major-general wrangel marched to the left, leaving sufficient room that the guards might pass to the right hand, the volunteers and queen's servants likewise turned to the left hand, and the marshal of the nobility to the right, with the hof-marshals; and all this train kept excellent order and discipline, as did the prince's train, which was also very great. the prince was alighted from his horse before the queen came very near to him. when the queen alighted, all the senators likewise alighted from their horses, but the nobility did not alight from horseback. after his royal highness had kissed the queen's hand, she discoursed a little with him, he being bareheaded all the time, and showing great respect to her as to his queen. then the queen mounted again on horseback, the prince waiting on her. the troops marched back to the town in the same order as they came forth, with great addition to their numbers. the prince's gentlemen and servants, who were a great number, fell into the troop where those of the queen were, betwixt her gentlemen and the senators' gentlemen,--his pages after the queen's. himself rode after the queen, and sometimes she would call him (as she did in the street) to speak with him, and then he rode even with her, but all the way bareheaded whilst he rode by the queen and she talked with him. the prince was in a plain grey cloth suit of a light colour, mounted upon a very brave grey horse, with pistols at his saddle and his sword by his side. the queen's lacqueys were in rich yellow liveries; the prince's lacqueys in blue liveries, near twenty, walking by them. there were many led horses of the queen's and of the prince's, and seven or eight sumpter-horses of the prince's; the sumpter-clothes all of blue velvet, with the prince's arms embroidered on them, and rich silver fringe about them; the grooms and sumpter-men in the same livery, about twenty of them. in this equipage they marched through the streets of upsal, multitudes of people being spectators of their entry in the ways and windows. when they came to the castle court, the nobility and volunteers alighted, and walked two and two before the queen up into the great hall and to the antechamber; and the queen being come into her withdrawing-room, after some little discourse there with the prince and compliments passed, he went to the lodgings prepared for him, with not a few waiting on him who was the rising sun. whitelocke had spoken to the master of the ceremonies touching the saluting of the prince and the manner of his reception, whereof he wished to know somewhat beforehand, to govern himself accordingly, and to avoid any indignity or dishonour to be put upon the protector and commonwealth by his person. the master having spoken to the prince about it, brought word now to whitelocke, that when he moved his royal highness touching whitelocke's reception, the prince said that the english ambassador should have no cause to complain of any want of respect in his reception. the more to manifest this, about ten o'clock this evening, the prince sent one of the gentlemen of his bedchamber, who came attended with three lacqueys, and spake to whitelocke in french, that the prince, his master, commanded him to salute whitelocke in his name, and to inform him of the prince's arrival in this place, and that it was a great satisfaction to him to hope that he should have the contentment to see the english ambassador, and to entertain him before his departure from sweden. whitelocke desired that his thanks might be returned to his royal highness for this honour, and that he hoped to obtain from him the favour to give him leave to salute him and to kiss his hand; that to do this on the part of the protector, his master, was at present the only occasion of whitelocke's continuance in this place; and for this end he had moved the master of the ceremonies to know the pleasure of his royal highness, and to inform whitelocke what time might be convenient to wait upon the prince. the gentleman replied, that whitelocke's company would be very acceptable to the prince his master, and he doubted not but an account would be given thereof to whitelocke to his full contentment. whitelocke had sent this day to grave john oxenstiern, to know what time he might give him a visit; and the grave returned a proud answer, that it would not yet be convenient. _may , ._ the resident of holland came to visit whitelocke near dinner-time, which gave him occasion to invite his stay; and he and sir g. fleetwood, mr. bloome, colonel hambleton, monsieur lyllicrone, and two dutch gentlemen, did whitelocke the favour to be at his table. whitelocke gave the resident the respect of the upper end of the table, as he had formerly done to the french and spanish residents; and the dutch gentleman was well pleased with it, and with the english entertainment. [sn: whitelocke's audience of the prince.] whitelocke, having received so great a respect from the prince, did again desire the master of the ceremonies to know what time might suit with the prince's leisure to give whitelocke leave to wait on him. this afternoon the master came to whitelocke, and informed him that the prince had appointed four o'clock this afternoon to give whitelocke audience, and the master said that he would come with the queen's coaches to bring whitelocke to the castle when it was time; and accordingly he came between five and six o'clock this evening. whitelocke and his company went with the master to the castle, and as soon as he was alighted out of his coach, he was received by the marshal and gentlemen of the prince, a great number of them, at the foot of the stairs; some of them were very richly habited. they walked first up the stairs, and those of whitelocke's train followed them; the master of the ceremonies was on whitelocke's left hand. when they came to the guard-chamber, the prince in person came thither to receive whitelocke at the door thereof, the same place where the captain of the queen's guard used to meet and receive whitelocke, who was a little surprised, not expecting such a high favour as to be met by the prince so far from the room of audience. the prince was plain, in his habit of black silk, accompanied by a great number of the senators, officers, and nobility, which caused whitelocke to know him, and with due respect to salute him, as he did whitelocke; and after a few compliments between them, the prince desired whitelocke to advance, who excused himself, but the prince pressed it; the contest was almost half an hour who should go first, till the master of the ceremonies, by command of the prince, whispered to whitelocke to give way to the pleasure of the prince, who was resolved to give whitelocke the precedence, thereby to testify the great respect and honour which he had for the protector, and for whitelocke his servant. thereupon whitelocke said to the prince, that since he understood it to be the pleasure of his royal highness, he would obey his commands; and so they went on together, the prince giving whitelocke the right hand; and there was no occasion (by reason of the largeness of the doors) for one to go before the other. in the third room from the place where the prince met whitelocke was the audience chamber; there were set two rich chairs upon foot-carpets one against the other under a canopy of state; here was also much ceremony between the prince and whitelocke, who should take the right-hand chair; but the prince would have whitelocke to sit there; and the room was full of senators, officers, noblemen, courtiers, and others of quality. whitelocke had advised in what language to speak to the prince. he held it not fit to speak in english, because he came not to him as ambassador, nor in latin, there being nothing of treaty between them; but being a matter of ceremony, he was advised and informed that it was the prince's desire that whitelocke should speak to him in french, the which he understood very well: and accordingly, being both set, and their hats on, after a little pause whitelocke put off his hat, and then the prince did so likewise; then both putting on their hats again, whitelocke spake to the prince to this effect:-- "monseigneur, "je répute à grand bonheur l'opportunité qui m'est présentée de baiser les mains de votre altesse royale, et la saluer de la part de monseigneur le protecteur de la république d'angleterre, d'Écosse, et d'irelande, avant mon départ de ce royaume; ce que j'eusse fait plus tôt et en autre lieu, sinon que la nécessité d'attendre l'issue de ce qui m'a été donné en charge m'en avait empêché: mais depuis sa conclusion, j'ai tardé exprès pour ajouter à ma satisfaction celle d'avoir rendu mes devoirs à votre altesse royale, et lui témoigner l'amitié et les respects de sa sérénissime altesse mon maître." after whitelocke had done speaking the prince staid a little time, and then in french answered him to this purpose:-- "monseigneur l'ambassadeur, "ce m'aurait été un grand trouble si, après la conclusion de vos affaires en cette cour, vous aviez été dans l'inconvénience d'attendre mon arrivée en cette place; je suis bien aise de me trouver ici devant votre départ de ce pays, qui m'a donné le contentement de vous connaître, et l'occasion de témoigner le grand respect que j'ai à monseigneur le protecteur et à la république que vous servez, et je reçois beaucoup de satisfaction qu'une amitié et alliance soit contractée entre ce royaume et votre république, de laquelle j'espère et crois qu'elle sera pour le bien des deux nations, et pour l'intérêt des protestants. "il n'y a personne qui a plus d'estime de monseigneur le protecteur que moi, et de votre république; et j'ai tant entendu de votre honorable et prudent maniement des affaires que vous aviez ici, que ce m'a fait désirer de vous connaître et d'avoir l'opportunité de converser avec vous, que vous m'avez présentement alloué, et je vous en remercie, et pour les respects de monseigneur le protecteur, qu'il vous a plu me présenter en son nom, et qui me sont fort agréables." after the speeches were ended, the prince spake to whitelocke to go with him into his cabinet, which he did, and staid discoursing with him there above an hour together, all the company staying in the outer room. they soon fell into a freedom of discourse, but at this time chiefly concerning the affairs of england, the peace with the dutch, and the english fleet now at sea; also somewhat in particular to the protector, his management of affairs, and of their late troubles; in all which whitelocke endeavoured to give the prince satisfaction, without doing injury to any one. the prince brought whitelocke back again to the same place where he met him; and his servants went with him to his coach, and the master of the ceremonies brought him to his own house. after whitelocke was returned home, lagerfeldt came to him, and told him that the prince was very much pleased with the discourse between them, and with whitelocke's deportment; and lagerfeldt said he believed that the prince would visit whitelocke tomorrow; who said he could not expect such an honour, but was glad that anything of his discourse was grateful to his royal highness. lagerfeldt informed whitelocke that grave eric and lagerfeldt were to go to stockholm upon some public occasions by command of the ricksdag. whitelocke asked him what the business was; but lagerfeldt was not forward to declare it, nor whitelocke to press it; but he learned from another that the ricksdag had deputed two of every state to go to stockholm to extract out of the public records and acts the special privileges granted to the people at the coronation of any king, and of the present queen, which they judged fit to be now considered and ratified before the coronation of their new king. they were also to bring hither the acts of the ricksdag when the prince was declared heir of the crown, and such other things as pertained to this business. whitelocke desired lagerfeldt to do somewhat for him at stockholm touching the sending away of his copper from thence for england. _may , ._ [sn: the ladies' message to whitelocke.] the ladies who were at whitelocke's house to see the entry of the prince, sent thanks to whitelocke for his noble treatment of them, which was done by woolfeldt and the master of the ceremonies, whom whitelocke desired to make his excuse to the ladies, and to intercede with them to pardon the affront which whitelocke had put upon them by entertaining such noble ladies with so mean a collation. the master said he durst not deliver any such message to them, who were so well pleased with whitelocke's treatment of them; which appeared the more, in that the lady woolfeldt sent to him to bestow upon her, being great with child, some of his english cheese. whitelocke sent her all he had left, and to other ladies what they desired, his english sweetmeats and other cakes, which with them were of great esteem. [sn: the prince visits whitelocke.] whitelocke having this forenoon visited several senators and great lords, and being returned home, a servant of the prince, a baron of great esteem, came to him from the prince, to know if whitelocke's leisure would permit to receive a visit from his royal highness in the afternoon. whereunto whitelocke answered, that if the prince had any service to command him, he would wait upon his royal highness at his court; the baron replied, that the prince intended a visit to whitelocke at whitelocke's house, who said he could not expect nor admit of such a condescension in the prince and high favour to him, but that he would wait upon the prince in the afternoon. the baron said that must not be, but that it was the resolution of the prince to testify that extraordinary respect to the protector and to whitelocke, as to come in person to visit whitelocke at his own house; who said, that if it were the pleasure of the prince to have it so, he should attend the receiving of that great honour at such a time as his royal highness should think fit to afford it to him. woolfeldt, and douglas, and several others, being with whitelocke at dinner, they discoursed of this extraordinary high respect of the prince to the protector and to whitelocke, and said that it was partly occasioned by the exceptions taken by the public ministers in this court at the reception which the prince gave unto whitelocke yesterday beyond what he used to afford them of respect and honour; and this coming to the prince's ear, he said that if they were offended with him for that, he would yet give them further cause of being displeased, and thereupon sent to whitelocke that he would this afternoon visit him; they also informed whitelocke, as lagerfeldt had done, that the prince was much satisfied with the discourse of whitelocke, and his demeanour. about three o'clock in the afternoon the prince came to whitelocke's house, attended with a very great train. he was in one of the queen's coaches, which was followed by several of his own coaches, all with six horses apiece, and sundry gentlemen on horseback, with the principal officers of the court and of the army, besides his own gentlemen, officers, servants, pages, and lacqueys to a great number, waiting on him. it fell out to be on the day of a fair, kept in the open place before whitelocke's house, so that, with the people coming to the fair, and the prince's train, the streets were exceedingly crowded. as the prince alighted out of his coach, whitelocke was there to receive him, all the gentlemen of whitelocke's train attending on him, and his servants in livery making a lane, about twenty on each hand, from the prince's coach to whitelocke's house, through which the prince and he passed, whitelocke giving the prince the right hand, which he scrupled not to take in that place. they went together covered into whitelocke's house, sat down in his bedchamber, and fell into much freedom of discourse for above two hours together. in the meantime the lords and gentlemen of the prince's train being in several other rooms, according to their respective qualities, whitelocke had taken order to be entertained by his officers and servants, not only with discourse, but with good wine brought from england, and such collation as was then to be had and was pleasing to them. the prince and whitelocke had variety of discourses; and whitelocke looking upon this as an opportunity whereby he might speak in such things as might tend to the honour of god, and which his own subjects perhaps would not so plainly make known to him, whitelocke used the more freedom, and part of their discourse was-- _prince._ i am very glad that your affairs have permitted you a stay in this place so long as to give me the opportunity of your company, wherein i take much contentment. _whitelocke._ your royal highness doth very much honour me in esteeming my company worth your notice, and herein you are pleased to testify great respect to the protector, my master, and to the commonwealth whom i serve. _pr._ i have a very true honour for the protector, and for england, where i have been, and account it one of the best countries in the world. _wh._ it is indeed, sir, a very good country, and honoured by your knowledge of it and having been upon it. _pr._ but i doubt that by your late troubles it may be much damaged. _wh._ truly, sir, god hath so ordered it that those desolations which usually attend on war, especially a civil war, have not been so much in our country as others have felt who have been plunged in those miseries. _pr._ it is a great blessing to you, especially considering your change hath been so great and your troubles so lasting. _wh._ our troubles endured a long time, but, blessed be god, at present we enjoy peace and settlement after our changes. the discourse here is now altogether of the voluntary change like to be in your highness's country. _pr._ her majesty is pleased to take a resolution to resign her government, and i am commanded hither upon that occasion, though altogether unsought for by me. _wh._ you are, sir, every way worthy of it, and the more for not seeking it; and being the will of god is to bring you to such an increase of power as to the royal dignity, it will turn most to your own and your people's good, to employ your power to the honour of him that gives it, and to prefer his service by whom kings reign before any other concernments. _pr._ i must acknowledge that throughout the whole course of my life god hath been very good to me, and i am the more engaged to honour him and to do him service in any station wherein he shall be pleased to set me. _wh._ your royal highness will be pleased to pardon my freedom of speaking to you what i understand may be most for the honour of god and your service. _pr._ such discourse is most pleasing to me, especially from a person of such piety and honour as i esteem you to be, and who can have no private ends thereby. _wh._ we have observed in england, and it is so everywhere, that the blessing of god follows those that serve him. _pr._ that is a true rule; but our service must be in heart, and not in profession or outward show only. _wh._ it is true that the enemies of the parliament use to reproach them with hypocrisy in their profession of religion and with their preaching to their soldiers; yet that our profession is real doth appear somewhat in this, that the blessing of god hath accompanied our profession and our practice; and when our enemies are in debauchery and injuring the people, our officers and soldiers meet together, exhorting one another out of the scripture and praying together, and god hath given his blessing thereupon. _pr._ i do very well approve that course, and your profession and practice in matters of religion; but we hear of too much difference of opinion among you in those matters. _wh._ we have indeed too much difference of opinion among us in matters of religion; but yet the public peace is not broken, but carefully preserved. _pr._ but if there be not a uniformity among you in those matters, your peace will be endangered. _wh._ we do not yet find that danger; and we look upon it as a liberty due to all christians to take what way of worship they think best for the good of their own souls. _pr._ suppose the way they take be not agreeable to the word of god? _wh._ the consequence thereof will be their own misery. _pr._ but should not the magistrate lead them and constrain them in the right way? _wh._ we hold the better way to be, by meek exhortations and instructions to endeavour to reclaim them from any error, and not by force to compel men's consciences, as is used in these parts. _pr._ what if mild means will not work upon them? _wh._ they will have the worst of it; but as long as they do not break the public peace, it is hard for the magistrate imperiously to command and force his brethren to worship god after his opinion; and it is not imaginable that he should take more care of men's souls than they themselves, whose consciences ought to be free. _pr._ we are somewhat strict in this point in our country. _wh._ but i have heard that your royal highness hath shown moderation, and indulged this liberty, in other countries where you commanded. _pr._ i did not think fit to be so severe in this point in germany as we are in sweden. _wh._ i think your highness did therein according to the mind of god, who will not have a restraint upon his children in the worship of him; and i hope you will in time take off the severity of your laws here in this particular. _pr._ i am no friend to severity of laws upon men's consciences; but reformation among us is not soon to be brought about, where there hath been a long usage of the contrary. _wh._ in england we have of late obtained great reformation in many things, particularly touching the observation of the lord's day; and pardon me, sir, if i wish the like reformation in this kingdom, and that the lord's day were not so much neglected, nay profaned, as i have seen in this place. i hope and humbly advise your royal highness that, when god shall place you in the sovereignty over this people, you will take care to provide a remedy and reformation herein, and also of that sin of excessive drinking and swearing with which the people are so much infected, and which may cause a fear lest the anger of god should go forth against this nation; but it will be very much in your power to apply a fit remedy to these evils, and doubtless god will require it at your hands, as his vicegerent. _pr._ i have not heard many soldiers discourse in this strain; but i like it well, and it becomes you; and i hope god will assist me, if he shall call me to the government of this people, to acquit my duty to him and to his people for the restraining of these sins, which i acknowledge are too common among us. _wh._ in doing so, you will render service to god, and find his blessing to accompany such most pious, most honourable, and truly royal endeavours; and i hope your highness will not think amiss of this liberty which your servant hath taken, to speak to you of these things. _pr._ i am so far from thinking amiss of it or taking in ill part what you have said to me, that i do most heartily thank you for it, and do promise that i shall be mindful to put in practice the good counsel you have given me, as soon as it shall please god to give me an opportunity for it, and that the temper of this people will bear it; being convinced of the duty which lies upon me herein, and the service and honour which will thereby be done to god and to the people of this kingdom, both in respect to their temporal and eternal estate. _wh._ i am very glad to find your royal highness so sensible hereof, and shall humbly and earnestly leave it to your thoughts. _pr._ i hope i shall not forget it.[ ] they had other discourse touching the princes and states of christendom, particularly of the house of austria, and of the design of the papists against the protestants, the which, and the increase of the interest of rome, whitelocke said could not be better prevented than by a conjunction of the protestants; to which the prince fully agreed. the prince took his leave of whitelocke with very great respect and civility. after the prince was gone, there came to whitelocke grave eric oxenstiern and lagerfeldt, to take their leaves of whitelocke, they being to go to stockholm by command of the ricksdag; and grave eric gave unto whitelocke a paper, in french, of damage sustained by a swedish ship taken and brought into london, which he recommended to whitelocke to be a means that satisfaction might be procured. [sn: whitelocke goes to a running at the ring.] whitelocke being informed that now at the court, among other solemnities and entertainments to welcome the prince, the gallants used the exercise and recreation of running at the ring, a pleasure noble and useful as to military affairs, improving horsemanship, and teaching the guidance of the lance, a weapon still used by horsemen in these parts of the world; this generous exercise having been in use in england in whitelocke's memory, who had seen the lords, in presence of the king and queen and a multitude of spectators, in the tilt-yards at whitehall and at st. james's house, where the king, when he was prince, used also that recreation: it made whitelocke the more desirous to see the same again, and whether, as they used it here, it were the same with that he had seen in england. he went _incognito_ in the coach of general douglas, without any of his train, to the place where the running at the ring was. he would not go into the room where the queen and prince and great lords were, but sat below in a room where the judges of the course were, with divers other gentlemen, who, though they knew whitelocke very well, yet seeing him cast his cloak over his shoulder, as desiring not to be known, they would take no notice of him--a civility in these and other countries usual. the senator vanderlin, grave tott, and the baron steinberg were the challengers to all the rest; and of the other part were marshal wrangel, grave jacob de la gardie, and nine or ten others. all were well mounted; wrangel upon an english horse, given him by whitelocke. their clothes, scarfs, feathers, and all accoutrements, both of men and horse, were very gallant. they ran for a prize which the queen had ordained, and they comported themselves with much activeness and bravery; and it was the same exercise which whitelocke had formerly seen in his own country. _may , ._ [sn: the sound dues.] woolfeldt visited whitelocke in the morning, and brought with him a paper concerning the sound, written in french with his own hand, wherein he showed much affection to the protector and to england, and as much distaste to his own country. the paper whitelocke laid up, and transcribed in a larger treatise. [sn: effect of the prince's visit.] woolfeldt acquainted whitelocke that the public ministers in this court discoursed much of the extraordinary respect showed by the prince to the english ambassador, both in his reception and the prince's visit to him. and particularly the danish ambassador was greatly discontented, and said that never any ambassador had that honour done him before, and it was so far beyond what he had received that he knew not how to bear it; that the entertainment of public ministers of the same character ought to be with the same ceremony, and not one to be preferred so much as the english ambassador had been before others of equal quality with him, and much matter of complaint of that nature; which being reported to the prince, he said that neither the danish ambassador nor any other public minister had cause to complain that he had not given them the respect due to their several qualities; and if he, out of a particular affection to the english protector and ambassador, had a mind to express more than ordinary particular respects to them, it was no wrong or cause of complaint to any other public minister, who had what was due to him, because another had perhaps more than was due to him; and he said he understood not why his condition should render him less capable than other gentlemen to show particular respects where they did bear a particular affection. general douglas, a scottish gentleman in great favour and honour in this country, came late this year to the court, being hindered by a violent ague upon his coming hither. he made frequent visits to whitelocke, and expressed much of respect and civility to him as his countryman. [sn: whitelocke dines with general douglas.] this day whitelocke was to dine with douglas by a solemn invitation; and during the whole time of his residence in this court he never was invited to any of their tables, but now to douglas, and before to grave eric, notwithstanding the freedom of his table to most of them. with whitelocke were invited his two sons, potley, beake, and croke. there they met grave john oxenstiern, wrangel, wittenberg, bundt, horne, vanderlin, colonel bannier, and one of the prince's servants. of these that thus met, nine had been in commission as generals, two of the english and of the swedes seven, which was noted as very observable. they sat at table in the same manner as they did at grave eric's entertainment, whitelocke in the midst of the table, the company in their ranks on either side, and all the dinner they sat bare. the entertainment was very high and noble, as could be had in this place, and four courses very full, which made a long dinner, in which time whitelocke was solicited often to begin and pledge healths, which he would not do, but left others to their liberty, as he desired his. the healths they drank among themselves were in large beer-glasses of sack, which made them discourse the more freely; and most of it was of england and the late troubles there, of particular passages of the war, of scotland, of the fleet now at sea, and the dutch treaty; in all which whitelocke gave them some satisfaction, as they did to him touching the queen's resignation, the present ricksdag, and the new king's coronation. [sn: whitelocke receives a jewel from the prince.] the same gentleman who had been before from the prince with whitelocke, a baron of great account, first gentleman of the prince's bedchamber, a proper, well accomplished person, came to whitelocke by command of the prince, with remembrance of his highness's hearty respects and affection to whitelocke. after some compliments passed, the baron took out of his pocket a little box of crimson velvet, and told whitelocke that his royal highness had commanded him to present to whitelocke that token of the prince's love and respects to him, and, opening the box, showed to whitelocke a noble jewel, a case of gold enamelled, the one side of it set thick all over with diamonds, some of them fair ones, and on the other side was the prince's picture, lively and well taken. the baron said to whitelocke that the prince desired his excuse because in so short a time he could not procure a better present, but he desired whitelocke to accept of this as a testimony of his affection to him. whitelocke answered, that he had not merited so much favour from his royal highness, but desired the baron to return his hearty thanks to the prince, which he would also do himself when he had the honour to come in his presence. [sn: account of presents made by whitelocke.] upon this occasion whitelocke took account of the presents which he had in this court, besides the several and many gratuities and rewards which he had formerly bestowed on many of the queen's inferior servants, as musicians, guards, pages, lacqueys, trumpets, coachmen, wardrobe men, and others; to whom he had been liberal, to a considerable sum, necessary in his judgement to be done for the honour of his nation, and agreeable to what had been constantly by ambassadors there before him. besides these smaller matters, first he sent to the queen eight black english horses, very handsome, large, brave, and useful horses for the coach, and now in good case; four saddle-horses he had formerly presented to her, all of them were in this place worth to be sold £ . the looking-glass which he gave the queen when she was his valentine was worth £ , besides an english bible richly bound, english stuffs, a cabinet of spirits, and other smaller presents. the queen's officers gave no reward to whitelocke's gentleman of his horse, the clerk of his stable, or to his coachman and people that carried them, though it was presumed that the queen had ordered it, as she had done upon other the like occasions. to the prince whitelocke presented seven bay english horses, very handsome and serviceable for the coach; for which the prince returned many thanks, being most acceptable to him, as he expressed, and sent a chain of gold of the value of two hundred ducats to captain crispe, yeoman of whitelocke's stables, and twenty-five ducats to the servants of whitelocke's stable. to the prince, whitelocke also presented a young english gelding of fenwicke's breed, very handsome and mettlesome; the more esteemed by whitelocke, and afterwards by the prince, when he heard that it had been given to whitelocke by his general. to the old chancellor whitelocke presented a hogshead of good canary wine, and a sober, handsome, strong, well-paced english pad nag, and one of his richest saddles. to wrangel he gave an english gelding; to tott another; to wittenberg another; to steinberg another; to douglas another; and to such of the great men as the queen directed. to lagerfeldt he gave a clock, excellently made, which he used to have constantly with him. to secretary canterstein he sent his secretary earle with a silver standish, curiously wrought; at sight of which canterstein seemed much discontented, till earle showed him the manner of opening the standish, and in it forty pieces of english gold, of jacobuses, which made the present very acceptable. in like manner whitelocke sent to the master of the ceremonies an english beaver hat, with a gold hatband, and a pair of rich english gloves; at which the master seemed offended, saying that ambassadors used to send better presents to the master of ceremonies; but being desired to try if the gloves would fit him, he found therein forty twenty-shilling pieces of english gold, and thereby much satisfaction in the present. to grave eric's lady whitelocke presented a clock of the new make, to hang by the wall, set in ebony, with rich studs of silver. to "la belle comtesse," the lady jane ruthven and other ladies, he presented english gloves, ribbons, silk stockings, and the like, which are of great account with them. all the presents given away by whitelocke in this court were estimated above £ , and the jewels and copper bestowed on him were near the same value; so that none could accuse him to be a receiver of rewards, or that he had enriched himself by this employment. [sn: whitelocke takes leave of the prince and exhorts him.] whitelocke had desired this day another audience of the prince to take his leave; and towards the evening the master of the ceremonies came with two of the queen's coaches and brought whitelocke to the prince's lodging, who received him with the like or greater respect than he had done before. they went directly together to the prince's cabinet, where two chairs were set. they discoursed about half an hour upon the same subjects as their last discourse was; and now also whitelocke earnestly advised the prince to those things which would tend to the honour of god and to the reformation of disorders, drunkenness, swearing, and profanation of the lord's day, which whitelocke told him god would require at his hands to see reformed when he should be called to the government of this kingdom, with much to the like effect; esteeming it seasonable for him to take this opportunity of pressing these things to the prince, as he also did liberty of conscience, and what he hoped was for promoting the interest of christ in these countries. the prince gave good ear to these things, and seemed sensible of what was said to him; and by his answers gave hopes that when he should come to the opportunity he would endeavour the reformation of those great reigning sins in his country, whereof he professed his own detestation. whitelocke going to take his leave, the prince desired him to stay longer, as pleased with the discourse on this subject; but whitelocke was desired by the master of the ceremonies not to continue longer with the prince, because the queen staid within purposely for whitelocke's coming to her. at his parting the prince desired whitelocke to testify his respects to the protector and commonwealth of england; and told whitelocke that he might assure himself of a most entire affection to his person from the prince, who wished him a happy return to his own country. [sn: visits the queen, to take leave;] from the prince whitelocke made a visit to the queen. grave tott conducted him to her bedchamber, where they discoursed about half an hour touching her majesty's affairs. she again mentioned her purpose of going to the spa, and to go thither by land; she desired whitelocke not to speak much of it; she said that perhaps she might yet see him at stockholm, but, if she did not, that she would write a letter to the protector, and send it thither to whitelocke, upon the subject of which they had formerly spoken. whitelocke advised her, as he had done before, and promised to take care of her letter to the protector, and to improve his interest the best he could for effecting what her majesty desired, in case there should be occasion for it. she thanked whitelocke for his advice, wherewith she seemed to be pleased, and resolved to observe it; and expressed very great respect and affection to the protector and to whitelocke, whom she desired to assure the protector in her majesty's name of the sincere affection and honour which she did bear him, and which she should continue, in whatsoever condition she should be. she wished whitelocke a happy voyage, and with many compliments, full of great respect and civility, but not so cheerful as formerly; she twice gave him her hand to kiss, and so took leave of him. [sn: and the chancellor.] from the court whitelocke went and visited the chancellor, and delivered to him (what he had before promised and was put in mind to do) an engagement under his hand to procure a supply of the defect of power, which they excepted to in his commission. the engagement was thus:-- "polliceor plenam me mihi potentiam ac facultatem procuraturum à sua serenissima celsitudine domino meo, domino protectore reipublicæ angliæ, scotiæ, et hiberniæ, intra trimestre spatium, ab appulsu meo in quemlibet portum angliæ, ad supplendum qualemcunque defectum facultatis ac potentiæ mihi antehac datæ, ad tractandum cum serenissima majestate sua regina sueciæ aut commissariis suis, et ad rata habenda omnia, quæ inter majestatem suam vel suos commissarios et me conclusa fuerint. datum upsaliæ ^o maii, anno domini . "bulstrode whitelocke." the chancellor and whitelocke fell into discourse touching their ricksdag; part whereof follows. [sn: the swedish diet and constitution.] _whitelocke._ i received much satisfaction in the favour of being admitted to see the manner of the meeting and proceedings of your ricksdag, and shall be glad to be instructed by you touching some of the passages of it. _chancellor._ i shall be ready to inform you the best i can in these matters, and i have had some experience in them. _wh._ in that and all other matters touching the government of this kingdom, i believe no man's experience or judgement will be opposed to yours. i pray, father, let me know the ground of proposals being made by the queen to the ricksdag, and whether it be as i have heard, that they consult of nothing but what is first proposed to them by the queen. _chan._ that is very true, and is the ground of our quiet and of avoiding factions among us; for where a council consists of seven or eight hundred men, as our ricksdag doth, and they hold themselves to have an equal liberty and power, and are most of them active spirits; if every one amongst them might move and propound what he pleased according to his own fancy, there would never be an end of proposals and debates, and they would break out into several factions and the greater affairs of the kingdom be retarded, and many times thrust out to make way for lesser matters for the most part but of private interest. therefore the wisdom of our government hath so ordered it that nothing is to be consulted upon or debated by the ricksdag, but what is first proposed to them in writing by the king, who hath the advice of the senators therein; and such matters as are by them judged necessary for the good of the kingdom are by the king proposed to the ricksdag for their counsel in them. _wh._ this may be a good way to preserve your quiet; but may it not be ill for the rights and liberty of the people? as to instance in particular, if it be requisite that a new law be made relating to the people's liberty, wherein the former laws may be defective, by this course it rests only in the power of the king and senate whether this matter shall ever come to consideration or not; for, unless they will propound it, no consideration can be had of it; and though it may be necessary as to the people's rights, yet then probably it may be against the king's power, and in that case the king will never propose it to the ricksdag, because it makes against his power and prerogative; and so the people are by this course debarred of the means of supplying any defect as to their rights and liberties, unless the king, to lessen his own power, will first propose it to them. _chan._ this were an inconvenience if the people's rights and liberties were not already settled; but, by our laws, the boundaries of the king's power and of the people's rights are sufficiently known and established, as the king can make no law nor alter or repeal any, nor impose any tax, nor compel men to go out of the kingdom without the assent of the ricksdag; and in that council, which is supreme in this kingdom, every man's vote and assent is included by the deputies of the clergy, boroughs, and boors, which are respectively elected, and by the chiefs of the nobility; so that all sorts of people have their share, either in person or by their deputies, in the supreme council of the kingdom, by whom only those great matters can be done; and this being certain and settled, any alteration in those points tends but to further uncertainty and mischief. and if debates might be had of additions to the king's power, or to the people's liberty, it would but occasion attempts of encroaching of one upon the other, and bring trouble and uncertainty to both; whereas they being already clearly defined and known, and that there is no means of altering either of them, both the king and people are content with what they have, and endeavour nothing of disquiet unto either. _wh._ but this further debars the people from having any new law at all made, except such only as the king shall think fit, for he only can propose them; and it is a necessary thing to supply defects in laws and to make new ones, according as times and circumstances varying shall minister occasion. _chan._ there is nothing more prejudicial to any government than multitude of laws, which is prevented by this course of ours; nor is there any necessity of new laws where both the public rights and private men's property are provided for by the laws in being, which in all nations is from the original of their civil settlement taken care of. and though time and variety of accidents may occasion some defects in old laws, yet it is better they should be borne with than an inundation of new laws to be let in, which causeth uncertainty, ignorance, different expositions, and repugnances in the laws, and are the parents of contention. _wh._ but i suppose your ricksdag hath liberty to complain of maladministration and corruption in officers and judges, and to punish them and cause redress of grievances; else the people are remediless against those public crimes, without the grace and favour of the prince to do it of himself, which every prince in all times will not do. _chan._ the ricksdag may complain to the king of any offence or misdemeanour committed by any great officer, and of any public grievance to the people; whereupon the king and senate are very ready (as it behoves them in justice and prudence) to give a remedy, which they are the more induced to do, because otherwise the people's deputies, who have the power of the purse, may be the more backward to supply the king's occasions with money or men; and this is a good tie upon the court, to procure justice and redress of grievances. _wh._ your laws are founded upon great reason and prudence, and in these and most other main parts and particulars of them, ours are the same in england; but a liberty of proposing anything in our parliament belongs to every member of it. _chan._ that hath been a great occasion of all your troubles. _wh._ i expected to have heard my father, the ricks-chancellor, to have made an harangue in the ricksdag, to have acquainted them, as it is with us, with the causes of their meeting. _chan._ i confess it belongs to my place to have done it; but, by reason of an oath i had taken to my king, to endeavour to keep the crown on his daughter's head, and this assembly was called that she might resign it; therefore i desired to be excused from making that proposal. _wh._ indeed her majesty spake herself with an excellent grace and spirit, which was a wonder to see it done by a young lady to so great and grave an assembly; and the matter of her speech, as it was interpreted to me, was pertinent and full of weight. _chan._ indeed she spake very well and materially, and like a prince. _wh._ i am sorry my time calls me away from further enjoyment of my father's excellent conversation. _chan._ i shall be glad if my noble son would afford me more of his company, in which i take so much contentment. _wh._ my journey tomorrow hastens me away, and occasions your less trouble. _chan._ i pray assure the protector of the respect and high value i have for him, and of my devoted mind to serve him in anything within my power in this kingdom. _wh._ you have been pleased largely to testify this in my transactions, and your noble favours and respects to your son. _chan._ you may be confident of my affection and love to you; and i desire you to be a friend to my countrymen in england, and to take upon you their patronage in all just causes. _wh._ i shall be ready upon all occasions to perform all good offices to your excellence and to your family, and to all of this nation; and shall satisfy the protector of your affections for him, and of your kindness to his servant. _chan._ i am now an old man, and whilst i continue alive i shall do all that lies in my power to serve the protector and the commonwealth of england, and shall embrace your excellence with a special bond of friendship, and will leave it in charge to my sons, when i am dead, to do the same. _wh._ i shall also enjoin my children to continue that obligation of friendship which i have contracted with your excellence and your family. _chan._ i shall but add this further, to pray to god that of his mercy he would vouchsafe to you a prosperous return to your own country, and that you may find there all your family and friends in a comfortable and happy condition. [sn: takes leave of oxenstiern.] thus the chancellor and whitelocke took leave of one another with as much kindness and respect as could be expressed.[ ] whitelocke being returned to his house, grave john oxenstiern came to visit him; and having heard that whitelocke took it ill that he had put off a visit desired by whitelocke to this high grave, yet now he was pleased to descend to excuse it to whitelocke, because his lodging was strait and inconvenient, not fit to receive a person of whitelocke's quality, and his lady was at that time very much indisposed in health. the senator benk schütt came in the evening to visit whitelocke, and discoursed freely with him touching the queen's resignation and their new king, and did not testify much of respect to the chancellor by informing whitelocke that yesterday, at the castle, there was a great rub, as he called it, given by the queen to the chancellor before the prince and the rest of the senators; the occasion whereof was about the island of elsey, which the queen desired as part of her provision, to which the chancellor said, that it was worthy the consideration; the queen replied, "what! is my integrity then questioned?" the chancellor answered, that he did not question her majesty's integrity, but spake only for her security and better satisfaction in what she desired. the queen said, "i understand swedish well enough, and it was not becoming you to question my integrity at all." schütt said, that at this passage the rest of the senators were pleased, and that the prince seemed in this, and all other occasions, to be of the queen's mind, and to grant her more rather than less of what she desired, which was wisdom in him. senator vanderlin visited whitelocke, and, among other discourses, acquainted him the passages of the proposal for the queen to have married the prince; that for this purpose the prince was sent for out of germany, and the queen seemed inclinable to the match; yet, after the prince was come, she used him with a strangeness which was occasioned by the whisperings of grave magnus de la gardie to the queen, that when the prince was in germany he was too familiar with some ladies; at which information, he said, the queen was so enraged that the prince should go to other women, that she thereupon resolved not to marry him, but was otherwise very courteous and full of respect to him. whitelocke did not dispute the authenticness of this relation, but wondered at it from a senator, touching him who was to be a king, and to use so much freedom on such a subject to a stranger. general douglas, the ricks-admiral, and senator bielke, also visited whitelocke this evening while vanderlin was with him; they discoursed of the discontent which the dutch resident expressed before his going away, because more respect was shown to whitelocke by the queen and prince, and by the senators and great men here, than they had shown to the dutch resident, who said he was a public minister as well as the english ambassador. whitelocke said it was true, as the dutch resident had remembered, that he was a public minister; and it might be supposed, that being so, he should understand the difference between a resident and an ambassador extraordinary; and also between the commonwealth of the united provinces of the netherlands, and that of england, scotland, and ireland. the swedish lords replied, that if the dutch resident did not understand it, nor himself, that yet it was sufficiently known in this place, and that the resident was but laughed at for his exceptions, as being without cause, and showing his want of experience in matters of this nature. after the ricks-admiral and bielke were gone, vanderlin and douglas staid with whitelocke and used great freedom of discourse with him, expressing extraordinary respect to the protector and commonwealth of england, and very much affection and kindness to whitelocke, in whom they expressed great confidence. they staid with him till past twelve o'clock at night, inconvenient in respect of his intended journey the next day; but their company was very pleasing, and they took leave with great civility and kindness from each to other of them. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke commences his journey back to england.] whitelocke began his longed-for journey of return to england. he had taken his leave of the queen, prince, senators, and all his friends in upsal. his business, through the goodness of god, was successfully despatched; himself and all his people in good health, and exceeding joyful to be on their journey homewards. he left not a penny of debt to any in this country, nor any unrewarded who had done him service; for his hospitality, wherein no ambassador in this court ever exceeded him, for his conversation and dealing with all sorts of people, he had gained their love, and left no ill name behind him. the greatest part of his baggage, and most of his inferior servants, were on board a great hoy of the queen's, to go by water to stockholm; he and the rest of his people went by land, in order to which, upon his desire, the hof-stallmaster, by the queen's command, had sent yesterday six coach-horses to be ready in the midway from upsal to stockholm, and this morning he sent six other horses with whitelocke's blue coach to his lodging, to carry him the first half way of this day's journey, driven by the queen's coachman. berkman had provided a sufficient number of saddle-horses, if they might be so called, he having forgot to cause saddles to be brought with them for whitelocke's people, so that most of them were forced to make shift with straw and cushions instead of saddles; and many of the bits and stirrups were such as they had been acquainted with in their journey from gothenburg hither; and thus they rode the two first stages. whitelocke took coach between seven and eight o'clock in the morning, sir george fleetwood, potley, ingelo, and andrews, in his coach with him; the rest on horseback; they came about noon to the place where fresh horses staid for them, and did not tarry long there, wanting good entertainment, but, taking fresh horses both for coach and saddle, they proceeded in their journey. the country through which they passed was better than that near the sea, less rocky and more fruitful, not so replenished with seats of the nobility further off, as nearer to stockholm. by the way they met general axy lyllye, a senator of sweden, newly returned out of germany, and another senator with him; they alighted out of their coach when whitelocke came near them, who, seeing that, did alight also. the general had lost one of his legs in the german wars, and now carried one of wood; he and his companion were very civil in their salutation and discourse with whitelocke, and after compliments, and inquiry by whitelocke of the german news, they took leave and parted. whitelocke and his company arrived between five and six o'clock in the evening at stockholm, the journey being seven swedish leagues, about forty english miles. as he came in the suburbs, he saw a sad sight of many houses lately burnt down, and some pulled down to prevent the further raging of the fire, which had consumed many scores of houses in that place; and it brought to whitelocke's remembrance, that one evening at upsal, in his chamber window, he saw a great fire in a dorf about half a league from the town, which he observed, almost in a moment, to flash from one end of the dorf to the other, consuming all in its way,--and thus it was said to have been in these suburbs. the reason thereof is the combustible matter whereof their houses are built, being of fir timber and boards, which, especially being old, do suddenly take fire, and violently burn, hard to be quenched, few houses escaping, especially in the dorfs, where one is on fire; which causeth more than ordinary care in the inhabitants of all places to prevent that fearful danger. berkman conducted whitelocke to a lodging in the suburbs, over-against the castle, which was used for an inn. this being post-night, whitelocke made up his despatches for england, which he had prepared at upsal, where he wrote his letters, but dated them from stockholm, that his friends in england might thereby perceive that he was in his journey homewards, which he knew would be no small contentment to them. _may , ._ [sn: stockholm.] being the lord's day, divers scotch merchants, inhabitants of this city, and some english, came to whitelocke's lodging to hear the sermon in the morning, and many of them did him the honour to dine with him; he had conference with them, and good advice from them, about his voyage to england and other matters. lagerfeldt came also to salute whitelocke, and to know what service he had for him, before his going from hence this evening. whitelocke desired him to speak to the master of the customs, touching the shipping of his copper and other goods, custom free; and whitelocke prayed lagerfeldt also to speak to vice-admiral wrangel, that the ship appointed for his transportation (which was now in the road in view of whitelocke's lodging) might, with as much speed as could be, fall down to the dollars; which he promised to do. wrangel sent to invite whitelocke to go this afternoon to see the ships, but whitelocke excused it by reason of the day, and sent word that tomorrow, if he pleased, he would wait upon him; and desired his advice touching his voyage. in the evening lagerfeldt came again to whitelocke, to give him an account what he had done by his appointment, and told whitelocke that he should have all contentment. with lagerfeldt came monsieur de geeres to visit whitelocke, who gave him thanks for a vessel of claret wine which de geeres had sent to whitelocke, who said he hoped he should not stay long enough to drink it out in this place. [sn: the queen's garden at stockholm.] at upsal whitelocke was carried to see the queen's garden, which scarce deserved that name, being only a piece of ground of about four or five acres, paled in according to the manner of their paling, and had in it a few hedges which, in the latter end of may, upon the thaw, began to appear a little green; but for flowers or fruit-trees there were none, except a few ordinary tulips. this put whitelocke in mind to inquire if the queen had a better garden here at stockholm, where her residence usually was. the swedes excused the meanness of the garden at upsal because the court was seldom there, but here they commended the garden, and offered whitelocke the favour to see it. he went about seven o'clock this evening to view it, and to walk in the queen's garden here. it was near unto his lodging, but at a distance from the castle; it is about six or seven acres of ground, encompassed with a pale, on which they bestow timber enough in the posts and rails, and the pales are not set upright one by another, but crosswise one upon another, between two great posts, with rivets for the pales to be put into, and so to fall down one upon the other; and the pales are two inches thick or more, made of fir timber, and the posts and rails of oak. this garden was distinguished into walks not well kept nor gravelled, but most of them green; few flowers were to be seen there, though more than at upsal, and most of these were tulips not extraordinary. the sides of the walks were set with elm-trees and the like, but no fruit-trees were there, nor are they common in this cold country, only, as they informed whitelocke, in some places they have a few trees of plums, and small cherries, and of apples; but he saw none in regard of the season, nor do many persons in these parts delight in gardens or in planting fruits or flowers, this climate not encouraging thereunto; yet here were great boxes of wood with orange-trees, citron-trees, and myrtle-trees, very young, planted in them; how they thrived was not much visible. at whitelocke's lodging some of his people made the greater fires to air the rooms, because the plague had been lately in this city, and in that house the chimneys, it seems, being foul, and full of soot, were the sooner set on fire; and when whitelocke came from walking in the garden he found his lodging on fire. it was a stack of chimneys which took fire; a multitude of people were ready about the house to help to quench the fire, and the officers of the city were there to order the people. whitelocke was surprised with this unexpected accident and danger, amongst such houses; but after an hour's flame, the soot being spent and burnt, the fire went out of itself; and it was a mercy that the wind set to carry the flame towards a house which was tiled, whereas, if it had set the other way, it had carried the flame upon houses all built and covered with wood, to the extreme danger of whitelocke's lodging and the whole city. _may , ._ [sn: the harbour of stockholm and swedish fleet.] in the morning berkman conducted whitelocke to the haven, where lay many boats and vessels great and small, and much iron upon the quay, which is convenient, but not much stored. they passed by many fair houses belonging to the great lords. in the afternoon wrangel came to whitelocke, and conducted him to see the queen's ships, which lie round about an island called by them the holm, into which island none are permitted to enter without special license. this is a good harbour for the ships there to anchor safely. there lay about fifty ships of war, some of them carrying eighty pieces of cannon, some sixty, some fifty, some forty, some thirty, and all of them well fitted and useful, strongly built, but not so nimble and serviceable for fight as our english frigates. wrangel was now in his element, and discoursed much with whitelocke about the make and force and goodness of these ships, their force and brass cannon, which were commended by whitelocke, who showed the difference in the make between these ships and the english frigates; that these, for strength to endure an assault and make defence, were very good, but that the english frigates had much advantage in their nimble tacking about, their fleet sailing to fetch up another ship, and the lying of their guns for use of fighting; with which discourse wrangel seemed much pleased, and he preferred their brass cannon before those of iron, which whitelocke assented unto as not so soon hot with firing, nor so apt to break and splinter, and do harm to their own men as the iron ordnance are. within this island is the office of the admiralty, in a fair brick house built for that purpose; in another building there are the forges for all the iron-work belonging to the ships; there also are the timber yards, well stored, and places for the workmen and ship-carpenters. they were shown there likewise the magazine of powder, bullet, match, grenadoes, with other fire instruments; also the bake-houses, where they make provision of biscuit for the ships; it is a great room paved with stone, wherein are three ovens for baking, and a large cellar in which they store the biscuit. there be also stores for pork, peas, and other ship provisions, all in very good order, and carefully looked unto. whitelocke went on board divers of the ships, taking notice of their strength and furniture, and among them he went on board several great ships which wrangel had taken in fight from the king of denmark, which at present were not serviceable; but his commendation of that action, and of these ships of war lying here, was due to them, and not unpleasing to those who showed them to him. they returned by boat, making the tour of the island; and as they passed by the ships of war, they all saluted whitelocke with two guns apiece, which number they do not exceed. as they passed along, whitelocke was desired to go on board the 'hercules,' a great and good ship lying there, which carried eighty pieces of ordnance, all brass; and being brought into the captain's cabin, he found there the table covered, and a banquet set upon it of sweetmeats of divers sorts, with which, and with plenty of excellent rhenish wine, they did with great respect and civility entertain whitelocke and his company. from thence they brought him to his lodging, weary enough with his voyage and the extreme heat of the weather. [sn: position of stockholm.] the island which whitelocke viewed this day, and many other greater and smaller islands, upon which are buildings, do make up this city, which by some is resembled for the situation of it unto the city of venice, which stands as this doth, upon several islands in the sea. the waters are great and deep about this city, which is compassed with mountains, except only where they give way to the passage of the waters. the town, in the prospect of it, seems to be as in the midst of the circuit of the mountains, and as it were composed of divers pieces, each of them apart making a good town, and so appear as several villages separated by the many arms of water, or by the lake mälaren, which come hither to meet one another, and make the large and deep water; and it seems to be the diameter of the mountains, and now all plain, by carrying away the earth of a hill within it, and the stones therewith filling up ditches and uneven grounds, and serving for foundations for their buildings, and to make their streets even and handsome; so that now it is all level, as if no hill had ever been. one of their authors saith that it is "loco et situ commodissimo, inter eximium dulcem lacum mæler ipsumque balticum mare in insula fundatum." the inhabitants (who should best know it) affirm that the situation of this town is very healthful, and that notwithstanding the vast quantity of waters that do surround it, yet they are not troubled with agues, or other diseases, so much as other parts of the country. it is too, in the view of it, pleasant and noble for the situation; and the grounds about it are dry and wholesome, yet fruitful. the streets are some of them large, others more narrow; most of them are straight, the houses being equally advanced and set together. in the heart of the city they are for the most part built of stone or brick, making the fairer show by their height of four or five stories. from the north holm or suburbs to the east is a bridge of wood, very long; from the island where the ships lie they pass another bridge to another island, both small ones, and at the mouth of the harbour for the ships of war, extending about half a league, between which and the continent are the waters of the lake and of the rivers which pass through the town from the west; from the north to the east is a park of deer, pleasant with trees and shade, contributing to the delight and health of the inhabitants; and, taken altogether, from the prospect of the mountains upon the churches, castle, houses, waters, and ships, the town appears noble and beautiful. [sn: legend of stockholm.] whitelocke having been at the island where the ships lie, and observed it to be called the holm, and other islands to have the same name of holm, and holm to be the same which we call an island, and this city named stockholm, caused his inquiry of the original of this name of stockholm; he was informed, in a kind of pleasant story, which is not without some probability, and the earnest affirmations of the inhabitants, who from tradition may be supposed best to know it, that the original of the name stockholm was thus:--that there was a certain great and rich town called bieurkoo, situate upon the lake between upsal and this place, whereof some ruins are yet to be seen. the number of the people in that town increasing so much that the inhabitants could not be therein contained, they held a council what was fit to be done; they also consulted their idol gods, to whom they offered sacrifices and prayers for their direction. the issue was this: they came to a resolution that part of their people should go forth from them, as a colony, to seek for a new habitation, as is usual in these northern countries; that they should find out a place, and build them a new city to dwell in; and how to find out and agree upon this place was thus determined: they took a great block or piece of wood, to which they fastened some gold, and set the block a-swimming in the water, and agreed that there they would build the new town where their gods (to whom they had committed this affair) should cause the block to stay; this block floated, and, descending down the lake, at length staid at a little island about the midst of this city. such an island here (as in our north parts) is called holm, and such a great block or piece of wood is by them (as with us) called a stock; and because this stock staid at this holm, therefore here they built their city, and called it stockholm; which, by degrees, and adding one holm or island to another, became of its present greatness. _may , ._ [sn: the magistrates of stockholm address whitelocke.] berkman brought to whitelocke's lodging this morning two of the magistrates of this city, deputed by their body, and in their name, to salute whitelocke and bid him welcome to this place. one of them made a speech to whitelocke, which was interpreted out of the swedish by berkman into french, to this effect:-- "my lord ambassador, "the senate of this city have deputed us in their name to salute your excellence, and to bid you welcome to this place, where the magistrates and citizens are desirous to embrace any occasion presented to them, whereby they may testify the great respect and honour which they bear to his most serene highness the lord protector, and to the commonwealth of england. "they are likewise very glad of the occasion given them to express their joy for the happy alliance and friendship concluded between this kingdom and the commonwealth of england, which we hope will be to the advantage and good of both nations, and of the protestant interest, which is heartily wished by us. we look upon it as a very great comfort and blessing to this city, that after the misery in which we have lately been, when it pleased god to visit us with the pestilence, that the same is now so well and fully removed through divine mercy, that we have the happiness to see a person of your condition vouchsafe his presence with us. "whilst the occasions of your excellence shall stay you here, we most freely offer our services for your accommodation with whatsoever this place will afford, which your excellence may command; and as a small testimony of the respects of our superiors, they have caused us to present a vessel of wine unto your excellence, whereof they entreat your favourable acceptance." whitelocke presently answered them in english, which berkman interpreted to them in swedish, to this effect:-- "gentlemen, "i rejoice with you in the mercy and goodness of god to this city, who hath caused to cease that contagious disease which lately raged among you, so that your friends (of which number i take the honour to reckon myself) may freely and safely resort to you, and converse with you as formerly. i have also some share in your joy for the friendship and alliance contracted between my lord the protector of the commonwealth of england, and the queen and kingdom of sweden; wherein i doubt not but, through the blessing of god, both nations and the whole protestant interest will have cause to rejoice likewise: and as my poor endeavours have not been wanting, so my hearty prayers to god shall be put up that it may come to this issue; and i shall pray for the continuance of health and prosperity to this noble city. "i return you many thanks for your respects to my lord the protector and the commonwealth whom i serve, whereof i shall not fail (when it shall please god to give me a return to my own country) to acquaint them, and to do all offices of respect in my power for your city; and i desire my thanks may be presented to your honourable senate for their particular favour to me, and for their salutation, which i receive with all gratitude." whilst the citizens were with whitelocke, wrangel, vice-admiral thysen, vice-admiral clerke, sinclair, captain of the 'amarantha,' and others, came and did whitelocke the honour to dine with him, and in the afternoon carried him to see the cannon which the swedes had taken from their enemies, now laid up in a magazine for themselves; there were of them brass cannon ; among them were two pieces taken from the muscovites, each of them weighing , lbs. weight, and carrying a bullet of lbs. weight, as much more as the greatest whole cannon carries. there was also a basilisk of nineteen feet in length, very extraordinary, and a great mortar-piece of brass of a fathom and three fingers in diameter at the mouth of it; with many other pieces of brass ordnance taken from the poles in their wars with them, which were now but of little use; nor were those huge pieces capable to be drawn into the field for any service there. _may , ._ [sn: monuments and public buildings of stockholm.] whitelocke walked abroad, to see the great church where the late king gustavus adolphus lies interred; but as yet there is no monument erected to his memory, nor are there others of magnificence or much antiquity in this or in the other great church, but store of images and crucifixes in all their churches; their building is of brick, and all their churches are covered with copper. whitelocke went to wrangel's lodging to requite his visits, but found him not at home, not having sent beforehand to him. he fetched a little turn in the city, and they showed him a new building for the ricksdag, which they call the ruder-house, that is, the house of the knights; it is a fair building, and the name of it remembers somewhat of the knights of our parliament. in this walk, whitelocke viewed in the fair street near his lodging the monument set up to the honour of queen christina at her coronation, which is beautiful to the view. it is a triumphant arch, of the height of the highest houses, raised upon three arches, which give three passages; those on each side the more strait and low, the middle arch of twice the height and wideness of the other two. the frontispiece unto the tops of the arches is adorned with pillars of a fair work, between which, in the front of the building, are figured the wars, battles, and victories of gustavus the great: above the pillars are divers images, and above the middle of the porch is a large tablet, containing in letters of gold the original of christina, her virtues, and the occasion of this monument. the whole building seems fair and stately, and as of stone, but in truth is only wood plastered over; rather a show, to please for a few years, than lasting. he also viewed many houses of stone and brick, some whereof were very fair and adorned with towers and figures, as those of grave magnus de la gardie, grave gustavus horne, general bannier, and others, and many of them beautifully covered with copper. in the afternoon wrangel conducted whitelocke to see the castle, which is also covered with copper; and that having lain there long, some dutchmen are reported to have offered to give £ , for the copper, and to cover the castle again with new copper; the reason whereof they hold to be, because the copper which hath lain there so long with the sun upon it, is so refined thereby, and would yield so much gold, that it will yield what the dutchmen bid for it and more, besides the charge of new covering it with copper as before. this castle is the principal house in this principal city, belonging to the crown of sweden; it is a large castle, more for conveniency of a court than for stateliness of structure. it is almost four-square, one way longer than the other, all of brick, plastered over to make it seem as if it were of freestone, whereof there is not much in these parts fit for building; the entry into the castle is upon the north quarter; the south and east side is of fair building, four stories high, the windows not large. on the west of the quadrangle is the chapel, about a hundred and thirty feet in length, with the breadth proportionable; it is divided into three arches, upon two ranges of pillars of marble of this country, of divers colours, most in red streaks, handsome and polished. on the windows and walls are several pictures and images, after the manner of the lutheran churches. the rooms in the castle are many, some of them large enough for the state of a court, and most of those are two stories high, after the use of this country. the situation of the castle is pleasant and noble, by the side of the great water, upon which part of it is built, and the other part upon the island where it stands; and though of itself it be not of great strength, yet the situation, prospect of the waters, ships, vessels, islands, and buildings, on the one side, and of the country to the mountains on the other side, give it the repute of a princely palace. in the castle whitelocke was carried up to a room, a magazine, where were a very great number of muskets, pikes, swords, and other foot arms, excellent good, made in this country, of their own iron and steel, and kept exceeding clean, bright, and well fixed, and were said to be sufficient to arm ten thousand men completely. on the other side of the court they brought him to another room, where was a magazine of horse-arms, cuirassiers, with pistols, bright, well kept, and of an excellent make; there were also more foot-arms: in all, in this magazine, two thousand horse-arms, and five thousand foot-arms; and in the other magazine, ten thousand foot-arms. there were likewise colours, ensigns, and standards, taken from their enemies, to the number of about eight hundred; among them one taken by king gustavus in person, and another, which wrangel showed, that he had taken from the duke of saxony. this city is doubtless as well provided of arms and all sorts of ammunition for war as any place in these parts of europe, here being, besides the queen's stores in the public arsenal, arms sufficient for fifty thousand men. here also they showed to whitelocke the lance of the quintain, and, according to their description of it and its use, it seems to be the same with the exercise and recreation used anciently in england, and yet retained in some counties at their marriages, which they likewise call the running at the quintain. in a great hall they showed to whitelocke the skin, stuffed out and standing in the full proportion, of the horse which the late king gustavus rode when he was slain; also his bloody shirt which he then wore, which is carefully preserved in a chest; where they also keep the jewel which king gustavus wore at his coronation, and many rich swords, battle-axes, and other spoils taken from their enemies. _may , ._ [sn: the launch of the 'falcon.'] wrangel came to whitelocke, and invited him to see the launching of one of their ships newly built for a man-of-war; and whitelocke was the more curious to see the manner of it, and how they could do it, in regard they have no docks, nor ebbing and flowing of the water, which here is constantly even, and affords no advantage by flowing tides for the launching of their ships. when whitelocke came to the holm where the ship was to be launched, he found her with the keel set upon great planks of timber, the ship tied upright with cables, as if she were swimming; the planks upon which she stood lay shelving towards the water, and were all thick daubed with grease all along from the poop of the ship, and under her keel, to the water's side, which was within the ship's length of her head, and there the water was very deep. one strong cable held the ship from moving; and she lying thus shelving upon the planks, the cable which held her from sliding down was cut, and then the weight of the ship upon the sloping greased planks carried her with great violence down upon the planks into the sea, near a slight shoot, by force of the weight and swing wherewith she fell down. in the sea were boats ready, which came to her, and put men aboard her; and as she went off, a great shout of a multitude of people, standing by as spectators, was sent after her. wrangel, as an honour and compliment to whitelocke, desired him to give the name to this ship. whitelocke would have called her the 'wrangel,' but the master of that name entreated it might not be so, possibly to avoid the envy of it at court; but he desired it might be called the 'whitelocke,' which whitelocke thought not expedient, lest it might argue too much height in himself; nor would he call her 'cromwell,' or the 'protector,' because she carried but thirty guns; but seeing the mark of her guns to be the falcon, and asking whether they had any other ship of that name, they said, no; whereupon, the falcon being whitelocke's coat of arms and the mark of the ship's guns, and she being built swifter of sail than ordinary, whitelocke gave her the name of the 'falcon.' this pleased wrangel very much, and the seamen and workmen were most pleased with the gratuity which whitelocke bestowed on them; and this ceremony and compliments being passed, whitelocke gave many thanks to wrangel for this honour, and so they parted. the packet from england was brought to whitelocke. thurloe wrote thus:-- "i have acquainted his highness with your excellence's letters received yesterday, wherein he takes little content, more than that he did on his part sincerely intend a peace and union with that crown and kingdom, and committed the management of it to a person who hath performed his trust with honour, wisdom, and fidelity. we hope that your instructions, giving you liberty to return, are by this time arrived, etc." by this packet whitelocke also received letters from his wife, full of affection and piety, and from colonel bulstrode, his brother wilson, mr. attorney hall, mr. cokaine, mr. eltonhead, especially from his great friend dr. winston; and all of these letters, and several others which he received, were so many testimonies of the affection and hearty kindness of these his worthy friends. _may , ._ after whitelocke had walked a tour in the norden mallum,--that is, the north suburbs of this city,--sir george fleetwood came to him, with whom he had much conversation in the latter time of his being in sweden, both at upsal and in this town, who showed much kindness and respect to whitelocke. he informed whitelocke that by letters from upsal he understood that the ricksdag had given leave to the queen to go to colmar, which signified that she could not go without their leave, and that she would find much difference between commanding as a queen and obeying as a subject, and that, by the law of this kingdom, no queen can depart out of it without leave of the ricksdag, on forfeiture of all her estate. [sn: whitelocke's shipment of copper sent to london.] a ship called the 'swart hundt' was by the queen's command appointed and fitted to carry whitelocke's copper and other goods from hence to england. by advice of friends, whitelocke under his hand and seal desired sir george fleetwood to consign the copper to whitelocke's brother-in-law, mr. wilson. the desire was thus:-- "i bulstrode whitelocke, constable of the castle of windsor, one of the lords commissioners of the great seal of england, and ambassador extraordinary from his most serene highness the lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, unto her majesty the queen of sweden, do hereby desire my honourable friend, sir george fleetwood, knight, general-major under the crown of sweden, to ship and consign unto mr. samuel wilson, merchant in london, in bishopsgate-street, two hundred ship-pound, swedish weight, of gore copper; the which the said mr. samuel wilson is to receive and dispose of according to my order. dated at stockholm, in sweden, the th day of may, . "b. whitelocke." according to which warrant, the copper was put on board the 'swart hundt,' fitted and victualled for england. of whitelocke's ship, whitelocke gave the command and charge, and of his goods therein, to one of his servants, taylor, by commission under his hand and seal, and to bring his copper and goods in her from hence to london, as soon as he could, wind and weather favouring. wrangel procured this ship for whitelocke, and a pass from the admiralty of sweden for her to go through the sound; and whitelocke thought it better to see this ship on her voyage, than to leave the sending of her away to the care of others after his departure. [sn: his goods embarked in the amarantha.] whitelocke sent the rest of his goods and baggage on board the 'amarantha,' which weighed yesterday, and he hoped might by this time be within four leagues of the dollars; but the wind came contrary for her advance any further, and whitelocke must continue here till he could understand that his ship was gotten to the dollars, which is fourteen swedish leagues from this city, but may be gone in six or seven hours by boats in a shorter passage. his stay here seemed tedious to whitelocke. this day the wind coming about a little towards the east, increased his hopes of getting away, for which they were in daily expectation. [sn: the trade of stockholm.] by some merchants and others of this city, whitelocke learned what was the commerce of this town, and by his own view he found it to be commodiously seated for trade and to receive all the commodities of the country's growth, which are brought hither by water; and it is the more convenient because the greatest ships may come up to the very houses and there load and unload their merchandises, never wanting water, which there is always deep, and equal in the height of it. but this city is somewhat far distant from the sea by water, so that before the ships can go between the sea and the town, they must fetch a compass of about one hundred english miles, with the danger of many rocks and islands in the way; and they must have also divers winds which are hindrances to their commerce. the present queen hath been curious to invite hither and to entertain many good artists, yet everything here is very dear, except the native commodities; and now gothenburg, growing up in trade, being situate without the sound, a more open and easy place for access of strangers,--some believe that by the growth of that, this port may be diminished. it is the better supported by the court being commonly kept here, and consequently being the residence of the principal nobility and officers. some courts of justice constantly, and the ricksdag generally, being held in this city, increase the trade of it; and this being a good road for ships to defend them from injuries of weather or other dangers, makes it the more frequented. plenty of provisions are brought to this town for the supply of it; and most of their native commodities, as copper, iron, pitch, tar, deal, masts, and the rest, are brought hither and here shipped and transported into foreign parts; from whence their merchants and strangers do bring to this northern market all manner of merchandise here vendible; and from hence again they are vended to all the northern and eastern parts of this country, whereby their trade and wealth is also increased, so that one of their authors calls it, "celeberrimum ac nobilissimum septentrionis emporium." the trade of this place hath brought and settled here as inhabitants,--besides swedes, goths, fins, and laplanders,--divers of germans, of pomerland, mecklenburg, westphalia, etc.; also english, scotch, french, dutch, and almost of every country of europe. some are here now become citizens, and are treated with justice and civility by the natives, to the end that they and others may be the more encouraged to add to the riches, strength, and trade of this place. _may , ._ [sn: detained by contrary winds.] whitelocke visited sir george fleetwood at his lodging in stockholm, and finding with him vice-admiral thysen and peterson, both hollanders and in service of the crown, whitelocke brought them all home with him to dinner, and advised with them about his voyage. the wind came more contrary to whitelocke this day than yesterday, but he knew no other way but a patient submission to the will and time of god. here he bestowed on a german clock sixty-two rix-dollars. [sn: the government of stockholm.] from some of the magistrates and others of this city whitelocke learned that the government thereof is by four councils, and a senate of the citizens, as their common council, consisting of twenty-four chosen yearly in this month by suffrage of the inhabitants, and justice is administered to the people by them in like manner as in other cities. besides these officers there is a castellan, or governor of the castle of stockholm, who, by a peculiar authority over the city, takes care of the walls and buildings thereof, as he doth of the castle and other the king's buildings there. he is to defend the privileges of the town, and is chief in their political administration. he also orders and keeps up the revenue and trade, and suffers not the royalties of the crown to be diminished, nor any of the public treasure, without the license of the king, to be expended. he is always one of the ricks-senators, and hath joined to him a vice-castellan, of the equestrian order, who is chief in the judgements of the city within the senate and councils, and is intent to the execution of justice. [sn: the defence of stockholm.] the strength of this city is chiefly in the situation of it among the waters, which are no small defence, and in the bodies of their inhabitants, who make a considerable number of the soldiery, many of whom have been in foreign service. the castellan commandeth them, sees their musters, and that they be provided with arms and in a posture of defence; and under the castellan is a captain, who hath the military charge next under him. the main body of the town hath somewhat of a wall about it, but the suburbs and other islands are encircled with the waters, with bridges for communication. the castle is of indifferent strength, and notably provided of arms and ammunition, as is before remembered, which adds to the strength and safety as well as command of the city. they have not a formed garrison in the town; but divers companies of the king's guards, when the court is there, and sometimes of other regiments of the army, are quartered there, as occasions do require. the castle commands a good part of the town, and may be as a citadel upon any emergent business; and in case of any troubles at sea, the ships of war lie here in readiness forthwith to be manned, are provided with ammunition, provisions, and all things necessary for the defence and safeguard of this port and city from any attempts which may by sea be made against it. whitelocke made up his despatches for england, and now dated his second letters from stockholm, attending for a wind. _may , ._ _the lord's day._--whitelocke, according to his custom, had a good sermon in his lodging preached by one of his chaplains in the morning, and another good sermon preached there in the afternoon by mr. biger, a scotch minister, and chaplain to sir george fleetwood, then with him. in this city whitelocke observed the inhabitants very orderly to frequent their parish churches, and not so much profanation of this day in this place as he had seen at upsal, and other places in the country. _may , ._ [sn: sir g. fleetwood returns to the king's coronation at upsal.] whitelocke with longing desires attended the coming about of the wind for his voyage; but he must stay god's time, which is always best. he could not persuade sir george fleetwood to stay longer with him. he thought it necessary for him to go to upsal, to be present at the king's coronation; and at his request whitelocke sent by him to wrangel this letter:-- "_a son excellence le feld-maréchal wrangel à upsale._ "monsieur, "je n'ai pu retenir plus longtemps le général major fleetwood avec moi, son désir le portait si fort de se trouver à upsale, au couronnement, de crainte qu'il ne semblerait négligent, et manquer à son devoir envers son altesse royale; mais la raison de ce qu'il a présenté ma requête à votre excellence est qu'il vous plaise moyenner envers son altesse royale, afin qu'il retourne à stockholm; et que je puisse jouir de sa compagnie jusqu'à mon départ, qui en apparence sera différé plus longtemps que je ne le souhaiterais, à raison de la contrariété des vents. "je supplie votre excellence de me faire la faveur de baiser en mon nom les mains de sa majesté et de son altesse royale, et d'accepter, pour tant de faveurs que votre excellence m'a faites, tant à upsale qu'en ce lieu, les actions de grâce de celui qui est, "monsieur, à votre excellence "très-humble serviteur, "b. whitelocke. "_stockholm, may , ._" berkman went from hence th may at night, and returned this morning hither, and brought to whitelocke this letter:-- [sn: lagerfeldt's letter on the swedish prizes.] "_illustrissimo domino domino bulstrode whitelocke, extraordinario reipublicæ angliæ in sueciam legato, officiocissimè._ "illustrissime et excellentissime domine legate, "quanquam valde dubitem, an excellentiam vestram hæ litteræ in sueciam inveniant, nolui tamen, accepta hac occasione, vel meo officio deesse, vel refragari quorundam suecorum petitioni, nam cum naves duæ suecicæ, quarum naucleri bonders et sibrand follis vocantur, nuper ceptæ et in angliam delatæ sint, sperant fore, ut, per hanc meam intercessionem, cum primis autem per benevolam excellentiæ vestræ commendationem, quantocius dimittantur. nisi igitur mihi satis perspecta esset excellentiæ vestræ integritas, pluribus ab ea contenderem, ut dictarum aliarumque detentarum in anglia suecicarum navium liberationem, atque per se æquam ac amicitiæ foederique mutuo conformem sibi haberet commendatam; sufficit nunc saltem indicâsse excellentiæ vestræ, quippe cui nihil jucundius esse scio, quam ut amicæ confoederatæque gentes, sancta fidei justitiæque observantia, inter se strictius colligentur. de cætero excellentiæ vestræ felicem in patriam reditum exopto, ut me nostrumque barkmannum officiose commendo. dabam upsaliæ, maii, anno . "excellentiæ vestræ "ad quævis officia paratissimus, "israel lagerfeldt." in the evening whitelocke walked abroad to take the air, the time of his stay here being very tedious to him, attending for a good wind, that he might proceed in his longed-for return to his native country and relations; but he submitted to the good pleasure of god, who orders all times and seasons and all things for the best. at night the wind came about a little towards the east, favouring his voyage. _may , ._ [sn: preparations for departure.] the wind continued this morning, as it was last night, easterly, but not sufficing for whitelocke to go on his voyage. the vice-admiral clerke coming to whitelocke, he advised with him touching his voyage, and asked him if he thought the 'amarantha' might with this wind be gotten to the dollars. he answered that there could be no assurance thereof, but that possibly it might be so; whereupon whitelocke replied, that he had a great desire to go down himself to the dollars, before the news came of the 'amarantha's' arrival there, because the wind might come good, and within six hours carry them out to the open sea, which, if neglected, might retard their voyage fifteen days or more. clerke said that if whitelocke desired to do so, that he would not advise him to the contrary, but he believed that this might expedite his voyage; only he said that whitelocke must be content to lie on board the ship till the wind should come fair, because there was no accommodation to be had for him and his company at the dollars. whitelocke said he should be well contented to lie on ship-board, and prayed clerke to cause boats to be provided for his passage to the dollars the next day, and ordered his officers and servants to prepare all things in readiness for his departure accordingly. wrangel came back this night from upsal, and several other persons, though very late, having staid the solemnity of the queen's resignation and the coronation of the new king, which they related to whitelocke to be done this day, and in this manner and solemnity. [sn: relation of the ceremony of the queen's resignation.] about nine o'clock this morning the queen, being attired in her royal apparel and robes of purple velvet, with her crown upon her head, and attended by all her officers and servants, came into the room prepared for that occasion, where was set a table with a rich carpet, and five great cushions laid upon it. most of the grandees and officers were present. upon one of the cushions was laid the sword of state; upon the second cushion was laid the sceptre; upon the third cushion was laid the ball; and upon the fourth cushion were laid the keys. the queen being come into the room, after a little pause made a short speech to the company, to this effect:-- "my lords and gentlemen, "you have before this time been acquainted with my resolution to resign the crown and government of this kingdom into the hands of my most dear cousin the prince, here present with me, upon my earnest request to the ricksdag, now convened. after long debates and much solicitation to dissuade me from it, yet at length, though unwillingly, they have assented to this my resolution; and i am now come to put the same in execution before all these honourable witnesses here present; and to you, my most dear cousin, i do heartily wish all happiness and good success in the management of the public affairs of this kingdom." having thus spoken, the queen desired that some of them would take the crown from off her head, but none would do it; she then called to grave tott and the baron steinberg, expressly commanding them to do it, but they refused, till again earnestly commanded by her; they then took the crown from off her majesty's head, and laid it down upon the fifth cushion on the table. after that was done, some others, by her command, took off the royal robes with which she was clothed and laid them down upon the table. then the queen, having thus divested herself of these ensigns of royalty and resigned her crown, being now in her private habit, made courtesy to the prince and to the rest of the company, and retired into her own chamber,--an act of a strange constancy and fixedness of resolution, going through with this great work of her own abdication without the least outward show of reluctancy for what she had done, but with the same behaviour and confidence as at all other times in her particular and private affairs.[ ] for this act of the queen's resignation they had no precedent; for the solemnity of the king's coronation they had many; and the same is at large, with all the circumstances and ceremonies thereof, set down by one of their authors, wexionius (epit. descriptionis sueciæ, lib. v. c. ), from which the ceremonies of this coronation were not much different, and thus shortly related unto whitelocke. [sn: ceremony of the king's coronation.] after the queen was withdrawn to her private chamber, the ricks-officers and senators humbly desired the prince that he would be pleased to walk to the cathedral church, where the archbishop and other prelates were ready to attend his royal highness, and to perform the solemnities of his coronation. the whole company went thither in this order. the officers and servants of the court went first in a very great number, together with many officers of the army and other gentlemen. after them came the nobility, the gentlemen, barons, and earls, members of the ricksdag; then followed the ricks-senators, two and two, in rank. after them came the five ricks-officers: first, the ricks-schatzmaster, or high treasurer, who carried the keys; next to him, the ricks-chancellor, who carried the globe; after him came the ricks-admiral, who carried the sceptre; then one in the place of the feldherr, or general, who carried the sword; and lastly the ricks-droitset, or chief justice, who carried the crown. after the chief justice came the king himself, in his ordinary habit, with a huge troop following him, and the windows and streets crowded with multitudes of people. the guards and soldiers stood in their arms as the company passed by. being thus come to the cathedral, at the door stood the archbishop with a horn of oil in his hand, accompanied with other bishops, superintendents, and many clergymen. he received the prince at the church door, and conducted him up to the high altar, where they had prayers, and then the archbishop anointed the prince with the oil. they put upon him the royal apparel, put the crown upon his head, the sceptre in his right hand, and the ball into his left hand, and so he was invested into the royal dignity, and declared, with all his titles, king of swedes, goths, and vandals, etc.; drums, trumpets, and loud acclamations of the people adding to the proclaiming of their new king. not many days past they laboured to hinder the doing of it; now they shout for joy that it is done. thus are the minds and practice of the multitude, whom nothing pleaseth long,--nothing more than novelty. the ceremonies being performed at the cathedral, the new king, with all his new subjects and servants, returned from thence into the castle in the same order as he came hither. by the way he was saluted with the loud acclamations of the people, "god save the king!" thus coming to his court as he entered it, the abdicated queen looks out of her window, and with a cheerful countenance and voice heard by the company she wished her cousin joy of his crown and government. the king retires for a while to his private chamber, then is called forth to a sumptuous feast, where most of the nobility and senators did attend upon him and rejoice with him, and afterwards did swear fealty, homage, and allegiance to him. but this relation was not so pleasing to whitelocke as the thoughts of his departure from this place, and his longing to proceed in his voyage homewards. _may , ._ [sn: whitelocke takes boat and leaves the shore;] the 'swart hundt' set sail this morning with whitelocke's goods and copper, taylor commanding her, and swedes mariners in her; the wind was come about indifferent good, for his and for his master's voyage. wrangel and clerke affording whitelocke their company at dinner, he advised with them what time of the day would be best for him to go from hence. clerke said that the boats would be ready after dinner to transport him from hence to the dollars, whither he hoped that by this time the 'amarantha' might be come. he and wrangel advised whitelocke not to go on board the boats till six or seven o'clock in the evening, to avoid the heat of the day, and to enjoy the benefit of the cool of the night, which was better to be endured than the extremity of the heat of the day, especially upon the water; and the heat some affirmed to be at this time as violent in this country as it is in spain or italy. whitelocke found it now as much hotter than england as it is colder in the winter. about seven o'clock in the evening whitelocke left his lodging, where they made him pay as an ambassador extraordinary. for the use of the house, only for eleven days, they made him pay a hundred and sixty rix-dollars; for his victuals, but one meal a day, without any dainties, they exacted above a thousand rix-dollars. such is their unconscionable exaction upon strangers. it was time to leave them, and whitelocke being called by wrangel and clerke, he went to prayers with his company, recommending themselves to the protection and blessing of god; and presently after prayers he and all his people went to the water-side, multitudes by the way saluting him with respect as he passed by, and crowding to see him take boat. he went into a galley of the queen's attending for him. most of his gentlemen and clerke were with him in the galley; the rest of his company went in a great boat provided for them. this galley had two masts bearing the queen's colours in silk. in the hinder part of it was a room with a table and benches round about it, the table covered with crimson velvet, the benches with red cloth, and tapestry upon the floor. the room held about ten persons; the outward room about twelve men, besides the watermen for sixteen oars. at her head she carried two small pieces of ordnance, which they fired at loosing from the harbour, and the ships of war fired as they passed by. they went on in a great deep water, sometimes very broad, sometimes more narrow, on the sides whereof were huge rocks, and here and there little trees growing out of the clefts of them, with small heaps of earth lying on them, but they increase not much in that soil. many rocks all along on the shores, and islands of rocks, with the smell of the fir-trees on them, was a variety for strangers; and the water being calm, they made use only of their oars. the trumpets sounding where the rocks were most uneven and made concavities, gave much delight by the resounding of seven or eight echoes to one sound. yet the multitudes of craggy rocks of vast greatness and huge tallness, with their uneven heads and ragged sides, filling all the shores and making many islands, and those causing no small danger in the passage, appeared, especially at first and to the younger seamen, very dreadful and amazing; but after a little acquaintance with them, and constant being in their company, and the seamen knowing the passage, caused the less fear, and the sevenfold answering echoes, as if they had been so many trumpets, gave delight to the hearers, with some admiration of that multiplying sound. but their cheerfulness was increased by meeting with a boat about two swedish miles from stockholm, whose men informed whitelocke that the 'amarantha' was that day come into the dollars, which good news added hopes and spirit to the company of advancing in their voyage towards their longed-for country; and the night seemed the less tedious by discoursing of this providence, that, the same day that whitelocke came away, his ship should fall down to be ready to meet him, and not sooner, and whereof he knew nothing beforehand. clerke informed whitelocke of the places by which they passed, and the condition of the country. they came into a very narrow way and straits, about a bow-shot in length, where a great vessel could not pass, both for want of breadth and depth of water, the greater boat with whitelocke striking the sands as she passed over. this way was to get into the road and channel for the ships from stockholm to the dollars, which is near twenty swedish miles for the ships to go about. from this strait they came again into deep water, environed as before with rocks, and full of islands. [sn: and reaches his ship at the dollars.] when they were within a mile of the dollars, the wind came about to east and north-east, very fair and good to carry them out to sea, whereas before it was flat against them. hereupon whitelocke took occasion, the wind being now good, to order his galley to make way forthright to the 'amarantha' without going on shore at all, which was done, although it seemed long at the latter end of the way, the company weary, and the watermen tired with rowing, though they did not at all row with that nimbleness and mettle as the english use to do. when whitelocke departed from stockholm the wind was contrary to him; after he was certified by the boat which he met that the 'amarantha' was in the dollars, the wind suddenly changed and was fair for him, and after this providence they came in good time to the ship, the tedious passage of the night being over, wherein whitelocke slept upon the boards and in the open air,--hardship enough for one of his age and condition, but god was his protection. footnotes: [ ] [this entry is evidently a repetition of the conversation reported at length on the th of april. the story here related by m. woolfeldt is his own.] [ ] "we christina, by the grace of god queen of swedes, goths, and vandals, etc., do make known and testify, that, whereas it is the common and mutual interest of us and our kingdom, as also of oliver, lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, and the dominions thereof, our good friend, and of the said commonwealth, that the ancient friendship and alliance which hath always been between this kingdom and those nations be conserved and increased; and especially that the freedom of commerce and navigation do continue straitly conformed and uninterrupted; and for that cause the foresaid lord protector and commonwealth have been pleased to send their extraordinary ambassador unto us: therefore we have commanded, and do by these presents, in the best form, command and commit unto the most illustrious our sincerely faithful and beloved the lord axel oxenstiern, chancellor and senator of us and the kingdom of sweden, etc., and also to lord eric oxenstiern of axel, likewise a senator of us and of the kingdom of sweden, etc., that they do treat, agree, and conclude with the before-named ambassador and plenipotentiary about the making of a league concerning the foresaid matters and other things thereunto pertaining. whatsoever therefore our said plenipotentiary commissioners shall act, conclude, and appoint with the before-named ambassador, we shall hold the same ratified and confirmed by force of these presents; in witness and strengthening whereof, we have commanded these presents, subscribed with our hand, to be corroborated with our great seal of the kingdom. given in our castle of upsal, the fourteenth day of march, in the year one thousand six hundred fifty and four. christina." [ ] [no sooner had cromwell assumed the protectorate than his foreign policy took a more definite shape, and was steadily directed to two great objects--peace with holland, and the union of the protestant states. the conclusion of the dutch peace was however not an easy matter. cromwell himself had declared in favour of the daring project of a union of the two republics, and the dutch alliance was hated by many of his stoutest military supporters. moreover he required of the dutch, as a condition _sine quâ non_, that they should engage never to make the young prince of orange or his descendants their stadtholder, or to give him the command of their forces. this was the secret article against which the states general most vehemently protested, and cromwell was at length obliged to content himself with an engagement of the province of holland to exclude the house of orange. even this pretension was strongly opposed by de witt, but cromwell insisted. the public treaty of peace was signed on the th of april, ; but it was not until the th of june following that the secret article was ratified. the king of denmark, the swiss protestant cantons, the hanseatic towns, and some of the protestant princes of north germany were included in the treaty, which formed the complement of the negotiation on which whitelocke was engaged in sweden.--m. guizot, _histoire de la république d'angleterre_, vol. ii. p. .] [ ] "we, christina, by the grace of god queen of the swedes, goths, and vandals, etc., do make known and testify that whereas the endeavours of the illustrious and generous, of us sincerely beloved, the lord bulstrode whitelocke, extraordinary ambassador, are most grateful to us, which he hath negotiated for the common good of our kingdom and his commonwealth, for the making of a league of stricter friendship between both parties: therefore, and to the end it may appear as a testimony of our goodwill and grateful memory on this behalf, we have thereupon granted and assigned, and by these our letters do grant and assign to the said lord ambassador two hundred pound of copper, commonly called ship-pounds; the which two hundred pounds of copper our treasurers and officers of our chamber of accounts are obliged, without delay, to deliver into the hands of the before-mentioned ambassador. in greater testimony whereof we have commanded these presents, subscribed with our hand, to be confirmed by our seal. given in our castle of upsal, the rd day of may, in the year . christina." [ ] "i, the subscribed bulstrode whitelocke, constable of the castle of windsor, and one of the keepers of the great seal of the commonwealth of england, commissioner, procurator, deputy, and extraordinary ambassador of the most serene and most high lord oliver, lord protector of the commonwealth of england, scotland, and ireland, and the dominions thereof and the said commonwealth, do make known and testify, that whereas by the treaty of alliance between the said most serene and my most high lord oliver, lord protector, and the most serene and most potent prince and lady the lady christina, by the grace of god queen of the swedes, goths, and vandals, etc., a firm peace and friendship is established: and i have judged it chiefly consonant thereunto to find out means to remove certain grievances of the people and citizens of either state, and to take away all grounds and occasions thereof which may arise in time to come. therefore, upon some differences moved, i have agreed with the most illustrious and most excellent lords, plenipotentiary commissioners and senators of her said royal majesty and of sweden, the lord axel oxenstiern, chancellor of the kingdom, etc., and the lord eric oxenstiern, son of axel, president of the general college of trade, etc., in manner as by the following articles is expressed and explained. "first, whereas a certain company of english exercising merchandise in guinea have complained of one henry carelove, who, being governor of the swedish company in that country, did take away from the english certain places inhabited by them, and did other injuries to them; but the said swedish company not only took upon them to prove that the before-named governor did commit no fault, but likewise made complaint of grievances against the officers of the said english company; but these particular differences of merchants at this time could not for certain reasons be wholly determined, and therefore it seemed most counselable to both parties that in a friendly way, without any indirect courses, they may be composed by certain commissioners on both sides. in the meantime it is agreed that the differing hereof shall be to the prejudice of none of either part, so that neither the fellows or officers of the said companies nor any subjects or citizens of either state shall offer any injury or molestation to one another in guinea, or in the free commerce or travelling there; but, as before is expressed, the determination of the differences being referred by both sides to the superiors, they may live friendly among themselves, and treat one another with that goodwill which is consonant to the league concluded between them. the same also shall be observed in america between the colonies of new sweden and of the english, that they do embrace a sincere friendship, and that either party do abstain from all troubles and injuries to the other, but chiefly that they do endeavour their mutual preservation until there be a clear agreement before the deputed commissioners on both sides about the limits of the colonies, and other rules of friendship that shall be requisite, together with other affairs of particular persons. which matters, that they may be enjoined to all and singular the subjects and citizens of either state, and may be observed by them, i have fully taken upon me by these presents, by virtue of my commission, and do confirm by subscription of my hand, and by my seal." [ ] [whitelocke, in his zeal to exhort the heir-apparent to the service of god and the observance of the lord's day, appears to have appreciated very imperfectly the extraordinary character and the political capacity of the prince who paid him so signal a mark of deference. yet in the romantic and chivalrous annals of the house of vasa, scarcely any reign is more remarkable than that of the sovereign to whom christina ceded the throne. in the course of the ensuing five years charles gustavus, at the head of a chosen band of swedish veterans, conquered prussia, and compelled the great elector to acknowledge himself to be a swedish vassal; invaded poland, and commenced the partition of that republic; allied himself to rakoczy, to the terror of the house of austria, and attacked denmark with such success that he crossed the little belt on the ice and laid siege to copenhagen, which was only saved by the mediation of the maritime powers. such was the splendid career of charles gustavus between the period of his accession to the throne and the year , when he died, not having completed his thirty-eighth year. more than any of his predecessors or of his successors on the swedish throne, he may be said to have held the empire of the north; and the favour here shown to whitelocke indicates the importance attached by the swedish prince to secure at least the goodwill of cromwell during the prosecution of these extraordinary enterprises.] [ ] [oxenstiern died about three months afterwards.] [ ] [it would be idle to speculate on the political motives which may have combined with other reasons to induce christina of sweden to conceive and execute this extraordinary design. other sovereigns have abdicated from the lassitude of age or the burden of unpopularity, or the desire of ensuring the succession to their offspring; but the resignation of a queen in her twenty-ninth year, surrounded by able ministers and a loyal people, and who had reigned with splendour and success, is an event without a parallel in history. the explanation of it is to be found in the eccentricity, the levity, the feverish curiosity, and the indomitable love of independence and singularity which are to be traced in every part of the queen's character. she was a woman of powerful but ill-regulated mind, capable at one time of sharing in the speculations of descartes or of applauding the exhortations of whitelocke,--at another, of bowing to the spiritual bondage of rome, and even of committing the brutal murder of monaldeschi. the character of cromwell pleased her by its adventurous exploits and its arbitrary tendency, and her reception of the english embassy was as much the result of personal predilection as of policy. whitelocke amused her by his somewhat pedantic erudition, and flattered her vanity, but he seems scarcely to have divined the extraordinary variations of her character.] june. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke embarks in the amarantha, and sails.] having been part of yesterday and all the last night upon the water, this morning, about seven o'clock, whitelocke and all his company came to the dollars, and, without setting foot on shore, they went on board the ship 'amarantha,' lying there to expect them. and although this was not usual, but passengers generally stay some time at this place till their ships be ready, and to make provisions for their voyage, and spend some money at the cabaret here; yet whitelocke seeing the wind fair, and having all his company together in the boats, was unwilling to let them be scattered by going on shore, which might be troublesome and retard his voyage by getting them all together again. for these reasons he commanded all his people to go forthwith aboard the ship, as he himself did, at which vice-admiral clerke wondered, and said he had not seen the same done before. this ship, the 'amarantha,' had never yet been at sea, and therefore the more dangerous to adventure in her first voyage; but she was well built, a fair ship, of a good burden, and had mounted in her forty pieces of brass cannon, two of them demy cannon, and she was well manned and of good force and strength for war; she was a good sailer, and would turn and tack about well; she held a hundred persons of whitelocke's followers and most of his baggage, besides her own mariners, about two hundred. the cabins wherein whitelocke was were of a handsome make; the breadth of the ship was the length of his bed-cabin, and it was six or seven paces broad, and high enough for the tallest man; it was hung with red cloth, the furniture of the bed was rich cloth of gold and silver; on the table was a rich carpet, and all over it a canopy with broad fringes of silk and gold and silver. within the bed-cabin was another room for him to retire into, with a table and benches covered with red cloth. all the gentlemen had accommodations as the ship could afford. being all settled in the ship, they were fain to stay for the ship-boat which the captain had sent for water; and as soon as it was returned, about ten o'clock in the morning, they weighed anchor and put the ship under sail, recommending themselves to the mercy and protection of him who rules upon the waters as well as on dry land, and of whose goodness they had so great experience. they sailed by the place called the scares, that is, the isles of rocks, which are there in the water and on both sides of the shore, of a strange cragginess, largeness, and number; those in the sea are full of danger, and often afford but a very strait passage for the ships to go between them, and no other course is to avoid them. from hence the sea begins to widen herself towards the furthest point of land, which they call the lands-ort, answerable to our english point of land called the land's end in cornwall. the lands-ort is eight swedish leagues from the dollars, and hither they reached by the evening, the wind being east and south-east all this day. _june , ._ [sn: the voyage.] about eleven o'clock the last night the wind came about more to the south, yet whitelocke advanced in his course and gained some way, but not much, the wind being almost against him; and so it continued in this morning, when there appeared a chain of rocks advancing themselves more than a swedish mile into the sea, and not far from the isle of oeland, to which rocks it is not good to approach too near. they could not maintain their course but to very small advantage, and by veering up and down to gain a little of the wind, and in this manner they spent this whole day: the wind continuing at south-south-east, they did not advance much all this day, only kept what they had gained before, and held plying up and down in that dangerous sea; their support was that this was the good pleasure of their god, whose will the wind and waters do obey. though the weather was not foul, yet it was thick with fog which arose at the foot of the horizon, and the mariners said this weather was ordinary in these seas, but very dangerous. in the evening some of the company made them pastime to divert the tediousness of the way and weather. _june , ._ [sn: the island of gothland.] about midnight the wind came about somewhat fairer than before, and whitelocke gained a little in his course. at sunrising he discovered the isle of gothland, eight leagues distant to the east from the isle of oeland; afterwards the wind returned to the same quarter wherein it was yesterday. the isle of oeland is near the continent, extending itself in length by the shore eighteen swedish miles, but hath not in breadth in any place above two swedish miles. this is the place where the prince of sweden, now king, used to make his residence, in a fair castle built of stone of this island, not inferior to marble,--these stones are in great request for pavements, pillars, and other uses and ornaments in building. the pillars of the king's chapel at stockholm, great and high, well polished and of divers colours, were brought from this island, and they have many of these stones in the buildings of the great lords. this island is a place of the most field-pleasure of any in this country, being open and stored with red and fallow deer, with hares and conies, and with partridges, which are scarce in other parts; but here the game is preserved for the prince's pleasure. the isle of gothland is about fourteen swedish miles in length, and five in breadth. it anciently belonged to the swedes till the danes took it from them, and kept the possession of it till the late wars between those two crowns, when the swedes recovered it from the dane; and by the peace after that war the treaty left it to the swede, and allowed for it the isle of bornholm to the dane, being nearer his dominions. they report that heretofore gothland (belonging to the goths, from whom it hath the name) was famous for the traffic of all these quarters, and had in it a large town called wisby, where formerly certain laws were instituted touching the sea, which are observed to this day. but lübeck, and other towns on that side, having got the trade from hence, and the sea by inundations having much diminished this isle, both it and the town are become but of small consideration. the wind was little and very variable, and this day was a calm, so that they could advance very little in their voyage. in the evening the wind grew fresh, and increased till three o'clock the next morning, so that they made good way in their course; but these deep seas began to rise, and the ship to roll and toss so much, that some of whitelocke's people, sensible of it and of the increasing of the wind and waves, and of the mariners' labour and disorder, began to be afraid and sick. but whitelocke cherished and comforted them the best he could, and gave order for attendance upon them, and that they should want nothing which the ship could afford; the which was the more in his power, the command of it being wholly left to him by the queen; and by his kindness, and ceasing of the storm, they began to recover their courage, the wind changed, and it grew more calm after the ruffling. _june , ._ [sn: the voyage.--bornholm.] _the lord's day._--still whitelocke was toiling on the baltic sea. after three o'clock in the morning he advanced a good way in his course; but about ten o'clock they discovered land, which was the isle of bornholm, distant from the point of south of oeland eighteen german leagues. it seemeth a plain and flat ground, about eight swedish miles in length, and about five in breadth; this isle is fruitful and well peopled, abounding in pastures, so that it yields a good revenue in butter. many witches are affirmed to be in this isle, and no place in this sea hath more shipwrecks than upon bornholm. some give the reason thereof from the strait pass between this isle and the continent; yet is the coast clean and without rocks, and hath good roads; others attribute the cause of these shipwrecks to the great and dangerous sands about this and the other isles of this sea, which (especially about this isle of bornholm) do lie out far and shallow in the sea, on which many ships have been struck and lost; and here whitelocke's ship was in some peril, but it pleased god still to preserve him. he floated in sight of this island almost all this day, the wind veering into most points of the compass, and he was turned back from his course and lost more than he gained of his way. about nine o'clock in the morning the ship's company, having a minister on board with them, were at their exercises of devotion, which they have every morning, beginning with singing a psalm, as we do; then the minister prays, but not long, and the conclusion is to sing about two verses of another psalm, and so they part; except on the lord's day, as this was, their chaplain preached a short sermon in the morning in swedish, but none in the afternoon. whitelocke for his own company had the usual exercises of praying and preaching by his chaplain mr. de la marche, mr. ingelo being sick. towards the evening the wind began to be fresh again; they kept their course near bornholm, and might discern the castle. after whitelocke was gone to rest, vice-admiral clerke, who was on board with him, followed a ship to inquire if she heard any news of a swedish ship laden with salt from portugal; at which some of whitelocke's company taking offence, the vice-admiral desisted; but by this deviation, the 'amarantha' (which is not fleet of sail) lost three leagues, which she was cast back in her course, and was brought in great danger by sailing too near the shore; but the lord guided them. _june , ._ [sn: meet an english ship.] in the morning whitelocke was out of sight of bornholm, and pursued his course, the wind blowing a little in a good quarter. about nine o'clock they descried some ships, of which one seemed to be a great one; and coming nearer, they perceived an english ship to be with them. the 'amarantha' fired a gun to warn them to strike sail, she carrying the flag in her maintop, and being a man-of-war of sweden. the english captain did not obey, and clerke commanded to shoot again at him; but whitelocke ordered clerke first to send his boat with some of whitelocke's servants, to advertise the english captain that whitelocke was in the swedish ship. they coming on board found the captain in choler, preparing to fight with the swede, denying their sovereignty on these seas; but being informed by his countrymen that the english ambassador was on board the swedish ship, he presently, and mr. fisher, a merchant, with him, came to whitelocke, rejoicing to see him, and said that if he had not been there the swedish vice-admiral should have had hot work; but now he struck sail to the ambassador, whom he acquainted that all was well in england; that he had brought in his ship the commissioners to agree the differences between our commonwealth and denmark, who were now at copenhagen; and that when they passed the sound, the king of denmark's officers were very friendly to them. he told whitelocke also that two english frigates, sent by the protector for whitelocke's transportation, were arrived at hamburg, and waited for whitelocke there; after giving him some wine, and discourse, whitelocke dismissed this captain morgan to proceed in his voyage to danzic, whither he was bound. at his parting all were friends, and clerke gave him two guns, after the swedish custom, but morgan answered him with seven pieces of ordnance; then clerke gave him two more guns, to which morgan gave two also, and a third a little while after. the 'amarantha' having loitered by reason of the calm, which continued till the evening, they were most part of this day within sight of the isle of rügen, near the coast of pomerland, and part of that duchy which fell in partage to one of the duke's sons, who there kept his court in a fair castle, whereof somewhat yet remains. the island appears high to those that sail by it, and hath in length about eight german miles, and about five in breadth; the king gustavus took it, and it hath since continued in the possession of the swedes, and was confirmed to them by the late treaty of munster; the coast is full of white sands, and dangerous to those who are not well acquainted with the passages, which hereabout are strait, and a bank of sand comes far out into the sea, on which whitelocke was in great peril, within four-fathom water in the night; but they were glad to veer back again and tack about to escape the danger. the wind blew fresh from the north-east, by which he continued his course till about midnight; when there came a hideous storm of wind, thunder, rain, and lightning, which caused them to furl their sails, and lasted about three hours; but the waves continued very high above twelve hours together afterwards, it being the nature of this sea when it is once stirred, that by reason of the great depth it will not be still again for many hours after. some of whitelocke's company were much affrighted with this tempest, and not without cause; but it pleased god to cease the storm, and give fair weather, and thereby more cause to remember the experiences they have had of his divine goodness throughout their whole voyage. _june , ._ [sn: the coast of pomerania.] in the morning; the wind continued fair, and they made good way till towards eight o'clock, when it grew calm till about seven o'clock in the evening. all this day they were upon the coast of pomerland. one of the mariners, from the top-gallant, espying land and a town, informed them that it was wismar; but coming nearer to the shore, they found it to be rostock, eight leagues further from lübeck than wismar is. both these towns are subject to the crown of sweden, port towns, and of good trade; rostock more famous to the high dutch for their exceeding strong and thick beer. in the evening the wind blew fair north-west, but the sky grew thick, and the night coming on, they, for fear of falling upon the coast, tacked off again to sea, and out of their course. about eleven o'clock at night the storm began much more violent than the night before, continuing about six hours, to the imminent danger of the ship to be overset and foundered in the sea, but still god preserved them. about midnight was a horrible noise, the thunder fierce and strangely loud, the sky all in flames with the wonderful lightnings; and though it be frequent to meet with great tempests of thunder and lightnings upon this sea, and much more dreadful than those in england, yet now the officers and mariners of the ship affirmed that they never saw the like to this tempest, and that they were almost blind with the shining and flashes of this lightning. they saw also on the land houses burning, set on fire by the lightning, any flame whereof fastening upon the combustible matter of the ship the same had instantly been fired and all within her inevitably had perished. but still god was their defence and deliverer. the tempest was so outrageous that they were forced to take down their sails and let fall their anchors. here they found the difference between sweden and this country: there, at midnight, one might plainly read without a candle; here, though nearer the summer solstice and the days at longest, they found at least four hours of dark night, as seeming near the winter. _june , ._ [sn: arrive at lübeck.] the tempest began to cease about five o'clock in the morning, and it grew fair weather, the wind coming good for them to continue and finish their voyage. thus god preserved them from the danger of the last night as of many times before, the which whitelocke held himself obliged more largely to describe as so many monuments, to him and his company, of the goodness of god towards them, and to preserve the memory thereof as arguments to him and his, wholly to depend upon that god of whom they have had so much experience. the wind continued fair, and they sailed all along in the sight of land, drawing nearer and nearer to it, which was pleasant to those who had been in such storms, and were not a little longing to be at their native home. they came about ten o'clock in the morning to the road at lübeck, and no sooner was the ship settled there but the wind ceased and blew not at all, but it became a great calm; wherein also the providence and goodness of god was seen, that had they not come to an anchor at this very moment, they must have been still roaming on the sea till the wind had come about again for them, and perhaps might have been kept out at sea many days longer. they were all filled with joy, having passed one half of their voyage, and seeing the place of their first descent on land. the 'amarantha,' having let fall her anchors, fired two guns, and a ship of the duke of courland's, in the road, answered them with three. this road is a gulf between two arms of land, at the first entrance from one another about a league; but it becomes more narrow as one approacheth nearer to the mouth of the river, which is called trave, and divides the two duchies of mecklenburg and holstein. this is the road or haven belonging to the town of lübeck, and is of good defence and safety to secure the riding of ships, and of conveniency for the trade of that town into the baltic sea. after this perilous voyage of eight days' sailing on the angry baltic seas,--escaping the dismal, infinite, vast, craggy rocks, seen and unseen, and the covered sands and dangerous coasts, in the highest storms,--it pleased him who giveth bounds to the deep waters and stilleth the waves thereof, to conduct whitelocke and all his people in safety to this haven. they were not negligent to prepare for their going on shore, in order whereunto whitelocke sent colonel potley and some of his servants to land, to provide horses for his coach, and waggons for his train and baggage; purposing to go that night to lübeck, being but two german leagues from tremon, and the days now at longest. potley, according to order, gave notice to the governor of tremon of whitelocke's coming on shore in the territories of his masters, the lords of lübeck, and provided boats, horses, waggons, and all things necessary, with diligence and dexterity. whilst this was doing, whitelocke calls his company together into his cabin, where they gave thanks to god for their safe arrival in this place, and humbly prayed for the continuance of his blessing and presence with them, the rest of their journey yet to come. after dinner, whitelocke sent for vice-admiral clerke and captain sinclair into his cabin, where he gave them thanks for the care and pains they had taken for him and his company, and for their particular respects to himself and observance of his desires; whereof he said he would by letters acquaint his majesty of sweden, and report to the protector their respects to him. he desired them to accept a small testimony of his thankfulness for their civilities. he gave the vice-admiral sixty dollars, to distribute to the mariners, and sixty dollars more to the officers of the ship,--that is, the master and his mate, the boatswain, the constable (so they call the master gunner), the gunner's mate, and the rest. to captain sinclair he gave eighty ducats, and to the vice-admiral one hundred ducats, which were the best compliments, and thankfully accepted by them; and whitelocke was the more liberal in these rewards, being to strangers, and for the honour of his nation. the boats being gone, with the coaches, baggage, and most of the people, and the rest not unwilling to be on shore, whitelocke, with most of his gentlemen, went in one of the ship-boats; the vice-admiral bare him company, and did him the honour to steer the boat himself; the rest of the company went in the other ship-boat. after whitelocke was gone off the length of two or three boats, and whilst the other boat lay by the side of the ship, they fired forty pieces of ordnance, which, being so very near, did, with the wind, or fear of the cannon, strike down some that were in the boat, who were more than frighted, insomuch that one of them, after he came to lübeck, continued very ill with swooning fits; but by the care of doctor whistler and good cordials, through the blessing of god, he recovered, and was well again. they went about half a league by water from the ship to the mouth of the river, where there is a little fort with some great guns mounted, and without that are small towers for lights to direct the seamen, and a village called tremon, where they landed, all belonging to the city of lübeck. _mon_, in high dutch, signifies a mouth, and _tre_ is the name of the river; so tremon is the mouth of the river tre. at their landing stood, ready to receive them, a tall old man, with a long, white, venerable beard; he wore a broad belt, with a long basket-hilted sword; he was a colonel, and governor of that fort. he spake to whitelocke in high dutch, which potley interpreted to this effect:-- "my lord ambassador, "in the name of my masters, the lords of lübeck, i bid your excellence welcome on shore and to this place." whitelocke answered him as shortly:-- "noble colonel, "i heartily thank you for your civility, whereof i hope ere long to have the opportunity to acquaint your masters the lords of lübeck." as whitelocke passed by they fired three guns from the fort. the colonel conducted whitelocke to his house, near the landing-place, multitudes of people flocking together. the house was not stately, nor very convenient. there they were entertained with great store of very strong beer, which they call _mum_; and the colonel was exceeding free to call for large flagons of it for whitelocke and for all his people; which whitelocke apprehending to have been the generosity of the governor, yet fearing some disorder by it among the inferior sort, and being whispered by colonel potley that the governor expected to be paid for his drink, which he usually sold to the passengers, whitelocke ordered the reckoning to be paid, and hasted from this honourable alehouse to his coach. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon when whitelocke went from tremon, from whence to lübeck is two dutch miles, that is, eight of our english miles. and coming with such a train, and to pass the usual ceremony in such cases to the lords of lübeck, whitelocke sent mr. berkman and one of his servants before, to salute the lords of lübeck in the name of the protector, as friends to the commonwealth of england, and to advertise them, that the english ambassador having occasions to pass through this city, and to be there this day, he thought it requisite to give them notice of it. in the midway between tremon and lübeck they came to a ferry over the trave; the boat was large enough to carry at once two coaches and many horses. at each end of the ferryboat such artificial work is made with planks that it serves both at the coming in and going out of the boat, meeting with the planks on each side of the shore. by the weight of coach, horses, waggons, cattle, or men, the planks are so wrought that they rise and fall according to the weight upon them, and so as both those on the shore and the ends of the boat come to be even, and without more trouble in the passing over them than a bridge would be. the great company, and some mishap of tearing one of his coaches, hindered whitelocke's journey; but they went on in good time. about an english mile before they came to lübeck, some company appearing on the road, whitelocke's lacqueys alighted out of their waggons, and whitelocke was met upon the way by an ancient person of a good portly carriage, with a great white beard, and a greater ruff. he was attended with four coaches; the first had six good horses in it, and was handsome, but not rich. the gentleman, being alighted, and then whitelocke also, he came and saluted whitelocke, and spake to him in the high dutch, to this effect:-- "my lord ambassador, "my masters, the lords of lübeck, have sent me with their coaches to conduct your excellence into their city, and to bid you welcome hither; and to assure you likewise that whatsoever this city will afford shall be at your excellence's service." whitelocke returned this answer:-- "sir, "i esteem it an honour to receive this respect from the lords of lübeck, your masters, for which ere long i hope to have the opportunity to give them thanks; and in the meantime give me leave to acknowledge your civility." this person they call the marshal of the town, whom the lords sent to meet whitelocke, to answer his civility of sending to them, which they took kindly. then a young gentleman, well mounted and habited, met whitelocke on the way with a packet of three weeks' letters from england, which he said mr. missenden, his father, received from mr. bradshaw, the protector's resident at hamburg, with order to send them to whitelocke to lübeck. whitelocke went into the coach of the lords of lübeck; with him were the marshal, and colonel potley to interpret for him. the country through which they passed was pleasant and fruitful, stored with groves, and fields of corn not enclosed, but much like the champaign counties of england, only more woody, and seemed the pleasanter to those who were lately come out of sweden and from the baltic sea. part of the country was the duchy of mecklenburg, and part of it holstein. when they drew near the city whitelocke ordered that his staffiers and lacqueys, in their liveries, should walk by his coach bare, and his pages after them; then his gentlemen and others in the other coaches and waggons, in which equipage they entered the city. at the first fort they saluted whitelocke with three pieces of ordnance, and at the gates of the city were good guards, with their muskets. the streets were filled with people, and many in the windows--not so many men as women; and those of the best rank and habit were with their bodies and smock sleeves, like the maids in england in hot weather. here the best women, whose age will bear it, are thus habited, and with it sometimes rich clothes and jewels. when they were come into the city, the marshal took his leave of whitelocke, saying that he must go to the lord, to advertise him of whitelocke's arrival. whitelocke passed through a great part of the town before he came to the inn appointed for his reception, which was fairer without than within doors, the rooms for eating and lodging neither handsome nor well finished. about half an hour after he was come to the inn, the lords of the town sent one of their officers to him, to know what time he would be pleased to appoint for them to come and salute him. whitelocke answered, that whensoever they thought fit to do him the honour to visit him they should be welcome, and left to them the time which should be most convenient for their own occasions. being settled and at a little quiet, he read his letters from england. thurloe acquaints him that the issue of his negotiation, and the prudent conduct of it, had very good acceptance in england, whither his return was much wished and prayed for. then he informs him of all the news both foreign and domestic, and the readiness of the protector to send ships for him to hamburg. from mr. cokaine he had several letters about his bills of exchange, and other particular affairs. he had also letters from mr. taylor, from resident bradshaw, from his wife, and from several loving friends in england. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke receives the senate of lübeck.] in the morning the lords of lübeck sent again to whitelocke, to know what time they might come to visit him. he answered, at their own time, and that they should be welcome to him within an hour. there came to him martin bokel, doctor of the laws, syndic of the city, of good reputation for his learning and abilities, jerome bilderbeck, and matthew rodde, senators and lords of the city. the syndic spake in french to whitelocke to this effect:--"that, by command of the lords of this city, those gentlemen, part of their number, and himself, were come in the name of the lords of lübeck to salute whitelocke, and to bid him welcome to their city; that they rejoiced at his safe arrival here, and for the good success of those affairs wherein he had been employed." whitelocke answered them in french, the same language in which they spake to him, and which is expected in these parts, to this effect:--"that the lords of lübeck had testified much respect to the protector of england by the honour done to his servant, of which he would inform his highness; and in the meantime he thanked them for the favour of this visit." after many compliments, whitelocke gave them the precedence into his lodging, which is the custom here, as in sweden, and their discourse was in french in these matters of ceremony. being sat together in his bedchamber, the syndic told whitelocke that he had a message to deliver to him from his lords; and, according to the custom in matters of business, he desired to deliver what he had to say in latin, and then spake to him in the following oration:-- "illustrissime et excellentissime domine legate, "amplissimus senatus lubicensis grato animo recognoscit celeberrimam nationem anglicanam multiplici favore à multis retro annis populum mercatoresque hujus civitatis affecisse, atque etiam sæviente inter utrasque respublicas durissimo bello, incolas nostras gratiam, et, ex occasione suarum navium ad mare captarum, justitiam accepisse: amplissimus senatus humillimè gratias suas refert, quas melius testari non potuerunt, quam erga personam illius conditionis tantæque eminentiæ quantæ excellentiam vestram esse acceperant, suo speciali respectu, ad hæc cum etiam extraordinarii legati munere à clarissimo illo statu nunc dignissimè fungatur. gratulatur amplissimus senatus negotiationis ab excellentia vestra peractæ felicem successum, ut et tanti viri in suam civitatem adventum. quod si apud se in sua civitate aliquid sit excellentiæ vestræ acceptu dignum, illud quicquid sit offerre in mandatis habemus. "dolore etiam afficitur senatus, se tam sero de excellentiæ vestræ adventu certiorem esse factum, ut rationes unde tantus hospes, et qui in ipsius comitatu sunt, pro merito exciperentur; melius inire non potuerit, se tamen sperare à clementia vestra ipsis id crimini non datum iri. per nos rogant hujus urbis magistratus, excellentiæ vestræ placeat, cervisiæ lubicensis vinique rhenani (quod officiariis excellentiæ vestræ tradi curaverant) parvulum utut munus boni consulere. "excellentissime domine, candore vestro freti speramus, non nobis id vitio datum iri, si etiam hoc temporis articulo paucula ex rebus nostris vestræ excellentiæ consideranda proponamus: intempestivè fatemur importuni sumus, sed certiores facti, non diuturnam fore vestram in civitate nostra moram, id solliciti timemus, ne aliquando nobis similis offeratur opportunitas; ideo à dominis nostris jubemur excellentiam vestram certiorem facere, quam plures hujus urbis naves inter navigandum negotii causâ, occurrentes navibus præliaribus anglis, ab iisdem examen subiisse, liberatas tamen extemplò et dimissas, quod nihil suppetiarum hostibus vestris contulisse deprehendebantur; nihilominus easdem naves à quibusdam privatis vestris captoribus, _capers_ dictis, non multò post apprehensas fuisse, et hucusque detentas esse, magno dominorum detrimento. "sperat amplissimus senatus, intercedente excellentia vestra, ex justitia et favore domini protectoris, restitutionem earundem secundum jus et æquum suo populo futuram, quem in finem, tam magistratus, quem hujusce civitatis populus suppliciter rogat favorem et amicitiam celsitudinis suæ domini protectoris, et illustrissimæ reipublicæ angliæ, in iis, quæ vel commercia vel etiam alia spectant, posse sibi continuari." after a little pause whitelocke made answer in latin to the syndic's speech, to the effect following:-- "spectatissimi viri, "rectè à vobis observatum est, antiquam fuisse inter populum anglicanum civesque lubicenses amicitiam et mutuam officiorum benevolentiam; nec defuisse unquam nobis, data occasione, domini mei domini protectoris reipublicæ angliæ, scotiæ, et hiberniæ, animum benevolentissimum, quem integrum adhuc à serenissima sua celsitudine erga vos conservari nullus dubito. nec suspicio mihi est, quin amplissimus senatus, hujusque celeberrimæ urbis liberi cives, dominum meum dominum protectorem honore omni debito prosequentur, et benevolo affectu quotquot anglorum, commercii aut conversationis causâ, apud vos appellere voluerint. "referte, quæso, meo nomine, amplissimo hujus civitatis senatui, gratias ob respectum erga dominum meum dominum protectorem rempublicamque anglicanam, in honorificâ mei eorum ministri receptione significatum, tam in appulsu meo ad suum portum, quam ad civitatem suam aditu, necnon in munere quod mihi offerre ipsis placuit: honori duco quod per me, in suis negotiis, dominum protectorem compellare ipsis visum est, quod munus in me libenter recipio præstandum, quamprimum deo placuerit ad serenissimam suam celsitudinem mihi reditum indulgere, cui id curæ est, ut unicuique quod est juris uniuscujusque tribuatur. non equidem dubito, quin particularia favoris et respectûs erga hanc celeberrimam civitatem specimina reipsa effecta comperiamini." the syndic replied in french, that they did give many thanks to whitelocke, in that he was pleased to take in so good part the respect of this city to him, and desired that if there were anything here which might do him service, that he would command it. whitelocke said he came by this city in a desire to see it and the fortifications of it, which, if they pleased to give him leave to do, he should take it as a favour. they said, that even now the senate had ordered monsieur bilderbeck and the commander of their forces to wait upon whitelocke at such time as he should appoint, to view the city, with their fortifications and magazines, and whatsoever here should be thought by him worthy of his sight. whitelocke thanked them, and discoursed touching the government of the city, and what laws they used, to which the syndic answered, that their government was chiefly and generally by the municipal laws and customs of the city. [sn: the franchises of lübeck.] of these gentlemen and others whitelocke learned this city is the chief and most ancient of the hanse towns of germany, and a kind of free state; that they have power to send commissioners as public ministers to any foreign prince or state, to treat and conclude with them about any matters relating to their city, and that without the leave or knowledge of the emperor. the people of the city chiefly are the merchants and artificers, most of them tradesmen; and both they who are masters, and their servants, being constantly employed in trades and personal businesses, they are the less troublesome in the government of them; as to the criminal part, idleness, being the mother of mischief, causeth quarrels and debaucheries, from whence pilferings, robberies, fightings, and murders do arise; but where people are kept to occupations, traffic, and employments, as they are here, it breeds civility, peaceableness of disposition, desire of rest and quiet, and a plentiful subsistence, and gives less occasion of proceedings in criminal offences. but as to suits upon bargains and contracts, they are the more, because there be so many contracts as merchants and tradesmen must make; yet those suits are here brought to a speedy determination within themselves by their ordinary judges, which are three, and usually assisted with a doctor or licentiate in the laws, who are in great esteem in this country. these judges commonly sit thrice a week, to determine civil controversies, which they do by their own laws and customs, which also have much affinity to the civil law, especially as to the forms and manners of their proceedings; and where the matter contended for exceeds the value of a thousand rix-dollars, there the party grieved may, if he please, appeal from the sentence of these judges to the imperial chamber at spires, as they also do in capital causes; but civil causes under the value of a thousand dollars are finally determined within themselves, and no appeal lies from them. they acknowledge the emperor as their protector, but afford him no gabels or taxes but what their deputies, whom they elect and send to the general diet of the empire, do assent unto. their chief officers are a burgomaster, like our mayor, twenty-four senators, like our common council, and a syndic, as our recorder. these are the chief council and judicatory of the city, and order all the public affairs thereof; only in some extraordinary occasions of making laws or foreign treaties, matters of war and peace, the people of the town make choice of deputies, sometimes forty or fifty,--more or less, as they please,--who sit and consult with the senate, and by their votes by the people, who willingly submit thereunto. the town-house of their guildhall is reasonably fair, not extraordinary. their court of justice is below at the upper end of a large hall, made four-square, with seats like the court of exchequer in england; above this is another court or council-house, greater than that below, which is for the meeting of the deputies of the hanse towns, who usually all assemble here; they have also several other chambers for the meetings and consultations of their own senators and officers about the affairs of the city. [sn: aspect of the city.] in the afternoon the commander or lieutenant-general of the forces of the town, whom they call obrist lieutenant, monsieur andreas keiser, and the senator bilderbeck, came, with four of the city coaches, to accompany whitelocke to see the town and fortifications of it. the senator spoke only latin, the lieutenant spoke good french. they went through most parts of the town, and found the figure of it exactly done in painting in a table in their magazine, with the fortifications of it: upon the view of the whole town, it seemed a pleasant and noble city. it is of great antiquity, freedom, privileges, trade, polity, and strength, few in these parts exceeding it; not unhealthful in the situation, beautiful in the buildings, profitable in the commerce, strong in the fortifications, and rich in the inhabitants. the streets are large and fair, kept clean and sweet; the houses built of brick, generally uniform, most in the frontispieces, and covered with tile; at the entry into them, usually the first and lower room is largest, paved with orland stone, full of streaks of red and white, and some with black and white rich marble. in this first room they use to set their best household stuff, as the chief room for entertainment; yet they will also in some part of the room have a partition with boards, above a man's height, for a kitchen, where they dress meat and hang their bacon and other provision{ }, which are not out of sight nor smell; and here also, in this room, some of their goods of merchandise are placed; but the better sort keep their houses more neat, and have kitchens and larders out of view. in the second story are ordinarily the lodging-rooms, and some for entertainment; the third and fourth stories are granaries and storehouses, which they hold better for such uses than cellars and lower rooms, which, they say, cause damage to the commodities. the country about, for a league, and in some parts two leagues or more, belongs to the city, is within their jurisdiction, and is fruitful and pleasant, sweetly watered by the trave, adorned by the groves and meadows, and many pleasant summer-houses for the recreation of the citizens. [sn: fortifications and arsenal of lübeck.] the town is regularly and strongly fortified, the more being situated in a plain and low country, with the rivers and waters about it; the grafts of the works are large and deep, full of water on all sides; between the bulwarks are large places, sufficient to draw together five hundred men in each vacant place; and on the banks of some of the ditches are low thorn hedges, kept cut, as good for defence as palisades. there be many pieces of ordnance mounted on several parts of the works, chiefly on the bulwarks, and divers of them are demi-cannon: the fortifications are about a league in compass; the trave furnisheth water for all the grafts, and the earth with which the lines are made is of a good sort and well turfed. they are well stored with arms and ammunition, which whitelocke was admitted to see in their arsenal, which is a large house; in the lower room were twelve mortar-pieces of several sizes, and two hundred pieces of brass ordnance, founded in the town, some of them great culverin, one of an extraordinary length; but there was neither powder nor ball--that was kept elsewhere; but here were the utensils to load and cleanse the guns, hung up in order, and the carriages were strong and good. the story above this was furnished with arms, few for horse or pikemen, but many muskets and swords, disposed in ranks the whole length of the room, with bandoliers between, and cases for bullets beneath; at the upper end of the room hung certain great swords, with which traitors had been beheaded; at the lower end of the room were many halberds; divers of the muskets were firelocks, others for match, and some with double barrels. there was in all, by conjecture, arms for twelve thousand foot, few pikes or horse-arms, but muskets, as most useful for a town, and according to the custom in these parts, where the companies in the town militias are only musketeers, they holding pikes not proper but in the field and against horse. the forces of this city constantly in pay are fifteen hundred men, besides twenty-five companies of the citizens, each company consisting of two hundred men, and two troops of horse of the citizens. their chief strength, under god, consisting in the bodies of their citizens, proper and stout men, who, if they come to fight _pro aris et focis_, for religion, liberty, wives and children, and estates, for their all, are full of courage; not like mercenary, unfixed, unfaithful men, whose trade is in blood, and who are pests to mankind. [sn: honours paid to whitelocke.] at their guildhall they entertained whitelocke and his company with wine and sweetmeats, but not profusely. after a long and large tour, they brought whitelocke back to his inn, and did him the honour to sup with him; and, with much respect and civility, the obrist-lieutenant and senator after supper took their leaves of whitelocke. divers men and women of the best quality of the citizens came with their children to whitelocke's inn to see him, and many of them would stand by whilst he was at meals. he caused his people to show all civility to them, as himself did, saluting the gentlemen and seeming to offer to kiss the women's hands, the salutation of the lip not being in these countries allowed. the lords sent a guard of twelve musketeers to attend whitelocke, which were placed at his door and in the street, and relieved by others during the time of whitelocke's stay here, as an expression of their respects to him. the town musicians, who were masters, well accoutred and behaved, and played some english lessons, and the town trumpets and drums, came likewise to show their respects to whitelocke, but the more readily in expectation of some reward from him, which expenses cannot honourably be avoided. whitelocke's four pages, eight lacqueys, and four grooms, besides the gentlemen's lacqueys, in his livery, walked bare by his coach-side when he went abroad; himself was in his plain grey english cloth suit, with the queen of sweden's jewel at his breast. the people were full of respect to him in their salutations as he passed by them. the secretary of the english company at hamburg came to whitelocke from the resident and company there, to invite him to the english house there, with expression of much ceremony and respect to him as their countryman. whitelocke was not willing to stay longer than one day in this town, and therefore ordered his officers to make preparations of horses and waggons to remove from hence tomorrow; and understanding that it was forty english miles from hence to hamburg, and much of the way bad, he thought it too long a journey for him, with so great a train and hired horses, to travel in one day, and therefore ordered to go from hence tomorrow in the afternoon, to lie at a village midway between lübeck and hamburg. the lords of lübeck, with much courtesy, offered him to lodge in a house of theirs three leagues from hence, and to make use of their horses; but he thought it not convenient, the house not being furnished and their horses not used to travel, and he having sent before to the village midway to take up his quarters; for which reasons he excused it to the lords, yet with many thanks for their courteous offers. _june , ._ [sn: the lutheran church at lübeck.] several gentlemen of the english company at hamburg, and among them his nephew, sir humphry bennett's son, came hither to visit and accompany whitelocke to hamburg. the senators and syndic and obrist-lieutenant, who had been before with whitelocke, came to take their leaves of him. from them and others whitelocke learnt, that the religion professed in this city is after the doctrine of luther and the augsburg confession; yet some calvinists are permitted, though not publicly, among them, and some papists are also connived at, though not publicly tolerated to exercise their worship; yet some of them live in a college of canons, who have a fair house and good revenues in this city. they have many images and crucifixes in their churches: one, made of earth, of the virgin mary, very exactly, is believed by many goodwives of the town, that, upon worshiping and praying to it, they shall become fruitful. in the same church is a rare tablet of the passion of our saviour, admired by artists for the rare painting and lineaments of it. above the altar is a little image of our lady, so contrived with wires fastened to it, that one, being hid on the other side of it, may make it turn forward and backward, to the admiration of the multitude of spectators, who know, by the motion of the image, whether the offerings which they make, and lay upon the altar, be acceptable or not; if one gives a small offering, the image turns away from it in disdain of it; if it be a fat offering, it turns towards it in token of acceptance; and though they tell these stories themselves, yet still they retain these images and trumperies among them. this church is of a good length and breadth, but the height is not proportionable: it hath few monuments of note, only some of their bishops and canons, among which one is indeed remarkable, which they will needs have to be believed, where a canon was buried some hundreds of years since, yet now sometimes is heard to knock in his grave, whereupon instantly some one or other of his surviving brethren, the canons, gives up the ghost, and comes to the dead canon at his call. from hence whitelocke went and viewed the other churches, all alike furnished with images and crucifixes, and full of pews, fitted according to the quality of the parishioners. the churches are built of brick, and some of them covered with copper, which they brought from sweden in older times. they use a liturgy, not much differing from our old book of common prayer; their ministers are grave and formal; they commend them for pious and learned and good preachers; but whitelocke, not having the favour to see one of them at his lodging, can give the less particular account of them. [sn: the trade of lübeck.] whitelocke also learnt that the trade of this city is the most of any town on this side the baltic sea, having a convenient port or road at tremon, belonging to this city, from whence they send into all parts of that sea, and have the advantage for the commerce of copper, deal, hemp, flax, pitch, tar, and all the commodities of those parts; and by this port, they save the trouble and charge of going about through the sound, which southern merchants do. before the swedes had much traffic, and built their own ships, and employed their own mariners, which is not ancient, lübeck did more flourish, and had the sole trade of sweden, and of vending their commodities again into all parts of the world; whereby the lübeckers grew great and rich, especially by the copper and iron which they brought from sweden hither, and wrought it into utensils and arms, and then carried it back to sweden for the use of the inhabitants there; who, growing in time more wise, and learning to work their own materials, and to build and employ their own ships in trade, and the city of hamburg growing up and increasing in trade, and particularly by the staple for english cloth being there settled, and those of lübeck not admitting strangers among them, their town began to decay, and to lessen in their trade and wealth, and is not now so considerable as in former times, yet still they drive a good trade into the baltic sea and other parts, but not with so great ships as others use, which they build at home, of about a hundred and fifty and two hundred tons; and they affirm that they have built here ships of four hundred tons, but there is difficulty for them to go down to the river, by reason of the shallows, which yet serves to bring up their commodities in great boats by the river, from the ships to this town. they find the smaller vessels useful for their trade, and to build them they are provided of good store of timber out of germany, denmark, and sweden; and, by their consent, the king of denmark doth sometimes make use of their town and carpenters to build ships for himself. about three o'clock in the afternoon, the baggage and most of whitelocke's inferior servants went away. the lords offered whitelocke a party of their horse for the guard of his person; but he, with thanks for their courtesy, refused it, having store of company well armed of his own retinue, besides some english of hamburg who were come to him. the lübeckers commended the sobriety and plainness of whitelocke and his company; only they said his liveries were very noble; and they wondered that they saw no more drinking among them, and that he had so constant exercises of religious duties in his family. [sn: whitelocke proceeds to hamburg.] the senators and syndic came again to compliment whitelocke for the lords, and to wish him a good journey; and, after ceremonies passed, about four o'clock in the afternoon, whitelocke took his coach for hamburg; he had another coach and four waggons for his people. as he passed through the streets, multitudes of all sorts stood to see him go by, respectively saluting him. at the gates were guards of soldiers, and having passed the last port, they saluted him with three pieces of ordnance, according to their custom, but with no volleys of small-shot; and so he took his leave of lübeck. being come into the road, and his pages and lacqueys in the waggons, he made what haste he could in his journey with hired horses, and so much company. the country was pleasant and fruitful, groves of wood, fields of corn, pastures, brooks, and meadows adorning it: it is an open champaign; few hedges, but some little ones made with dry wood, like our hurdles, for fencing their gardens and dividing their corn-grounds. the way was exceeding bad, especially for this time of the year, full of deep holes and sloughs in some places and of great stones in others. this duchy of holstein seems to take its name from _holt_, which, with them and in sweden and with us, signifies wood, and _stein_, which is a stone; and this country is very full of wood and stone; yet is it fruitful, and, like england, delightful to the view, but it is not so full of towns, there not being one in the way between lübeck and this night's quarter, which is five german, twenty english, miles. but a few small houses lie scattered by the way; and about four miles from kettell, this night's lodging was a fair brick house by the side of a large pond, which is the house belonging to lübeck, where they offered whitelocke to be entertained, and he found cause afterwards to repent his not accepting their courtesy. when they came to the lamentable lodging taken up for him this night, they found in all but two beds for their whole company. the beds were made only of straw and fleas mingled together; the antechamber was like a great barn, wherein was the kitchen on the one side, the stable on the other side; the cattle, hogs, waggons, and coaches were also in the same great chamber together. they made themselves as merry as they could in this posture, whitelocke cheering and telling them that it was in their way home, and therefore to be borne with the less regret. they of the house excused the want of accommodations, because the war had raged there, and the soldiers had pillaged the people of all they had, who could not yet recover their former happy and plentiful condition; which was not helpful to whitelocke and his people, who must take things as they were, and make the best shift they could. his officers had provided meat sufficient for them; he caused fresh straw enough to be laid all over the room, which was the more tolerable in this hot season. he himself lay in one of his coaches, his sons and some of his servants in straw, near him; the rest of the company, men and women, on straw, where they chose to lie in the room, only affording place for the horses, cows, sheep, and hogs, which quartered in the same chamber together with this good company. _june , ._ [sn: journey through holstein.] in his coach, through god's goodness, whitelocke slept well, and all his people on the ground on fresh straw, yet not so soundly as to hinder their early rising this morning, when they were quickly ready, none having been put to the trouble of undressing themselves the last night. his carriages, twelve great waggons, went away about four o'clock this morning, some of the gentlemen's servants in the van, one upon each waggon; his porter, butlers, and others, in a waggon in the rear, with store of pistols, screwed guns, swords, and other arms, for their defence. whitelocke came forth about six o'clock with his own two coaches, and eight waggons for the rest of his followers. in some of their waggons they drive three horses on-breast, and each waggon will hold eight persons. they passed by better houses in this dorf than that where they quartered, which the harbingers excused, coming thither late and being strangers. the country was still holstein, of the same nature as yesterday. in the lower grounds they saw many storks, one whereof was killed by one of whitelocke's company with his gun,--a thing not endured here, where they are very superstitious, and hold it an ill omen where any of them is killed. but whitelocke, blessed be god! found it not so; yet he warned his people not to kill any of them, to avoid offence to the country, who report that these birds will not resort to any place but where the people are free, as in the united provinces, where they have many of them, and do carefully preserve them, and near to hamburg and other hanse towns. about a mile from kettell is a great gate cross the highway, where they take toll for the duke of holstein of all the waggons and carriages, a loup-shilling apiece (that is, little more than an english penny). this gate they shut against whitelocke, but being informed who he was, they presently opened it again, and a gentleman came to whitelocke's coach-side, excusing the shutting of the gate, being before they knew who it was that passed by. he told whitelocke the custom and right of this toll, but that nothing was demanded of ambassadors, who were to pass freely, especially the ambassador of the protector and commonwealth of england, to whom the duke, his master, he said, was a friend. whitelocke thanked the gentleman for his civility, acknowledging the protector to be a friend to the duke, and so they passed on. about a mile and a half before they came to hamburg, captain parkes, of the 'president' frigate, and captain minnes, of the 'elizabeth' frigate, met whitelocke on the way, and told him all was well in england, and that by command of the protector they had brought those two frigates into the elbe to transport him into england. whitelocke told them he was very glad to see them, especially on this occasion. as they were walking and discoursing of the ships and their voyage, a great number of persons and coaches, the resident bradshaw, with the treasurer, the doctor, their minister, and almost all the english company, with twenty-two coaches, came to meet whitelocke on the way, and to bring him with the more respect to hamburg. all alighted out of their coaches, and, after salutations, the resident told whitelocke that the occasion of their coming forth was to testify their respects to whitelocke, and to desire him to do their company the honour to accept of the english house at hamburg for his entertainment. whitelocke gave them hearty thanks for their respects to the protector and to the commonwealth whereof they were members, in this honour which they did to their servant. he accepted of their courteous offer, desiring the company and conversation of his countrymen above all others. they walked a little on foot together, where the lord resident (so they styled him) showed whitelocke his last week's letters from thurloe, mentioning the imprisonment of many upon suspicion that they were engaged in a plot against the protector, and that the serious considerable malignants discovered it. he also delivered to whitelocke private letters from his wife and other friends. about a mile from the place where they met was a fair inn by the wayside, where the resident moved whitelocke to make a halt and rest himself, because if he should then go directly to the town, he would come into it just at dinner-time, which would not be convenient. upon his persuasion, and perceiving that a preparation was here made, whitelocke went in, where the english company entertained him with a plentiful dinner at a long table holding above sixty persons. from hence, with whitelocke's approbation, the resident, as from himself, sent to the governor of the militia at hamburg, as whitelocke had done before to the lords, to advertise them of his coming. the governor returned thanks, and said that two senators were appointed to receive whitelocke at the port. after dinner they all took their coaches. with whitelocke was the resident and treasurer; the rest in the other coaches, the pages and lacqueys riding and walking by. the country is here low and rich, sprinkled with rivers, and adorned with many neat and sweet houses belonging to the citizens of hamburg, who resort to those houses in the summer-time with their families to have the fresh air. [sn: arrival at hamburg.] almost an english mile before they came to the town, the highway was full of people come forth to see whitelocke pass by. at the port were no senators to receive him, but great guards of musketeers and multitudes of all sorts of people, there and through all the streets unto his lodging thronging so that the coaches could not pass till the guards made way. the people were very courteous, and whitelocke answered to the meanest their civility, which is pleasing and not costly. the windows and doors were also crowded, which showed the populousness of the place and their expectation as to the commonwealth of england. they brought whitelocke to the english house, which is fair and large, the first room below, according to the fashion of lübeck; the chambers, especially where whitelocke lay, handsomely furnished. [sn: reception of the senate of hamburg.] within half an hour after his arrival, an officer of the town, in the nature of a master of the ceremonies, came from the lords of the town to bid whitelocke welcome thither, and to know what hour he would appoint for admittance of some of the lords to visit him. whitelocke returned thanks to the lords for their respects, and prayed the gentleman to tell them that whensoever they pleased to give him the honour of a visit, they should be welcome to him. within half an hour after came two senators, herr jurgen van holtz and herr jacob silm. after ceremonies passed, holtz spake in french to whitelocke, to this effect:-- "monseigneur, qui êtes ambassadeur extraordinaire de sa sérénissime altesse oliver, par la grâce de dieu seigneur protecteur de la république d'angleterre; aussitôt que les messieurs de cette ville ont été avertis de votre intention de passer par cette ville-ci, ils ont été désireux de témoigner leurs très-humbles respects à monsieur le protecteur et à votre personne en particulier, en suite de quoi{ } nous avons reçu commandement de vous venir saluer, et faire à votre excellence la bienvenue en cette ville. ils sont extrêmement aises de l'heureux succès que dieu vous a donné en votre négociation en suède, et qu'il lui a plu aussi vous donner un bon passage, et favoriser votre retour jusqu'en ce lieu, après avoir surmonté beaucoup de difficultés, et échappé beaucoup de dangers, et nous prions sa divine bonté qu'il vous rende en sauveté dans votre pays. nous sommes aussi commandés de reconnaître les faveurs que monseigneur le protecteur d'une si grande république a faites à notre ville et aux habitans d'icelle, et particulièrement durant la guerre entre l'angleterre et les pays bas, en libérant et déchargeant nos navires. nous souhaitons à ce fleurissant état la continuation et l'accroissement de la faveur divine pour leur conservation et accroissement de plus en plus, et nous espérons que monseigneur le protecteur continuera avec la république ses faveurs envers notre ville, qui sera toujours prête de leur rendre tous offices et humbles respects." after a little recollection, whitelocke answered in french to the senator's speech thus:-- "messieurs, j'ai grande occasion de louer le nom de dieu, de sa protection de moi et de ma suite, en notre long et périlleux voyage, et pour l'heureux succès qu'il m'a donné en ma négociation, et ma sauve arrivée en ce lieu, en mon retour en mon pays. je vous désire de remercier messeigneurs les sénateurs de cette ville du respect qu'ils ont témoigné envers sa sérénissime altesse mon maître et la république d'angleterre, par l'honneur qu'ils ont fait à leur serviteur, de quoi je ne manquerai d'en informer: j'avais grande envie de voir cette illustre ville, et mes compatriotes qui par accord vivent ici, desquels j'ai appris avec beaucoup de contentement que leurs priviléges ici étaient maintenus par messeigneurs les magistrats, lesquels je désire d'être informés que son altesse mon maître prendra en fort bon part le respect et la justice qu'on fera aux anglais qui se trouvent ici, chose que je croie tournera en avantage aux uns et aux autres. je vous rends grâces aussi de vos bons souhaits pour la prospérité de notre nation, à laquelle dieu a donné tant de preuves de sa présence, et je prie le même dieu aussi pour l'heureux succès de cette ville, et de tous les habitans d'icelle." after whitelocke had done, the senator again spake to him, desiring him, in the name of the lords of the town, to accept a small present which they had sent, in testimony of their respects towards him, and said that it was somewhat for his kitchen and somewhat for his cellar. the present which they sent for his kitchen, and was laid upon the pavement in the hall, was this:--four great whole sturgeons, two great fresh salmons, one calf, two sheep, two lambs. the present for the cellar was a hogshead of spanish wine, a hogshead of claret wine, a hogshead of rhenish wine, a hogshead of hamburg beer, a hogshead of serbster beer. whitelocke ordered the men that brought this present to be rewarded with ten rix-dollars. he desired the senators to return his hearty thanks to the lords for the noble present which they sent him; and after many compliments and ceremonies whitelocke, giving the senators the right hand, conducted them to their coach, and so they parted. the english company entertained, with a great supper, whitelocke and his company, who had more mind to sleep than to eat. monsieur hannibal schestedt, late viceroy of norway, sent a gentleman to whitelocke to know what time he would appoint for him to come and visit whitelocke, who gave the usual answer, that whensoever he pleased to come he should be welcome. _june , ._ [sn: divine service at hamburg.] _the lord's day._--the english company and the resident bradshaw desired whitelocke that one of his chaplains might preach in the chapel belonging to the english in their house, which they said was a respect to the ambassador of england; and accordingly mr. ingelo preached in the morning, and a very pertinent and good sermon. the doctor, minister to the company here, preached in the afternoon, who far exceeded mr. ingelo in the strength of his voice and lungs, the which was not necessary for that chapel, not being large, but convenient and handsomely made up with pews and seats fit for their company. _june , ._ [sn: interview with the swedish envoy to the emperor.] the resident sent to the governor to inform him that whitelocke had a desire to see the fortifications of the town. he answered that he would send one of his lieutenants to wait on whitelocke for that purpose; but whitelocke and the resident took this for no great compliment that himself came not to whitelocke. much company did whitelocke the honour to dine with him; and after dinner monsieur bernelow, who was ambassador from the queen of sweden to the emperor, and was now upon his return home, came to visit whitelocke, and they had this discourse in latin. _bernelow._ i desire your excellence to excuse me that i cannot express myself in french or italian, but, with your leave, i desire to speak to you in latin. _whitelocke._ your excellence is welcome to me; and if you choose to express yourself in latin, you have your liberty, and i shall understand something of it. _bern._ when i heard of your excellence's arrival in this city, though i purposed to have gone from hence, yet i deferred my journey, to the end i might see you, because i have heard in the emperor's court, as well by letters from her most serene majesty of sweden as from the chancellor and other senators of that kingdom, what great satisfaction they had in the english ambassador, etc. now the league of friendship being concluded between the two nations, i hold myself obliged to make this salutation to your excellence. _wh._ i have very many thanks to return to your excellence for the honour you have done me by this visit, and for these expressions of affection and respect to the protector, my master. i do acknowledge myself much engaged to the ricks-chancellor and senators of sweden, and in the first place to her majesty the queen, for their favourable respect towards me whilst i was in my negotiation with them, whom i found full of honour, wisdom, and justice, in their transactions with me. _bern._ i have been for some time in the service of the queen, my mistress, in germany. _wh._ you met some of my countrymen in the court of the emperor, particularly a noble lord, whom i have the honour to know. _bern._ i met there the earl of rochester, who was at the diet at ratisbon. _wh._ what proposals did he make there? _bern._ he made a kind of precarious proposal in the name of the king, his master. _wh._ did he obtain what he desired? _bern._ he did not much prevail in it, only he obtained a verbal promise of some money, but had no performance. _wh._ what occasion hath drawn your general koningsmark with his forces at this time before bremen? _bern._ it was thus by mistake occasioned. the earl of lüneburg had covenanted with the spanish ambassador to levy some soldiers for the service of the king of spain, which levies he began without acquainting the governor of that circle with it, who taking this occasion, and bearing ill-will to the earl, drew out some forces to oppose those levies. koningsmark understanding this, and jealous that the governor of the circle designed to fall upon the fort of the queen of sweden in those parts, he drew out some forces to oppose the governor. those of bremen, being informed that koningsmark drew out his forces against them, sent some troops, who forced the queen's subjects to a contribution and built a fort upon the queen's land, which coming to the knowledge of koningsmark, and that the governor of the circle of westphalia intended only to suppress the levies of the duke of lüneburg, and not to oppose the queen of sweden, koningsmark thereupon marched with his forces to the new fort built by those of bremen, took it in and finished it, and left there a garrison for the queen, not disturbing the trade of that city. _wh._ here were mistakes one upon another, which might have engaged that city and the neighbours, as well as the crown of sweden, in a troublesome war. _bern._ all is now peaceable and well again. they had much other discourse touching the right of the crown of sweden to the duchy of bremen; and after many compliments, the ambassador took his leave. [sn: whitelocke visits the fortifications of hamburg.] about four o'clock in the afternoon the senator holtz and an ancient gentleman, one of the captains of the town forces, came and accompanied whitelocke, to show him the town and the fortifications of it, and said that the lords had commanded them to do him this service. whitelocke went out with them in his usual equipage, his gentlemen walking before the coach, his pages and lacqueys by it, all bareheaded, and with their swords. they viewed most parts of the city, the streets, buildings, public-houses, churches, the arsenal, the fortifications, the ships, the waters, rivers, and what was remarkable throughout the town. great multitudes of people, especially at their exchange, came forth to see them as they passed by, and all were very civil to them. to the works a great many of people also followed them, and continued there with them. they brought him first to see their arsenal, which is a large house; in the lower rooms thereof lay about two hundred pieces of ordnance mounted on good carriages, fitted and useful. they were not founded in this place, but brought from other parts; two of them were double cannon, each carrying a bullet of forty-eight pounds weight; most of the others were demi-cannon and culverin. there were besides these many smaller pieces and divers mortar-pieces, some of which were near as large in the diameter as that at stockholm. in another place were many shells of grenades and heaps of cannon-bullets. the pavement of the room was all lead, two feet deep, in a readiness to make musket bullets if there should be occasion. in the rooms above were arms for horse and foot, completely fixed and kept; the greatest part of them were muskets. between every division of the arms were representations in painting of soldiers doing their postures, and of some on horseback. here were many cuirasses and a great quantity of corselets, swords, bandoliers, pistols, and bullets. here likewise hung certain old targets, for monuments rather than use, and many engines of war; as, a screw to force open a gate, an instrument like a jack, with wheels to carry match for certain hours' space, and just at the set time to give fire to a mine, petard, or the like. there were, in all, arms for about fifteen hundred horse and fifteen thousand foot. they keep a garrison constantly in pay of twelve hundred soldiers, and they have forty companies of their citizens, two hundred in each company, proper men; whose interest of wives, children, estate, and all, make them the best magazine and defence (under god) for those comforts which are most dear to them. some pains were taken by whitelocke to view their fortifications, which are large, of about two german (ten english) miles in compass; they are very regular and well kept. within the grafts are hedges of thorn, kept low and cut, held by them of better use than palisades. the bulwarks are of an extraordinary greatness; upon every third bulwark is a house for the guards, and they are there placed. there is also a building of brick, a great way within the ground upon the bulwark, and separate by itself, where they keep all their gunpowder; so that if by any mischance or wicked design it should blow up, yet it could do no hurt to the town, being so separated from it. on every bulwark there is space enough to draw up and muster a thousand men; beyond the grafts are divers half-moons, very regularly made. the grafts are broad and deep, filled with the elbe on the one side, and with another smaller river on the other side. the works are stronger, larger, and more regular than those at lübeck. above the works is a piece of ground of above five hundred yards of low ground, gained by industry from the elbe; here they have mills to keep out or let in more or less water, as they find useful for the town and works. the lines of one side of the works are higher than on the other side, and the works better and stronger made. here are also mounds of earth raised very high to command without; there wanted no pains nor expense to put together so great a mass of earth as is in these fortifications. upon every bulwark is mounted one demi-cannon, besides other great guns; in other places are smaller pieces. round about the works are great store of ordnance, well fitted, mounted, and kept; and the platforms are strong and well planked. having made a large tour through the greatest part of the city, whitelocke found it to be pleasantly situated in a plain low country, fertile and delightful, also healthful and advantageous for trade; and notwithstanding the great quantity of waters on every side of it, yet the inhabitants do not complain of agues or other sicknesses to be more rife among them than in other parts. upon one side is a small river, the which comes a great way down the country to this town, where it loseth itself in the elbe, having first supplied the city with wood and other provisions brought down hither by boats, for which this river, though narrow, is deep enough and navigable. on the other side of the town is the stately river of elbe, one of the chief of these parts of germany, which also by boats brings down out of the country great store of all sorts of provisions and merchantable commodities; and which is much more advantage to them, affords a passage for merchants hither, and from hence to vent their merchandises to all parts of the world. it is the best neighbour they have, and the branches and arms of it run through most of their streets by their doors, to the great advantage of their commerce; and although sometimes, upon an extraordinary rising of the elbe to a great flood, these branches of it cover the lower rooms of the houses near them, to the damage of some owners, yet it makes amends by the constant benefit which it brings with it. the buildings here are all of brick, only some few of brick and timber put together, and are generally fashioned and used as is before described touching the lübeck houses. the district or territory belonging to the town is in some places two, in others three, in some more, german miles distant from the city, in which precinct they have the jurisdiction and revenue; and near the town are many pleasant little houses and seats, with gardens and accommodations, belonging to the citizens, to refresh themselves and their wives and children in the summer-time, to take the fresh country air, and to have a diversion for their health and pleasure. it may be said of this town, that god hath withheld nothing from them for their good. they have plenty of provisions, health, profit, and pleasure, to their full contentment, in a peaceable and just government, with freedom, strength in their magazines, fortifications, and bodies of men for their defence and protection, conveniences for their habitation and commerce, and, which is above all, a liberty to know the will of and to worship god, for the health of their own souls. _june , ._ [sn: the diet of germany.] this morning whitelocke returned a visit to the swedes' ambassador, bernelow, at his lodging, where he learnt of him the manner of the sitting of the general diet of germany, at which he was present:--that they have three colleges or chambers: the first is the college of the electors, where they only assemble; the second is the college of the princes, where the archbishops, bishops, dukes, graves, and barons meet, to the number of about one hundred and forty; the third is the college of the free cities, where their deputies, about two hundred, do meet. when they consult, the chancellor of the empire, the archbishop of mentz, sends the proposal in writing to each college severally. when they are respectively agreed, then all the colleges meet together in the great hall, at the upper end whereof is a chair of state for the emperor. on the right-hand of the chair the electors sit, on the left-hand the principal officers of the emperor's court; on the right side of the hall, upon seats, are the ecclesiastic princes, bishops, and abbots; on the left-hand are the temporal princes, upon their seats; and on the seats below, one before another, are the deputies of the towns. the archbishop of mentz, as marshal of the college of the electors, begins and reads the proposal, and the resolution thereupon in writing of that college; after him, the marshal of the college of the princes doth the like; and lastly, the marshal of the college of the free towns, who is always the chief magistrate of the place where the diet sits. if the resolution of the three colleges agrees, or of the college of the electors and one other of the colleges, the business is determined accordingly; if the colleges do not thus agree, then they meet all together and debate the matter; whereupon, if they come not to an accord, the business is remitted to another day, or the suffrage of the emperor decides it. whitelocke asked him, whether the advice of the diet, being the supreme public council, were binding to the emperor. he said, that the emperor seldom did anything contrary to that advice, but held himself bound in prudence, if not in duty, to conform thereunto. whitelocke asked him what opinion they had in the emperor's court of the present king of sweden. he answered, as was expected, and most true, that they have a great opinion of the king, especially for military affairs. upon whitelocke's invitation, he did him the honour to dine with him, and they had much and good discourse together. [sn: visit of m. woolfeldt's brother-in-law.] in the afternoon whitelocke received a visit from monsieur hannibal schestedt, whose wife was sister to woolfeldt's lady, one of the daughters of the late king of denmark by his second wife,--as they term it, his left-handed wife; this relation, and his own good parts, brought him in high esteem with the king, his brother-in-law, till by jealousies (particularly, as was said, in some matters of mistresses), distaste and disfavour was against him, and he was put out of his office of viceroy of norway, and other advantages; upon which he retired himself into these parts, and lived upon a pension of six thousand dollars yearly, allowed by the king unto his lady. whitelocke found him a gentleman of excellent behaviour and abilities, which he had improved by his travels in most countries of europe, and had gained perfectly the french, italian, dutch, english, and latin tongues. his discourse was full of ingenuity and cheerfulness, and very free touching his own country and king, on whom he would somewhat reflect; and he spoke much of the queen of sweden's resignation, which he much condemned, and as much extolled the assuming of the government by the protector of england, and said he had a design shortly to see england, and desired whitelocke, that when he came into england he would move to the protector to give him leave to come into england to serve the protector, which he would willingly do, being forbid his own country; but he prayed whitelocke, that none might know of this his purpose but the protector only. he told whitelocke, that williamson, the king of denmark's ambassador now in england, had been his servant, etc. when monsieur schestedt was gone, whitelocke wrote to secretary thurloe, and to his other friends in england, to give them an account of his being come thus far in his voyage homewards, and of the two frigates being arrived in the elbe, that as soon as the wind would serve he would hasten for england. [sn: a banquet to whitelocke.] the resident invited whitelocke and several senators to a collation this evening, whither came the four burgomasters, and five other senators; a thing unusual for so many of them to meet a foreign public minister, the custom being in such case to depute two or three of their body, and no more; but they were willing to do more than ordinary honour to whitelocke. and of these nine senators every one spoke french or latin, and some both, a thing rare enough for aldermen of a town; but the reason of it was given, because here, for the most part, they choose into those places doctors and licentiates of the laws, which employments they willingly accept, being for life, attended with great authority, and a salary of a thousand crowns yearly, besides other profits. they had a banquet and store of wine; and the senators discoursed much with whitelocke touching england, and the successes of the parliament party, and the many thanksgivings for them; of which they had heard with admiration, and commended the return of thanks to god. upon this occasion, whitelocke gave them an account of many particulars, and of god's goodness to them, and exhorted these gentlemen, in all their affairs, to put their trust in god, to be thankful for his mercies, and not to do anything contrary to his will. they asked how the parliament could get money enough to pay their forces. whitelocke told them that the people afforded money sufficient to defray the public charges both by sea and land; and that no soldiers were paid and disciplined, nor officers better rewarded, than those who have served the parliament. whitelocke asked them concerning the religion professed among them, and of their government and trade, wherein they gave him good information; and he told them he hoped that the agreement made by this city with the merchants, his countrymen, would be carefully observed, and the privileges accorded to them be continued, which would be acceptable to the protector. they answered, that they had been very careful, and should be so still, that on their part the agreement should be exactly observed. they desired whitelocke to speak to the protector in favour of a ship belonging to this town, in which were some moneys belonging to hollanders, and taken by the english two years since. whitelocke promised to move the protector in it, and assured them that his highness would cause right to be done to them. at this collation whitelocke ate very little, and drank only one glass of spanish wine, and one glass of small beer, which was given him by a stranger, whom he never saw before nor after, and the beer seemed at that instant to be of a very bad taste and colour; nor would he inquire what it was, his own servants being taken forth by the resident's people in courtesy to entertain them.[ ] after he came to his lodging he was taken very ill, and grew worse and worse, extreme sick, with pains like the strokes of daggers, which put him in mind of a former passage; and his torment was so great that it was scarcely to be endured, the most violent that he ever felt. he was not well after his journey from lübeck to hamburg, having been extremely jolted in the coach in that way full of holes and sloughs, made by their great carriages in time of the war, and not yet amended: his weariness when he came to hamburg reprieved his pain, which highly increased this evening; and the last of his ill beer still remained with him. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke's indisposition.] the fierce torment continued on whitelocke above thirteen hours together without intermission. about four o'clock this morning his secretary earle was called to him, who waited on him with care and sadness to see his torment; nature helped, by vomits and otherwise, to give some ease, but the sharpness of his pain continued. about five o'clock this morning dr. whistler was called to him, who gave him several sorts of physic, and amongst the rest a drink with a powder and a great quantity of oil of sweet almonds, suspecting, by the manner of his sickness and some of the symptoms, that he might have had poison given him, which was the jealousy of most about him; and whether it were so or not the lord only knows, who nevertheless in his goodness preserved whitelocke, and blessed the means for his recovery. the drink working contrary to what was intended, and turning to a vomit, the doctor, perceiving the operation of nature to be that way, followed by giving of vomits, which within two hours gave some ease and brought him to a little slumber, and in a few hours after to recovery. thus it pleased god to exercise him, and to cast him down for a little time; and when he had no expectation but of present death in a strange land, god was pleased suddenly, and above imagination, to restore and recover him; the which, and all other the mercies of god, he prays may, by him and his, be thankfully remembered. a doctor of physic, a jew in this town, hearing of whitelocke's being sick, came to his lodging, and meeting with dr. whistler, told him in latin, that, understanding the english ambassador to be dangerously sick, and to have no physician about him but a young inexperienced man, therefore this jew came to offer his service. dr. whistler, smiling, told whitelocke of this rencounter, who presently sent his thanks and discharge to the jewish doctor. several senators came and sent to inquire of whitelocke's health, and to know if he wanted anything in their power to supply him for his recovery, and offered the physicians of the town to wait upon him. he returned thanks, but kept himself to the advice and care of his own doctor, whose endeavours it pleased god to bless, so that in two days whitelocke was abroad again. [sn: feast given by the english company.] the english company had invited divers to bear whitelocke company at dinner this day, where they had a very great feast, and present at it the four burgomasters and ten senators. so many of that number had scarce been seen at any former entertainment; which though purposely made to do whitelocke honour, yet his sickness had brought him to an incapacity of bearing them company; but whilst they were at the table, whitelocke sent his secretary to the resident, praying him to make his apology to the lords, that extremity of sickness the night before had prevented him of the honour of accompanying them at this meeting; that being now somewhat recovered, he sent now to present his hearty thanks to their lordships for this great favour they had done him, wished them all health, and entreated them to be cheerful. the lords returned thanks to whitelocke for his civility, and about an hour after the resident came to whitelocke from the lords to see how he did, to thank him for his compliment, and to know if, without inconvenience, they might be admitted to come to his chamber to see him. whitelocke said he should be glad to see them, but privately told the resident that he hoped they would not stay long with him by reason of his indisposition. the senators sat at the table from twelve o'clock at noon till six o'clock in the evening, according to the fashion of dutchland, and were very merry, wanting no good meat or wine, nor sparing it. about six o'clock they rose from dinner, and came to whitelocke's chamber to visit him, with many compliments, expressing their sorrow for his sickness, their wishes for his health, and offers of anything in their power which might contribute to his recovery. whitelocke used them with all civility, and heartily thanked them for this extraordinary honour they had done him, by so many of their lordships affording him the favour of meeting at this place, and excused by his violent sickness his not bearing them company. after many compliments and a short stay they left his chamber, praying for the recovery of his health again. among this company of fourteen senators were no young men, but all grave and comely persons; and every one of them did particularly speak to whitelocke, either in french or latin, and some in both, which were hard to be met with in so many aldermen of towns in other countries. divers of them staid in the english house till nine o'clock at night, making a very long repast of nine hours together; but it was to testify the more particular respect and honour to the english ambassador, and is according to the usage of these parts, where, at such public entertainments, they eat and drink heartily, and seldom part in less than ten or twelve hours, cheerfully conversing together. whitelocke took great contentment in the civility and respects of these and other gentlemen to him in this place, and in the affection, care, and attendance of his children, friends, and servants, about him in his sickness. _june , ._ [sn: the ecclesiastical state of hamburg.] the lords sent a gentleman to inquire of whitelocke's health, with compliments as before. he took some physic, yet admitted visits and discourse, from which, and those he formerly had with senators and others, he learned that as to matter of religion they are here very strict to maintain a unity thereof, being of plutarch's opinion, that "varietas religionis, dissolutio religionis;" and they permit no other religion to be publicly exercised by their own citizens among them but what in their government they do profess, which is according to the augsburg confession; and luther's opinions do wholly take place among them, insomuch that the exercise of religion in any other form or way is not admitted, except to the english company of merchants in the chapel of their house, and that by stipulation. thus every one who differs from them in matters of religion must keep his opinion to himself, without occasioning any disturbance to the government by practice or publication of such different opinion; and although many are inclined to the tenets of calvin, yet their public profession is wholly lutheran; answerable whereunto whitelocke observed in their churches many images, crucifixes, and the like (not far removed from the practice of the popish churches); particularly in their great church, which is fair and large, built with brick, are many images, rare tablets of painting, crucifixes, and a perspective of curious workmanship in colours. their liturgy (as ours in england was) is extracted from the old mass-book, and their divine service celebrated with much ceremony, music, and outward reverence. their ministers are pensioners, but, as themselves affirm, liberally dealt with, and have bountiful allowances if they are holy men and good preachers; whereof they much satisfy themselves that they are very well provided in this city, to the comfort and blessing of the inhabitants. [sn: the trade of hamburg.] touching the trade of this place, whitelocke learnt that as they are very populous, so few are suffered in idleness, but employed in some way or other of trading, either as merchants, artificers, shopkeepers, or workmen. they have an exchange here, though not a fair one, where they daily meet and confer about their affairs and contracts. the several branches and arms of the river elbe, which pass along by their houses, afford them the better means and advantages for bringing in and carrying forth their commodities. there is a partition between the old and the new town; the old is but a small part of it, and few merchants reside there. the ships of greatest burden come up within two miles of the city; the lesser ships, whereof there be a great number, and the great boats, come up within the town to the very doors of their houses, by the branches of the elbe, to the great advantage of their trading. this city is much greater than lübeck, fuller of trade and wealth, and better situated for commerce, being nearer to england, the netherlands, france, spain, and all the southern and western parts; and they are not to pass the sound in coming home again. the staple of english cloth is here, and the cloths being brought hither for the most part white, it sets on work many hundreds of their people to dress and dye and fit them; and the inhabitants of all germany and other countries do send and buy their cloth here. at this time of whitelocke's being here, there lay in the elbe four english ships which brought cloth hither; one of them carried twenty-five pieces of ordnance, the least fifteen, all of good force; and the english cloth at this time in them was estimated to be worth £ , sterling. in consideration of this trade and the staple of english cloth settled here, which brings wealth to this city, the government here hath granted great privileges to the english merchants residing in this place, and they are part of the company or corporation of merchant adventurers of england,--an ancient and honourable society, of which whitelocke had the favour honorarily to be here admitted a member. _june , ._ [sn: the judicial institutions of hamburg.] whitelocke, being, through the goodness of god, well recovered of his distemper, went abroad this day, and was shown the town-house, which is a fair and handsome building, of the like fashion, but more large and beautiful, than that at lübeck, and much better furnished. here are many chambers for public councils and tribunals; some of them have their pillars covered with copper, and pavements of italian marble; they have also rich hangings, and chairs of velvet, blue, and green, and rare pictures. the chamber of audience, as they call it, is the court of justice, where the right-herrs, who are in the nature of sheriffs, do sit to despatch and determine the causes of the citizens; and if the cause exceed the value of a hundred dollars, an appeal lies to the senate, as it doth also in all causes criminal. from the senate there is no appeal in cases of obligations, letters of exchange, contracts, debts, and matters of merchandise, but therein a speedy remedy is given for the advantage of trade; but in all other cases, where the value exceeds a thousand dollars, and in all causes capital, an appeal lies to the imperial chamber: and in the judicatories of the city, the proceedings are according to the municipal laws and customs thereof, which nevertheless have great affinity with the imperial civil laws, especially in the forms and manner of proceedings; and in cases where the municipal laws and customs are defective, there the proceedings are according to the civil law. they do not proceed by juries of twelve men to try the fact; but the parties contending are heard on both sides, either in person or by their advocates or proctors, as they please, and the witnesses on either side are examined upon oath; after which, the judges taking serious consideration of the whole matter and of all circumstances and proofs therein, at a set time they pronounce their sentence; and commonly the whole process and business is determined in the space of three weeks, except in cases where an appeal is brought. the judges sit in court usually twice in every week, unless in festival times, when they keep vacations, and with them their holidays are not juridical: their equal and speedy administration of justice is commended both by their own people and by strangers who have occasion to make trial of it. [sn: municipal government of hamburg.] their public government, by which their peace is preserved, disorders restrained, and men kept from being wolves to one another, makes them the more to flourish, and consists of four consuls or burgomasters and twenty other senators, of whom twelve were called overholts, and the other twelve ricks-herrs. upon the death or removal of any senator, the choice of a new one is with the rest of the senators. the choice of the overholts is by the people, and they are as tribunes of the people; they have power to control the senate through the supreme magistracy, but they do it with all respect and tenderness, and no new law is made nor tax imposed without their consent. but the execution of the present laws, and the government of the people, and the last appeal in the city, is left unto the senate; as also negotiations with foreigners, the entertainments and ceremonies with strangers, and generally the care of the safety of their state. in cases of extraordinary concernment, as of war and peace, levying of money, making of new laws, and matters of extraordinary weight and consideration, of which the senate are not willing to take the burden wholly upon themselves, or to undergo the envy or hazard of the consequences thereof; in such cases the senate causeth the overholt to be assembled, and, as the weight of the business may be, sometimes they cause to be summoned an assembly of the whole body of the burgesses of the city, before whom the business in the general is propounded, and they are desired by the senate to make choice of some deputies, to be joined to the senate and to assist them in the matters proposed. then the whole body of the freemen do commonly make choice of eight, sometimes more and sometimes fewer, as they please, out of their own number, and these deputies have full power given to them by this assembly to despatch and determine, together with the senate and the overholt, their matters thus proposed to the general consideration of that public assembly; and what this council thus constituted do resolve in these matters, the same is put in execution accordingly, obligeth, and is freely submitted unto by all the citizens, who look upon themselves by this their election of deputies to have their own consents involved in what their deputies determine. in the evening mr. stetkin, with whom whitelocke had been acquainted in england, when he was there, a servant of the late king for his private music, wherein he was excellent, came to whitelocke, and with maylard, one of whitelocke's servants, made very good music for his diversion. this day the wind came about reasonable good for whitelocke's voyage, who thereupon ordered the captains away to their frigates and his people to prepare all things in readiness for his departure tomorrow; his baggage was carried down and put on board the frigates. he gave his most hearty and solemn thanks to the resident, and to all the gentleman of the english company of merchants here, who had very nobly and affectionately entertained whitelocke at their own charge all the time of his being in this city. he ordered his gratuities to be distributed among their servants and to all who had done any service or offices for him, both of the english house and of the townsmen, and ordered all things to be in readiness to proceed in his voyage. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke takes leave of the senate.] the baggage and inferior servants of whitelocke being gone down before unto the frigates, and the wind being indifferent good, whitelocke resolved this day to set forwards in his voyage, and to endeavour, if he could, before night to reach the frigates, which did attend his coming in the elbe about glückstadt. the resident had provided boats for whitelocke and his company to go down unto the frigates, and had given notice to some of the senators of whitelocke's intention to remove this day; whereupon monsieur müller, the chief burgomaster of the town, came to whitelocke's lodging in the morning to visit him and to inquire of his health, as one that bare a particular respect to him, and was now come to take his leave of him. he was a wise and sober man, and of good conversation, and testified much respect to the protector and commonwealth of england, and much honour to whitelocke in particular. whilst he was with whitelocke, the two senators who came first to whitelocke to bid him welcome hither, came now also to him from the senate, to bid him farewell. the elder of them spake to whitelocke to this effect:-- "my lord ambassador, "the senate hath commanded us in their name to salute your excellence, and to give you thanks for taking in good part the small testimonies of their respect towards you, which they are ashamed were no better, and entreat your pardon for it. "they understand that your excellence is upon your departure from this town, which gives them great cause of sadness, as they had of joy at your arrival here; but since it is your good pleasure, and your great affairs oblige you to depart, all that we can do is to pray to god for your safe arrival in your own country, and we doubt not but that the same god who hath hitherto preserved you in a long and perilous voyage, will continue his goodness to you in the remainder of your journey. "we have a humble request to make to your excellence, that you will give us leave to recommend our town to your patronage, and that you would be pleased to peruse these papers, which concern some of our citizens; and that your excellence will be a means to my lord protector and to the court of admiralty, that justice and favour may be shown to them." as this gentleman spake of the testimonies of respect from this city to whitelocke, he looked back to the table, upon which stood a piece of plate covered with sarsenet. a little after the senator had done speaking, whitelocke answered him to this purpose:-- "gentlemen, "i have cause to acknowledge that god hath been very good and gracious to me, and to all my company, throughout our whole voyage unto this place; for which we desire to bless his name, and hope that he will be pleased to continue his goodness to us in the rest of our journey. i desire you to return my hearty thanks to my lords the senators, who have honoured me with their very great respects during the whole time of my being with them, and have bestowed noble testimonies thereof upon me. i shall not fail to inform the protector, my master, hereof, to whom, and to the commonwealth of england, this respect is given in my person. "i have received much contentment in my being here, not only by the sight of so fair and flourishing a city as this is, so well fortified, and manned, and traded, and governed, but in your civilities, and the honour i have had to be acquainted with your worthy magistrates. and i have had a singular satisfaction to understand from my countrymen living amongst you that their privileges are by you entirely continued to them, which i recommend to you as a thing most acceptable to my lord protector, who takes care of the whole commonwealth, and will expect that i give him an account of what concerns the english merchants and their commerce in this place. the wind being now good, i am obliged, according to the commands of the protector, my master, forthwith to return for england, and do resolve this day to proceed in my voyage towards my ships. i hope my god will conduct me in safety to the place where i would be, and where i shall have the opportunity to testify my gratitude to the lords and people of this city, and to take care of those affairs wherein they may be concerned, which i esteem as an honour to me." [sn: presents of the senate.] after whitelocke had done speaking, the senators, with the accustomed ceremonies, took their leaves of him. the piece of plate which they now presented to him was a vessel of silver, like a little cabinet, wrought with bosses of beautiful figures, curious and rich, of the value, as some prized it, of about £ sterling. whitelocke was somewhat surprised with this present of plate, and doubtful whether he should accept it or not; but considering that it was only a testimony of their respects to the protector; and as to whitelocke, he was not capable of doing them service or prejudice, but as their affairs should deserve; and if he should refuse this present, it would be ill taken by the lords. upon these considerations, and the advice of the resident and other friends, whitelocke took it, and returned his hearty thanks for it. another senator, one monsieur samuel, hearing that whitelocke had a little son at home, sent him a little horse for a present, the least that one hath seen, yet very handsome, and managed to the great saddle, which whitelocke brought home with him; so full of civility and courtesy were the magistrates of this place. after much difficulty to get away, and the earnest request of the resident and english merchants to the contrary, entreating him to stay longer, yet whitelocke kept his resolution to leave the town; and boats being in readiness, he went down to the water-side, accompanied with a great number of his countrymen and his own people, and took his boats to go down the elbe to his ships. the resident and some others went in his boat with him. vice-admiral clerke would not yet leave him, saying that wrangel had commanded him to see whitelocke on board the english frigates, either for a compliment or desiring to see the frigates, which were so much discoursed on in these parts, and thereby to be enabled to give an account to wrangel of the dimensions and make of them, which he longed to know. [sn: whitelocke embarks in boats on the elbe,] the boat in which whitelocke went was large, but not convenient, open, and went only with sails. the streets, as he passed to the water-side, and the windows, and on the bridges, were full of people to see him as he went, and gave him courteous salutations at his farewell. in his own boat he had six trumpets, which sounded all along as he passed through the city and the haven, which was then very full of ships, and they also very civil to make way for whitelocke's boats. upon the bridges and bulwarks which he went by were guards of soldiers in arms; and the bulwarks on that side saluted him with all their cannon, about twenty-one pieces, though they used not to give strangers above two or three guns. thus whitelocke parted from this city of hamburg, recommending himself and his company to the blessing and protection of the almighty. a little below the city they came by a small village called by them _all to nah_ (altona), that is, "all too nigh," being the king of denmark's territory, within half a league, which they thought too near their city. when they came a little lower, with a sudden strong blast of wind the boat in which whitelocke was, was in great danger of being overset; after which it grew to be a calm; whereupon whitelocke sent to the english cloth-ships, which lay a little below, to lend him some of their ship-boats and mariners with oars, to make better way than his boat with sails could do. this they did readily; and as whitelocke passed by them, they all saluted him with their cannon. [sn: but lands at stadt.] having changed their boats and discharged the great ones, they went more cheerfully down the river till they came within half a league of the town of stadt; when being almost dark, and the mariners not accustomed to the river out of the channel, the boat in which whitelocke was, struck upon the sand, and was fast there. presently the english mariners, seven or eight of them, leaped out of the boat into the river, "up to their chins, and by strength removed the boat from off the sands again; and they came to their oars again, within an english mile of stadt, when it was very late, and the boats were two german miles from the frigates, and the tide turning. whitelocke thought it impossible to reach his ships this night, and not prudent to proceed with unexperienced men upon this dangerous river by night; and understanding by general potley, and one of the trumpets who had been formerly here, of a house upon the river that goes to stadt, within a quarter of a mile of the place where they now were, whitelocke ordered the mariners to make to that house, who, with much difficulty, found out the mouth of the river; but for want of water, being low tide, they had much trouble to get the boat up to the cruise, or in there. the master of the house had been a soldier and a cook; he prepared a supper for them of salt eels, salt salmon, and a little poultry, which was made better by the meat and wine that the resident brought with him; yet all little enough when the rest of whitelocke's company, in three other boats, came to the same house, though they could not know of whitelocke being there; but he was very ill himself, and this was a bad quarter for him, who had been so lately very sick at hamburg; yet he contented himself without going to bed. his sons and company had some fresh straw, and god in his wonted mercy still preserved him and his company. the host sent word to his general, koningsmark, that the english ambassador was at his house this night. _june , ._ [sn: embarks in the president.] whitelocke resolved to remove from the cruise early this morning, and the rather because he was informed that koningsmark intended to come hither this morning to visit him, which whitelocke did not desire, in regard of the late accident at bremen, where koningsmark was governor, and that his conferring with him, upon his immediate return from sweden, might give some jealousy to those of bremen, or to the hanse towns, or some of the german princes thereabouts. whitelocke therefore held it best to take no notice of koningsmark's intention to come and visit him, but to avoid that meeting by going early from hence this morning; which he had the more reason to do because of his bad entertainment here, and for that the tide served betimes this morning to get out of this river. he therefore caused his people to make ready about two o'clock this morning, and took boat within an hour after, the weather being very fair and the country pleasant. on the right-hand was holstein, on the left-hand was the duchy of lüneburg, and below that the bishopric of bremen; in which this river comes from stadt near unto bremen, more considerable heretofore when it was the staple for the english cloth, but left by our merchants many years since, partly because they held themselves not well treated by the inhabitants of stadt, and partly by the inconvenientness of this river to bring up their cloth to that town. two miles from this cruise whitelocke came to the frigates, where they lay at anchor. he himself went on board the 'president,' who, at his entry, saluted him with above forty guns, the 'elizabeth' but with twenty-one, and her captain, minnes, came on board to whitelocke to excuse it, because, not knowing whitelocke's time of coming hither, he had no more guns ready to bid him welcome. [sn: glückstadt.] right against the frigates lay the fort and town of glückstadt, that is luckystadt, or lucky town. whitelocke being desirous to take a view of it and of the fortifications, and his baggage not being yet come to the frigates, he with the resident and several others went over in one of the ship's boats to see it. the town is situate in a marsh, having no hill near to command it. the fortifications about it are old, yet in good repair. it belongs to the king of denmark, as duke of holstein, and he keeps a garrison there at the mouth of a river running into the elbe, like that of stadt. the late king of denmark built there a blockhouse in the great river upon piles, to the end he might command the ships passing that way, but the elbe being there above a league in breadth, the ships may well pass notwithstanding that fort. at whitelocke's landing in the town, which is about a bow-shot from the mouth of the river, he sent to acquaint the governor therewith, and that he desired only to see the town and then to return to his ships. the governor sent a civil answer, that he was sorry he could not accompany whitelocke, to show him the town, by reason of his being sick, but that he had sent one of his officers to show him the fortifications, and desired him to command anything in the town; for which civility whitelocke returned thanks. the town is not great nor well-built, but of brick, and some of the houses very fair; chiefly one which they call the king's house, which might fit an english knight to dwell in. the town seems decaying, and the fortifications also in some places. the late king designed to have made this a great town of trade, and by that means to have diminished, if not ruined, his neighbours the hamburgers; to whom this king having done some injuries, and endeavouring to build a bridge over the elbe near to hamburg, to hinder the ships coming up thither, and their trade, the citizens pulled it down again, and came with about twenty vessels to glückstadt upon a design against that town; but the king's ships of war being there, the admiral of hamburg cut his anchors and returned home in haste. the king's men got up the anchors, and at this time whitelocke saw them hung up in their church as great trophies of a small victory thus easily gained. at whitelocke's return, glückstadt saluted him with three pieces of cannon. when he was come back to his ships he found all his people and baggage come up to him, whereupon he resolved to weigh anchor the first opportunity of wind serving, and gave orders accordingly to his captains. the resident bradshaw, vice-admiral clerke, the treasurer and secretary of the english company at hamburg, who accompanied whitelocke to his ships, now the tide serving, took their leaves of him, with much respect and wishes of a happy voyage to him; and so they parted. the wind came to north-east, flat contrary to whitelocke's course, and rose high, with violent storms and much rain, so that it was not possible for whitelocke to weigh anchor and proceed in his voyage; but he had cause to thank god that he was in a safe and good harbour. _june , ._ the wind continued very tempestuous and contrary to whitelocke's course, so that he could not budge, but lay still at anchor. the mariners, in their usual way of sporting, endeavoured to make him some pastime, to divert the tediousness of his stay and of the bad weather. he learned that at glückstadt the hamburgers pay a toll to the king of denmark, who submit thereunto as other ships do, rather than enter into a contest or war with that king. [sn: whitelocke writes to the queen of sweden.] whitelocke thought it becoming him in civility and gratitude to give an account by letters to the queen of sweden of his proceeding thus far in his voyage, for which purpose he had written his letters at hamburg, and now having too much leisure, he made them up and sent them to vice-admiral clerke to be presented to the queen. the letters were to this effect:-- "_a sa sérénissime majesté christine, reine de suède._ "madame, "les grandes faveurs que j'ai reçues de votre majesté m'obligent à lui rendre compte de ce qui me touche, celui en qui vous avez beaucoup d'intérêt. et puisque par votre faveur, sous dieu, j'ai déjà surmonté les difficultés de la plus grande moitié du voyage que j'ai à faire par mer, j'ai pris la hardiesse d'entretenir votre majesté de mon succès jusqu'en ce lieu. le premier de juin, le beau navire 'amaranta' nous fit flotter sur la baltique, et nonobstant les calmes, le vent contraire, et un terrible orage qui nous exercèrent, par l'adresse de l'amiral clerc, du capitaine sinclair (de l'honnêteté, respect, et soin desquels envers moi et ma suite, je suis redevable, comme de mille autres faveurs, à votre majesté), comme par l'obéissance du navire à ses experts conducteurs, nous mîmes pied à terre à tremon, le port de lubec, mercredi le juin. samedi nous arrivâmes à hambourg, où je suis à présent, dans la maison des anglais. ce matin j'ai pensé ne voir point le soir, ayant été travaillé d'un mal soudain, et tempête horrible qui m'a cuidé renverser dans ce port. mais il a plu à dieu me remettre en bonne mesure, ainsi j'espère que je ne serai empêché d'achever mon voyage. je prie dieu qu'il préserve votre majesté, et qu'il me rende si heureux, qu'étant rendu en mon pays, j'aie l'opportunité selon mon petit pouvoir de témoigner en effet que je suis "de votre majesté "le très-humble et obéissant serviteur, "b. whitelocke. "_juin , ._" _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke detained by contrary winds.] the wind continued in the same quarter as before, very high and contrary to whitelocke's course, both the last night and this morning, which gave him and his company much trouble; but they must submit to the time and good pleasure of god. about five o'clock this morning (an unusual hour for visits) mr. schestedt came on board whitelocke's ship from glückstadt, whither he came the day before by land. they had much discourse together, wherein this gentleman is copious, most of it to the same effect as at his former visits at hamburg. he told whitelocke of the lord wentworth's being at hamburg and his carriage there, and that he spake with respect towards the protector and towards whitelocke, but was full of wishes of ruin to the protector's party. whitelocke inquired of him touching the levies of soldiers by the princes in the lower saxony now in action, with whom mr. schestedt was very conversant. he said that the present levies were no other than such as those princes made the last year, and usually make every year for their own defence in case there should be any occasion, and that he knew of no design extraordinary. whitelocke asked him several questions about this matter, that he might be able to give information thereof to the protector; but either there was nothing, or this gentleman would discover nothing in it. he was entertained in whitelocke's cabin at breakfast, where he fed and drank wine heartily, and at his going away whitelocke gave him twenty-one guns, and ordered the 'elizabeth' to give him nineteen, and sent him to shore in one of his ship-boats. the wind being very high, and not changing all this day, to the trouble of whitelocke and hindrance of his voyage. in the evening, a messenger from monsieur schestedt brought to whitelocke these letters:-- "monseigneur, "votre excellence aura reçu, par un de ses serviteurs, un petit billet de moi partant de glückstadt, sur ce qu'avions parlé, suppliant très-humblement votre excellence d'en avoir soin sans aucun bruit. et si la commodité de votre excellence le permettra, je vous supplie de vouloir écrire un mot de lettre au résident d'ici pour mieux jouir de sa bonne conversation sur ce qui concerne la correspondance avec votre excellence; et selon que votre excellence m'avisera je me gouvernerai exactement, me fiant entièrement à la générosité de votre excellence, et m'obligeant en homme d'honneur de vivre et mourir, "monseigneur, de votre excellence "très-humble et très-obéissant serviteur, "hannibal schestedt. "_ juin, ._ "votre excellence aura mille remercîmens de l'honneur reçu par ces canonades, et excusera pour ma disgrace de n'avoir été répondu." to these letters whitelocke sent this answer:-- "monseigneur, "je n'ai rien par voie de retour que mes humbles remercîmens pour le grand honneur que vous m'avez fait, par vos très-agréables visites, tant à hambourg qu'en ce lieu, comme aussi en m'envoyant ce noble gentilhomme qui m'a apporté les lettres de votre excellence. je ne manquerai pas, quand il plaira à dieu me ramener en angleterre, de contribuer tout ce qui sera en mon pouvoir pour votre service, et j'espère que l'issue en sera à votre contentement, et que dans peu de temps je saurai vous rendre bon compte de ce dont vous me faites mention en vos lettres. ce petit témoignage du respect que je porte à votre excellence, que je rendis à votre départ de mon vaisseau, et qu'il vous plaît honorer de votre estime, ne mérite pas que vous en teniez aucun compte; je serai joyeux de vous témoigner par meilleurs effets que je suis "de votre excellence "le très-humble et très-obéissant serviteur, "b. whitelocke. "_a bord le président, rade de glückstadt, juin, ._" many other letters passed between them, not necessary for a recital. _june , ._ [sn: still detained by the wind.] the wind continued in the same quarter as before, very high, and contrary to whitelocke's course. the english cloth-ships came down to him, desiring to be in his squadron homewards. whitelocke knew no reason why his ships might not as well have fallen down lower in the river as these; about which he consulted with the officers and pilot of his ship, who agreed that this morning, the wind being come a little more moderate, the ships might have fallen down with the tide, but that the time was now neglected; which the officers excused because of the fog, which was so thick that they durst not adventure to go down the river. he resolved, upon this, to take the next opportunity, and went aboard the 'elizabeth' to see his company there, who were well accommodated. here a petition was presented to whitelocke from two mariners in hold for speaking desperate words,--that they would blow up the ship and all her company, and would cut the throat of the protector, and of ten thousand of his party. one of them confessed, in his petition, that he was drunk when he spake these words, and had no intention of the least harm to the ship, or to the protector, or any of the state; both of them acknowledged their fault, and humbly asked pardon. after whitelocke had examined them severally, and could get from them no confession of any plot against the protector or state, but earnest asseverations of their innocences; yet having news of a plot in england against the protector and government, he held it not fit for him absolutely to release them; but, because he thought it only a business and words of drunkenness, he ordered them to be had out of the hold, but their captain to see that they should be forthcoming at their arrival in england, that the council, being acquainted herewith, might direct their pleasure concerning them. about noon the wind began again to blow with great tempestuousness, and flat contrary to whitelocke's course. in the evening a gentleman came aboard whitelocke's ship, with letters from monsieur schestedt from glückstadt to the same effect, and with compliments as formerly, to which whitelocke returned a civil answer by the same messenger; and by him he also sent letters of compliment and thanks to the resident bradshaw, which likewise he prayed the resident, in his name, to present to the english company of merchants at hamburg, for their very great civilities and noble respects to whitelocke while he was with them. _june , ._ [sn: a visit from count ranzau.] the wind continued contrary and extraordinary violent all the last night and this morning; and whitelocke had cause to acknowledge the favour of god to him, that during these rough storms he was in a good harbour and had not put out into the open sea. early in the morning a gentleman came from glückstadt on board to whitelocke, and told him that grave ranzau, the governor of the province of holstein, had sent him to salute whitelocke on his part, and to know when he might conveniently come to whitelocke; who answered that he should be always ready to entertain his excellence, but in regard the time was now so dangerous, he desired the governor would not expose himself to the hazard for his sake. about an hour after came another, in the habit of a military officer, from the grave to whitelocke, to excuse the grave's not coming by reason of the very ill weather, and that no boat was to be gotten fit to bring the grave from shore to whitelocke's ship; but he said, that if whitelocke pleased to send his ship-boats and mariners for the governor, the wind being somewhat fallen, he would come and kiss his hand. whitelocke answered in french to the gentleman, who spake dutch, and was interpreted in french, that he was glad his excellence was not in danger of the violent storms in coming on board to him this morning, but he should esteem it great honour to see the governor in his ship, and that not only the boats and mariners, but all in the ship was at the service of his excellence. the gentleman desired that one of the ship-boats and the ship-mariners might carry him back to land, and so bring the governor from thence to whitelocke, who commanded the same to be done. and about an hour after came the grave ranzau, a proper, comely person, habited as a soldier, about forty years of age; with him was another lord, governor of another province, and three or four gentlemen, and other followers. whitelocke received them at the ship's side, and at his entry gave him nine guns. the grave seemed doubtful to whom to make his application, whitelocke being in a plain sea-gown of english grey baize; but (as the governor said afterwards) he knew him to be the ambassador by seeing him with his hat on, and so many brave fellows about him bareheaded. after salutations, the governor spake to whitelocke to this effect:-- "monseigneur, "le roi de danemarck, mon maître, m'a commandé de venir trouver votre excellence, et de la saluer de sa part, et la faire la bienvenue en ses hâvres, et lui faire savoir que s'il y a quelque chose dans ce pays-là dont le gouvernement m'est confié par sa majesté, qu'il est à son commandement. sa majesté aussi a un extreme désir de voir votre excellence, et de vous entretenir en sa cour, désirant d'embrasser toutes les occasions par lesquelles il pourrait témoigner le respect qu'il porte à son altesse monseigneur le protecteur." whitelocke answered in french to this purpose:-- "monseigneur, "je rends grâces à sa majesté le roi de danemarck, du respect qu'il lui à plu témoigner à sa sérénissime altesse mon maître, et de l'honneur qu'il lui à plu faire à moi son serviteur, de quoi je ne manquerai pas d'informer son altesse. je suis aussi beaucoup obligé à votre excellence pour l'honneur de votre visite, qu'il vous plaît me donner en ce lieu, et principalement en un temps si fâcheux. j'eusse aussi grande envie de baiser les mains de sa majesté et de voir sa cour, n'eût été que son altesse a envoyé des navires exprès pour m'emporter d'ici en angleterre, et que j'ai ouï dire que le roi a remué sa cour de copenhague ailleurs, à cause de la peste. je suis très-joyeux d'entendre de la santé de sa majesté, auquel je souhaite toute sorte de bonheur." [sn: visit from the dutch agent.] after many compliments, whitelocke gave, him precedence into his cabin; and after some discourse there, a servant of the agent of holland was brought in to whitelocke, who said his master desired whitelocke to appoint a time when the agent might come on board him to salute whitelocke and to kiss his hand. he answered that, at any hour when his master pleased to do whitelocke that honour, he should be welcome, and that some noble persons being now with him, who, he hoped, would do him the favour to take part of a sea-dinner with him, that if it would please the agent to do him the same favour, and to keep these honourable persons company, it would be the greater obligation unto whitelocke. the grave, hearing this, began to excuse himself, that he could not stay dinner with whitelocke, but, upon entreaty, he was prevailed with to stay. about noon the dutch agent came in one of whitelocke's boats on board his ship, whom he received at the ship's side, and saluted with seven guns at his entry. the agent spake to whitelocke to this purpose:--"that, passing by glückstadt towards hamburg, he was informed of whitelocke's being in this place, and thereupon held it his duty, and agreeable to the will of his lords, not to proceed in his journey without first giving a visit to whitelocke to testify the respect of his superiors to the protector and commonwealth of england, as also to whitelocke in particular." whitelocke returned thanks to the agent for the respect which he testified to the protector, and for the honour done to whitelocke, and that it would be acceptable so the protector to hear of this respect from my lords the states to him, whereof he should not fail to inform his highness when he should have the opportunity to be near him. [sn: entertainment of count ranzau.] the grave went first into whitelocke's cabin, after him the agent, and then whitelocke, who gave these guests a plentiful dinner on ship-board. the grave desired that whitelocke's sons might be called in to dine with them, which was done, and whitelocke asked the grave if he would have any of his company to dine with him. he desired one of the gentlemen, who was admitted accordingly. they were served with the states' plate, which whitelocke had caused to be taken forth on this occasion; and the strangers would often take up the plates and dishes to look on them, wondering to see so many great and massy pieces of silver plate as there were. they drank no healths, the grave telling whitelocke he had heard it was against his judgement, and therefore he did forbear to begin any healths, for which civility whitelocke thanked him; and they had no want of good wine and meat, and such as scarce had been seen before on ship-board. they discoursed of the affairs in sweden, and of the happy peace between england and denmark, and the like. monsieur de la marche gave thanks in french, because they all understood it. after dinner whitelocke took out his tobacco-box, which the grave looked upon, being gold, and his arms, the three falcons, engraven on it; whereupon he asked whitelocke if he loved hawks, who said he was a falconer by inheritance, as his coat of arms testified. the grave said that he would send him some hawks the next winter out of his master's dominions of iceland, where the best in the world were bred, which he nobly performed afterwards. the grave earnestly invited whitelocke to go on shore with him to his house, which was within two leagues of glückstadt, where he should meet monsieur schestedt and his lady, and the next day he would bring whitelocke to the king, who much desired to see him; and the grave offered to bring whitelocke back again in his coach to glückstadt. whitelocke desired to be excused by reason of his voyage, and an order of his country that those who had the command of any of the state's ships were not to lie out of them until they brought them home again; otherwise whitelocke said he had a great desire to kiss his majesty's hand and to wait upon his excellence and the noble company at his house; and he desired that his humble thanks and excuse might be made to the king. the grave replied that whitelocke, being an extraordinary ambassador, was not within the order concerning commanders of the state's ships, but he might be absent and leave the charge of the ships to the inferior officers. whitelocke said that as ambassador he had the honour to command those ships, and so was within the order, and was commanded by his highness to return forthwith to england; that if, in his absence, the wind and weather should come fair, or any harm should come to any of the ships, he should be answerable for neglecting of his trust. whitelocke also was unwilling, though he must not express the same, to put himself under the trouble and temptations which he might meet with in such a journey, and to neglect the least opportunity of proceeding in his voyage homewards. the grave, seeing whitelocke not to be persuaded, hasted away; and after compliments and ceremonies passed with great civility, he and the agent and their company went into one of whitelocke's ship-boats, with a crew of his men and his lieutenant to attend them. at their going off, by whitelocke's order only one gun was fired, and a good while after the 'president' fired all her guns round, the 'elizabeth,' according to custom, did the like; so that there was a continual firing of great guns during the whole time of their passage from the ship unto the shore--almost a hundred guns, and the fort answered them with all the guns they had. at the lieutenant's return he told whitelocke that the grave, when he heard but one gun fired for a good while together, began to be highly offended, saying that his master, the king, was slighted and himself dishonoured, to be sent away with one gun only fired, and he wondered the ambassador carried it in such a manner; but afterwards, when the rest of the guns went off, the grave said he would tell the king how highly the english ambassador had honoured his majesty and his servant by the most magnificent entertainment that ever was made on ship-board, and by the number of guns at his going away, and that this was the greatest honour he ever received, with much to the like purpose; and he gave to the lieutenant for his pains two pieces of plate of silver gilt, and ten rix-dollars to the boat's company, and twenty rix-dollars more to the ship's company. _june , ._ this was the seventh day that whitelocke had lain on the elbe, which was tedious to him; and now, fresh provisions failing, he sent captain crispe to glückstadt to buy more, whose diligence and discretion carried him through his employments to the contentment of his master. he brought good provisions at cheap rates. [sn: whitelocke agrees to convoy four english cloth ships.] the four captains of the english cloth-ships came on board whitelocke to visit him; they were sober, experienced sea commanders; their ships lay at anchor close to whitelocke. after dinner they told whitelocke that if their ships had been three leagues lower down the river, they could not have anchored in this bad weather without extreme danger, the sea being there much higher, and the tide so strong that their cables would not have held their ships; and that if they had been at sea in this weather, they had been in imminent peril of shipwreck, and could not have returned into the river, nor have put into the weser nor any other harbour. whitelocke said that they and he were the more bound to god, who had so ordered their affairs as to keep them, during all the storms wherein they had been, in a safe and good harbour; he wished them, in this and all their voyages, to place their confidence in god, who would be the same god to them as now, and in all their affairs of this life. the captains desired whitelocke's leave to carry their streamers and colours, and to be received by him as part of his fleet in their voyage for england, and they would acknowledge him for their admiral. whitelocke told them he should be glad of their company in his voyage, and would willingly admit them as part of his small fleet, but he would expect their observance of his orders; and if there should be occasion, that they must join with him in fight against any enemies of the commonwealth whom they should meet with, which they promised to do; and whitelocke mentioned it to the captains, because he had received intelligence of a ship laden with arms coming out of the weser for scotland, with a strong convoy, with whom whitelocke resolved to try his strength, if he could meet him. in the afternoon two merchants of the cloth-ships came to visit whitelocke, and showed great respect to him; and they and the captains returned together to their ships, the wind being allayed, and come about to the south, which gave whitelocke hopes to proceed in his voyage. _june , ._ [sn: the convoy sails to rose beacon.] the wind being come to west-south-west, a little fallen, about three o'clock in the morning they began to weigh anchor. by whitelocke's command, all the ships were to observe this order in their sailing. every morning each ship was to come up and fall by whitelocke, and salute him, that he might inquire how they all did; then they were to fall astern again, whitelocke to be in the van, and the 'elizabeth' in the rear, and the other ships in the middle between them; all to carry their colours; whitelocke to carry his in the maintop, and all to take their orders from his ship. thus they did this morning; the cloth-ships came all by whitelocke, and saluted him the first with nine guns. whitelocke answered her with as many. then she gave three guns more, to thank him for his salutation. each of the other ships gave seven guns at their passing by; then the fort of glückstadt discharged all their ordnance to give whitelocke the farewell, who then fired twenty-one guns, and the 'elizabeth' nineteen; then the cloth-ships fired three guns apiece, as thanks for their salutation; and so, with their sails spread, they committed themselves to the protection of the almighty. though these things may be looked upon by some as trivial and expensive, yet those who go to sea will find them useful and of consequence, both to keep up and cheer the spirits of the seamen, who will not be pleased without them, and to give an honour to one's country among strangers who are taken with them; and it is become a kind of sea language and ceremony, and teacheth them also the better to speak it in battle. some emulation happened between the captain of the 'president' and minnes, because whitelocke went not with him, but in the other's ship, which whitelocke would have avoided, but that he apprehended the 'president' sent purposely for him. between seven and eight o'clock in the morning whitelocke passed by a village called brown bottle, belonging to the king of denmark, upon the river in holstein, four leagues from glückstadt; and four leagues from thence he passed by a village on the other side of the elbe, which they told him was called oldenburg, and belonged to the duke of saxony. two leagues below that, he came to anchor over against a village called rose beacon, a fair beacon standing by the water-side. it belongs to hamburg; and by a late accident of a soldier's discharging his musket, it set a house on fire, and burnt half the town. some of whitelocke's people went on shore, and reported it to be a poor place, and no provisions to be had there. the road here is well defended by a compass of land on the south and west, but to the north and east it lies open. the sea there is wide, but full of high sands. the river is so shallow in some places that there was scarce three fathom water where he passed between brown bottle and oldenburg, where his ship struck upon the sand, and made foul water, to the imminent danger of him and all his people, had not the lord in mercy kept them. they were forced presently to tack back, and seek for deeper water. the pilot confessed this to happen because they lay too far to gain the wind, which brought them upon the shallow. whitelocke came to rose beacon before noon, which is not very safe if the wind be high, as now it was; yet much safer than to be out in the open sea, whither the pilot durst not venture, the wind rising and being contrary to them. _june , ._ _the lord's day._--mr. ingelo, whitelocke's chaplain, preached in his ship in the morning. mr. de la marche, his other chaplain, was sick of a dysentery, which he fell into by drinking too much milk on shore. mr. knowles, a confident young man, the ship's minister, preached in the afternoon. [sn: the cloth ships return to glückstadt.] the wind blew very strong and contrary all the last night and this morning, which made it troublesome riding in this place; insomuch that the four cloth-ships, doubting the continuance of this tempestuous weather, and fearing the danger that their cables would not hold, which failing would endanger all, and not being well furnished with provisions, they weighed anchor this morning flood, and sailed back again to glückstadt road; whereof they sent notice to whitelocke, desiring his excuse for what their safety forced them to do. but whitelocke thought it not requisite to follow their example, men of war having better cables than merchantmen; and being better able to endure the stress of weather, and he being better furnished with provisions, he resolved to try it out in this place. [sn: a present from count ranzau.] in the afternoon the wind was somewhat appeased and blew west-south-west. a messenger came on board whitelocke, and informed him that grave ranzau had sent a noble present--a boat full of fresh provisions--to whitelocke; but by reason of the violent storms, and whitelocke being gone from glückstadt, the boat could not come at him, but was forced to return back, and so whitelocke lost his present. the letters mentioning this were delivered to whitelocke by this messenger, and were these:-- "_a son excellence monsieur whitelocke, ambassadeur extraordinaire d'angleterre vers sa majesté la reine de suède._ "monseigneur, "nous croyons être obligés de faire connaître à votre excellence que monseigneur le comte de ranzau, notre maître, nous avait donné commission de venir très-humblement baiser les mains de votre excellence, et lui faire présenter quelques cerfs, sangliers, lièvres, perdrix, et quantité de carpes; la supplier de s'en rafraîchir un peu, pendant que l'opiniâtreté d'un vent contraire lui empêcherait une meilleure commodité, et d'assurer votre excellence, de la part de monseigneur le comte, qu'il souhaite avec passion de pouvoir témoigner à votre excellence combien il désire les occasions pour lui rendre très-humbles services, et contracter avec elle une amitié plus étroite; et comme son excellence s'en allait trouver le roi, son maître, qu'il ne laisserait point de dire à sa majesté les civilités que votre excellence lui avait faites, et que sa majesté épouserait sans doute ses intérêts, pour l'assister de s'acquitter de son devoir avec plus de vigueur, lorsque la fortune lui en fournirait quelque ample matière. "mais, monseigneur, nous avons été si malheureux d'arriver à glückstadt cinq ou six heures après que votre excellence avait fait voile et était descendu vers la mer; toutefois avons-nous pris vitement un vaisseau pour suivre, et n'étions guères loin du hâvre où l'on disait que votre excellence était contrainte d'attendre un vent encore plus favorable, quand notre vaisseau, n'étant point chargé, fut tellement battu par une grande tempête, que nous étions obligés de nous en retourner sans pouvoir executer les ordres de monseigneur le comte, notre maître, dont nous avons un déplaisir incroyable. votre excellence a une bonté et générosité très-parfaite; c'est pourquoi nous la supplions très-humblement, d'imputer plutôt à notre malheur qu'à la volonté de monseigneur le comte, le mauvais succès de cette notre entreprise; aussi bien la lettre ici enfermée de son excellence monseigneur le comte donnera plus de croyance à nos paroles. "nous demandons très-humblement pardon à votre excellence de la longueur de celle-ci, et espérons quelque rencontre plus heureuse pour lui témoigner de meilleure grâce que nous sommes passionément, "monseigneur, de votre excellence "très-humbles et très-obéissans serviteurs, "franÇois louis van de wiele. "balth. borne." the enclosed letter from the count, which they mentioned, was this:-- "_illustri et nobilissimo domino bulstrodo whitelocke, constabulario castri de windsor, et domino custodi magni sigilli reipublicæ angliæ, adque serenissimam reginam sueciæ legato extraordinario; amico meo plurimum honorando._ "illustris et nobilissime domine legate, amice plurimum honorande, "quod excellentia vestra me hesterno die tam magnificè et lautè exceperit, id ut pro singulari agnosco beneficio; ita ingentes excellentiæ vestræ ago gratias, et nihil magis in votis habeo quam ut occasio mihi offeratur, quâ benevolentiam hanc aliquando debitè resarcire possim. "cum itaque videam ventum adhuc esse contrarium, adeo ut excellentia vestra anchoram solvere versusque patriam vela vertere needum possit; partium mearum duxi aliquo modo gratum meum ostendere animum et præsentem ad excellentiam vestram ablegare, simulque aliquid carnis, farinæ, et piscium, prout festinatio temporis admittere potuit, offerre, excellentiam vestram obnixè rogans ut oblatum æqui bonique consulere dignetur. et quamvis ex animo excellentiæ vestræ ventum secundum, et ad iter omnia prospera exoptem, nihilo tamen minus, si forte fortuna in hisce locis vicinis diutius adhuc subsistere cogatur, ministris meis injungam, ut excellentiæ vestræ in absentia mea (quoniam in procinctu sum me crastino mane ad regiam majestatem dominum meum clementissimum conferre) ulterius inservire, et quicquid occasio obtulerit subministrare debeant. de cætero nos divinæ commendo protectioni, et excellentiæ vestræ filios dilectissimos meo nomine salutare obnixè rogo. "dabam in arce mea breitenburos, junii, anno . "excellentiæ vestræ "observantissimus totusque addictus, "christianus, _comes in ranzau_." whitelocke did the rather insert these letters, to testify the abilities of the gentlemen servants to this grave, as also the grateful affection of their master towards him, a stranger to them, upon one meal's entertainment and acquaintance. about six o'clock at night mr. smith, son to alderman smith, of london, and two other young merchants of the english company at hamburg, came on board to whitelocke, and brought letters to him from the resident bradshaw, with those the resident received by this week's post from london; wherein was little news, and no letters came to whitelocke, because (as he supposed) his friends believed him to be upon the sea. whitelocke wrote letters of thanks to the resident, and enclosed in them letters of compliment to the ricks-chancellor, and to his son grave eric of sweden, and to sir george fleetwood and others, his friends, and entreated the resident to send them into sweden. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke weighs anchor.] the wind not being so high the last night nor this morning as formerly, but the weather promising fair, and whitelocke longing to advance in his voyage, he weighed anchor about break of day, the 'elizabeth' did the like, and they were under sail about four o'clock this morning. as they came out from rose beacon, they told above thirty fisher-boats at sea, testifying the industriousness of this people. about two leagues from rose beacon they passed in sight of another beacon, and of a village which they call newworke, in which is a small castle like unto that at rose beacon. here the sea began to expatiate, and about three leagues from hence was the lowest buoy of the river. and now whitelocke was got forth into the open german ocean, a sea wide and large, oft-times highly rough and boisterous and full of danger, especially in these parts of it, and as whitelocke shortly found it to be. suddenly the wind grew high and the sea swelled, and they were fain to take in their topsails; the ship rolled and tossed sufficiently to make the younger seamen sick, and all fearful. from this place they might see an island on the starboard side of them, called heligoland, standing a great way into the sea, twelve leagues from rose beacon; the island is about six miles in compass. the inhabitants have a language, habit, and laws, different from their neighbours, and are said to have many witches among them; their shores are found very dangerous, and many ships wrecked upon them. about noon the wind came more to the west, and sometimes it was calm; nevertheless the sea wrought high, the waves raised by the former storms not abating a long while after the storm ceased. when they were gone about two leagues beyond heligoland, the wind and tide turning against them, they were driven back again near two leagues short of the island; but about four o'clock in the afternoon, the wind being come to south-south-east and a fresh gale, they went on well in their course, running about eight leagues in a watch. before it was night they had left heligoland out of sight, and got about eight leagues beyond it; and the 'elizabeth' kept up with whitelocke. from hence he came in sight of divers small islands upon the dutch coast, which lie in rank from the mouth of the elbe unto the texel. in the evening they spied a sail to the leeward of them, but so far off that whitelocke held it not fit, being almost dark, to go so far as he must do out of his way to inquire after her, and she seemed, at that distance, to stand for the course of england. _june , ._ [sn: at sea.] the last night, the wind, having chopped about, had much hindered whitelocke's course, and made him uncertain where they were, yet he went on labouring in the main; but the seamen guessed, by the ship's making way and holding it (though sometimes forward and sometimes backward), that this morning by eight o'clock they had gained thirty leagues from heligoland, from which to orfordness they reckon eighty leagues, and the "fly" to be midway. the ship, which they saw last night, coming near them this morning, they found to be of amsterdam, coming from the sound homewards: she struck her sails to whitelocke, and so passed on her course. about noon whitelocke came over-against the fly, and saw the tower there, about five or six leagues from him. the wind lessened, and the sea did not go so high as before; he went on his course about four or five leagues in a watch. about seven or eight holland ships made their course by them, as was supposed, towards the sound, which now they did without fear or danger, the peace between the two commonwealths being confirmed. whitelocke's fresh provisions beginning to fail, and his biscuit lessened by affording part of it to the 'elizabeth,' which wanted, he was enforced to order that there should be but one meal a day, to make his provisions hold out. the most part of the afternoon they were taken with a calm, till about seven o'clock in the evening, when the wind came fresh again to the east and towards the north, and then would again change; and sometimes they kept their course, and sometimes they were driven back again. the wind was high and variable, and they toiled to and again, uncertain where they were. divers took the opportunity to recreate themselves by fishing, and the mackerel and other fish they took gave a little supply to their want of victual. about nine o'clock in the evening they lost the 'elizabeth,' leaving her behind about three leagues; she used to keep a distance from whitelocke's ship, and under the wind of her, since they began their voyage; and, as a stranger, would not keep company with whitelocke, being discontented because he went not in that frigate. _june , ._ [sn: whitelocke's great deliverance.] this wednesday was the day of whitelocke's greatest deliverance. after midnight, till three o'clock in the afternoon, was a great calm, and though the 'president' were taken with it, yet the 'elizabeth' had a good wind; and notwithstanding that the day before she was left behind a great distance, yet this morning she came up near to him, and got before him; so great is the difference sometimes, and at so small a distance, at sea, that here one ship shall have no wind at all, and another ship a few yards from her shall have her sails filled. notwithstanding the calm, yet the wind being by flashes large, they went the last night and the day before twenty leagues up and down, sometimes in their course and sometimes out of it. in the morning, sounding with the plummet, the pilot judged that they were about sixteen leagues from the texel, and twenty-four from orfordness, but he did not certainly know whereabouts they were. between three and four o'clock in the afternoon the wind came to north-north-west, which gave them hopes of finishing their voyage the sooner, and it blew a fresh gale. about five o'clock in the evening rose a very great fog and thick mist, so that it was exceeding dark, and they could not see their way a ship's length before them. whitelocke came upon the decks, and seeing the weather so bad and night coming on, and that all their sails were spread, and they ran extraordinary fast, he did not like it, but called together the captain, the master, the pilot, and others, to consult what was best to be done. he asked them why they spread all their sails, and desired to make so much way in so ill weather, and so near to night. they said they had so much sail because the wind favoured them, and that notwithstanding the bad weather they might safely run as they did, having sea-room enough. whitelocke asked them if they knew whereabouts they were. they confessed they did not, because they had been so much tossed up and down by contrary winds, and the sun had not shined, whereby they might take the elevation. whitelocke replied, that, having been driven forward and backward as they had been, it was impossible to know where they were; that the ship had run, and did now run, extraordinary fast, and if she should run so all night, perhaps they might be in danger of the english coast or of the holland coast; and that by norfolk there were great banks of sand, by which he had passed at sea formerly, and which could not be unknown to them; that in case the ship should fall upon those sands, or any other dangers of that coast, before morning, they should be all lost; and therefore he thought fit to take down some of their sails and slacken their course till, by daylight, they might come to know more certainly in what part they were. the officers of the ship continued earnest to hold on their course, saying they would warrant it that there was running enough for all night, and that to take down any sail, now the wind was so good for them, would be a great wrong to them in their course. but whitelocke was little satisfied with their reasons, and less with their warranties, which among them are not of binding force. his own reason showed him, that, not knowing where they were, and in such weather as this to run on as they did, they knew not whither, with all their sails spread, might be dangerous; but to take down some of their sails and to slacken their course could be no danger, and but little prejudice in the hindrance of their course this night, which he thought better to be borne than to endanger all. [sn: he orders sail to be taken in.] but chiefly it was the goodness of god to put it strongly upon whitelocke's heart to overrule the seamen in this particular, though in their own art, and though his own desires were sufficiently earnest to hasten to his dear relations and country; yet the present haste he feared might hinder the seeing of them at all. upon a strange earnestness in his own mind and judgement, he gave a positive command to the captain to cause all the sails to be taken down except the mainsail only, and that to be half-furled. upon the captain's dispute, whitelocke with quickness told him that if he did not presently see it done he would cause another to do it, whereupon the captain obeyed; and it was a great mercy that the same was done, which god directed as a means to save their lives. [sn: the ship strikes.] after the sails were taken down, whitelocke also ordered them to sound and try what water and bottom they had. about ten o'clock in the evening sounding, they found eighteen fathom water; the next sounding they had but fifteen fathom, and so lessened every sounding till they came to eight fathom, which startled them, and made them endeavour to tack about. but it was too late, for within less than a quarter of an hour after they had eighteen fathom water, the ship struck upon a bank of sand, and there stuck fast. whitelocke was sitting with some of the gentlemen in the steerage-room when this happened, and felt a strange motion of the frigate, as if she had leaped, and not unlike the curveting of a great horse; and the violence of the striking threw several of the gentlemen from off their seats into the midst of the room. the condition they were in was quickly understood, and both seamen and landsmen discovered it by the wonderful terror and amazement which had seized on them, and more upon the seamen than others who knew less of the danger. it pleased his good god to keep up the spirits and faith of whitelocke in this great extremity; and when nothing would be done but what he in person ordered, in this frightful confusion god gave him extraordinary fixedness and assistance, a temper and constancy of spirit beyond what was usual with him. he ordered the master-gunner presently to fire some pieces of ordnance, after the custom at sea, to signify their being in distress. but the gunner was so amazed with the danger, that he forgot to unbrace the guns, and shot away the main-sheet; and had not the ship been strong and staunch, the guns being fired when they were close braced, they had broke the sides of her. whitelocke caused the guns to be unbraced and divers of them fired, to give notice to the 'elizabeth,' or any other ship that might be within hearing, to come in to their assistance; but they heard no guns again to answer theirs, though they longed for it, hoping that the 'elizabeth,' or any other ship coming in to them, by their boats might save the lives of some of them. whitelocke also caused lights to be set up in the top-gallant, used at sea by those in distress to invite help; but the lights were not answered again by any other ship or vessel; particularly they wondered that nothing was heard or seen from the 'elizabeth.' whitelocke then ordered the sails of the ship to be reversed, that the wind, being high, might so help them off; but no help was by it, nor by all the people's coming together to the stern, then to the head, then to the sides of the ship, all in a heap together; nothing would help them. then whitelocke ordered the mariners to hoist out one of the boats, in which some of the company would have persuaded whitelocke to put himself and to leave the rest, and seek to preserve his own life by trusting to the seas in this boat; and they that advised this, offered willingly to go with him. but whitelocke knew that if he should go into the boat, besides the dishonour of leaving his people in this distress, so many would strive to enter into the boat with him (a life knows no ceremony) that probably the boat would be sunk by the crowding; and there was little hope of escaping in such a boat, though he should get well off from the ship and the boat not be overladen. he therefore ordered the captain to take a few of the seamen into the boat with him, and to go round the ship and sound what water was on each side of her, and what hopes they could find, and by what means to get her off, himself resolving to abide the same fortune with his followers. the captain found it very shallow to windward, and very deep to leeward, but no hopes of help; and at his return the master advised to lighten the ship by casting overboard the goods in her. whitelocke held it best to begin with the ordnance, and gave order for it. mr. earle was contriving how to save his master's jewels, which were of some value; his master took more care to save his papers, to him more precious jewels; but there was no hope of saving any goods or lives. whitelocke put in his pocket a tablet of gold of his wife's picture, that this, being found about his dead body when it should be taken up, might show him to have been a gentleman, and satisfy for his burial. one was designing to get upon a plank, others upon the masts, others upon other fancies, any way to preserve life; but no way was left whereby they could have the least shadow or hopes of a deliverance. the captain went up to the quarter-deck, saying, there he lived and there he would die. all the officers, sadly enough, concluded that there was not the least show of any hopes of preservation, but that they were all dead men, and that upon the return of the tide the ship would questionless be dashed in pieces. some lay crying in one corner, others lamenting in another; some, who vaunted most in time of safety, were now most dejected. the tears and sighs and wailings in all parts of the ship would have melted a stony heart into pity; every swelling wave seemed great in expectation of its booty; the raging waves foamed as if their prey were too long detained from them; every billow threatened present death, who every moment stared in their faces for almost two hours together. [sn: exhorts his sons.] in this condition whitelocke encouraged his two sons to undergo the pleasure of god with all submission. he was sorry for them, being young men, who might have lived many years to do god and their country service, that they now should be snatched away so untimely; but he told them, that if father and sons must now die together, he doubted not but they should go together to that happiness which admits no change; that he did not so much lament his own condition, being an old man, in the course of nature much nearer the grave than they: but he besought god to bless them and yet to appear for their deliverance, if it were his will, or else to give him and them, and all the company, hearts willing to submit to his good pleasure. [sn: discourse with the boatswain.] walking on the decks to see his orders executed for throwing the ordnance overboard, the boatswain met him and spake to him in his language:-- _boatswain._ my lord, what do you mean to do? _whitelocke._ wherein dost thou ask my meaning? _bo._ you have commanded the ordnance to be cast overboard. _wh._ it is for our preservation. _bo._ if it be done, we are all destroyed. _wh._ what reason have you to be of this opinion? must we not lighten the ship? and can we do it better than to begin with the ordnance? _bo._ it may do well to lighten the ship, but not by throwing overboard the ordnance; for you can but drop them close to the ship's side, and where the water is shallow they will lie up against the side of the ship and fret it, and with the working of the sea make her to spring leaks presently. _wh._ i think thou speakest good reason, and i will try a little longer before it be done. _bo._ my lord, do not doubt but god will show himself, and bring you off by his own hand from this danger. _wh._ hast thou any ground to judge so, or dost thou see any probability of it? _bo._ i confess there is no probability for it; but god hath put it into my heart to tell your excellence that he will appear our deliverer when all other hopes and helps fail us, and he will save us by his own power; and let us trust in him. upon this discourse with the honest boatswain, who walked up and down as quite unconcerned, whitelocke forbade the throwing of the ordnance overboard; and as he was sitting on the deck, mr. ingelo, one of his chaplains, came to him, and said that he was glad to see him in so good a temper. _whitelocke._ i bless god, who keeps up my spirit. _ingelo._ my lord, such composedness, and not being daunted in this distress, is a testimony of god's presence with you. _wh._ i have cause to thank god, whose presence hath been with me in all my dangers, and most in this greatest, which i hope and pray that he would fit us all to submit unto. _ing._ i hope he will; and i am glad to see your sons and others to have so much courage left in so high a danger. _wh._ god hath not suffered me, nor them, nor yourself, to be dejected in this great trial; and it gives me comfort at this time to observe it, nor doth it leave me without some hopes that god hath yet a mercy in store for us. _ing._ there is little hopes of continuance in this life, it is good to prepare ourselves for a better life; and therefore, if you please that the company may be called together into your cabin, it will be good to join in prayer, and recommending our souls to him that gave them; i believe they are not to remain long in these bodies of clay. _wh._ i hope every one doth this apart, and it is very fit likewise to join together in doing it; therefore i pray send and call the people into my cabin to prayer. whilst mr. ingelo was gone to call the people together, a mariner came from the head of the ship, running hastily towards whitelocke, and crying out to him, which caused whitelocke to suspect that the ship had sprung a leak or was sinking. the mariner called out:-- [sn: the ship moves,] _mariner._ my lord! my lord! my lord! _whitelocke._ what's the matter, mariner? _mar._ she wags! she wags! _wh._ which way doth she wag? _mar._ to leeward. _wh._ i pray god that be true; and it is the best news that ever i heard in my life. _mar._ my lord, upon my life the ship did wag; i saw her move. _wh._ mr. ingelo, i pray stay awhile before you call the people; it may be god will give us occasion to change the style of our prayers. fellow-seaman, show me where thou sawest her move. _mar._ my lord, here, at the head of the frigate, i saw her move, and she moves now,--now she moves! you may see it. _wh._ my old eyes cannot discern it. _mar._ i see it plain, and so do others. [sn: and rights.] whilst they were thus speaking and looking, within less than half a quarter of an hour, the ship herself came off from the sand, and miraculously floated on the water. the ship being thus by the wonderful immediate hand of god, again floating on the sea, the mariners would have been hoisting of their sails, but whitelocke forbade it, and said he would sail no more that night. but as soon as the ship had floated a good way from the bank of sand, he caused them to let fall their anchors, that they might stay till morning, to see where they were, and spend the rest of the night in giving thanks to god for his most eminent, most miraculous deliverance. being driven by the wind about a mile from the sand, there they cast anchor, and fell into discourse of the providences and goodness of god to them in this unhoped-for preservation. one observed, that if whitelocke had not positively overruled the seamen, and made them, contrary to their own opinions, to take down their sails, but that the ship had run with all her sails spread, and with that force had struck into the sand, it had been impossible for her ever to have come off again, but they must all have perished. another observed, that the ship did strike so upon the bank of sand, that the wind was on that side of her where the bank was highest, and so the strength of the wind lay to drive the ship from the bank towards the deep water. another supposed, that the ship did strike on the shelving part of the bank of sand, and the wind blowing from the higher part of the bank, the weight of the ship thus pressed by the wind, and working towards the lower part of the shelving of the bank, the sand crumbled away from the ship, and thereby and with the wind she was set on-float again. another observed, that if the ship had struck higher on the bank or deeper, when her sails had been spread, with the force of her way, they could not in the least probability have been saved. another observed, that through the goodness of god the wind rose higher, and came more to that side of the ship where the bank of sand was highest, after the ship was struck, which was a great means of her coming off; and that, as soon as she was floated, the wind was laid and came about again to another quarter. another observed, that it being at that time ebbing water was a great means of their preservation; because the ship being so far struck into the sand, and so great a ship, a flowing water could not have raised her; but upon the coming in of the tide she would questionless have been broke in pieces. the mariners said, that if god had not loved the landmen more than the seamen they should never have come off from this danger. every one made his observations. whitelocke concluded them to this purpose: [sn: whitelocke orders a thanksgiving to god.] "gentlemen, "i desire that we may all join together in applying these observations and mercies to the praise of god, and to the good of our own souls. let me exhort you never to forget this deliverance and this signal mercy. while the love of god is warm upon our hearts, let us resolve to retain a thankful memory of it to our lives' end, and, for the time to come, to employ those lives, which god hath now given to us and renewed to us, to the honour and praise of him, who hath thus most wonderfully and most mercifully revived us, and as it were new created us. let us become new creatures; forsake your former lusts in your ignorance, and follow that god fully, who hath so eminently appeared for us, to save us out of our distress; and as god hath given us new lives, so let us live in newness of life and holiness of conversation." whitelocke caused his people to come into his cabin, where mr. ingelo prayed with them, and returned praises to the lord for this deliverance: an occasion sufficient to elevate his spirit, and, meeting with his affections and abilities, tended the more to the setting forth his glory, whose name they had so much cause more than others to advance and honour. many of the seamen came in to prayers, and whitelocke talked with divers of them upon the mercy they had received, who seemed to be much moved with the goodness of god to them; and whitelocke sought to make them and all the company sensible of god's gracious dealings, and to bring it home to the hearts of them. he also held it a duty to leave to his own family this large relation, and remembrance of the lord's signal mercy to him and his; whereby they might be induced the more to serve the god of their fathers, to trust in him who never fails those that seek him, and to love that god entirely who hath manifested so much love to them, and that in their greatest extremities; and hereby to endeavour that a grateful acknowledgment of the goodness and unspeakable love of god might be transmitted to his children's children; that as god never forgets to be gracious, so his servants may never forget to be thankful, but to express the thankfulness of their hearts by the actions of their lives. whitelocke spent this night in discourses upon this happy subject, and went not to bed at all, but expected the return of day; and, the more to express cheerfulness to the seamen, he promised that as soon as light did appear, if they would up to the shrouds and top, he that could first descry land should have his reward, and a bottle of good sack advantage. _june , ._ [sn: they make the coast of norfolk.] as soon as day appeared, the mariners claimed many rewards and bottles of sack, sundry of them pretending to have first discovered land; and whitelocke endeavoured to give them all content in this day of rejoicing, god having been pleased to turn their sorrow into joy, by preserving them in their great danger, and presently after by showing them their longed-for native country; making them, when they were in their highest expectation of joy to arrive in their beloved country, then to disappoint their hopes by casting them into the extremest danger--thus making them sensible of the uncertainty of this world's condition, and checking perhaps their too much earthly confidence, to let them see his power to control it, and to change their immoderate expectation of joy into a bitter doubt of present death. yet again, when he had made them sensible thereof, to make his equal power appear for their deliverance when vain was the help of man, and to bring them to depend more on him, then was he pleased to rescue them by his own hand out of the jaws of death, and to restore them with a great addition to their former hopes of rejoicing, by showing them their native coast,--the first thing made known to them after their deliverance from perishing. the day being clear, they found themselves upon the coast of norfolk, and, as they guessed, about eight leagues from yarmouth, where they supposed their guns might be heard the last night. the wind being good, whitelocke ordered to weigh anchor, and they sailed along the coast, sometimes within half a league of it, until they passed orfordness and came to oseley bay, where they again anchored, the weather being so thick with a great fog and much rain that they could not discern the marks and buoys to avoid the sands, and to conduct them to the mouth of the river. a short time after, the weather began to clear again, which invited them to weigh anchor and put the ship under sail; but they made little way, that they might not hinder their sounding, which whitelocke directed, the better to avoid the danger of the sands, whereof this coast is full. near the road of harwich the 'elizabeth' appeared under sail on-head of the 'president,' who overtaking her, captain minnes came on board to whitelocke, who told him the condition they had been in the last night, and expostulated with him to this purpose. _whitelocke._ being in this distress, we fired divers guns, hoping that you, captain minnes, could not but hear us and come in to our relief, knowing this to be the order of the sea in such cases. _minnes._ my lord, i had not the least imagination of your being in distress; but i confess i heard your cannon, and believed them to be fired by reason of the fog, which is the custom of the sea in such weather, to advertise one another where they are. _wh._ upon such an occasion as the fog, seamen use to give notice to one another by two or three guns, but i caused many more to be fired. _minnes._ i heard but four or five in all, and i answered your guns by firing some of mine. _wh._ we heard not one of your guns. _minnes._ that might be by reason we were to windward of you three leagues. _wh._ why then did you not answer the lights which i caused to be set up? _minnes._ my lord, those in my ship can witness that i set up lights again, and caused squibs and fireworks to be cast up into the air, that you might thereby discern whereabouts we were. _wh._ it was strange that we could neither see yours nor you our lights. _minnes._ the greatness of the fog might occasion it. _wh._ the lights would appear through the fog as well as in the night. _minnes._ my lord, i did all this. _wh._ it was contrary to my orders for you to keep so far off from me, and to be on-stern of me three leagues; but this hath been your practice since we first came out to sea together; and if you had been under the command of some others, as you were under mine, they would have expected more obedience than you have given to my orders, or have taken another course with you, which i can do likewise. _minnes._ my lord, i endeavoured to get the wind of you, that i might thereby be able to keep in your company, which otherwise i could not have done, you being so much fleeter than the 'elizabeth;' but in the evenings i constantly came up to your excellence. _wh._ why did you not so the last night? _minnes._ the fog rose about five o'clock, and was so thick that we could not see two ships' length before us. in that fog i lost you, and, fearing there might be danger in the night to fall upon the coast, i went off to sea, supposing you had done so likewise, as, under favour, your captain ought to have done; and for my obedience to your excellency's commands, it hath been and shall be as full and as willing as to any person living. _wh._ when you found by my guns that you were so far from me to the windward, you might fear that i was fallen into that danger which you had avoided by keeping yourself under the wind more at large at sea. _minnes._ if i had in the least imagined your excellence to have been in danger, we had been worse than turks if we had not endeavoured to come in to your succour; and though it was impossible, as we lay, for our ship to come up to your excellence, yet i should have adventured with my boats to have sought you out. but that you were in any danger was never in our thoughts; and three hours after your guns fired, sounding, i found by the lead the red sand, which made me think both your excellence and we might be in the more danger, and i lay the further off from them, but knew not where your excellence was, nor how to come to you. after much more discourse upon this subject, captain parkes pressing it against minnes, who answered well for himself, and showed that he was the better seaman in this action and in most others, and in regard of the cause of rejoicing which god had given them, and that they now were near the end of their voyage, whitelocke held it not so good to continue the expostulation as to part friends with captain minnes and with all his fellow-seamen, and so they proceeded together lovingly and friendly in their voyage. the wind not blowing at all, but being a high calm, they could advance no further than the tide would carry them, the which failed them when they came to a place called shoe, about four leagues from the mouth of thames. having, through the goodness of god, passed by and avoided many banks of sands and dangerous places, the wind failing them and the tide quite spent, they were forced about seven o'clock in the evening to come to an anchor, captain minnes hard by the 'president,' where, to make some pastime and diversion, he caused many squibs and fireworks to be cast up into the air from the 'elizabeth,' in which minnes was very ingenious, and gave recreation thereby to whitelocke and to his company. _june , ._ [sn: reach the nore and gravesend.] friday, the last of this month, was the fifth and last day of whitelocke's voyage by sea from the mouth of the elbe to the mouth of the thames. about twelve o'clock the last night the wind began to blow very strong in the south-west, and by daybreak they had weighed anchor; and though the wind was extreme high and a great tempest, yet such was their desire of getting into the harbour, that, taking the benefit of the tide and by often tacking about, they yet advanced three leagues in their course; and when the tide failed, they were forced to cast anchor at the buoy in the nore, the same place where whitelocke first anchored when he came from england. the pilots and mariners had much ado to manage their sails in this tempestuous weather; and it was a great favour of god that they were not out at sea in these storms, but returned in safety to the place where the kindness of god had before appeared to them. in the afternoon the wind began to fall, and they weighed anchor, putting themselves under sail and pursuing their course, till for want of day and of tide they were fain to cast anchor a little above gravesend, and it being very late, whitelocke thought it would be too troublesome to go on shore; but to keep his people together, and that they might all be the readier to take the morning tide, he lay this night also on ship-board, but sent earle and some others that night to shore, to learn the news, and to provide boats against the morning for transportation of whitelocke and his company the next day to london. thus, after a long, most difficult, and most dangerous journey, negotiation, and voyage from south to north in winter, and from north to south in summer, after the wonderful preservations and deliverances which the lord had been pleased to vouchsafe to them, he was also pleased, in his free and constant goodness to his servants, to bring them all in safety and with comfort again to their native country and dearest relations, and blessed with the success of their employment, and with the wonderful appearances of god for them. may it be the blessed portion of them all, never to forget the loving-kindness of the lord, but by these cords of love to be drawn nearer to him, and to run after him all the days of their lives! to the end that those of his family may see what cause they have to trust in god and to praise his name for his goodness, whitelocke hath thought fit, hereby in writing, and as a monument of god's mercy, to transmit the memory of these passages to his posterity. footnotes: [ ] [another instance of the fear of assassination or of death by poison, which at that time haunted the envoys of the commonwealth abroad.] july. _july , ._ [sn: whitelocke lands, and proceeds to his house at chelsea.] about three o'clock this morning good store of boats came from gravesend to whitelocke's ships, to transport him, his company, and goods to london. by the help of the mariners, without much delay the baggage was put on board the boats; and whitelocke's people, after a perilous and tedious voyage, were not backward to leave their ships and to set forward to london. earle was sent before to greenwich, to acquaint whitelocke's wife with his coming, lest sudden joy and apprehensions might surprise her to her prejudice. whitelocke having distributed his rewards to the officers and seamen of both the frigates, much to the same proportion as when he went forth, and giving them all his hearty thanks, he went into a boat of six oars, his two sons and some of the gentlemen with him, the rest in other boats. when they were gone about a musket-shot from the ships, both the frigates and the fort fired their cannon for a parting salutation. the weather was cold, wet, and windy, as if it had been still winter, but it was cheerfully endured, being the conclusion of a bad voyage. near greenwich earle met them, and informed whitelocke that his family was at chelsea, whither he had sent advertisement of his coming. many of the company being much tired, sick, and wanting sleep, by their desire and for their refreshment he staid a little time at the 'bear' on the bridge-foot, and from thence to whitehall, where not finding the protector, who was gone to hampton court, yet many of his friends meeting him there, he was embraced by them with much show of joy, and heartily bid welcome home, blessing god for his safe return and good success in his business. from whitehall whitelocke went to his own house at chelsea, where he found his wife and family in good health, but in no small passion, surprised with the great and sudden joy, which ofttimes brings no less disturbance to the tempers of people, especially of the more tender and affectionate sex, than other surprises do; sudden fear, grief, and joy, are often equal in their operation upon constitutions and affections. nor was whitelocke's wife alone in this surprise; another with her, at the return of her husband, could not forbear, in all that company, her extraordinary expressions of joy at the happy meeting of her own most near relation. from the time of whitelocke's departure from hence, to his entry into upsal, whitelocke spent forty-seven days; five months he staid there, and in his return from upsal to this place cost him forty-three days; and in all these eight months' time of his absence from his dear relations and country the lord was pleased so to own him and his, and so graciously to preserve and prosper them, that himself and a hundred persons in his company, after so long a journey, so great a change of climate and accommodations, such hardships endured, such dangers surmounted through his goodness, the business effected beyond the expectation of those who employed him, whitelocke and all his company were through mercy returned to their country and relations, in as good condition and health as when they went forth, not one of them left behind dead or sick or impaired in their health, but some improved and bettered therein. only whitelocke, being ancient, will have cause to remember the decay of his strength and health by the hardships and difficulties of this service; but more cause hath he to remember the wonderful goodness of god to him and his company abroad and to his wife and family at home, in his blessing and preservation of them, and in the comfort and safety of their meeting after so long and perilous a separation, for which he is obliged to praise the name of god for ever. after ceremonies past at his coming to his own house, whitelocke sent captain beake to hampton court, to acquaint the protector with his return, to present his duty, and to receive his commands when whitelocke should wait upon his highness to kiss his hand, and to give him an account of his negotiation. beake returned this evening from hampton court to whitelocke with this answer:--that the protector expressed much joy at the news of the safe arrival of whitelocke and of his company in england; that he looked upon it as a mercy, and blessed god for it; and that he much desired to see whitelocke, and hoped, on monday next, at whitehall, to have his company, who should be very welcome to him. a little while after this message returned, there came two of the protector's gentlemen, sent by him to chelsea in his name, to visit whitelocke and to bid him welcome home, to inquire of his health, and to testify the contentment the protector received by whitelocke's happy return home, and that he hoped on monday next to see him. whitelocke desired the gentlemen to present his humble thanks to the protector for this great favour to inquire after so mean a servant, who hoped to have the honour to wait upon his highness at the time appointed by him. _july , ._ [sn: the protector compliments whitelocke on his return.] _the lord's day._--whitelocke began to enjoy some more privacy and retirement than he had been lately accustomed unto, and was at the public church with his wife and family, and courteously saluted and bid welcome home by many. in the evening the protector sent another compliment to whitelocke by mr. strickland, one of his council, who came to whitelocke's house, and told him that he was sent by the protector to salute him, and to inquire of his health after his long and dangerous voyage, and to assure him of the great joy his highness received by whitelocke's safe arrival in england, and the desire he had to see him, and personally to entertain him. whitelocke desired his most humble thanks might be returned to his highness for this great favour, giving him the opportunity of seeing so honourable a person as strickland was, and for taking such care of so poor a servant as whitelocke, and to let his highness know that he should obey his highness's commands in waiting on him the next day as he appointed. _july , ._ [sn: his audience of the protector.] whitelocke came to whitehall about nine o'clock this morning, where he visited mr. secretary thurloe, who brought him to the protector, and he received whitelocke with great demonstration of affection, and carried him into his cabinet, where they were together about an hour, and had this among other discourses:-- _protector._ how have you enjoyed your health in your long journey, both by sea and land? and how could you endure those hardships you were put unto in that barren and cold country? _whitelocke._ indeed, sir, i have endured many hardships for an old crazy carcase as mine is, but god was pleased to show much mercy to me in my support under them, and vouchsafed me competent health and strength to endure them. _prot._ i have heard of your quarters and lodging in straw, and of your diet in your journey; we were not so hardly nor so often put to it in our service in the army. _wh._ both my company and myself did cheerfully endure all our hardships and wants, being in the service of our god and of our country. _prot._ that was also our support in our hardships in the army, and it is the best support, indeed it is, and you found it so in the very great preservations you have had from dangers. _wh._ your highness hath had great experience of the goodness of god to you, and the same hand hath appeared wonderfully in the preservation of my company and myself from many imminent and great dangers both by sea and land. _prot._ the greatest of all other, i hear, was in your return home upon our coast. _wh._ that indeed, sir, was very miraculous. _prot._ i am glad to see you safe and well after it. _wh._ i have cause to bless god with all thankfulness for it as long as i live. _prot._ i pray, my lord, tell me the particulars of that great deliverance. thereupon whitelocke gave a particular account of the passages of that wonderful preservation; then the protector said:-- _prot._ really these passages are full of wonder and mercy; and i have cause to join with you in acknowledgment of the goodness of the lord herein. _wh._ your highness testifies a true sense thereof, and your favour to your servant. _prot._ i hope i shall never forget the one or the other,--indeed i hope i shall not; but, i pray, tell me, is the queen a lady of such rare parts as is reported of her? _wh._ truly, sir, she is a lady excellently qualified, of rare abilities of mind, perfect in many languages, and most sorts of learning, especially history, and, beyond compare with any person whom i have known, understanding the affairs and interest of all the states and princes of christendom. _prot._ that is very much; but what are her principles in matters of religion? _wh._ they are not such as i could wish they were;[ ] they are too much inclined to the manner of that country, and to some persuasions from men not well inclined to those matters, who have had too much power with her. _prot._ that is a great deal of pity; indeed i have heard of some passages of her, not well relishing with those that fear god; and this is too general an evil among those people, who are not so well principled in matters of religion as were to be wished. _wh._ that is too true; but many sober men and good christians among them do hope, that in time there may be a reformation of those things; and i took the boldness to put the queen and the present king in mind of the duty incumbent upon them in that business; and this i did with becoming freedom, and it was well taken. _prot._ i think you did very well to inform them of that great duty which now lies upon the king; and did he give ear to it? _wh._ yes truly, sir, and told me that he did acknowledge it to be his duty, which he resolved to pursue as opportunity could be had for it; but he said, it must be done by degrees with a boisterous people, so long accustomed to the contrary. and the like answer i had from the archbishop of upsal, and from the chancellor, when i spoke to them upon the same subject, which i did plainly. _prot._ i am glad you did so. is the archbishop a man of good abilities? _wh._ he is a very reverend person, learned, and seems very pious. _prot._ the chancellor is the great wise man. _wh._ he is the wisest man that ever i conversed with abroad, and his abilities are fully answerable to the report of him. _prot._ what character do you give of the present king? _wh._ i had the honour divers times to be with his majesty, who did that extraordinary honour to me as to visit me at my house; he is a person of great worth, honour, and abilities, and not inferior to any in courage and military conduct. _prot._ that was an exceeding high favour, to come to you in person. _wh._ he never did the like to any public minister. but this, and all other honour done to me, was but to testify their respects to your highness, the which indeed was very great, both there, and where i passed in germany. _prot._ i am obliged to them for their very great civility. _wh._ both the queen, and the king, and his brother, and the archbishop, and the chancellor, and most of the grandees, gave testimony of very great respect to your highness, and that not only by their words, but by their actions likewise. _prot._ i shall be ready to acknowledge their respects upon any occasion. _wh._ the like respects were testified to your highness in germany, especially by the town of hamburg; where i endeavoured, in your highness's name, to confirm the privileges of the english merchants, who, with your resident there, showed much kindness to me and my company. _prot._ i shall heartily thank them for it. is the court of sweden gallant, and full of resort to it? _wh._ they are extreme gallant for their clothes; and for company, most of the nobility and the civil and military officers make their constant residence where the court is, and many repair thither on all occasions. _prot._ is their administration of justice speedy? and have they many law-suits? _wh._ they have justice in a speedier way than with us, but more arbitrary, and fewer causes, in regard that the boors dare not contend with their lords; and they have but few contracts, because they have but little trade; and there is small use of conveyances or questions of titles, because the law distributes every man's estate after his death among his children, which they cannot alter, and therefore have the fewer contentions. _prot._ that is like our gavelkind. _wh._ it is the same thing; and in many particulars of our laws, in cases of private right, and of the public government, especially in their parliaments, there is a strange resemblance between their law and ours. _prot._ perhaps ours might some of them be brought from thence. _wh._ doubtless they were, when the goths and saxons, and those northern people, planted themselves here. _prot._ you met with a barren country, and very cold. _wh._ the remoter parts of it from the court are extreme barren; but at stockholm and upsal, and most of the great towns, they have store of provisions; but fat beef and mutton in the winter-time is not so plentiful with them as in the countries more southerly; and their hot weather in summer as much exceeds ours, as their cold doth in winter. _prot._ that is somewhat troublesome to endure; but how could you pass over their very long winter nights? _wh._ i kept my people together and in action and recreation, by having music in my house, and encouraging that and the exercise of dancing, which held them by the ears and eyes, and gave them diversion without any offence. and i caused the gentlemen to have disputations in latin, and declamations upon words which i gave them. _prot._ those were very good diversions, and made your house a little academy. _wh._ i thought these recreations better than gaming for money, or going forth to places of debauchery. _prot._ it was much better. and i am glad you had so good an issue of your treaty. _wh._ i bless god for it, and shall be ready to give your highness a particular account of it, when you shall appoint a time for it. _prot._ i think that thursday next, in the morning, will be a good time for you to come to the council, and to make your report of the transactions of your negotiation; and you and i must have many discourses upon these arguments. _wh._ i shall attend your highness and the council. _july , ._ [sn: whitelocke's friends celebrate his return.] this day was spent in visits, very much company resorting to whitelocke's house to bid him welcome into england, so that, by the multitude of company, he had not any opportunity of recollecting himself and his thoughts, touching the matters which he was to communicate to the council the next day; but it could not be avoided, and he must take such time as would be afforded him. _july , ._ [sn: a solemn thanksgiving for his safe return.] by whitelocke's appointment, all his company who were with him in sweden, came this day to his house at chelsea, where divers others of his good friends met them, to the intent they might all join together in returning humble and hearty thanks to god for his great mercy and goodness to them, in their preservation and wonderful deliverances in their voyage, in blessing them with health and with success in their business, and bringing all of them in safety and comfort to their native country and most dear relations. being for this end met together in a large room prepared for them, they began the duty; and first, mr. peters acquainted them with the occasion of the meeting, recommending all to the direction and assistance of the lord. he spoke to them upon the psalm pertinent to the occasion, and to the mention of the voyage, hardships, dangers, and difficulties, wherein god had delivered them; and what sense these things ought to work upon their hearts, and what thankfulness they ought to return to god for his mercies. after a psalm sung, mr. ingelo, one of whitelocke's chaplains, prayed with them, and then amplified the favours and deliverances which god had wrought for them, the great difficulties and dangers wherein he had preserved them, and their unworthiness of any mercy; he exhorted them to all gratitude to the author of their mercies: in all which he expressed himself with much piety, ingenuity, and with great affection. mr. george downing, who had been a chaplain to a regiment in the army, expounded a place of scripture very suitable to the occasion, and very ingeniously and pertinently. after him, mr. stapleton prayed very well, and spake pertinently and feelingly to the rest of the company, his fellow-travellers. then they sang another psalm; and after that, mr. cokaine spake very well and piously, and gave good exhortations on the same subject. [sn: whitelocke's address to his company.] when all these gentlemen had ended their discourses proper for the occasion, whitelocke himself spake to the company to this effect:-- "gentlemen, "you have heard from our worthy christian friends many words of precious truth, with which i hope all our souls are refreshed, and do pray that our practice may be conformed. the duty of this day, and of every person, is _gratiarum actio_: i wish we may all act thankfulness to our god, whereunto we are all obliged who have received so great benefits from him. in a more peculiar manner than others i hold myself obliged to render thanks-- " . to our god, who hath preserved us all, and brought us in safety and comfort to our dear country and relations. " . to our christian friends, from whom we have received such powerful instructions this day, and prayers all the days of our absence. " . to you, gentlemen, who have shown so much affection and respect in bearing me company in a journey so full of hardships and dangers. "i am of the opinion of the roman soldier who told cæsar, 'i have in my own person fought for thee, and therefore that the emperor ought in his own person to plead for the soldier' (which he did); and have in your own persons endured all the hardships, difficulties, and dangers with me: and were i as able as cæsar, i hold myself as much obliged in my own person to serve you, and, to the utmost of my capacity, shall do all good offices for any of you, who have, with so much affection, respect, and hazard, adventured your persons with me. "i am obliged, and do return my hearty thanks, to our worthy friends who have so excellently performed the work of the day, and shall pray that it may be powerful upon every one of our hearts, to build us up in the knowledge of this duty; and i should be glad to promise, in the name of all my company, that we shall give a ready and constant observance of those pious instructions we have received from you. "some here have been actors with us in our story; have gone down to the sea in ships and done business in great waters; have seen the works of god and his wonders in the deep; his commanding and raising the stormy wind, lifting up the waves thereof, which mount up to the heavens and go down again to the deep, whose souls have melted because of trouble, and have been at their wits' end: then have cried unto the lord in their distress, and he hath brought them out of trouble. we have seen him make the storm a calm, and the waves thereof still: then were we glad, and he brought us to our desired harbour. oh that we would praise the lord for his goodness, for his wonderful works! let us exalt him in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders. "these my companions, who have been actors, and others, i hope will give me leave to make them auditors of some special providences of the lord, wherein we may all reap benefit from the relation. the apostle saith, pet. i., 'wherefore i will not be negligent to put you always in remembrance of these things, though you know them, and be established in the present truth.' to all i may say, with the wise man (prov. viii.), 'hear! for i will speak of excellent things,' free mercies, great deliverances, wonderful preservations: excellent things to those who were sharers of them in action, and for the contemplation of those who are hearers of them; therefore i may shortly recite some of the most eminent of them. "in the first day of our voyage with a fair wind, at night it changed, and we were stopped till comfortable letters came to me, which otherwise could not have come, and were no sooner answered but the wind came fair again. when we toiled in the open sea with cross winds and tempests, driven near to our own coast back again, god sent us then fair weather and a good gale for our voyage. how was he pleased to bring us so very near great danger on the riff, and then bring us safe off from it and hold on our course again! "when we were in no small danger in the tempestuous seas on the back of the skaw, when the anchors dragged a league in one night with the storm, and every moment _we_ expected to be devoured by the raging waves, there the lord was also our deliverer; as he also was upon the rocky coast of norway and in the difficult passage to the harbour of gothenburg. throughout our voyage the providence of god watched over us and protected us. thus did he in our land journey, where the extreme hardships we were put unto are sufficiently known to all of us, and will to our life's end be felt by some of us. "my particular preservation was wonderful from an intended assassination by one who thrust himself into my company to have the better opportunity to execute it; but, overcome with kindness, his heart relented, and he forsook his purpose and my company. "if the snow had fallen (as in other years) in the time of our travel, we could not have passed our journey; but he who rules the heavens and the earth restrained it till we came within half a day of our journey's end, and in safety he conducted us to upsal. the same providence kept us there, and when some of our company were sick and hurt, restored health again. "it was marvellous and unexpected, that in a foreign country, at such a distance from friends and acquaintance, god should raise us up friends out of strangers, namely the queen, foreign ministers, and great officers, in whose sight we found wonderful favour, to our preservation under god and a great means of effecting what we came about, maugre the labours and designs of our enemies against it, and their plots and attempts for our destruction, had not our rock of defence secured us. "i should detain you very long, though i hope it would not be thought too long, to recite all our remarkable mercies; and it is an excellent thing that they are so numerous. we are now coming homewards. how did our god preserve us over the baltic sea from innumerable dangers of the rocks, sands, coasts, islands, fierce lightnings, storms, and those high-swelling waters! such was our preservation in the elbe, when our countrymen leaped into the water to bring us off from danger, and when the tempests hurried us up and down, by heligoland, then towards holland, then to the northward, then to the southward, in the open breaking rough seas, when we had lost our course and knew not where we were. "above all other was that most eminent deliverance near our own coast, when our ship was stuck upon the sand twelve leagues from any shore, when no help nor human means were left to save us, when pale death faced us so long together, when no hopes remained to escape his fury or the rages of the waves, which we expected every instant to swallow us; even then, to show where our dependence ought to be, our god would make it his own work to deliver us. he it was that raised the wind, and brought it from the higher part of the bank, to shake our fastened ship, and crumble the loose sands; and no sooner had we taken a resolution of praying and resigning our souls to god, but he gave us our lives again, moving our ship by his powerful arm, making it to float again, none knowing how or by what means, but by the free act of his mercy, and not a return of ours, but of the prayers of some here present, and divers others our christian friends, who at that very time were met together to seek the lord for us and for our safe return. "methinks the hearts of us who were partakers of these mercies should rejoice in the repetition of them, and those that hear them cannot but say they hear excellent things; and certainly never had any men more cause than we have of returning humble and hearty thanks to god who hath thus saved us. "and having received these mercies, and been delivered out of these distresses, i may say to you, as jacob said to his household (gen. xxxv.), 'let us arise and go to bethel;' let us serve god and praise his name who answered us in the day of our distress, and was with us in the way which we went. let us also keep jacob's vow: 'the lord hath been with us and kept us in our way, and brought us again to our fathers' house in peace; let the lord be our god.' let not any of our former vanities or lusts, or love of the world, be any more our god, but let the lord be our god; let our thanksgiving appear in owning the lord for our god, and in walking answerable to our mercies; let our prayers be according to the counsel of the apostle (eph. v.), 'see then that ye walk circumspectly, giving thanks always for all things.' how much more are we bound to do it from our special mercies! "gentlemen, give me leave to conclude with my particular thanks to you who accompanied me in my journey, and have manifested very much respect, care, diligence, courage, and discretion. you have, by your demeanour, done honour to our profession of religion, to our country, to yourselves, to your ambassador, who will be ready to testify the same on all occasions, and to do you all good offices; chiefly in bearing you company to return praises to our god, whose mercies endure for ever." after these exercises performed, wherein whitelocke was the more large in manifesting the abounding of his sense of the goodness of god towards him, and was willing also to recollect his thoughts for another occasion, the company retired themselves; and whitelocke complimented his particular friends, giving them many thanks who had shown kindness to his wife and family, and had taken care of his affairs in his absence. [sn: a banquet held in state, as in sweden.] he bid them all welcome, and desired them to accompany company him the next day to his audience before the protector and council. then he led them into a great room, where the table was spread, and all things in the same state and manner as he used to have them in sweden, that his friends might see the fashion of his being served when he was in that condition, and as his farewell to those pomps and vanities. the trumpets sounding, meat was brought in, and the mistress of the house made it appear that england had as good and as much plenty of provisions as sweden, denmark, or germany. his friends and company sat down to meat as they used to do in sweden; the attendants, pages, lacqueys, and others, in their liveries, did their service as they were accustomed abroad. their discourse was full of cheerfulness and recounting of god's goodness; and both the time of the meat and the afternoon was spent in rejoicing together for the present mercy, and for the whole series of god's goodness to them; and in the evening they parted, every one to his own quarters. _july , ._ [sn: whitelocke give an account of his embassy to the council.] whitelocke went in the morning early to whitehall. at secretary thurloe's lodging he found most of his company, the gentlemen in their habits, the others in their liveries; and in a short time they were all come together, to attend their ambassador to his last audience, who was put to the patience of staying an hour and a half at master secretary's lodging before he was called in to his highness; then, being sent for, he went, attended in the same manner as he used to go to his audiences in sweden. being come to the outward room, he was presently brought into the council-chamber, where the protector sat in his great chair at the upper end of the table, covered, and his council sat bare on each side of the table. after ceremonies performed by whitelocke, and great respect shown him by the protector and his council, whitelocke spake to this effect:-- "may it please your highness, "i attend, by your command, to give an account of the discharge of that great trust and weighty burden which, through the assistance of god, i have undergone in my employment to sweden, and with the success of that negotiation, wherein i shall not waste much of your time, for which you have other great affairs; but, in as few words as i can, i shall with clearness and truth acquaint your highness and your honourable council with those matters which i apprehend most fit and worthy of your knowledge. "after the receipt of my commission and instructions from the parliament then sitting, to go ambassador to sweden, i neglected no time, how unseasonable soever, to transport myself to that country. upon the th of november i embarked at the hope, and after ten days' voyage, through many storms, enemies, and dangers, it pleased god on the th of november to bring me in safety, with all my company, into the port of gothenburg. the next day i despatched two of my servants to the court with letters to prince adolphus, the grand master, and to the ricks-chancellor of sweden, to advertise them of my arrival, and to desire their advice whither to direct my journey to attend the queen. "in this city i received many civilities and testimonies of respect to your highness and this commonwealth from the magistrates, officers, and others there; and a small contest i had with a dutchman, a vice-admiral of her majesty's, about our war with his countrymen, and about some prizes brought in by me, wherein i took the liberty to justify the proceedings of this state, and ordered, upon submission, the release of a small dutch prize taken by me. "having refreshed myself and company some days, i began my land journey the last day of november. the military officers accompanied me out of town; the citizens and garrison-soldiers stood to their arms, and with many volleys of great and small shot (the bullets passing somewhat too near for compliments) they gave me an honourable farewell. "in our journey we met with extreme hardships, both in the weather and in want of necessary accommodations. the greater towns where we quartered showed much respect to your highness and this commonwealth; only in one town a little affront was given in words by a prætor, who acknowledged his fault, and it appeared to proceed more from drink than judgement. in all places the officers took great care, with what the country would afford, to furnish what i wanted; the ways were prepared, waggons and horses brought in, and all things requisite were done by the country, upon command of her majesty. "after twenty-one days in our land-journey, near four hundred miles from gothenburg up into the country, in that climate in december, it pleased god through all our difficulties to bring us safe to upsal the th of december. about half a league from the town, the master of the ceremonies, and after him two senators with two coaches of the queen's, and those of the spanish resident and of divers grandees, met me, and with more than ordinary ceremony conducted me to a house in the town, by the queen's order taken up and furnished for me. divers compliments passed from the queen herself and many of her court, expressing much respect to your highness and this commonwealth, in the person of your servant. "by favour i obtained my first audience from the queen the rd of december, the particular passages whereof (as of most other matters which i have to mention) were in my letters imparted, as they arose, to mr. secretary thurloe, and by him, i presume, to your highness and the council. two or three days after this i procured a private audience from her majesty, when i showed her my commission, and took time to wait on her with my proposals. "the spanish resident, don piementelle, now in this court, expressed high respects for your highness and this commonwealth, and particular affection to me; and i, knowing his great favour with the queen and his own worth, contracted an intimacy of friendship with him, as i had also with m. woolfeldt, the king of denmark's brother-in-law, with field-marshal wrangel, grave tott, the queen's favourite, and with divers senators and great men, but especially with the old chancellor. "i found very useful for your highness's service there mr. lagerfeldt, secretary canterstein, mr. ravius, and others; and i had good assistance from my countrymen, general-major fleetwood, a true friend to england, my lord douglas, colonel hamilton, and others. "and having now given your highness some account of persons, i come to the matter of my negotiation, which i laid the best i could. "by advice i made my applications to the queen herself, and, as much as i could, put the business upon her personal determination, which she liked, and it proved advantageous. i presented to her at once all my articles, except three reserved. the articles proposed a league offensive and defensive; whereupon she objected the unsettledness of our commonwealth, the present peace of her kingdoms, and our being involved in a war. to which i answered, that her kingdoms could not long continue in peace, and would have as much need of our assistance as we of theirs; and our war and successes against holland were arguments that our friendship merited acceptance; that i hoped our commonwealth was settled, and that leagues were between nations, not governments. "this debate was very large with her majesty, who seemed satisfied with my answers, and appointed her chancellor to treat with me; who much more insisted upon the unsettledness of our commonwealth and upon the same objections which the queen had made, and received from me the same answers; which proved the more satisfactory after the news of your highness's accession to the government, which made this treaty proceed more freely. "i had often and long disputes with the chancellor upon the article touching english rebels being harboured in sweden; most of all, touching contraband goods, and about reparation of the losses of the swedes by prizes taken from them in our dutch war by us, besides many other objections, whereof i have given a former account by letters. the chancellor being sick, his son grave eric was commissioned to treat with me in his father's stead, and was much more averse to my business, and more earnest upon the objections, than the old man, whom, being recovered, i found more moderate, yet we could not agree one way or other. and when i pressed for a conclusion, both the queen and her chancellor did ingenuously acknowledge, that they desired first to see whether the peace would be made between us and holland, before they came to a determination upon my treaty; wherein i could not but apprehend reason: and when the news came that the peace between your highness and the dutch was concluded, i urged a conclusion of my treaty; and what the chancellor and i differed in, the queen was pleased to reconcile, and so we came to the full agreement contained in this instrument, signed and sealed by the queen's commissioners, which i humbly present to your highness and this honourable board; and which i hope, through the goodness of god, may be of advantage to this commonwealth, and to the protestant interest." here whitelocke, making a little pause, delivered into the protector's hand the instrument of his treaty, fairly written in latin, in a book of vellum, with the hands and seals to it of the ricks-chancellor and his son grave eric, which being done, whitelocke went on in his speech. "i cannot but acknowledge the great goodness of god to me in this employment, in my preservation from attempts against my person, raising me up such eminent friends, giving me so much favour in the eyes of strangers, inclining the queen's heart to an extraordinary affection and favour towards me, and giving this good success to my business, notwithstanding the designs and labours of many enemies to the contrary. the treaty with me being thus finished, the business came on of the queen's resignation of the crown, wherein she was pleased to express a great confidence in a stranger, by imparting it to me many weeks before, whereof i took the boldness to certify your highness. "the prince who was to succeed the queen was sent for to upsal, and their ricksdag, or parliament, was to meet there in the beginning of may. your highness will not expect many arguments of your servant's longing desires of returning, when he had advice that your frigates sent for him were in the elbe; yet, judging it might conduce to your service to salute the prince, i staid till his entry (which was in great state) into upsal, where i saluted him from your highness, and acquainted him with my negotiation, which he well approved; and, to testify his great respect to your highness and this commonwealth, he came in person to visit me at my house, and used me with so much extraordinary favour and ceremony, that never the like had been done before to any ambassador. we had several conferences at large, much discourse of your highness and of this commonwealth, with the particulars whereof i shall acquaint you at your better leisure. "the time of the queen's resignation being near, i thought it not convenient for me to be then upon the place, but removed to stockholm; where i was when the resignation and new coronation were solemnized at upsal. the magistrates of stockholm expressed good respect to your highness and this commonwealth. from hence i embarked the st of june, in a good ship of the queen's, to cross the baltic sea. she sent one of her vice-admirals, clerke, to attend me; and, after a dangerous voyage and bad weather, the lord gave us a safe arrival at lübeck, on the th of june. the magistrates, by their syndic, here bid me welcome and expressed some respect, and made some requests by me to your highness. "from lübeck i travelled over holstein and lüneburg, and came the th of june to hamburg; where i was also very civilly saluted by some of the magistrates and syndic; and most of the lords came afterwards to me, and testified extraordinary respect and service to your highness and this commonwealth. my countrymen, the company of merchant adventurers there, showed very much kindness to me, and i endeavoured to do them service to the lords of the town, making use of your highness's name therein. "i departed from hamburg the th of june; mr. bradshaw, your highness's worthy resident there, and others of my countrymen, showing much kindness to me, both whilst i was there and at my departure from this city. i embarked in your highness's frigate, near glückstadt, but was detained for some days in the elbe by cross winds, and in some danger, but in more when we came into the open sea. but above all, the lord was pleased to appear for us on the th day of june, when our ship stuck upon the sands, above twelve leagues off from the coast of yarmouth: and when there was no means or help of men for our escape, but we expected every moment to be drowned by the waves, then it pleased god to show his power and free mercy by his own hand to deliver us, and, after two hours' expectation of death, to reprieve us, to set our ship on float again, and to bring us all in health and safety to your highness's presence, and to our dear country and relations. "the queen and the new king were pleased to honour me with jewels off their pictures, and a gift of copper, i having bestowed my horses (of more worth) on them and whom they appointed, and which i refused to sell, as a thing uncomely for my condition in your highness's service. "thus, sir, i have given you a clear and full account of my transactions; and, as i may justify my own diligence and faithfulness therein, so i cannot but condemn my many weaknesses and failings; of which i can only say that they were not wilful, and make a humble demand to your highness and this honourable council, that i may obtain your pardon." when whitelocke had ended his speech and a little pause made, the protector, pulling off his hat and presently putting it on again, desired whitelocke to withdraw, which he did, and within a quarter of an hour was called in again. the protector, using the same ceremony as before, spake to him to this effect:-- [sn: cromwell's answer to his speech.] "my lord, "the council and myself have heard the report of your journey and negotiation with much contentment and satisfaction, and both we and you have cause to bless god for your return home with safety, honour, and good success, in the great trust committed to you; wherein this testimony is due to you, that you have discharged your trust with faithfulness, diligence, and prudence, as appears by the account you have given us, and the issue of the business. truly, when persons to whom god hath given so good abilities, as he hath done to you, shall put them forth as you have done, for his glory and for the good of his people, they may expect a blessing from him, as you have received in an ample measure. "an acknowledgment is also due to them from their country, who have served their country faithfully and successfully, as you have done. i can assure your lordship it is in my heart, really it is, and, i think, in the hearts of all here, that your services in this employment may turn to an account of advantage to you and yours; and it is just and honourable that it should be so. "the lord hath shown extraordinary mercy to you and to your company, in the great deliverances which he hath vouchsafed to you; and especially in that eminent one which you have related to us, when you were come near your own country, and the enjoyment of the comforts of your safe return. it was indeed a great testimony of god's goodness to you all,--a very signal mercy, and such a one as ought to raise up your hearts and our hearts in thankfulness to god, who hath bestowed this mercy on you; and it is a mercy also to us as well as to you, though yours more personally, who were thus saved and delivered by the special hand of providence. "the goodness of god to you was also seen in the support of you, under those hardships and dangers which you have undergone in this service; let it be your comfort that your service was for god, and for his people, and for your country. and now that you have, through his goodness, passed them over, and he hath given you a safe return unto your country, the remembrance of those things will be pleasant to you, and an obligation for an honourable recompense of your services performed under all those hardships and dangers. "for the treaty which you have presented to us, signed and sealed by the queen's commissioners, i presume it is according to what you formerly gave advice to us from sweden. we shall take time to peruse it, and the council have appointed a committee to look into it, together with your instructions, and such other papers and things as you have further to offer to them: and i may say it, that this treaty hath the appearance of much good, not only to england, but to the protestant interest throughout christendom; and i hope it will be found so, and your service thereby have its due esteem and regard, being so much for public good, and so discreetly and successfully managed by you. "my lord, i shall detain you no longer, but to tell you that you are heartily welcome home; that we are very sensible of your good service, and shall be ready on all occasions to make a real acknowledgment thereof to you." when the protector had done speaking, whitelocke withdrew into the outward room, whither mr. scobell, clerk of the council, came to him with a message from the protector, that whitelocke would cause those of his retinue, then present, to go in to the protector and council, which they did; and the protector spake to them with great courtesy and favour, bidding them welcome home, blessing god for their safe return to their friends and native country, and for the great deliverances which he had wrought for them. he commended their care of whitelocke and their good deportment, by which they had testified much courage and civility, and had done honour to religion and to their country; he gave them thanks for it, and assurance of his affection to them when any occasion should be offered for their good or preferment. they withdrew, full of hopes, every one of them, to be made great men; but few of them attained any favour, though whitelocke solicited for divers of them who were very worthy of it. this audience being ended, and with it whitelocke's commission, he willingly parted with his company and greatness, and contentedly retired himself with his wife and children in his private family. after his return from the council, whitelocke dismissed his company and went to those gentlemen whom he had desired to act as a committee for him before his going out of england; these he desired to examine the state of his accounts with his officers, to satisfy what remained due to any, and to make up his account, to be given in tomorrow to the council's committee. _july , ._ [sn: whitelocke renders a minute account of the negotiation to a committee of council.] according to the appointment of the protector and council, signified to him by a letter from mr. jessop, clerk of the council, whitelocke repaired to whitehall, to the lord viscount lisle and colonel nathaniel fiennes, the committee of the council, appointed to peruse and examine his proceedings: to them he produced his commission, orders, credentials, and instructions; and all was sifted into, by virtue whereof he acted throughout by his whole embassy. he deduced his negotiation from the beginning of his treaty to the conclusion of it, with all the reasons and circumstances of his transactions. they took cognizance of all, narrowly searched into and examined everything, comparing all particular passages and actions with the rules and instructions given him; and upon the whole matter they acknowledged that whitelocke had given them full satisfaction in every point, and all his proceedings were by them, and upon their report to the protector and council afterwards, fully approved and commended by them. _july , ._ [sn: the committee of council audits his accounts.] whitelocke again solicited the committee of the council that his accounts might be examined and stated, and order given for the payment of what remained due to him, which he had expended out of his own purse in their service, and was reasonable for him to expect a reimbursement of it. the committee were pleased to take great pains in pursuing and examining his papers, books, and accounts, not omitting (with strictness enough) any particular of his actions and expenses; and after all their strait inquisition and narrow sitting, they again acknowledged, which upon their report was confirmed by the council, that his management of this affair had been faithful and prudent, his disbursements had been just and necessary, his account was clear and honest, and that he ought to be satisfied with what remained upon his accounts due to him. the remainder due to him was above £ , and, notwithstanding all their promises, whitelocke could never get it of them. the sum of all was, that for a most difficult and dangerous work, faithfully and successfully performed by whitelocke, he had little thanks and no recompense from those who did employ him; but, not long after, was rewarded by them with an injury: they put him out of his office of commissioner of the great seal, because he would not betray the rights of the people, and, contrary to his own knowledge and the knowledge of those who imposed it, execute an ordinance of the protector and his council as if it had been a law. but in a succeeding parliament, upon the motion of his noble friend the lord broghill, whitelocke had his arrears of his disbursements paid him, and some recompense of his faithful service allowed unto him. his hopes were yet higher, and his expectation of acceptance was from a superior to all earthly powers; to whom only the praise is due, of all our actions and endeavours, and who will certainly reward all his servants with a recompense which will last for ever. _july , ._ [sn: a familiar letter.] i received this letter from my brother willoughby:-- "_for my lord whitelocke, at chelsea, humbly these._ "my lord, "i being this day commanded by the two within-named persons in your letter to consummate their nuptials, and in that to bear the part of a father, am so confident of my power, as (were it not my lord whitelocke's request, whose interest with them exceeds a mock father) he might be assured of not failing of his commands; but that done which this morning i am going about, i am by them desired to jog on to stanstead, so that i fear i shall by that means be disappointed of attending you upon wednesday; and that, i assure you, will go to nancy's heart, she being yesterday resolved to have visited you this morning at chelsea, had she not apprehended your early being in town; but wherever we are, our thankfulness to god for your safe return you shall not fail of, nor of the keeper tomorrow night. so i rest, "my lord, "your affectionate brother to serve you, "will. willoughby. "_july._" i have inserted this and other letters, that you may observe the change of styles and compliments in the change of fortunes and conditions. _july , ._ i had been several times to visit my lord lambert since my coming home, he being a person in great favour with the army, and not without some close emulation from cromwell; but his occasions were so great, that i could not meet with him. i therefore desired the earl of clare, who was very intimate with lambert, to contrive a conveniency for my meeting with my lord lambert, whereupon he sent me this letter, directed "_for the lord whitelocke, at chelsea._ "my lord, "hearing your lordship had been several times to see my lord lambert and missed, and i desiring that there should be no mistakes between you, i sent mr. bankes to signify so much to his cousin lambert, who, being come this morning to town, says he will be very glad to see your lordship about two this afternoon, and mr. bankes will wait on your lordship to him, if you please to be in the park, in the walk between the elms on this side the water. so i rest "your lordship's humble servant, "clare." i met mr. bankes at the time appointed, who brought me to my lord lambert, and he received me with great civility and respect; we had much discourse together about sweden, and germany, and denmark, and the business of my treaty; and we parted with all kindness, and he desired to have my company often. _july , ._ i received this letter from my lady pratt:-- "_for my ever-honoured friend the lord whitelocke, these humbly._ "my lord, "hearing that it is absolutely in your power to dispose of the time of the assizes, and an unexpected accident being fallen out, which, will make them extremely prejudicial to us if they begin so soon, my humble suit to your lordship is to defer them till, etc. this favour, as it will be an extraordinary great one, so it will lay a suitable obligation upon, "my lord, your most humble servant, "margaret pratt." i could not gratify this lady's desire, being not yet sworn a commissioner of the great seal; but i returned her a civil answer and excuse; and i have inserted the more letters, that you may see the style and compliments of divers persons, and note their change upon the change of times. _july , ._ [sn: a more formal letter.] i received this letter from the lord chief baron wylde:-- "_for the right honourable the lord ambassador whitelocke, these, at chelsea._ "right honourable and my very good lord, "it is not my happiness to be in place or condition to wait upon your lordship, as i would, to present my humble service to you, and the gratulations due for your safe and happy return, for your long and hazardous, but i hope successful journey, wishing the honour and happiness which belongs to your most known deservings may ever attend you, with a reward from above for those inestimable favours by which you have for ever obliged me to you and all that is mine; who, after the long course i have run, through all the degrees of my laborious calling, my services to my country and the commonwealth, my great losses and sufferings for the public, and the discharge of my duty in all my several trusts and employments, have now the hoped-for comfort of all removed from me, and a dark shadow cast upon me, with all the sad consequences thereof to me and mine, and many others that have dependence on me. but god gives and takes, and is able to restore; his help i trust in, and shall still desire the continuance of your lordship's undoubted favours, whose health and happiness i shall ever pray for, who am, "my lord, "your lordship's most faithful servant, "john wylde. "_hampstead, th july, ._" this gentleman was very laborious in the service of the parliament, and stiff for them, and had sustained great losses and hatred by adhering in all matters to them. he was learned in his profession, but of more reading than depth of judgement; and i never heard of any injustice or incivility of him. the parliament made him lord chief baron of the exchequer, which place he executed with diligence and justice; yet upon the alteration made by cromwell, when he assumed the protectorship, in the nomination of officers he left out mr. sergeant wylde from being chief baron or any other employment,--a usual reward, in such times, for the best services. he entreated me to move the protector on his behalf, which i did, but to no effect, the protector having a dislike of the sergeant, but the ground thereof i could not learn. [sn: whitelocke's influence in oxfordshire.] most places were full of trouble about their elections of parliament men. i had recommended my son james to some of my friends in oxfordshire, for one of the knights for that county, myself being chosen for the city of oxford and for the borough of bedford, and one of the knights for bucks. i had at this time such an interest in oxfordshire, that upon my account my son james was chosen for one of their knights for the parliament, as appears by this letter to me:-- "_for the right honourable his dear father the lord commissioner whitelocke, at chelsea, these. haste, haste._ "dear sir, "i held it my duty, upon the instant of the conclusion of the elections at this place, to acquaint you that i am chosen one of the knights for the county in the next parliament. i am told that the number of voices might justly have given the first place to me; but i freely resigned it to lieutenant-general fleetwood, not suffering it to be brought to trial by the poll, which many of the country desired. the persons elected are lieutenant-general fleetwood, mr. robert jenkinson, colonel nathaniel fynes, mr. lenthall, master of the rolls, and myself. "many of your friends appeared really for me, amongst which i can experimentally say none acted more effectually than my cousin captain crooke, his father, and brother. the city of oxford was prepared very seasonably for me, wherein my cousin richard crooke's affections did particularly appear; and i conceive that if you shall be pleased to waive the election for the city of oxford, no truer friend could be commended by you for their choice than my cousin richard crooke, in regard of his interest there, if you think it fit. i shall say no more at present in this haste, but expect your commands in all things, who am "your most obedient son, "j. whitelocke. "_oxford, july , ._" the gentlemen of oxfordshire did generally manifest great civility and respect to me in this business of my son; so did the citizens of oxford; and the scholars were not behindhand in the expression of their favour and good opinion of me and my son, and they stood stoutly and generally for my son to be one of the knights for the county. thus was my interest at this time sufficient to make another to be knight of the shire; yet when my condition fell, my interest fell with it, and i was looked upon as a stranger among them. such is the course and vicissitude of worldly things; therefore put no trust in them. _july , ._ [sn: whitelocke summoned to resume the commissionership of the great seal.] this order of the council was brought unto me:-- "_thursday, the th of july, ._ "at the council at whitehall: _ordered_, by his highness the lord protector and the council, that the lord commissioner whitelocke do attend the council tomorrow morning, to take his oath as one of the lords commissioners for the great seal, and that the rest of the lords commissioners do then also attend with the seal. "henry scobell, "clerk of the council." some of my friends thought it very long before this order was made, and looked upon it as some neglect to me, whereof i was likewise sensible, but had no remedy; only it seemed hard that after so perilous an undertaking, performed, through the blessing of god, faithfully and successfully on my part, my requital should be a neglect of me and my services. yet it pleased god to give me much patience and temperance to bear this slighting and ingratitude, and i knew the condition of him from whom it came, who, when his turn was served, usually forgot the instruments. _july , ._ [sn: receives the seal.] according to the council's order, the lords commissioners lisle and widdrington attended with the seal at whitehall, and i was there also. we were all called into the council, where the protector himself was sitting at the upper end of the table with his hat on, and the council all uncovered. he made a short and grave speech, how much i had deserved from the commonwealth by the great and faithful services i had performed for them, particularly in the treaty with sweden. that in my absence, the custody of the great seal being to be disposed of, the council and himself having good experience of my fidelity and abilities for that great trust, and as a testimony of their favour to me, they thought fit to nominate me for one of the commissioners of the seal. and i being now, through the mercy of god, safely returned again into this commonwealth, they had appointed this time for me to take the oath of a commissioner of the great seal, as the rest of the commissioners had done before. i then desired to see the oath, which was shown to me, and finding it to be the same that i had taken before, i took it now again; and after that, the protector took the great seal in his hand and delivered it to me and the other commissioners, and so we did withdraw with it. sir thomas widdrington seemed a little distasted that i was the first commissioner, named before him, which was done when i was out of england, and, i suppose, because i was then ambassador extraordinary in their actual service. we went away together to consult about the business of the seal, and i sought to win sir thomas widdrington by my civility to him. _july , ._ [sn: entry of certain goods.] i employed my brother wilson to the commissioners of the customs, to get the copper which i had brought from sweden, and some deal boards, to be discharged of paying custom, they being my particular goods, concerning which my brother wilson gave me this account by his letter; and also, touching the arrears of my salary as commissioner of the great seal during my absence out of england, and for one term since my coming home. "_for the right honourable the lord commissioner whitelocke, these; chelsea._ "may it please your lordship, "this morning i waited on the commissioners of the customs with your lordship's letter, who expressed much readiness to answer your expectation about the customs of the copper and deal boards, had it been in their power, their commission not exceeding a bill of store for forty shillings. but i am to wait on the commissioners at whitehall for regulating the customs, on tuesday morning (who sit not till then); they have power to grant the custom thereof, and carrying the letter from your lordship, i question not but will take effect, and so they have acquainted me; which letter i send enclosed, that you may please in the superscription to add to the word commissioners, 'for regulating, etc.,' which then will be fit to present to the said committee. in the meantime i have procured an order to go to work upon the small vessel, which cannot well be done until you are pleased to send word what shall be done with the deals, they being uppermost. if the barge be not ready, if you think fit, i will hire a lighter and load her therewith, which may convey them to queenhithe or chelsea, otherwise it will be less charge for a barge to take them in from the ship; your lordship's pleasure shall be observed in all. "i acquainted the commissioners of the customs of an order your lordship had for £ , which they acquainted me should be paid as soon as brought to them; since which i have received it from mr. earle, which i also send enclosed, that you may please to put your name underneath it, that so receipt may be made over it after their form, and on monday it will be paid. "my humble service to my lady, i beseech you, present. i shall await your lordship's answer, and ever remain "your lordship's most obliged servant, "samuel wilson. "_london, this th july, ._" i ordered a henley barge to take in the deal boards from the ship, and to carry them to fawley court, which was done; and there i made use of them for new flooring my hall and for wainscoting of it. they were extraordinary good boards, and those of the floor were about two inches thick. there they are, and there may they long continue, for the use of me and my children; and may they put us in mind to bless god for his goodness to me in that voyage, and in my safe return to that place, and of all his preservations and mercies to me and my company! i returned order to my brother wilson, to be careful of receiving my money from the commissioners of the customs. _july , ._ i had some conference with major g. disborough, one of the commissioners for the ordnance, about his buying for the state the copper which the queen of sweden gave me, and i brought over from thence, being two hundred and fifty ship-pound. i desired that some merchants might look upon it, who had experience in that commodity; and what they should agree to be a reasonable price for it, i should be content to take it; and so we concluded. _july , ._ [sn: sale of copper.] my brother wilson gave me this account touching my moneys and copper:-- "_for the right honourable the lord commissioner whitelocke, these; at chelsea._ "_london, the th july, ._ "may it please your lordship, "i sent this morning to receive your moneys at the custom-house, and they say there is no more due to your lordship than £ for three terms, as is expressed in the receipt enclosed, which they have made. i would not receive it until i knew your pleasure, which, if this sum doth agree with what is your due, you may please to put your name to the enclosed receipt from them, and it will be paid in the morning. the order also i send back, that you may please to take off your name from it and send it again by the bearer. "in the morning we shall work upon the ship, and i shall wait on the committee at whitehall, for the custom and excise of the copper to be free, which will come to £ . i hope i shall prevail, and shall always remain "your lordship's humble servant, "samuel wilson." there was a mistake by the commissioners of the customs about my money, which i rectified, and had the £ paid to my brother wilson for my use. touching the copper, i at length contracted with major g. disborough, who bought it for the protector, and gave me £ for it, which was justly paid unto me; and the copper was employed to make brass ordnance for the ships, and was excellent good, and no ill bargain. [sn: mr. henry elsing.] i received a letter from mr. henry elsing, late clerk of the parliament, and the best clerk in my judgement that ever i knew, to take the sense of the house and put it in apt terms. he was an excellent scholar,--had the italian, french, and latin languages; a very honest and ingenious man, and fitter for much better employment than to be clerk of the parliament. he was my faithful and kind friend, and i owe very much of affection and gratitude to the memory of this worthy gentleman. he was in great and deserved favour of the house of commons, and gave over his place because he would not meddle in the business about the trial of the king. he often invited mr. selden and me together to his house to dinner, where we had great cheer, and greater learning in excellent discourse, whereof himself bore a chief part. i was the more frequent with him, being godfather to one of his sons, and mr. selden the other godfather, which brought us two the oftener together to his house, to see our godson; and even in such meetings as these i gained very much of knowledge from the most learned and rational discourses of mr. selden. footnotes: [ ] [yet whitelocke seems to have entertained no suspicions of the queen's design to join the church of rome. piementelle and montecuculi were however aware of her intention on this point, and were afterwards present at her abjuration.] the end. john edward taylor, printer, little queen street, lincoln's inn fields. {transcriber's notes. original reads "of our father"; changed to "of your father". original reads "more prejudical to sweden"; changed to "more prejudicial to sweden". original reads "contrabrand goods"; changed to "contraband goods". "sunnandag" not italicised in original. original reads "grave eric's requst"; changed to "grave eric's request". original reads "unto the prinee"; changed to "unto the prince". original reads "and and that"; changed to "and that". original reads "whitleocke"; changed to "whitelocke". original reads "bacon and other provison"; changed to "bacon and other provision". original reads "en suite dequoi"; changed to "en suite de quoi". } (http:// mormontextsproject.org/) one year in scandinavia: results of the gospel in denmark and sweden--sketches and observations on the country and people--remarkable events--late persecutions and present aspect of affairs. * * * * * by erastus snow, one of the twelve apostles of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. price threepence. liverpool: published by f. d. richards, , wilton street. . * * * * * liverpool: printed by r. james, south castle street. * * * * * contents. extract of a letter from erastus snow to the first presidency. august th, extract from the private journal of e. snow. letter to z. snow, esq., of canton, ohio. february th, letter to president brigham young. liverpool, july th, extract of a letter from elder forssgren. july st, extract from elder snow's reply. rock ferry, july th, denmark--general observations on the country and people. sweden--general observations on the state of the country, politically and religiously--visions, marvellous occurrences and events--present prospects, &c. poetry.--wife, children, and friends. introduction. the author was born in the state of vermont, november th, ; first believed the fulness of the gospel in the spring of ; first saw the prophet joseph smith in december, , in kirtland, ohio, which was then head quarters of the church, was ordained one of the seventies the following spring, and has been engaged in the ministry ever since; was with the saints through their persecutions in missouri and illinois; was in prison with the prophets, joseph and hyrum, in missouri; carried the chain for surveying the first town lots of nauvoo; was one of the two latter-day saints who first entered salt lake valley; has crossed the back-bone of the american continent four times, and travelled, probably, not less than eighty thousand miles on that continent, but never, until this mission, left his native shore, or was absent from his family more than one year at a time. and during a period of over twelve years, in which he has had a family, he has at no one time been permitted to remain with them so long as one year with the single exception of one year and twenty-nine days in the salt lake city, prior to this mission. robbed and plundered in common with his brethren, he transplanted his family through poverty and deep affliction to that resting place. the first year spent in surmounting the difficulties of a new country, and while collecting materials for building, the voice of inspiration cried, "to the nations, oh! ye elders of israel." his destination was denmark; to be accompanied by brother p. o. hanson, a native of copenhagen, who had been mysteriously led by the spirit to america, in search of the kingdom of god, and found it in time to sup with the saints their cup of afflictions, and accompany them to the mountains. thursday, of the same week in which the mission was first intimated, was fixed for starting, though subsequent circumstances caused a little longer delay. the parting is left to conjecture. god be thanked for a family that amid the overflowing emotions of the heart never say "don't go." the journey over the plains, four hundred miles of mud, through missouri; the trip through the states, crossing the atlantic, visit in england, voyage from hull to copenhagen, the first scenes in denmark, are all to some extent known to the english saints, and however many associations of interest they might awaken, the writer has no design here to recapitulate them. the pressure of business and haste with which these items have been thrown together, is the only apology for the use made of the following extracts of private letters, which were never intended for publication. one year in scandinavia. extract of a letter from erastus snow. _copenhagen, denmark, august_ _th_, . to the first presidency of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints; greeting: beloved brethren,--knowing your anxiety, and your prayers and unceasing diligence for zion at home, and for the welfare of the cause of god in all the world, i take great pleasure in writing to you at this time, to communicate to you a statement of the condition and prospect of affairs in this part of the vineyard, in which it has pleased god and my brethren to assign my labours for a season. * * * * * by the advice and consent of those of the twelve who were in england, i concluded to take with me elder george p. dykes--he having preached before to the norwegians in illinois, and having a little knowledge of their language as well as manners and customs. i thought, if the lord opened the way, to send him into that country, to open the door of the gospel among them. the spirit of the lord seemed to lead me to this city, to commence my labors. from my first appointment my mind rested upon copenhagen, as the best place in all scandinavia to commence the work, and every thing has since strengthened my convictions. it is the capital of denmark, and was, at one time, the capital of the united kingdoms of denmark, norway, and sweden. it is a beautiful city, strongly fortified, numbering about , inhabitants, and is by far the largest and most influential town in the kingdom; and from its central position, on the east side of the island of zealand, within sixteen miles of the swedish shore, it affords an easy communication by steamboat to the principal places of norway, sweden, and denmark. it is the seat of learning for all the north of europe; and, i might add, of priestcraft, infidelity, and politics; and in my opinion, it possesses more of the spirit of freedom than any other place in this part of the world notwithstanding. after the separation of sweden, norway still continued under the danish government until the fall of napoleon, and then the allied powers, as a sort of punishment upon denmark for her alliance with france, gave norway to the king of sweden; since which time norway, though nominally subject to the swedish king, has had her domestic legislature, and enjoyed a greater degree of political freedom than either of the other two countries. the government of denmark, until recently, was an absolute monarchy. the king and his ministry both made and executed the law, and the lutheran clergy had the superintendence and control of all the primary schools, and public instruction of the country, with the exception of certain special privileges granted to the jews, and to foreign mechanics who had been invited into the country. but no foreigner was permitted to attempt to proselyte from the "evangelical lutheran church," or preach against her doctrines, on pain of being expelled from the country, which has been enforced against several foreign missionaries within the last ten or fifteen years; and would have been against us, in all probability, if we had come a little sooner. mr. peter c. monster, the baptist reformer, introduced immersion, and now his followers number in denmark about three hundred and sixty. at first he was fined, afterwards imprisoned, and when he had served out one term in prison, he would preach until the priests would cause him to be arrested and imprisoned again; and so continued until he was imprisoned six times, and three years in all. meanwhile french philosophy, infidelity, and republican principles have been increasing in this city and throughout the country, until about the time of the late revolution in france, the death of the old king of denmark afforded the danish people an opportunity to reform their government. the heir to the throne was kept at bay until a constitution or "ground law" was agreed upon, signed, and proclaimed, june , . this secures to the people a "rigsdagen" or legislature, to be elected by the people; and quite as much political freedom as is enjoyed in england. the press is sufficiently free and untrammelled for all purposes for which we wish to use it; and while it protects and supports the lutheran church as the state church, it secures to the citizens the right to dissent and organize other societies; but the rights and privileges of such societies are to be defined by law. the old laws are to be enforced until the legislature shall organize the different departments of government, and provide all the necessary laws and regulations for carrying into effect the new constitution. lutheranism is protected by similar laws in norway and sweden. not long ago some methodists were expelled from sweden, and quite recently some baptists near gottenburgh were arrested and sentenced to leave the country; and an appeal was taken to the king, and petitions sent in against the decision; and quite a war is going on in the swedish papers about it; and i pray that it may be increased, until norway and sweden shall follow the example of denmark. i feel quite willing that the lord should use the methodists and baptists to prepare the way for the fulness of the gospel; for their systems are less exceptionable to the wicked, and they have more sympathy to sustain them. how truly can we behold in these things, as in every other move among the nations, the fulfilment of the words of jesus in the book of mormon, that "when these things shall come forth among the gentiles, the work of the father shall commence among the nations, in preparing the way for the restoration of thee, o house of israel." we landed here, june . the first legislature elected under the new constitution was in session. they adjourned in july to meet again in october. the first session was occupied with the political and financial affairs, and they adjourned without providing the laws necessary for carrying into execution the provisions of the constitution relative to religious societies. there is a number of priests in the legislature, and they will stave off any action on the subject as long as they can. among other important reforms that will be much in our favor, is the abolition of the odious internal passport system. formerly their own citizens were liable to arrest and imprisonment, if they were caught even for one night beyond the limits of their own town or parish without a passport. this continual renewing of passports, signing and countersigning them by the police officers at every stopping place, and the inconvenience and expense attending it, has always been a source of great annoyance to those who wish to travel. we have not been able as yet either to preach in danish, or write for the press; and we have thought it wisdom not to create much excitement until we are fully organized, and speak the language better. elder hanson is now engaged in translating some extracts from our works, which i intend for the press. i intend, if the lord will, soon to publish in danish, a short history of the rise and progress of the church, and its faith and doctrines. he had previously translated a few extracts from the doctrine and covenants, such as i thought wise for the benefit of the believers; also revised some choice passages in the book of mormon. brother hanson had been so long in america, that he had become very dull in his native tongue; and having no bible or any other danish book with him in america, as might have been expected, his translation of the book of mormon was very imperfect, and will necessarily have to be thoroughly revised before it goes to press. last monday, the th of august, we began to baptize, and baptized fifteen the first night, and eleven more during the week, making twenty-six in all. the greater part of these are from mr. monster's followers, and the best he had; and many more of them are believing, while the rest of them are full of wrath and indignation. mr. m. himself, who received us at first, and opened the way for us to form acquaintances with his people, now stands as it were upon a pinnacle, undecided whether to forsake his people or the truth; still he will not turn against us and those who have left him; his influence is exerted for good, and i still hope and pray that he may follow. among those who are baptized are germans, swedes, and danes--all, however, understand the danish. they are well-grounded in the work and firm--we had with us one copy of elder o. hyde's german work, which we kept moving among the dutch, and when we found any that could read english, we gave them english books; and to the danes we read brother hanson's translation of the book of mormon and doctrine and covenants, &c. we have operated only in private, and in small family meetings; but we have now arrived at the time when we shall no longer seek retirement but notoriety. we hope soon to find a large public place, and we thank god that the seed has sprung up, and has deep root; so that if we are banished from the country, the work will spread. the lord has visited these believers with many visions, and dreams, and manifestations of the holy spirit, and some have told us that they had seen us in visions before we came. they have drawn out of us by their faith, every thing pertaining to the gathering, the redemption of the dead, &c., and drink it in as an ox drinketh up water. i hope before long to have many of them scattered over the country, preaching the word. if the lord permit, i shall endeavor to get the book of mormon published in the course of the fall and winter. i have not much means towards it as yet, but have the promise of backers in england, so that i trust the way will open for publishing by the time it can be properly revised, and i can know that it appears in danish in its own native simplicity and truth. the literature of the great university of copenhagen has long taken the lead in this north country, so that works published in danish may be read and understood by a large portion of the swedes; and as for norway, although they have their rustic dialects, yet the danish is the public language of the state. i should like to know your minds about the book of doctrine and covenants, whether, if the lord should raise up much people in this country, and the way should be opened before us, it would be advisable to attempt to translate and publish it entire, or publish from time to time, such portions of it as circumstances shall seem to require. what little i have seen and learned, convinces me of this fact, that it is no easy matter to translate them with all the force and spirit with which those revelations are written in english. the english is much the richest language, and the idiom of the two are entirely different. as far as my experience and observation extend, the danes are a kind and hospitable people, especially the middle and lower classes; and a higher tone of morality pervading them, than exists in the corresponding classes in england and america; and if i mistake not my feelings, the lord has many people among them. brother john forssgren accompanied us to this place and stopped a few days with us, and then we blessed him and sent him on his way. the lord is with him, he is full of faith and the holy ghost. from here to the home of his childhood where his relatives are, is about six hundred miles in a north east direction up the baltic. all that we have heard from the valley since we left, was your general epistle of april , which was brought from the valley to the bluffs by mr. livingston, and from there to liverpool by elder pratt, a proof sheet of which was forwarded to me in a letter, which i received july , and after perusing it, forwarded it to brother forssgren. it was a precious morsel to us all. as to the signs of the times and the aspect of affairs among the nations of europe, dark forebodings of the future seem to pervade all hearts, and the heads of the nations seem to be conscious that they are steering the ship of state in dangerous seas. denmark is at present the point of the greatest interest. the dukedoms of holstein and sleswick, which are mostly german, have been in a state of revolt ever since the death of the old king. the new government has been unable to compel their submission. several severe battles have been fought, and both parties still seem to be more and more desperate. on the rd and th july, a battle was fought in sleswick, in which out of about , engaged on each side, they sustained a loss of about each, according to their acknowledgments; but as the official reports have been kept from the public, it is generally believed that the loss was much greater. over wounded were brought to this city, and all the hospitals had the appearance of slaughter-houses and the surgeons, butchers. considered by itself alone, this domestic war might not disturb the peace of europe; but there is a secret at the bottom, which interests the great powers. by a glance at the map, you will see that denmark's stronghold at elsinore holds the key to the baltic, and taxes all nations who traffic upon her waters. this is an outlet for the russian fleet, and for the commerce of prussia and other german states, as well as sweden. the german states, including prussia, are aiming to establish a federal union, and to build a fleet, that they may be able to compete with the great powers of europe. sleswick and holstein are essential to that union on account of their harbors upon the north sea for their fleets. they being germans, are like minded, and wish to throw off the danish yoke; in doing which they have the support of all germany. * * * * since i commenced writing this letter, the postman has brought me one from brother j. forssgren, dated stockholm, aug. th, of which i will give you a summary. he says he baptized his brother and sister, and one or two others at geffle; and by request translated brother o. pratt's pamphlet on the rise and doctrine of the church; but the printers refused to publish it. he next heard of a ship load of farmers about to sail for new york, and went to them, and while they were waiting for the vessel, he preached the gospel to them, and found them a humble people, who were looking for the redemption of israel, and were going to seek for zion in america. he baptized some sixteen or seventeen of the farmers, and many more were believing. he ordained two elders and some teachers, &c., gave them instructions how to watch over and teach the company, and baptize others that should desire it. this he finished on the th inst., and preached the same evening at o'clock p.m., in the woods just out of town. having preached there once before, it had been noised abroad, and the grove was full of priests and people; the former, however, together with the marshal, were secreted behind trees and rocks. he preached and bore testimony of the word with power, and many were pricked in their hearts. after he had closed and dismissed, the marshal, with the priests and police, arrested him, variously insulted him, marched him through the town, and proclaimed "the dipper," &c., and arraigned him before the governor of the city, and all the priests. having an american passport he was sent to stockholm. the king was not at home; neither the american charge-d'affairs. he was had several times before the courts in stockholm, and when the american charge came home on the th, he, with the judges, police, and all hands, tried to persuade him to quit his preaching; but he told them, the will of the lord should be his will. he adds in a postscript, that they had concluded to send him out of the country; but he had not learned how they would send him. he further adds, that he should preach there by invitation the next eve. i immediately wrote to him, not to leave till he was obliged, and then to ordain such as were worthy, and come to denmark. dear brethren, elders dykes, hanson, and myself unitedly greet you and the saints of god, with warm emotions of brotherly love; and we pray our father in heaven, that we may be preserved to rejoice together again in the flesh. yours truly and affectionately, erastus snow. p. s. aug. .--we have baptized thirty four persons, and more are ready. a very scurrilous letter about the mormons, from america, has just appeared in a copenhagen paper translated from a french paper. it is the first of the kind that has appeared. e. s. extract from the private journal of e. snow. after hearing of the arrest and treatment of brother forssgren in sweden, i wrote to him to come over to denmark and labour with us. a few days after i felt much anxiety for his safety; and fearing lest the swedish government should either put him in close confinement, or smuggle him away privately to the united states, we unitedly prayed that he might be delivered and come to us in safety. i went to bed, and dreamed of seeing him in water up to his arms, and held by a man whom i understood to be an officer. i thought he was anxious to come to where i stood on the shore. the officer seemed waiting for the decision of his superiors, whom i saw with a crowd at a distance. he received his orders, but i could not understand them. brother forssgren was immediately released, and pressed hard through the water to come to me; but, before he got out of reach, the officer thrust his hand quickly under the water behind, and caught his leg or garment, and pulled his feet from under him, which dipped his head under water. i saw his perilous situation, but could not render him any assistance. another man, of a kind expression of countenance, stood near them, to whom brother forssgren called with an agonizing voice for help. he went and raised his head out of the water, and made the officer let him go. he started again to come to me, and i awoke. september th, brother forssgren arrived in copenhagen and related his story, which explained my dream. it runs as follows:--after being examined and bearing testimony before the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, in geffle and stockholm, he was held as a prisoner at large in the latter place, not being permitted to preach or to leave town; but the newspapers published accounts of his doings and sayings, and his whereabouts in stockholm, and the result was that many people flocked to see him, both from town and country. he was invited to visit among them, and to their mechanic club meetings. thus he instructed many in private, and made many warm friends; and, as some began to desire baptism, the police took him by night and put him on board an american vessel, which was ready to start for new york; paid his passage, and requested the captain to see that he did not land until he reached new york. but elder forssgren soon won the friendship of the captain; and when they arrived at elsinore, where the vessel called to pay toll, the captain landed him on danish ground. very soon after landing he was arrested by the danish police, at the instigation of the swedish consul of that place, and was about to be re-shipped for new york. he now ascertained that the swedish authorities at stockholm, fearing that he might land in denmark and recross the sound into another part of sweden, had sent despatches to their consul at elsinore (the only place where the vessel would stop,) describing him and the vessel, and directing the consul to see that he was shipped to new york. he produced his american passport, and claimed the protection of the hon. walter forward, american minister to denmark, who had just landed in that place from copenhagen. my previous interviews had won the friendship of mr. forward, who quickly came to his assistance, and effected his release, repudiating the aspersions of his enemies, and accompanied him to copenhagen, where he arrived in good health, full of joy and the holy ghost, having been absent from us about three months. * * * * * the following extract from a private letter, which found its way into the "frontier guardian," contains some further particulars. letter to z. snow, esq., of canton, ohio. _norgesgade, copenhagen, denmark_, _february_ _th_, . brother zerubable,--i have received, through elder pratt, the letters you sent him to be forwarded to me; and was very thankful for them, and perhaps you have expected an answer before now, but i have deferred writing as long as i thought i could in safety and have my letters reach you before you start for the valley; and you will be able to carry a report of me up to this date, in case the letters which i sent by mail fail to reach my family. i was very much pleased at the good spirit which was breathed in your letters, and particularly that you were so decided about going to that peaceful home of saints early in the spring. your appointment as judge of the supreme court of utah territory, was from the lord, though it came through the president, and will doubtless be a blessing unto you, in a pecuniary point of view; and if you are wise in the use of it, may be a blessing unto many thousands. * * * * * * i suppose the valley news of a general nature you will have obtained from the papers; probably you will also see my letters in the _star_, and learn a little how we prosper here. this is a well fortified and pleasant city. the winter has been pleasant--but little snow; and about the temperature of new york. i have good health, and plenty of business, warm friends, and plenty of enemies. this is a perfect priest-ridden and king-ridden people, but many honest souls among them. we have had some persecution in this city, (saying nothing of the flood of lies that always follows the truth), such as breaking up our meetings, stoning houses and windows and the like, but not so much here as in some other places in the kingdom. brother dykes, who is now laboring in the province of jutland, has had a hard time, and made some hair-breadth escapes from his enemies, but has been greatly blessed notwithstanding, and has baptized over fifty. brother john forssgren, (whose persecution and expulsion from sweden i mentioned in my letter in the _star_), has fared but little better in denmark. he and a danish brother was mobbed, and variously maltreated lately in roskilde, the old capital of denmark; and after two days complete uproar in the town, they were expelled by the chief authorities of the town, against all law. notwithstanding all these things, we rejoice continually in the lord our god, who blesses our labors and pours out the holy ghost upon us and the saints, with its gifts and blessings, visions and dreams, prophecy and healing, casting out devils, &c. we have baptized about one hundred and fifteen in this city, and have a good prospect. we are but miserable tools in the danish language, at the best, but the lord makes weak things become strong unto them who believe. pray for us continually, that we may do a good work. i am now very busily engaged with brother hanson, in translating and publishing the book of mormon; it is a very laborious and tedious work to get it issued clean and pure, according to the simplicity of the original; and requires the closest attention. i am publishing three thousand copies--have only one hundred and sixty-eight pages finished, it will take me till may or june. i circulate two hundred by the sheet, weekly. yours, &c. e. snow. letter to president brigham young , _wilton street, liverpool, july_ _th_, . beloved president,--as i intimated in my letter of last august, i have made an exertion, and through the blessing of god after eight months faithful and unceasing application, have succeeded in the translation and publication of the book of mormon, in the danish language; a copy of which i hope to have the opportunity of sending you soon. i have issued an edition of three thousand copies; i should have had it stereotyped, and issued a smaller edition first, if i could have found a stereotype foundry in the kingdom, but denmark is a little behind the age in this as in most other improvements. they are now being thrown into circulation by the brethren, and a bookdealer of copenhagen. in the work of translation, i employed such help, as the lord furnished to my hand, feeling that it was better so to do, than to confide it to learned professors who were not imbued with the spirit of the work. i sought the acquaintance of several, but could not feel satisfied in spirit to confide the work to either of them. after brother hanson became improved in his language, by a few months' practice, i set him to re-writing and revising his old translation, and soon a danish lady, a teacher of french, german, and english, embraced the faith, whom i employed to assist in the work; but i did not allow it to go to press until i had become sufficiently acquainted with the language, as i believed to detect any error in sentiment, and given it a thorough review with them a third time. i feel that i have done the best i could under the circumstances, and that the lord has accepted it and will add his blessing. as the saints began to peruse its sacred pages, the holy ghost descended upon them, and bore record of it in a marvellous manner, speaking to some in dreams, visions, and divers manifestations, which caused our hearts to magnify the lord. in september, i published a small work, entitled "the voice of truth to the honest in heart," containing a sketch of the rise of the church and its doctrines; and in march i published one containing the articles of the church, and several extracts of revelations, for the instruction and government of the saints, and also a small collection of some of our best hymns, put into danish, and adapted to the tunes used in zion. these little publications were a great help to us, and a source of much joy to the saints. those who have laboured as you have for many years in a cold world to preach the word of life, can easier imagine than i can describe the sensations of our bosoms on hearing the songs of zion in a foreign tongue, and the saints relate their dreams and visions, and pray for zion and the presidency, and the travelling elders and saints throughout the earth. on the th september, , we duly organized "jesu christi kirke af sidste dages helege" in denmark, consisting of fifty members. we had been baptizing and confirming from the th of august, but had operated privately in small family gatherings, for i felt constrained to refrain from any attempt at public meetings. we now presented our organization and sketch of our faith, before the "cultus-minister" and board of magistrates, and obtained permission to procure a place of worship and hold meetings, but he informed us that we might meet obstruction from the police. elder john e. forssgren being banished from sweden, arrived in copenhagen on the th september. soon after this elder dykes was appointed to commence labour in aalborg, in the province of jutland, where he soon established a branch of the church. i thought to send brother forssgren to the island of bornholm, which formerly belonged to sweden, and has a dialect nearly allied to the swedish; but he was positively refused a pass to that or any other province. the reason assigned by the president of the police department was, that he had taken upon himself, at the request of the swedish government, to see to it, that forssgren did not make his escape into sweden. he has consequently remained in and about copenhagen ever since, and has been a great help to me, for he was soon able to make himself understood by the danes, as well or better than myself; besides, there were many native swedes in copenhagen, many of whom are now numbered among our best members. during the winter a bill relating to dissenting religious parties, with very liberal provisions, was introduced into the legislature, but met with such powerful opposition from the bishops and their clergy in all parts of the state, that it was finally ruled out. while this was pending many of the papers were teeming with misrepresentations about "mormoniterne," and the chief bishop published a pamphlet against the bill, in which he detailed the usual catalogue of transatlantic lies about the saints, and thought it the duty of governments to "protect the people against this dangerous sect." several marvelous cases of healing, and other manifestations of the power of god, together with the weekly distribution of copies of a sheet of the book of mormon, contributed also greatly to exasperate them, and arouse the demon of persecution, which came upon us almost simultaneously, in every place where we were sowing seed. in aalborg, where the saints had secured a popular hall, the chief officer of police suppressed their meetings; and elder dykes was mobbed in a neighbouring town, where he had begun to baptize, and narrowly escaped with his life. in roskilde, where brothers forssgren and aagren had secured a hall and commenced preaching, they were mobbed, beaten, arrested, and banished from the town by the chief officers of police, while those that were known to have received them, paid the penalty with the loss of windows and the like. in hersholm, where they next commenced, they fared but little better. in copenhagen, our hall and the streets about it were thronged by a great crowd of journeymen, apprentices, sailors, &c., led on by the theological students, who turned our meetings into a "pow wow," dealing out all manner of threats and abuses, until we were finally obliged to cease our public meetings, while the police refused interference in our behalf. some private houses where we had small gatherings next became the object of vengeance. near the same time also evil spirits attacked some persons in the church, and manifested their power in many strange ways, and it took sometime to entirely subdue them, all of which afforded lessons of wisdom and experience to the young saints. they also made an angry demonstration upon brother forssgren and myself, in our room at night, somewhat similar to that upon elders hyde and kimball, in preston. my eyes were open to behold them, and through humble prayer we obtained power to withstand them and rebuke them from our presence and room. it seemed, indeed, as though the powers of earth and hell were combined to crush the work of the lord in that land, but through much prayer and fasting we received strength, and the clouds began to disperse. we sent a deputation to the king with a memorial, a book of mormon, and my pamphlet. i shortly after heard of the book of mormon in the possession of the queen dowager (who is reputedly pious, and a lover of the bible), who, as her "maids" reported, was so wrought upon by the presentation, and tale of the book, that excitement and alarm spread through her palace, and she was unable to leave her room for several days. we were afterwards informed through the "cultus-minister," who has the superintendence of all school and church affairs, that the government was disposed to allow us our regular course, and interpose no obstacles. after this, the police officer in aalborg, by order of the "cultus-minister," restored to the saints their privileges, and we began also to enjoy peace and quietness in our meetings at copenhagen. branches were organized in hals and hersholm, and the saints generally increased in number, faith, and joy, in the holy ghost. before the adjournment of the legislature, a law passed in a modified form, sustaining religious freedom, and abrogating the old law which denied the rights of matrimony, and all other civil and social privileges to native subjects, unless sprinkled, educated, and confirmed in the lutheran church. yet there is nothing in the constitution or laws that guarantees us that _protection_ in our worship, and in the exercise of our religious rights, which is afforded by the laws of england and america. i now feel that "the shell is broken" in old scandinavia, and the work of the lord will advance. probably an earlier mission to that country would have proved a failure. though to you and others they might have seemed trifling, yet upon me the cares, anxieties, and pressure of circumstances attending the mission have weighed heavily. in the midst of them i have frequently been visited with encouraging dreams, in which i often saw brother joseph smith, yourself, or president kimball, and received instructive lessons. in the midst of the exciting scenes of the winter, i saw myself and brethren navigating a dangerous stream, on a fishing excursion. our vessel had neither steam nor sails, yet (by what power was not perceivable) it was slowly but steadily advancing against a rapid current, and we were drawing in fish. in the spring three icelanders who had embraced the faith in copenhagen returned to their native land, with the book of mormon and pamphlets, two of whom i ordained and commanded them to labour among their people, as the lord opened their way, to read, pray, teach, baptize, translate, &c., and one of them to return to me in the fall. they were mechanics, and the spirit rested copiously upon them. the total number baptized, including those baptized by elder forssgren in sweden, is about three hundred. the number of elders, priests, teachers, and deacons, ordained in branches, and travelling, is about twenty-five. towards the close of may i appointed brother hanson and five others in pairs, supplied with books and pamphlets, to open new fields of labour: two to south jutland, two to bornholm, and two swedes to that part of sweden lying immediately across the sound from copenhagen. these last were instructed to go among their friends, circulate tracts, read, talk, pray, and baptize, secretly if they could, in a manner to attract the least possible attention from the priests. the winter in denmark was mild. little snow, but much rain, and exceedingly thick foggy weather; this coupled with my anxieties and close application to the book of mormon, and my other duties, considerably impaired my health. leaving the presidency with brother forssgren, i resolved to join my brethren in conference at london, and rest and recruit myself a little season, by a change of labours and scenery. i came by steamboat to wismar, in germany, and from thence to london; passing through the states of mecklinburgh-schwerin, hanover, belgium, and part of prussia, by railway, and crossed the channel from ostend to dover. on my way i called upon a pious german nobleman, on the elbe, with whom i had corresponded, and to whom i had sent a "voice of warning." he welcomed me to his family; and said he had begun to translate the voice of warning into german. his interest or curiosity became sufficiently excited to induce him, in a few days, to follow me to london; but when he learned that we did not believe in standing still to be killed, only when we were compelled so to do, he turned back with many _pious regrets_, thinking it utterly impossible to reconcile "mormonism" with his favourite doctrines of peace and non-resistance. we had an interesting and profitable time in london. elders taylor, l. snow, and f. d. richards, were present, and the american elders generally. the great crystal palace and its collected products of a world's industry, was the great theme of london, not to say of europe and america. since the june conference in london i have attended conference in manchester and preston, and spent about ten days with elder joseph w. johnson, in the preston and clitheroe conferences, where he is doing a good work, reviving the dead in those old conferences. he wished me to remember him affectionately to you. on the arrival of the "fifth general epistle," i forwarded it to denmark, to be translated and published. i have the "voice of warning," and portions of the "doctrine and covenants" in process of translation. i expect to return in a few days, and i hope to be able before another spring to establish a monthly periodical, and publish some works also for circulation in the swedish language. i should do violence to my feelings to close this epistle without expressing the gratitude of my heart for the deep interest of, and efficient aid afforded me by presidents o. pratt, f. d. richards, and others. here i would say, a word about the labours of brother richards, and the grace of god that abounds upon him since the departure of elder pratt, but with you it can add nothing, his works will speak for themselves. he honors his station, and feels its responsibility. i love him, and so do all the saints. please present my affectionate remembrances to my beloved family when opportunity affords, and accept assurances of the same for yourself and family. "when shall we all meet again?" echo answers--"when." may the choice blessings of israel's god rest upon you and all his people; and may a liberal share of that spirit that is upon you be my portion, in the name of jesus christ. amen. i remain your fellow-labourer in the kingdom of god, erastus snow. to b. young, president of the church of jesus christ, of latter-day saints, in all the world. extract of a letter from elder forssgren. _copenhagen, july_ _st_, . beloved brother snow,--having received news from you through brother dykes, i take pleasure in addressing you a few lines concerning myself and the church here universally. in the copenhagen branch peace and union prevail. * * * brother dykes, in company with brother jensen, from aalborg, arrived here this morning in the steamer juno. * * the little ship zion, of aalborg, has stood through a dreadful storm in the last eight or nine days, which you may hear of through the papers before you get this. on sunday, the nd, elder jensen and his brethren of the priesthood, came to the conclusion to go and baptize at a public place by the sea shore, which caused a great gathering of great and small, aged, middle aged, and young. to these, brothers larsen and jensen bore testimony of the truth, according to the spirit of the book of mormon, and warned the people to flee from the church of the devil, and let them know those priests they had in those high steepled temples, were gentiles, &c. the ungodly became enraged, seized one of the brethren, and took him before the high priest; the whole body of the mob gathered round his house, to see what he would say and do. the priest with horror and affright cried out, "away with him." some took shelter in brother olson's house, but on the way were stoned, knocked into the gutters, and clothes torn off some. the mob then proceeded to the place of the saints' worship, and began a havoc on the house, all the windows went in as with a blow, and doors torn down. sister petersen, who resided in the small room, escaped through a window with a babe in her arms. * * * the police and soldiers of the city guard were ordered out to quell the tumult, but all their efforts were in vain, till the artillery of heaven was moved upon. sharp thunder and lightning and a shocking shower of rain came down upon them, which caused the mob to disperse for the night. next day they began with more strength; all the windows of the saints' houses were stoned to pieces; some of the women taken and dealt with in a brutal manner. since the commencement of the uproar, all the saints have been more or less roughly handled. elder jensen's manufacturing establishment has been threatened, but it stands good yet. the saints' house of worship was unroofed, and part of the walls torn down. for nine days has the town been in a dreadful tumult,--the police quarrelled among themselves, the citizens with each other, and the lower classes fighting among themselves. * * * * * * brother dykes arrived there yesterday, but was immediately taken and sent on board the steamer out of the way, that none of the saints could see him. brother jensen made his escape on board a boat, unknown to his enemies. * * * he will now be with us for a short time, he is full of joy in the holy ghost. he will probably seek to talk with the king, to seek protection for the saints in aalborg. * * * no news from those brethren lately sent out on missions. we hope to hear from you soon. your ever humble servant, and brother in the new and everlasting covenant, j. e. forssgren. p.s.--last week eight were baptized, and the work is taking root among the better quality of people. an extract from elder snow's reply. _rock ferry, july_ _th_, . beloved brother,--yours of the first instant is received. * * * i sincerely sympathize with the saints in aalborg in their trials, and pray that the grace of god may be sufficient for them. i doubt not that what they did was with the purest motive; and i have faith in god, that he is able to overrule all for good in the end, and hope that it may contribute to arouse and combine the energies of the right minded in favour of truth and freedom. i hope the scenes growing out of that public baptism, and the imprudent sayings of the brethren on that occasion, however painful the results, may serve as a lesson of wisdom and experience for all saints in that land from henceforth. where a cold indifference prevails, a little _healthy excitement_ to arouse the public mind to investigation may be profitable, provided it can be controlled, and the _truth kept before the people_. but denmark is not england nor america--religious liberty is not grounded in the hearts of the people. they are under the influence of their priests and attached to their religion--once their feelings outraged, the voice of truth or reason cannot be heard. while a little fire kindled upon the hearth, in a cold day, is very convenient, all will admit the folly of firing the house, by which the inmates might be consumed or left houseless in mid winter. counsel the saints in aalborg to continue their little meetings for prayer and exhortation, if they can, without excitement: and if you can, you had better send them an elder, not known there, to encourage and minister among them until i come, which i trust will not be long. denmark general observations on the country and people. denmark proper is but a small state, including the peninsula of jutland and the islands of the cattegat, and those of the southern and western parts of the baltic, to which is attached the dukedoms of sleswick, holstein, oldenburg and lauenburg, the most of whose inhabitants use the german language. her foreign dependencies, like those of great britain, are far more extensive than her home dominions. these have their peculiar dialects, and use the danish language only in part, chiefly in public affairs and business transactions, and even her home provinces and islands have great dialectic peculiarities, to a considerable extent unintelligible to each other. but the literature of copenhagen is the regular and standard language, if in truth it can be said to have a standard. but the language, like the people, is so surrounded and intermixed with others, that changes and improvements are very considerable, and its laws quite unsettled. in the state of norway, the danish language is spoken and written generally and taught in her schools. and although they maintain their rustic dialects, it is doubted if the old norsk language has been used in printing since the days of the reformation. iceland, probably, possesses quite as many associations of interest to the danes as any other of their foreign dependencies. in my interviews with professor repp, he frequently took occasion to refer, with apparent pride and satisfaction, to his _native_ iceland, as the nursery of literature and keeper of the danish records, during the barbarous and demoralizing wars that swept over scandinavia. they still maintain their own literature, and have a translation of the scriptures, but as their priests are educated in copenhagen, and their merchants mostly danish, the national religion, policy and impress of denmark is stamped upon them as upon her other provinces. at present, with a territory larger than denmark proper, iceland only numbers about sixty thousand inhabitants. denmark proper is about in the latitude of scotland, and has a climate somewhat similar. unlike the cold mountainous regions of norway and sweden, it lies low, and by being to such an extent surrounded by water and interspersed with small lakes, preserves an equilibrium of temperature beyond what its latitude might otherwise indicate. though it is sometimes visited with heavy falls of snow, and the severity of winter has congealed the salt water of the belts and the sound, so that teams have crossed the ice between denmark and sweden. the islands, particularly zealand and fuen, the two largest, are rich and in a high state of cultivation. the country generally is poorly supplied with highways, and i sometimes found myself wandering from house to house and from village to village, through bye roads and footpaths, crossing sluiceways on a plank or pole, and at wet seasons, when the country was nearly half covered with water, obliged to wade through mud and water, or take a serpentine route through fields. the country people, generally, live in small villages, miserable houses, with thatched roofs and clay floors, and are generally filthy and uncouth in their habits. in the large towns a degree of order and neatness is exhibited, and urbanity of manners, such as is common to english towns. nearly every village, however insignificant, has its church, and priest to receive their tithings, and attend to their spiritual wants. with regard to improvements, the danes are sadly deficient in means or enterprise, probably both. they have but one piece of railroad, sixteen miles in length, from copenhagen to a neighbouring town. the capital itself is still lighted with the old oil lamps, and the fire companies haul their hose and water on sheds with tubs and barrels. a telegraph is unknown in the country. the navy yard and fixtures, fortifications, public buildings, walks and gardens, of copenhagen, would be a credit to any town or nation. the priests are often to be seen in the streets with their black gowns and white ruffles. their texts, sermons, worship, &c., defined by law, are uniform throughout the country, and repeated yearly. their rites are similar to those of the church of england. there is a universal observance of the numerous holydays and festivals common in catholic countries, but the sabbath is lightly esteemed. sunday evening is usually selected for balls, and other amusements, and that is the time the theatres are thronged. the priests are by no means so pious out of church as to prevent their mingling freely in those amusements. churchgoing is in late years getting much out of fashion, except on extraordinary occasions. it is no uncommon things in their popular churches, to see only eight or ten persons, but the priest is paid and required by law to perform services if there are two present. i was very strongly impressed on an occasion of the congregation of a priest in "frue kirke," a splendid edifice, the pride of copenhagen, patronised by the royal family. at the east end, overlooking the altar, stands a marble statue, representing jesus in the act of preaching, while on either side of the body of the church, at equal distances, stand the twelve apostles, each holding an appropriate insignia; for instance, peter holding three keys, matthew his pen and scroll, &c. these are all in marble, and were cut in rome. above these in the walls are the carved representations of young angels, with wings, while another larger one stands before the altar, holding a marble basin of water, for the sprinkling of infants. while the chief bishop, surrounded by his clergy, in sacerdotal robes, was engaged in the services of the occasion, i asked myself these questions; if these were living figures, what would be their language to these men and this assembly? were they to give utterance to the doctrines they taught while living, how long would they be permitted to grace this building? i reflected that by the influence of these clergy, and at the instigation of this bishop, was p. c. monster repeatedly imprisoned for preaching to this people that they must follow jesus down into the water and be baptized. this was the bishop that thought it the duty of government to protect the people from this "dangerous sect"--the latter-day saints. these are the men, who, while they allow the people to have access to the bible, put a padlock upon it and pocket the key. i exclaimed in my heart at the scene before me, surely the great mother of abominations, with her numerous progeny of the protestant family, after their fathers martyred jesus and his apostles, transgressed his laws, changed his ordinances, broke his everlasting covenant, and drove the last vestige of his kingdom from the earth, have now placed their statues in her temples to grace her triumph. i will here remark that there are a few honorable exceptions among the danish clergy, whose voices have been heard in favour of religious freedom, and reformation among the people. although there are a few persons that have a zeal for the scriptures, and their diffusion among the people, yet the most of the danish clergy discourage the use of them, by the masses, and under a cloak of charity, they long ago shrewdly procured the passage of a law giving a charitable institution, which they control, called "veisenhuuset," the exclusive right of publishing, importing, or selling the scriptures, in any shape or form, in the danish language. the result is, that we sometimes may hunt whole neighbourhoods over and not find a copy of the scriptures, except, perhaps, in church, or with the priest. the novelty of a new religion in the country, the excitability of the people, the control of the priests, over churches and school-houses; the fear of violence and damage, that deters men from leasing us houses; the restrictions of law upon street preaching and promiscuous assemblages; the spleen and jealousy of a well organized national police, are all no small obstacles in the way of getting truth before the people. sweden general observations on the state of the country politically and religiously--visions, marvellous occurrences and events--present prospects, &c. although the ancient races of scandinavia have become somewhat intermixed, and a strong analogy exists between the danish and swedish languages, and one country is more or less subject to the influence of the other, yet the state of society in sweden and spirit of the people are, in many respects, quite different from that of denmark. at present there is much less freedom, both political and religious, a wider difference between the toiling millions and the nobility and gentry, and more extreme cases of degradation. until recently their laws have been inimical to emigration, and the influence of the lutheran religion and policy of the government, have tended to perpetuate the evils rather than remove them. yet with the masses, a much stronger religious feeling appears to exist than in denmark, and a much more general diffusion and perusal of the scriptures; and in the absence of that encouragement which they have a right to expect from the lutheran clergy that swarm the country, the labouring classes who feel religiously inclined, have formed their little associations for investigating the scriptures and edifying each other therein. a few years since a man, by the name of johnson, made considerable stir in the country, and taught quite extensively the prophecies that relate to the last days, the second advent, gathering, zion in america, &c.; and although he did not baptize or organize a church in opposition to lutheranism, yet he became very obnoxious to the clergy, and after being subjected to many of their stratagems and to imprisonment, he finally emigrated with a portion of his friends to illinois, where he was killed not long since. but the spirit of the latter-day movements and events, which he infused among his countrymen, did not entirely leave or die with him. it is said that in one town there are as many as a thousand, and many in other places, who entertain his notions and look for important events. it is also asserted that in , (if my memory serves as to time) was published in the papers, in three different parts of the kingdom on the same day, a remarkable occurrence, said to have transpired the preceding night, viz., the illumination of a church in the three different places, and in them the sound of delightful music, singing of zion and the work of the lord on the earth, when the churches were known to be closed and to possess no earthly means of illumination. i have seen it, but am sorry that i am unable to furnish at this time a translation of the sketch of the song said to have been sung in each of the three churches, and heard by many persons. in commenced in sweden, what the swedish papers call "praedeke sygdom," (the disease of preaching) a strange manifestation of a spirit upon sundry illiterate persons, otherwise perfectly healthy, by which they acted very curiously, preaching and prophesying marvelous things, and crying _repentance unto the people_. nor was it confined to men, but women also and even babes, under the same influence, opened their mouths, and testified marvelous things, to the great astonishment of many. and when the excitement could not be hushed by the priests, the doctors were called to their aid, who decided it a sort of monomania, and thereafter every person, so soon as they manifested any of the above symptoms, were immediately confined in hospitals or lunatic asylums, and no one allowed to see them until they were cured of their preaching. during the last year or two, the swedish papers report several cases again of the "praedeke sygdom" in different places, but the doctors are pushed forward to nip the spirit in the bud. the doctors were ordered to examine brother forssgren for the same purpose, but his american passport and general appearance admonished them to take another course. one of those families consisting of seven persons, including two small children, resolved at all hazards to make their way to america, and actually travelled on foot several hundred miles, from the upper part of sweden to gottenburg, where they arrived too late for a passage last fall, and they made their way to copenhagen and came immediately to our meetings, and received the gospel with great joy, and have proved to be an excellent spirited family. a strong dissatisfaction exists in sweden with regard to reigning institutions, religious and political, and the opposition is strengthening itself daily, and becoming more thoroughly organized for efficient action. it has its seat in stockholm, and extends its influence throughout the country, chiefly among the mechanic associations, and farming interests. elder forssgren found warm friends among the leaders of this party. the king is favorably disposed towards the popular wants, while the majority of the nobility and clergy seem struggling to maintain their power and influence. while measures for reform and extension of liberty, which had been submitted by the king, were under discussion before the legislature last winter (which finally failed) insurrectionary movements were set on foot in stockholm, and large quantities of troops from a distance were called to maintain order, till the close of the legislature. one of the reform leaders writing to brother forssgren in march, congratulates us on the liberty we enjoy in denmark, and the success of our mission there, and says, "no such good has yet come over poor sweden;" but, he adds, "we still labor in hopes, and are doubling our diligence." the same writer says that (using the documents furnished him by ourselves) he had published several articles refuting the newspaper charges against the mormons. a recent letter from elder forssgren's father, brings news of a newspaper war between the two parties, in which the defender of reform principles animadverts severely upon the priests for their tyranny and oppression of people who had no confidence in their doctrines, and he fails not to charge home upon them with effect, the expulsion of "mormoniten forssgren," without judge or jury. i shall continue to watch with deep interest every movement in sweden, until the yolk is broken, the fetters burst, and israel that is pent up in those north countries goes free. i cannot feel satisfied to close this brief review of sweden without treating my readers to a sketch of the vision of charles xi, king of sweden, which i find in the danish over his seal and signature, attested by five officers of state, who were with him on the occasion. being ill, and of an unusually melancholy frame of mind, he raised himself in bed, about twelve o'clock at night, and on looking towards the window that commanded a view of the legislative hall, saw a light in the hall. the officer in attendance assured him it was only the reflection of the moon's rays upon the windows. partly pacified with this explanation, he turned himself in bed to seek repose, but being troubled in spirit, he shortly looked and saw the light again. he then demanded of another officer, who that moment called to inquire after his health, if a fire had not broken out in the legislative hall. this man offered the same solution of the light as the first, but on gathering his garment around him, and going to the window, the king not only saw more distinctly a light, but also the appearances of personages in the hall, whereupon he called immediately for the master of the watch, with the keys, and accompanied him and four others to the hall. the king directed him to open the door, but by this time fear had seized upon him and all the others, so that each in turn refused to open the door, and besought the king to excuse them from the task. at their words the king himself began to fear, but renewing his courage he seized the keys and said, they that fear god have nothing in the world to fear, perhaps the gracious lord will reveal us something, will you follow me? they trembling answered, yes. as the king opened the door he drew back with terror, but strengthening his resolution he entered and saw a large table surrounded by sixteen grave looking men, with large books before them, and a young king standing at their head, at the motion of whose head they all smote hard upon their books. as he turned himself he saw blocks with instruments for beheading, and executioners, and at the motion of the young king the grave men smote upon their books, and the executioners began the work of beheading. those beheaded were all young noblemen. the blood flowed down the floor. so real did it appear, that the king examined himself to see if the blood did not cleave to him. as he looked beyond the table at the right of the young king, he saw a throne, partly upset, and a man about forty years of age, whom he took to be the premier, standing near it. "i approached the door," continued the narrative, "and exclaimed, gracious lord, when shall these things be? i received no answer. again i cried, lord, when shall these things be? i received no answer, but the young king motioned with his head, while the others smote hard upon their books. i cried the third time loudly, gracious god, when shall all this take place? the young king then replied, not in your day, but in the sixth reign from yours, and that king shall be as you see me to be, then shall be a time of trouble, and the throne well nigh cast down, but it shall be established after the shedding of much blood. he shall sustain and strengthen it, (pointing to the man by the throne), and after shall sweden experience great prosperity and blessings, such as she has never enjoyed." further particulars were explained to the king which i do not here give, but the above is the substance, and then the vision vanished, and the king and his men found themselves alone in the hall, with light in hand, and all appeared in its natural state. whether true or false, the vision is not without its influence upon sweden. the present incumbent is the sixth prince from charles xi. poetry. had the author of the following lines known the calling and mission of the latter-day saints, he would have, most unquestionably, represented them in his song; as it is, we offer it to our readers, assuring them that we often appropriate it to our own use. wife, children, and friends. when the black letter'd list to the gods was presented-- a list of what fate for each mortal intends: at the long string of ills a kind angel relented, and slipp'd in three blessings--wife, children, and friends! in vain surly pluto declared he was cheated, for justice divine could not compass her ends: the scheme of man's folly, he said, was defeated, for earth became heav'n with wife, children, and friends! if the stock of our bliss is in strangers' hands vested, the fund ill secured oft in bankruptcy ends; but the heart issues bills that are never protested, when drawn on the firm of wife, children, and friends! the soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, whom duty to far distant latitudes sends, with transports would barter whole ages of glory, for one happy hour with wife, children, and friends! but valor still glows in life's waning embers; the death-wounded tar, who his colours defends, drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers how blest was his home with wife, children, and friends! though the spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan hovers, while 'round him the fragrance of arabia descends, yet the merchant still thinks on the woodbine that covers the bow'r where he sat with wife, children, and friends. the dayspring of youth still unclouded by sorrow, alone on itself for enjoyment depends; but dreary's the twilight of age when it borrows no warmth from the smiles of wife, children, and friends! let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish the laurel that o'er _his_ fair favourite bends; o'er _me_ wave the willow, and long may it flourish, bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends! a jacobite exile: being the adventures of a young englishman in the service of charles the twelfth of sweden by g. a. henty. contents preface. chapter : a spy in the household. chapter : denounced. chapter : a rescue. chapter : in sweden. chapter : narva. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : exchanged. chapter : the passage of the dwina. chapter : in warsaw. chapter : in evil plight. chapter : with brigands. chapter : treed by wolves. chapter : a rescued party. chapter : the battle of clissow. chapter : an old acquaintance. chapter : in england again. chapter : the north coach. chapter : a confession. preface. my dear lads, had i attempted to write you an account of the whole of the adventurous career of charles the twelfth of sweden, it would, in itself, have filled a bulky volume, to the exclusion of all other matter; and a youth, who fought at narva, would have been a middle-aged man at the death of that warlike monarch, before the walls of frederickshall. i have, therefore, been obliged to confine myself to the first three years of his reign, in which he crushed the army of russia at narva, and laid the then powerful republic of poland prostrate at his feet. in this way, only, could i obtain space for the private adventures and doings of charlie carstairs, the hero of the story. the details of the wars of charles the twelfth were taken from the military history, written at his command by his chamberlain, adlerfeld; from a similar narrative by a scotch gentleman in his service; and from voltaire's history. the latter is responsible for the statement that the trade of poland was almost entirely in the hands of scotch, french, and jewish merchants, the poles themselves being sharply divided into the two categories of nobles and peasants. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. chapter : a spy in the household. on the borders of lancashire and westmoreland, two centuries since, stood lynnwood, a picturesque mansion, still retaining something of the character of a fortified house. it was ever a matter of regret to its owner, sir marmaduke carstairs, that his grandfather had so modified its construction, by levelling one side of the quadrangle, and inserting large mullion windows in that portion inhabited by the family, that it was in no condition to stand a siege, in the time of the civil war. sir marmaduke was, at that time, only a child, but he still remembered how the roundhead soldiers had lorded it there, when his father was away fighting with the army of the king; how they had seated themselves at the board, and had ordered his mother about as if she had been a scullion, jeering her with cruel words as to what would have been the fate of her husband, if they had caught him there, until, though but eight years old, he had smitten one of the troopers, as he sat, with all his force. what had happened after that, he did not recollect, for it was not until a week after the roundheads had ridden away that he found himself in his bed, with his mother sitting beside him, and his head bandaged with cloths dipped in water. he always maintained that, had the house been fortified, it could have held out until help arrived, although, in later years, his father assured him that it was well it was not in a position to offer a defence. "we were away down south, marmaduke, and the roundheads were masters of this district, at the time. they would have battered the place around your mother's ears, and, likely as not, have burnt it to the ground. as it was, i came back here to find it whole and safe, except that the crop-eared scoundrels had, from pure wantonness, destroyed the pictures and hacked most of the furniture to pieces. i took no part in the later risings, seeing that they were hopeless, and therefore preserved my property, when many others were ruined. "no, marmaduke, it is just as well that the house was not fortified. i believe in fighting, when there is some chance, even a slight one, of success, but i regard it as an act of folly, to throw away a life when no good can come of it." still, sir marmaduke never ceased to regret that lynnwood was not one of the houses that had been defended, to the last, against the enemies of the king. at the restoration he went, for the first time in his life, to london, to pay his respects to charles the second. he was well received, and although he tired, in a very short time, of the gaieties of the court, he returned to lynnwood with his feelings of loyalty to the stuarts as strong as ever. he rejoiced heartily when the news came of the defeat of monmouth at sedgemoor, and was filled with rage and indignation when james weakly fled, and left his throne to be occupied by dutch william. from that time, he became a strong jacobite, and emptied his glass nightly "to the king over the water." in the north the jacobites were numerous, and at their gatherings treason was freely talked, while arms were prepared, and hidden away for the time when the lawful king should return to claim his own. sir marmaduke was deeply concerned in the plot of , when preparations had been made for a great jacobite rising throughout the country. nothing came of it, for the duke of berwick, who was to have led it, failed in getting the two parties who were concerned to come to an agreement. the jacobites were ready to rise, directly a french army landed. the french king, on the other hand, would not send an army until the jacobites had risen, and the matter therefore fell through, to sir marmaduke's indignation and grief. but he had no words strong enough to express his anger and disgust when he found that, side by side with the general scheme for a rising, a plot had been formed by sir george barclay, a scottish refugee, to assassinate the king, on his return from hunting in richmond forest. "it is enough to drive one to become a whig," he exclaimed. "i am ready to fight dutch william, for he occupies the place of my rightful sovereign, but i have no private feud with him, and, if i had, i would run any man through who ventured to propose to me a plot to assassinate him. such scoundrels as barclay would bring disgrace on the best cause in the world. had i heard as much as a whisper of it, i would have buckled on my sword, and ridden to london to warn the dutchman of his danger. however, as it seems that barclay had but some forty men with him, most of them foreign desperadoes, the dutchman must see that english gentlemen, however ready to fight against him fairly, would have no hand in so dastardly a plot as this. "look you, charlie, keep always in mind that you bear the name of our martyred king, and be ready ever to draw your sword in the cause of the stuarts, whether it be ten years hence, or forty, that their banner is hoisted again; but keep yourself free from all plots, except those that deal with fair and open warfare. have no faith whatever in politicians, who are ever ready to use the country gentry as an instrument for gaining their own ends. deal with your neighbours, but mistrust strangers, from whomsoever they may say they come." which advice charlie, at that time thirteen years old, gravely promised to follow. he had naturally inherited his father's sentiments, and believed the jacobite cause to be a sacred one. he had fought and vanquished alured dormay, his second cousin, and two years his senior, for speaking of king james' son as the pretender, and was ready, at any time, to do battle with any boy of his own age, in the same cause. alured's father, john dormay, had ridden over to lynnwood, to complain of the violence of which his son had been the victim, but he obtained no redress from sir marmaduke. "the boy is a chip of the old block, cousin, and he did right. i myself struck a blow at the king's enemies, when i was but eight years old, and got my skull well-nigh cracked for my pains. it is well that the lads were not four years older, for then, instead of taking to fisticuffs, their swords would have been out, and as my boy has, for the last four years, been exercised daily in the use of his weapon, it might happen that, instead of alured coming home with a black eye, and, as you say, a missing tooth, he might have been carried home with a sword thrust through his body. "it was, to my mind, entirely the fault of your son. i should have blamed charlie, had he called the king at westminster dutch william, for, although each man has a right to his own opinions, he has no right to offend those of others--besides, at present it is as well to keep a quiet tongue as to a matter that words cannot set right. in the same way, your son had no right to offend others by calling james stuart the pretender. "certainly, of the twelve boys who go over to learn what the rector of apsley can teach them, more than half are sons of gentlemen whose opinions are similar to my own. "it would be much better, john dormay, if, instead of complaining of my boy, you were to look somewhat to your own. i marked, the last time he came over here, that he was growing loutish in his manners, and that he bore himself with less respect to his elders than is seemly in a lad of that age. he needs curbing, and would carry himself all the better if, like charlie, he had an hour a day at sword exercise. i speak for the boy's good. it is true that you yourself, being a bitter whig, mix but little with your neighbours, who are for the most part the other way of thinking; but this may not go on for ever, and you would, i suppose, like alured, when he grows up, to mix with others of his rank in the county; and it would be well, therefore, that he should have the accomplishments and manners of young men of his own age." john dormay did not reply hastily--it was his policy to keep on good terms with his wife's cousin, for the knight was a man of far higher consideration, in the county, than himself. his smile, however, was not a pleasant one, as he rose and said: "my mission has hardly terminated as i expected, sir marmaduke. i came to complain, and i go away advised somewhat sharply." "tut, tut, man!" the knight said. "i speak only for the lad's good, and i am sure that you cannot but feel the truth of what i have said. what does alured want to make enemies for? it may be that it was only my son who openly resented his ill-timed remarks, but you may be sure that others were equally displeased, and maybe their resentment will last much longer than that which was quenched in a fair stand-up fight. certainly, there need be no malice between the boys. alured's defeat may even do him good, for he cannot but feel that it is somewhat disgraceful to be beaten by one nearly a head shorter than he." "there is, no doubt, something in what you say, sir marmaduke," john dormay said blandly, "and i will make it my business that, should the boys meet again as antagonists, alured shall be able to give a better account of himself." "he is a disagreeable fellow," sir marmaduke said to himself, as he watched john dormay ride slowly away through the park, "and, if it were not that he is husband to my cousin celia, i would have nought to do with him. she is my only kinswoman, and, were aught to happen to charlie, that lout, her son, would be the heir of lynnwood. i should never rest quiet in my grave, were a whig master here. "i would much rather that he had spoken wrathfully, when i straightly gave him my opinion of the boy, who is growing up an ill-conditioned cub. it would have been more honest. i hate to see a man smile, when i know that he would fain swear. i like my cousin celia, and i like her little daughter ciceley, who takes after her, and not after john dormay; but i would that the fellow lived on the other side of england. he is out of his place here, and, though men do not speak against him in my presence, knowing that he is a sort of kinsman, i have never heard one say a good word for him. "it is not only because he is a whig. there are other whig gentry in the neighbourhood, against whom i bear no ill will, and can meet at a social board in friendship. it would be hard if politics were to stand between neighbours. it is dormay's manner that is against him. if he were anyone but celia's husband, i would say that he is a smooth-faced knave, though i altogether lack proof of my words, beyond that he has added half a dozen farms to his estate, and, in each case, there were complaints that, although there was nothing contrary to the law, it was by sharp practice that he obtained possession, lending money freely in order to build houses and fences and drains, and then, directly a pinch came, demanding the return of his advance. "such ways may pass in a london usurer, but they don't do for us country folk; and each farm that he has taken has closed the doors of a dozen good houses to john dormay. i fear that celia has a bad time with him, though she is not one to complain. i let charlie go over to rockley, much oftener than i otherwise should do, for her sake and ciceley's, though i would rather, a hundred times, that they should come here. not that the visits are pleasant, when they do come, for i can see that celia is always in fear, lest i should ask her questions about her life at home; which is the last thing that i should think of doing, for no good ever comes of interference between man and wife, and, whatever i learned, i could not quarrel with john dormay without being altogether separated from celia and the girl. "i am heartily glad that charlie has given alured a sound thrashing. the boy is too modest. he only said a few words, last evening, about the affair, and i thought that only a blow or two had been exchanged. it was as much as i could do, not to rub my hands and chuckle, when his father told me all about it. however, i must speak gravely to charlie. if he takes it up, every time a whig speaks scornfully of the king, he will be always in hot water, and, were he a few years older, would become a marked man. we have got to bide our time, and, except among friends, it is best to keep a quiet tongue until that time comes." to sir marmaduke's disappointment, three more years went on without the position changing in any way. messengers went and came between france and the english jacobites, but no movement was made. the failure of the assassination plot had strengthened william's hold on the country, for englishmen love fair play and hate assassination, so that many who had, hitherto, been opponents of william of orange, now ranged themselves on his side, declaring they could no longer support a cause that used assassination as one of its weapons. more zealous jacobites, although they regretted the assassination plot, and were as vehement of their denunciations of its authors as were the whigs, remained staunch in their fidelity to "the king over the water," maintaining stoutly that his majesty knew nothing whatever of this foul plot, and that his cause was in no way affected by the misconduct of a few men, who happened to be among its adherents. at lynnwood things went on as usual. charlie continued his studies, in a somewhat desultory way, having but small affection for books; kept up his fencing lesson diligently and learned to dance; quarrelled occasionally with his cousin alured, spent a good deal of his time on horseback, and rode over, not unfrequently, to rockley, choosing, as far as possible, the days and hours when he knew that alured and his father were likely to be away. he went over partly for his own pleasure, but more in compliance with his father's wishes. "my cousin seldom comes over, herself," the latter said. "i know, right well, that it is from no slackness of her own, but that her husband likes not her intimacy here. it is well, then, that you should go over and see them, for it is only when you bring her that i see ciceley. i would she were your sister, lad, for she is a bright little maid, and would make the old house lively." therefore, once a week or so, charlie rode over early to rockley, which was some five miles distant, and brought back ciceley, cantering on her pony by his side, escorting her home again before nightfall. ciceley's mother wondered, sometimes, that her husband, who in most matters set his will in opposition to hers, never offered any objection to the girl's visits to lynnwood. she thought that, perhaps, he was pleased that there should be an intimacy between some member, at least, of his family, and sir marmaduke's. there were so few houses at which he or his were welcome, it was pleasant to him to be able to refer to the close friendship of his daughter with their cousins at lynnwood. beyond this, celia, who often, as she sat alone, turned the matter over in her mind, could see no reason he could have for permitting the intimacy. that he would permit it without some reason was, as her experience had taught her, out of the question. ciceley never troubled her head about the matter. her visits to lynnwood were very pleasant to her. she was two years younger than charlie carstairs; and although, when he had once brought her to the house, he considered that his duties were over until the hour arrived for her return, he was sometimes ready to play with her, escort her round the garden, or climb the trees for fruit or birds' eggs for her. such little courtesies she never received from alured, who was four years her senior, and who never interested himself in the slightest degree in her. he was now past eighteen, and was beginning to regard himself as a man, and had, to ciceley's satisfaction, gone a few weeks before, to london, to stay with an uncle who had a place at court, and was said to be much in the confidence of some of the whig lords. sir marmaduke was, about this time, more convinced than ever that, ere long, the heir of the stuarts would come over from france, with men, arms, and money, and would rally round him the jacobites of england and scotland. charlie saw but little of him, for he was frequently absent, from early morning until late at night, riding to visit friends in westmoreland and yorkshire, sometimes being away two or three days at a time. of an evening, there were meetings at lynnwood, and at these strangers, who arrived after nightfall, were often present. charlie was not admitted to any of these gatherings. "you will know all about it in time, lad," his father said. "you are too young to bother your head with politics, and you would lose patience in a very short time. i do myself, occasionally. many who are the foremost in talk, when there is no prospect of doing anything, draw back when the time approaches for action, and it is sickening to listen to the timorous objections and paltry arguments that are brought forward. here am i, a man of sixty, ready to risk life and fortune in the good cause, and there are many, not half my age, who speak with as much caution as if they were graybeards. still, lad, i have no doubt that the matter will straighten itself out, and come right in the end. it is always the most trying time, for timorous hearts, before the first shot of a battle is fired. once the engagement commences, there is no time for fear. the battle has to be fought out, and the best way to safety is to win a victory. i have not the least doubt that, as soon as it is known that the king has landed, there will be no more shilly-shallying or hesitation. every loyal man will mount his horse, and call out his tenants, and, in a few days, england will be in a blaze from end to end." charlie troubled himself but little with what was going on. his father had promised him that, when the time did come, he should ride by his side, and with that promise he was content to wait, knowing that, at present, his strength would be of but little avail, and that every week added somewhat to his weight and sinew. one day he was in the garden with ciceley. the weather was hot, and the girl was sitting, in a swing, under a shady tree, occasionally starting herself by a push with her foot on the ground, and then swaying gently backward and forward, until the swing was again at rest. charlie was seated on the ground, near her, pulling the ears of his favourite dog, and occasionally talking to her, when a servant came out, with a message that his father wanted to speak to him. "i expect i shall be back in a few minutes, ciceley, so don't you wander away till i come. it is too hot today to be hunting for you, all over the garden, as i did when you hid yourself last week." it was indeed but a short time until he returned. "my father only wanted to tell me that he is just starting for bristowe's, and, as it is over twenty miles away, he may not return until tomorrow." "i don't like that man's face who brought the message to you, charlie." "don't you?" the boy said carelessly. "i have not noticed him much. he has not been many months with us. "what are you thinking of?" he asked, a minute later, seeing that his cousin looked troubled. "i don't know that i ought to tell you, charlie. you know my father does not think the same way as yours about things." "i should rather think he doesn't," charlie laughed. "there is no secret about that, ciceley; but they don't quarrel over it. last time your father and mother came over here, i dined with them for the first time, and i noticed there was not a single word said about politics. they chatted over the crops, and the chances of a war in europe, and of the quarrel between holstein and denmark, and whether the young king of sweden would aid the duke, who seems to be threatened by saxony as well as by denmark. i did not know anything about it, and thought it was rather stupid; but my father and yours both seemed of one mind, and were as good friends as if they were in equal agreement on all other points. but what has that to do with nicholson, for that is the man's name who came out just now?" "it does not seem to have much to do with it," she said doubtfully, "and yet, perhaps it does. you know my mother is not quite of the same opinion as my father, although she never says so to him; but, when we are alone together, sometimes she shakes her head and says she fears that trouble is coming, and it makes her very unhappy. one day i was in the garden, and they were talking loudly in the dining room--at least, he was talking loudly. well, he said--but i don't know whether i ought to tell you, charlie." "certainly you ought not, ciceley. if you heard what you were not meant to hear, you ought never to say a word about it to anyone." "but it concerns you and sir marmaduke." "i cannot help that," he said stoutly. "people often say things of each other, in private, especially if they are out of temper, that they don't quite mean, and it would make terrible mischief if such things were repeated. whatever your father said, i do not want to hear it, and it would be very wrong of you to repeat it." "i am not going to repeat it, charlie. i only want to say that i do not think my father and yours are very friendly together, which is natural, when my father is all for king william, and your father for king james. he makes no secret of that, you know." charlie nodded. "that is right enough, ciceley, but still, i don't understand in the least what it has to do with the servant." "it has to do with it," she said pettishly, starting the swing afresh, and then relapsing into silence until it again came to a standstill. "i think you ought to know," she said suddenly. "you see, charlie, sir marmaduke is very kind to me, and i love him dearly, and so i do you, and i think you ought to know, although it may be nothing at all." "well, fire away then, ciceley. there is one thing you may be quite sure of, whatever you tell me, it is like telling a brother, and i shall never repeat it to anyone." "well, it is this. that man comes over sometimes to see my father. i have seen him pass my window, three or four times, and go in by the garden door into father's study. i did not know who he was, but it did seem funny his entering by that door, as if he did not want to be seen by anyone in the house. i did not think anything more about it, till i saw him just now, then i knew him directly. if i had seen him before, i should have told you at once, but i don't think i have." "i daresay not, ciceley. he does not wait at table, but is under the steward, and helps clean the silver. he waits when we have several friends to dinner. at other times he does not often come into the room. "what you tell me is certainly curious. what can he have to say to your father?" "i don't know, charlie. i don't know anything about it. i do think you ought to know." "yes, i think it is a good thing that i should know," charlie agreed thoughtfully. "i daresay it is all right, but, at any rate, i am glad you told me." "you won't tell your father?" she asked eagerly. "because, if you were to speak of it--" "i shall not tell him. you need not be afraid that what you have told me will come out. it is curious, and that is all, and i will look after the fellow a bit. don't think anything more about it. it is just the sort of thing it is well to know, but i expect there is no harm in it, one way or the other. of course, he must have known your father before he came to us, and may have business of some sort with him. he may have a brother, or some other relation, who wants to take one of your father's farms. indeed, there are a hundred things he might want to see him about. but still, i am glad you have told me." in his own mind, charlie thought much more seriously of it than he pretended. he knew that, at present, his father was engaged heart and soul in a projected jacobite rising. he knew that john dormay was a bitter whig. he believed that he had a grudge against his father, and the general opinion of him was that he was wholly unscrupulous. that he should, then, be in secret communication with a servant at lynnwood, struck him as a very serious matter, indeed. charlie was not yet sixteen, but his close companionship with his father had rendered him older than most lads of his age. he was as warm a jacobite as his father, but the manner in which william, with his dutch troops, had crushed the great jacobite rebellion in ireland, seemed to him a lesson that the prospects of success, in england, were much less certain than his father believed them to be. john dormay, as an adherent of william, would be interested in thwarting the proposed movement, with the satisfaction of, at the same time, bringing sir marmaduke into disgrace. charlie could hardly believe that his cousin would be guilty of setting a spy to watch his father, but it was certainly possible, and as he thought the matter over, as he rode back after escorting ciceley to her home, he resolved to keep a sharp watch over the doings of this man nicholson. "it would never do to tell my father what ciceley said. he would bundle the fellow out, neck and crop, and perhaps break some of his bones, and then it would be traced to her. she has not a happy home, as it is, and it would be far worse if her father knew that it was she who had put us on our guard. i must find out something myself, and then we can turn him out, without there being the least suspicion that ciceley is mixed up in it." the next evening several jacobite gentlemen rode in, and, as usual, had a long talk with sir marmaduke after supper. "if this fellow is a spy," charlie said to himself, "he will be wanting to hear what is said, and to do so he must either hide himself in the room, or listen at the door, or at one of the windows. it is not likely that he will get into the room, for to do that he must have hidden himself before supper began. i don't think he would dare to listen at the door, for anyone passing through the hall would catch him at it. it must be at one of the windows." the room was at an angle of the house. three windows looked out on to the lawn in front; that at the side into a large shrubbery, where the bushes grew up close to it; and charlie decided that here, if anywhere, the man would take up his post. as soon, then, as he knew that the servants were clearing away the supper, he took a heavy cudgel and went out. he walked straight away from the house, and then, when he knew that his figure could no longer be seen in the twilight, he made a circuit, and, entering the shrubbery, crept along close to the wall of the muse, until within two or three yards of the window. having made sure that at present, at any rate, no one was near, he moved out a step or two to look at the window. his suspicions were at once confirmed. the inside curtains were drawn, but the casement was open two or three inches. charlie again took up his post, behind a bush, and waited. in five minutes he heard a twig snap, and then a figure came along, noiselessly, and placed itself at the window. charlie gave him but a moment to listen, then he sprang forward, and, with his whole strength, brought his cudgel down upon the man's head. he fell like a stone. charlie threw open the window, and, as he did so, the curtain was torn back by his father, the sound of the blow and the fall having reached the ears of those within. sir marmaduke had drawn his sword, and was about to leap through the window, when charlie exclaimed: "it is i, father. i have caught a fellow listening at the window, and have just knocked him down." "well done, my boy! "bring lights, please, gentlemen. let us see what villain we have got here." but, as he spoke, charlie's head suddenly disappeared, and a sharp exclamation broke from him, as he felt his ankles grasped and his feet pulled from under him. he came down with such a crash that, for a moment, he was unable to rise. he heard a rustling in the bushes, and then his father leapt down beside him. "where are you, my boy? has the scoundrel hurt you?" "he has given me a shake," charlie said as he sat up; "and, what is worse, i am afraid he has got away." "follow me, gentlemen, and scatter through the gardens," sir marmaduke roared. "the villain has escaped!" for a few minutes, there was a hot pursuit through the shrubbery and gardens, but nothing was discovered. charlie had been so shaken that he was unable to join the pursuit, but, having got on to his feet, remained leaning against the wall until his father came back. "he has got away, charlie. have you any idea who he was?" "it was nicholson, father. at least, i am almost certain that it was him. it was too dark to see his face. i could see the outline of his head against the window, and he had on a cap with a cock's feather which i had noticed the man wore." "but how came you here, charlie?" "i will tell you that afterwards, father. don't ask me now." for, at this moment, some of the others were coming up. several of them had torches, and, as they approached, sir marmaduke saw something lying on the ground under the window. he picked it up. "here is the fellow's cap," he said. "you must have hit him a shrewd blow, charlie, for here is a clean cut through the cloth, and a patch of fresh blood on the white lining. how did he get you down, lad?" "he fell so suddenly, when i hit him, that i thought i had either killed or stunned him; but of course i had not, for it was but a moment after, when i was speaking to you, that i felt my ankles seized, and i went down with a crash. i heard him make off through the bushes; but i was, for the moment, almost dazed, and could do nothing to stop him." "was the window open when he came?" "yes, sir, two or three inches." "then it was evidently a planned thing. "well, gentlemen, we may as well go indoors. the fellow is well out of our reach now, and we may be pretty sure he will never again show his face here. fortunately he heard nothing, for the serving men had but just left the room, and we had not yet begun to talk." "that is true enough, sir marmaduke," one of the others said. "the question is: how long has this been going on?" sir marmaduke looked at charlie. "i know nothing about it, sir. till now, i have not had the slightest suspicion of this man. it occurred to me, this afternoon, that it might be possible for anyone to hear what was said inside the room, by listening at the windows; and that this shrubbery would form a very good shelter for an eavesdropper. so i thought, this evening i would take up my place here, to assure myself that there was no traitor in the household. i had been here but five minutes when the fellow stole quietly up, and placed his ear at the opening of the casement, and you may be sure that i gave him no time to listen to what was being said." "well, we had better go in," sir marmaduke said. "there is no fear of our being overheard this evening. "charlie, do you take old banks aside, and tell him what has happened, and then go with him to the room where that fellow slept, and make a thorough search of any clothes he may have left behind, and of the room itself. should you find any papers or documents, you will, of course, bring them down to me." but the closest search, by charlie and the old butler, produced no results. not a scrap of paper of any kind was found, and banks said that he knew the man could neither read nor write. the party below soon broke up, considerable uneasiness being felt, by all, at the incident of the evening. when the last of them had left, charlie was sent for. "now, then, charlie, let me hear how all this came about. i know that all you said about what took place at the window is perfectly true; but, even had you not said so, i should have felt there was something else. what was it brought you to that window? your story was straight-forward enough, but it was certainly singular your happening to be there, and i fancy some of our friends thought that you had gone round to listen, yourself. one hinted as much; but i said that was absurd, for you were completely in my confidence, and that, whatever peril and danger there might be in the enterprise, you would share them with me." "it is not pleasant that they should have thought so, father, but that is better than that the truth should be known. this is how it happened;" and he repeated what ciceley had told him in the garden. "so the worthy master john dormay has set a spy upon me," sir marmaduke said, bitterly. "i knew the man was a knave--that is public property--but i did not think that he was capable of this. well, i am glad that, at any rate, no suspicion can fall upon ciceley in the matter; but it is serious, lad, very serious. we do not know how long this fellow has been prying and listening, or how much he may have learnt. i don't think it can be much. we talked it over, and my friends all agreed with me that they do not remember those curtains having been drawn before. to begin with, the evenings are shortening fast, and, at our meeting last week, we finished our supper by daylight; and, had the curtains been drawn, it would have been noticed, for we had need of light before we finished. two of the gentlemen, who were sitting facing the window, declared that they remembered distinctly that it was open. mr. jervoise says that he thought to himself that, if it was his place, he would have the trees cut away there, for they shut out the light. "therefore, although it is uncomfortable to think that there has been a spy in the house, for some months, we have every reason to hope that our councils have not been overheard. were it otherwise, i should lose no time in making for the coast, and taking ship to france, to wait quietly there until the king comes over." "you have no documents, father, that the man could have found?" "none, charlie. we have doubtless made lists of those who could be relied upon, and of the number of men they could bring with them, but these have always been burned before we separated. such letters as i have had from france, i have always destroyed as soon as i have read them. perilous stuff of that sort should never be left about. no; they may ransack the place from top to bottom, and nothing will be found that could not be read aloud, without harm, in the marketplace of lancaster. "so now, to bed, charlie. it is long past your usual hour." chapter : denounced. "charlie," sir marmaduke said on the following morning, at breakfast, "it is quite possible that that villain who acted as spy, and that other villain who employed him--i need not mention names--may swear an information against me, and i may be arrested, on the charge of being concerned in a plot. i am not much afraid of it, if they do. the most they could say is that i was prepared to take up arms, if his majesty crossed from france; but, as there are thousands and thousands of men ready to do the same, they may fine me, perhaps, but i should say that is all. however, what i want to say to you is, keep out of the way, if they come. i shall make light of the affair, while you, being pretty hot tempered, might say things that would irritate them, while they could be of no assistance to me. therefore, i would rather that you were kept out of it, altogether. i shall want you here. in my absence, there must be somebody to look after things. "mind that rascal john dormay does not put his foot inside the house, while i am away. that fellow is playing some deep game, though i don't quite know what it is. i suppose he wants to win the goodwill of the authorities, by showing his activity and zeal; and, of course, he will imagine that no one has any idea that he has been in communication with this spy. we have got a hold over him, and, when i come back, i will have it out with him. he is not popular now, and, if it were known that he had been working against me, his wife's kinsman, behind my back, my friends about here would make the country too hot to hold him." "yes, father; but please do not let him guess that we have learnt it from ciceley. you see, that is the only way we know about it." "yes, you are right there. i will be careful that he shall not know the little maid has anything to do with it. but we will think of that, afterwards; maybe nothing will come of it, after all. but, if anything does, mind, my orders are that you keep away from the house, while they are in it. when you come back, banks will tell you what has happened. "you had better take your horse, and go for a ride now. not over there, charlie. i know, if you happened to meet that fellow, he would read in your face that you knew the part he had been playing, and, should nothing come of the business, i don't want him to know that, at present. the fellow can henceforth do us no harm, for we shall be on our guard against eavesdroppers; and, for the sake of cousin celia and the child, i do not want an open breach. i do not see the man often, myself, and i will take good care i don't put myself in the way of meeting him, for the present, at any rate. don't ride over there today." "very well, father. i will ride over and see harry jervoise. i promised him that i would come over one day this week." it was a ten-mile ride, and, as he entered the courtyard of mr. jervoise's fine old mansion, he leapt off his horse, and threw the reins over a post. a servant came out. "the master wishes to speak to you, master carstairs." "no ill news, i hope, charlie?" mr. jervoise asked anxiously, as the lad was shown into the room, where his host was standing beside the carved chimney piece. "no, sir, there is nothing new. my father thought that i had better be away today, in case any trouble should arise out of what took place yesterday, so i rode over to see harry. i promised to do so, one day this week." "that is right. does sir marmaduke think, then, that he will be arrested?" "i don't know that he expects it, sir, but he says that it is possible." "i do not see that they have anything to go upon, charlie. as we agreed last night, that spy never had any opportunity of overhearing us before, and, certainly, he can have heard nothing yesterday. the fellow can only say what many people know, or could know, if they liked; that half a dozen of sir marmaduke's friends rode over to take supper with him. they can make nothing out of that." "no, sir; and my father said that, at the worst, it could be but the matter of a fine." "quite so, lad; but i don't even see how it could amount to that. you will find harry somewhere about the house. he has said nothing to me about going out." harry jervoise was just the same age as charlie, and was his greatest friend. they were both enthusiastic in the cause of the stuarts, equally vehement in their expressions of contempt for the dutch king, equally anxious for the coming of him whom they regarded as their lawful monarch. they spent the morning together, as usual; went first to the stables and patted and talked to their horses; then they played at bowls on the lawn; after which, they had a bout of sword play; and, having thus let off some of their animal spirits, sat down and talked of the glorious times to come, when the king was to have his own again. late in the afternoon, charlie mounted his horse and rode for home. when within half a mile of the house, a man stepped out into the road in front of him. "hullo, banks, what is it? no bad news, i hope?" and he leapt from his horse, alarmed at the pallor of the old butler's face. "yes, master charles, i have some very bad news, and have been waiting for the last two hours here, so as to stop you going to the house." "why shouldn't i go to the house?" "because there are a dozen soldiers, and three or four constables there." "and my father?" "they have taken him away." "this is bad news, banks; but i know that he thought that it might be so. but it will not be very serious; it is only a question of a fine," he said. the butler shook his head, sadly. "it is worse than that, master charles. it is worse than you think." "well, tell me all about it, banks," charlie said, feeling much alarmed at the old man's manner. "well, sir, at three this afternoon, two magistrates, john cockshaw and william peters--" ("both bitter whigs," charlie put in.) "--rode up to the door. they had with them six constables, and twenty troopers." "there were enough of them, then," charlie said. "did they think my father was going to arm you all, and defend the place?" "i don't know, sir, but that is the number that came. the magistrates, and the constables, and four of the soldiers came into the house. sir marmaduke met them in the hall. "'to what do i owe the honour of this visit?' he said, quite cold and haughty. "'we have come, sir marmaduke carstairs, to arrest you, on the charge of being concerned in a treasonable plot against the king's life.' "sir marmaduke laughed out loud. "'i have no design on the life of william of orange, or of any other man,' he said. 'i do not pretend to love him; in that matter there are thousands in this realm with me; but, as for a design against his life, i should say, gentlemen, there are few who know me, even among men like yourselves, whose politics are opposed to mine, who would for a moment credit such a foul insinuation.' "'we have nothing to do with that matter, sir marmaduke,' john cockshaw said. 'we are acting upon a sworn information to that effect.' "sir marmaduke was angry, now. "'i can guess the name of the dog who signed it,' he said, 'and, kinsman though he is by marriage, i will force the lie down his throat.' "then he cooled down again. "'well, gentlemen, you have to do your duty. what do you desire next?' "'our duty is, next, to search the house, for any treasonable documents that may be concealed here.' "'search away, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, seating himself in one of the settles. 'the house is open to you. my butler, james banks, will go round with you, and will open for you any cupboard or chest that may be locked.' "the magistrates nodded to the four soldiers. two of them took their post near the chair, one at the outside door, and one at the other end of the room. sir marmaduke said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders, and then began to play with the ears of the little spaniel, fido, that had jumped up on his knees. "'we will first go into the study,' john cockshaw said; and i led them there. "they went straight to the cabinet with the pull-down desk, where sir marmaduke writes when he does write, which is not often. it was locked, and i went to sir marmaduke for the key. "'you will find it in that french vase on the mantel,' he said. 'i don't open the desk once in three months, and should lose the key, if i carried it with me.' "i went to the mantel, turned the vase over, and the key dropped out. "'sir marmaduke has nothing to hide, gentlemen,' i said, 'so, you see, he keeps the key here.' "i went to the cabinet, and put the key in. as i did so i said: "'look, gentlemen, someone has opened, or tried to open, this desk. here is a mark, as if a knife had been thrust in to shoot the bolt.' "they looked where i pointed, and william peters said to cockshaw, 'it is as the man says. someone has been trying to force the lock--one of the varlets, probably, who thought the knight might keep his money here.' "'it can be of no importance, one way or the other,' cockshaw said roughly. "'probably not, mr. cockshaw, but, at the same time i will make a note of it.' "i turned the key, and pulled down the door that makes a desk. they seemed to know all about it, for, without looking at the papers in the pigeonholes, they pulled open the lower drawer, and took two foreign-looking letters out from it. i will do them the justice to say that they both looked sorry, as they opened them, and looked at the writing. "'it is too true,' peters said. 'here is enough to hang a dozen men.' "they tumbled all the other papers into a sack, that one of the constables had brought with him. then they searched all the other furniture, but they evidently did not expect to find anything. then they went back into the hall. "'well, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, 'have you found anything of a terrible kind?' "'we have found, i regret to say,' john cockshaw said, 'the letters of which we were in search, in your private cabinet--letters that prove, beyond all doubt, that you are concerned in a plot similar to that discovered three years ago, to assassinate his majesty the king.' "sir marmaduke sprang to his feet. "'you have found letters of that kind in my cabinet?' he said, in a dazed sort of way. "the magistrate bowed, but did not speak. "'then, sir,' sir marmaduke exclaimed, 'you have found letters that i have never seen. you have found letters that must have been placed there by some scoundrel, who plotted my ruin. i assert to you, on the honour of a gentleman, that no such letters have ever met my eye, and that, if such a proposition had been made to me, i care not by whom, i would have struck to the ground the man who offered me such an insult.' "'we are sorry, sir marmaduke carstairs,' mr. peters said, 'most sorry, both of us, that it should have fallen to our duty to take so painful a proceeding against a neighbour; but, you see, the matter is beyond us. we have received a sworn information that you are engaged in such a plot. we are told that you are in the habit of locking up papers of importance in a certain cabinet, and there we find papers of a most damnatory kind. we most sincerely trust that you may be able to prove your innocence in the matter, but we have nothing to do but to take you with us, as a prisoner, to lancaster.' "sir marmaduke unbuckled his sword, and laid it by. he was quieter than i thought he could be, in such a strait, for he has always been by nature, as you know, choleric. "'i am ready, gentlemen,' he said. "peters whispered in cockshaw's ear. "'ah yes,' the other said, 'i had well-nigh forgotten,' and he turned to me. 'where is master charles carstairs?' "'he is not in the house,' i said. 'he rode away this morning, and did not tell me where he was going.' "'when do you expect him back?' "'i do not expect him at all,' i said. 'when master charles rides out to visit his friends, he sometimes stays away for a day or two.' "'is it supposed,' sir marmaduke asked coldly, 'that my son is also mixed up in this precious scheme?' "'it is sworn that he was privy to it,' john cockshaw said, 'and is, therefore, included in the orders for arrest.' "sir marmaduke did not speak, but he shut his lips tight, and his hand went to where the hilt of his sword would have been. two of the constables went out and questioned the grooms, and found that you had, as i said, ridden off. when they came back, there was some talk between the magistrates, and then, as i said, four constables and some soldiers were left in the house. sir marmaduke's horse was brought round, and he rode away, with the magistrates and the other soldiers." "i am quite sure, banks, that my father could have known nothing of those letters, or of any plot against william's life. i have heard him speak so often of the assassination plot, and how disgraceful it was, and how, apart from its wickedness, it had damaged the cause, that i am certain he would not have listened to a word about another such business." "i am sure of that, too," the old butler said; "but that is not the question, master charles. there are the papers. we know that sir marmaduke did not put them there, and that he did not know that they were there. but how is it to be proved, sir? everyone knows that sir marmaduke is a jacobite, and is regarded as the head of the party in this part of the country. he has enemies, and one of them, no doubt, has played this evil trick upon him, and the putting of your name in shows what the motive is." "but it is ridiculous, banks. who could believe that such a matter as this would be confided to a lad of my age?" "they might not believe it in their hearts, but people often believe what suits their interest. this accusation touches sir marmaduke's life; and his estate, even if his life were spared, would be confiscated. in such a case, it might be granted to anyone, and possibly even to the son of him they would call the traitor. but the accusation that the son was concerned, or was, at any rate, privy to the crime intended by the father, would set all against him, and public opinion would approve of the estates passing away from him altogether. "but now, sir, what do you think you had best do?" "of course i shall go on, banks, and let them take me to join my father in lancaster jail. do you think i would run away?" "no, sir, i don't think you would run away. i am sure you would not run away from fear, but i would not let them lay hands on me, until i had thought the matter well over. you might be able to do more good to sir marmaduke were you free, than you could do if you were caged up with him. he has enemies, we know, who are doing their best to ruin him, and, as you see, they are anxious that you, too, should be shut up within four walls." "you are right, banks. at any rate, i will ride back and consult mr. jervoise. besides, he ought to be warned, for he, too, may be arrested on the same charge. how did you get away without being noticed?" "i said that i felt ill--and i was not speaking falsely--at sir marmaduke's arrest, and would lie down. they are keeping a sharp lookout at the stables, and have a soldier at each door, to see that no one leaves the house, but i went out by that old passage that comes out among the ruins of the monastery." "i know, banks. my father showed it to me, three years ago." "i shall go back that way again, sir, and no one will know that i have left the house. you know the trick of the sliding panel, master charles?" "yes, i know it, and if i should want to come into the house again, i will come that way, banks." "here is a purse," the butler said. "you may want money, sir. should you want more, there is a store hidden away, in the hiding place under the floor of the priest's chamber, at the other end of the passage. do you know that?" "i know the priest's chamber of course, because you go through that to get to the long passage, but i don't know of any special hiding place there." "doubtless, sir marmaduke did not think it necessary to show it you then, sir, but he would have done it later on, so i do not consider that i am breaking my oath of secrecy in telling you. you know the little narrow loophole in the corner?" "yes, of course. there is no other that gives light to the room. it is hidden from view outside by the ivy." "well, sir, you count four bricks below that, and you press hard on the next, that is the fifth, then you will hear a click, then you press hard with your heel at the corner, in the angle of the flag below, and you will find the other corner rise. then you get hold of it and lift it up, and below there is a stone chamber, two feet long and about eighteen inches wide and deep. it was made to conceal papers in the old days, and i believe food was always kept there, in case the chamber had to be used in haste. "sir marmaduke uses it as a store place for his money. he has laid by a good deal every year, knowing that money would be wanted when troops had to be raised. i was with him about three weeks ago, when he put in there half the rents that had been paid in. so, if you want money for any purpose, you will know where to find it." "thank you, banks. it may be very useful to have such a store, now." "where shall i send to you, sir, if i have any news that it is urgent you should know of?" "send to mr. jervoise, banks. if i am not there, he will know where i am to be found." "i will send will ticehurst, master charles. he is a stout lad, and a shrewd one, and i know there is nothing that he would not do for you. but you had best stop no longer. should they find out that i am not in the house, they will guess that i have come to warn you, and may send out a party to search." charlie at once mounted, and rode back to mr. jervoise's. "i expected you back," that gentleman said, as he entered. "bad news travels apace, and, an hour since, a man brought in the news that sir marmaduke had been seen riding, evidently a prisoner, surrounded by soldiers, on the road towards lancaster. so that villain we chased last night must have learnt something. i suppose they will be here tomorrow, but i do not see what serious charge they can have against us. we have neither collected arms, nor taken any steps towards a rising. we have talked over what we might do, if there were a landing made from france, but, as there may be no landing, that is a very vague charge." "unfortunately, that is not the charge against my father. it is a much more serious business." and charlie repeated the substance of what banks had told him, interrupted occasionally by indignant ejaculations from mr. jervoise. "it is an infamous plot," he said, when the lad had concluded his story. "infamous! there was never a word said of such a scheme, and no one who knows your father would believe it for an instant." "yes, sir, but the judges, who do not know him, may believe it. no doubt those who put those papers there, will bring forward evidence to back it up." "i am afraid that will be the case. it is serious for us all," mr. jervoise said thoughtfully. "that man will be prepared to swear that he heard the plot discussed by us all. they seized your father, today, as being the principal and most important of those concerned in it, but we may all find ourselves in the same case tomorrow. i must think it over. "it is well that your man warned you. you had best not stay here tonight, for the house may be surrounded at daybreak. harry shall go over, with you, to one of my tenants, and you can both sleep there. it will not be necessary for you to leave for another two or three hours. you had better go to him now; supper will be served in half an hour. i will talk with you again, afterwards." harry was waiting outside the door, having also heard the news of sir marmaduke's arrest. "it is villainous!" he exclaimed, when he heard the whole story. "no doubt you are right, and that john dormay is at the bottom of it all. the villain ought to be slain." "he deserves it, harry; and, if i thought it would do good, i would gladly fight him, but i fear that it would do harm. such a scoundrel must needs be a coward, and he might call for aid, and i might be dragged off to lancaster. moreover, he is ciceley's father, and my cousin celia's husband, and, were i to kill him, it would separate me altogether from them. however, i shall in all things be guided by your father. he will know what best ought to be done. "it is likely that he, too, may be arrested. this is evidently a deep plot, and your father thinks that, although the papers alone may not be sufficient to convict my father, the spy we had in our house will be ready to swear that he heard your father, and mine, and the others, making arrangements for the murder of william of orange; and their own word to the contrary would count but little against such evidence, backed by those papers." they talked together for half an hour, and were then summoned to supper. nothing was said, upon the subject, until the servitors had retired, and the meal was cleared away. mr. jervoise was, like sir marmaduke, a widower. "i have been thinking it all over," he said, when they were alone. "i have determined to ride, at once, to consult some of my friends, and to warn them of what has taken place. that is clearly my duty. i shall not return until i learn whether warrants are out for my apprehension. of course, the evidence is not so strong against me as it is against sir marmaduke; still, the spy's evidence would tell as much against me as against him. "you will go up, harry, with your friend, to pincot's farm. it lies so far in the hills that it would probably be one of the last to be searched, and, if a very sharp lookout is kept there, a body of men riding up the valley would be seen over a mile away, and there would be plenty of time to take to the hills. there charlie had better remain, until he hears from me. "you can return here, harry, in the morning, for there is no probability whatever of your being included in any warrant of arrest. it could only relate to us, who were in the habit of meeting at sir marmaduke's. you will ride over to the farm each day, and tell charlie any news you may have learnt, or take any message i may send you for him. "we must do nothing hastily. the first thing to learn, if possible, is whether any of us are included in the charge of being concerned in a plot against william's life. in the next place, who are the witnesses, and what evidence they intend to give. no doubt the most important is the man who was placed as a spy at sir marmaduke's." "as i know his face, sir," charlie said eagerly, "could i not find him, and either force him to acknowledge that it is all false, or else kill him? i should be in my right in doing that, surely, since he is trying to swear away my father's life by false evidence." "i should say nothing against that, lad. if ever a fellow deserved killing he does; that is, next to his rascally employer. but his death would harm rather than benefit us. it would be assumed, of course, that we had removed him to prevent his giving evidence against us. no doubt his depositions have been taken down, and they would then be assumed to be true, and we should be worse off than if he could be confronted with us, face to face, in the court. we must let the matter rest, at present." "would it be possible to get my father out of prison, sir? i am sure i can get a dozen men, from among the tenants and grooms, who would gladly risk their lives for him." "lancaster jail is a very strong place," mr. jervoise said, "and i fear there is no possibility of rescuing him from it. of course, at present we cannot say where the trial will take place. a commission may be sent down, to hold a special assizes at lancaster, or the trial may take place in london. at any rate, nothing whatever can be done, until we know more. i have means of learning what takes place at lancaster, for we have friends there, as well as at most other places. when i hear from them the exact nature of the charge, the evidence that will be given, and the names of those accused of being mixed up in this pretended plot, i shall be better able to say what is to be done. "now, i must mount and ride without further delay. i have to visit all our friends who met at lynnwood, and it will take me until tomorrow morning to see and confer with them." a few minutes after mr. jervoise had ridden off, his son and charlie also mounted. a man went with them, with a supply of torches, for, although harry knew the road--which was little better than a sheep track--well enough during the day, his father thought he might find it difficult, if not impossible, to follow it on a dark night. they congratulated themselves upon the precaution taken, before they had gone very far, for there was no moon, the sky was overcast, and a drizzling rain had begun to come down. they could hardly see their horses' heads, and had proceeded but a short distance, when it became necessary for their guide to light a torch. it took them, therefore, over two hours to reach the mountain farm. they were expected, otherwise the household would have been asleep. mr. jervoise had, as soon as he determined upon their going there, sent off a man on horseback, who, riding fast, had arrived before night set in. there was, therefore, a great turf fire glowing on the hearth when they arrived, and a hearty welcome awaiting them from the farmer, his wife, and daughters. harry had, by his father's advice, brought two changes of clothes in a valise, but they were so completely soaked to the skin that they decided they would, after drinking a horn of hot-spiced ale that had been prepared for them, go at once to bed, where, in spite of the stirring events of the day, both went off to sleep, as soon as their heads touched the pillows. the sun was shining brightly, when they woke. the mists had cleared off, although they still hung round the head of ingleborough, six miles away, and on some of the other hilltops. the change of weather had an inspiriting effect, and they went down to breakfast in a brighter and more hopeful frame of mind. as soon as the meal was over, harry started for home. "i hope it won't be long before i can see you again, harry," charlie said, as he stood by the horse. "i hope not, indeed; but there is no saying. my father's orders are that i am to stay at home, if people come and take possession, and send a man off to you with the news privately, but that, if no one comes, i may myself bring you over any news there is; so i may be back here this afternoon." "i shall be looking out for you, harry. remember, it will be horribly dull for me up here, wondering and fretting as to what is going on." "i know, charlie; and you shall hear, as soon as i get the smallest scrap of news. if i were you, i would go for a good walk among the hills. it will be much better for you than moping here. at any rate, you are not likely to get any news for some hours to come." charlie took the advice, and started among the hills, not returning until the midday meal was ready. before he had finished his dinner there was a tap at the door, and then a young fellow, whom he knew to be employed in mr. jervoise's stables, looked in. charlie sprang to his feet. "what's the news?" he asked. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a magistrate, and four constables, and ten soldier men came today, at nine o'clock. he had returned but a half-hour when they rode up. they had an order for the arrest of mr. jervoise, and have been searching the house, high and low, for papers. no one is allowed to leave the place, but master harry came out to the stables and gave me his orders, and i did not find much difficulty in slipping out without their noticing me. mr. harry said that he had no news of mr. jervoise, nor any other news, save what i have told you. he bade me return at once as, later on, he may want to send me again. i was to be most careful that no one should see me when i got back, and, if i was caught, i was on no account to say where i had been to." the farmer insisted upon the young fellow sitting down at the table, and taking some food, before he started to go back. he required no pressing, but, as soon as his hunger was satisfied, he started again at a brisk run, which he kept up as long as charlie's eye could follow him down the valley. although the boy by no means wished mr. jervoise to be involved in his father's trouble, charlie could not help feeling a certain amount of pleasure at the news. he thought it certain that, if his father escaped, he would have to leave the country, and that he would, in that case, take him as companion in his flight. if mr. jervoise and harry also left the country, it would be vastly more pleasant for both his father and himself. where they would go to, or what they would do, he had no idea, but it seemed to him that exile among strangers would be bearable, if he had his friend with him. it would not last many years, for surely the often talked-of landing could not be very much longer delayed; then they would return, share in the triumph of the stuart cause, and resume their life at lynnwood, and reckon with those who had brought this foul charge against them. that the jacobite cause could fail to triumph was a contingency to which charlie did not give even a thought. he had been taught that it was a just and holy cause. all his school friends, as well as the gentlemen who visited his father, were firm adherents of it, and he believed that the same sentiments must everywhere prevail. there was, then, nothing but the troops of william to reckon with, and these could hardly oppose a rising of the english people, backed by aid from france. it was not until after dark that the messenger returned. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a gipsy boy he had never seen before has brought him a little note from his father. he will not return at present, but, if mr. harry can manage to slip away unnoticed in the afternoon, tomorrow, he is to come here. he is not to come direct, but to make a circuit, lest he should be watched and followed, and it may be that the master will meet him here." charlie was very glad to hear this. harry could, of course, give him little news of what was going on outside the house, but mr. jervoise might be able to tell him something about his father, especially as he had said he had means of learning what went on in lancaster jail. he was longing to be doing something. it seemed intolerable to him that he should be wandering aimlessly among the hills, while his father was lying in lancaster, with a charge affecting his life hanging over him. what he could do he knew not, but anything would be better than doing nothing. mr. jervoise had seemed to think that it was out of the question to attempt a rescue from lancaster; but surely, if he could get together forty or fifty determined fellows, a sudden assault upon the place might be successful. then he set to work reckoning up the grooms, the younger tenants, and the sons of the older ones, and jotted down the names of twenty-seven who he thought might join in the attempt. "if harry could get twenty-three from his people, that would make it up to the number," he said. "of course, i don't know what the difficulties to be encountered may be. i have ridden there with my father, and i know that the castle is a strong one, but i did not notice it very particularly. the first thing to do will be to go and examine it closely. no doubt ladders will be required, but we could make rope ladders, and take them into the town in a cart, hidden under faggots, or something of that sort. "i do hope mr. jervoise will come tomorrow. it is horrible waiting here in suspense." the next morning, the hours seemed endless. half a dozen times he went restlessly in and out, walking a little distance up the hill rising from the valley, and returning again, with the vain idea that mr. jervoise might have arrived. still more slowly did the time appear to go, after dinner. he was getting into a fever of impatience and anxiety, when, about five o'clock, he saw a figure coming down the hillside from the right. it was too far away to recognize with certainty, but, by the rapid pace at which he descended the hill, he had little doubt that it was harry, and he at once started, at the top of his speed, to meet him. the doubt was soon changed into a certainty. when, a few hundred yards up the hill, he met his friend, both were almost breathless. harry was the first to gasp out: "has my father arrived?" "not yet." harry threw himself down on the short grass, with an exclamation of thankfulness. "i have run nearly every foot of the way," he said, as soon as he got his breath a little. "i had awful difficulty in getting out. one of the constables kept in the same room with me, and followed me wherever i went. they evidently thought i might hear from my father, or try to send him a message. at last, i got desperate, and ran upstairs to that room next mine, and closed and locked the door after me. you know the ivy grows high up the wall there, and directly i got in, i threw open the casement and climbed down by it. it gave way two or three times, and i thought i was gone, but i stuck to it, and managed each time to get a fresh hold. the moment i was down, i ran along by the foot of the wall until i got round behind, made a dash into that clump of fir trees, crawled along in a ditch till i thought i was safe, and then made a run for it. i was so afraid of being followed that i have been at least three miles round, but i don't mind, now that my father hasn't arrived. i was in such a fright that he might come and go before i got here." chapter : a rescue. the two lads walked slowly down the hill together. harry had heard no more than charlie had done, of what was going on. the messenger from his father was a young fellow, of seventeen or eighteen, with a gipsy face and appearance. how he had managed to elude the vigilance of the men on watch, harry did not know. he, himself, had only learnt his presence when, as he passed some bushes in the garden, a sharp whisper made him stop, and a moment later a hand was thrust through the foliage. he took the little note held out, and caught sight of the lad's face, through the leaves, as he leant forward and said: "go on, sir, without stopping. they may be watching you." harry had thrust the note into his pocket, and sauntered on for some time. he then returned to the house, and there read the letter, with whose contents charlie was already acquainted. eagerly, they talked over what each had been thinking of since they had parted, early on the previous day; and discussed charlie's idea of an attack on lancaster jail. "i don't know whether i could get as many men as you say, charlie. i don't think i could. if my father were in prison, as well as yours, i am sure that most of the young fellows on the estate would gladly help to rescue him, but it would be a different thing when it came to risking their lives for anyone else. of course i don't know, but it does not seem to me that fifty men would be of any use, at all, towards taking lancaster castle. it always seemed to me a tremendously strong place." "yes, it does look so, harry; but perhaps, on examining it closely, one would find that it is not so strong as it looks, by a long way. it seems to me there must be some way or other of getting father out, and, if there seems even the least bit of a chance, i shall try it." "and you may be sure i will stand by you, charlie, whatever it is," harry said heartily. "we have been just like brothers, and, of course, brothers ought to stick to each other like anything. if they don't, what is the use of being brothers? i daresay we shall know more, when we hear what my father has to say; and then we may see our way better." "thank you, harry. i knew you would stick by me. of course, i don't want to do any mad sort of thing. there is no hurry, anyhow, and, as you say, when we know more about it, we may be able to hit upon some sort of plan." it was not until eight o'clock that mr. jervoise arrived. he looked grievously tired and worn out, but he spoke cheerfully as he came in. "i have had a busy two days of it, boys, as you may guess. i have no particularly good news to tell you, but, on the other hand, i have no bad news. i was in time to warn all our friends, and when the soldiers came for them in the morning, it was only to find that their nests were empty. "they have been searching the houses of all sir marmaduke's tenants, charlie, and questioning man, woman, and child as to whether they have seen you. "ah! here is supper, and i am nearly famished. however, i can go on talking while i eat. i should have been here sooner, but i have been waiting for the return of the messenger i sent to lancaster. "yesterday morning there was an examination of your father, charlie, or rather, an examination of the testimony against him. first the two letters that were discovered were put in. without having got them word for word, my informer was able to give me the substance of them. both were unsigned, and professed to have been written in france. the first is dated three months back. it alludes to a conversation that somebody is supposed to have had with sir marmaduke, and states that the agent who had visited him, and who is spoken of as mr. h, had assured them that your father was perfectly ready to join, in any well-conceived design for putting a stop to the sufferings that afflicted the country, through the wars into which the foreign intruder had plunged it, even though the plan entailed the removal of the usurper. the writer assured sir marmaduke of the satisfaction that such an agreement on his part had caused at saint germains, and had heightened the high esteem in which sir marmaduke was held, for his long fidelity to the cause of his majesty. it then went on to state that a plan had been already formed, and that several gentlemen in the south were deeply pledged to carry it out, but that it was thought specially advisable that some from the north should also take part in it, as, from their persons being unknown near the court, they could act with more surety and safety. they would, therefore, be glad if he would take counsel, with the friends he had mentioned, as to what might seem to them the best course of proceeding. there was no occasion for any great haste and, indeed, some weeks must elapse before the blow was struck, in order that preparations should be made, in france, for taking instant advantage of it. "the rest of the letter was to the same purpose, but was really a repetition of it. the second letter was dated some time later, and was, as before, an answer to one the knight was supposed to have written. it highly approved of the suggestions therein made; that sir marmaduke and his friends should travel, separately and at a few days' interval, to london, and should take lodgings there in different parts of the town, and await the signal to assemble, near richmond, when it was known that the king would go hunting there. it said that special note had been made of the offer of sir marmaduke's son, to mingle among the king's attendants and to fire the first shot, as, in the confusion, he would be able to escape and, being but a boy, as he said, none would be able to recognize him afterwards. "in the event, of course, of the first shot failing, the rest of the party, gathered in a body, would rush forward, despatch the usurper, cut their way, sword in hand, through any who barred their path to the point where their horses were concealed, and then at once scatter in various directions. for this great service, his majesty would not fail to evince the deepest gratitude, upon his restoration to his rightful throne, and pledged his royal word that each of the party should receive rank and dignity, together with ample estates, from the lands of which the chief supporters of the usurper would be deprived. "so you see, charlie, you were to have the honour of playing the chief part in this tragedy." "honour indeed!" charlie exclaimed passionately. "dishonour, sir. was there ever so infamous a plot!" "it is a well-laid plot, charlie, and does credit to the scoundrel who planned it. you see, he made certain that sir marmaduke would be attainted, and his estates forfeited, but there existed just a possibility that, as you are but a boy, though a good big one, it might be thought that, as you were innocent of the business, a portion at least of the estate might be handed to you. to prevent this, it was necessary that you also should be mixed up in the affair." "has john dormay appeared in the matter so far, mr. jervoise?" "not openly, charlie. my informant knows that there have been two or three meetings of whig magistrates, with closed doors, and that at these he has been present, and he has no doubt, whatever, that it is he who has set the ball rolling. still, there is no proof of this, and he did not appear yesterday. the man who did appear was the rascal who tried to overhear us the other night. he stated that he had been instigated by a gentleman of great loyalty--here one of the magistrates broke in, and said no name must be mentioned--to enter the household of sir marmaduke, a gentleman who, as he believed, was trafficking with the king's enemies. he had agreed to do this, in spite of the danger of such employment, moved thereto not so much by the hope of a reward as from his great loyalty to his majesty, and a desire to avert from him his great danger from popish plots. having succeeded in entering sir marmaduke's service, he soon discovered that six gentlemen, to wit, myself and five friends, were in the habit of meeting at lynnwood, where they had long and secret talks. knowing the deep enmity and hostility these men bore towards his gracious majesty, he determined to run any hazard, even to the loss of his life, to learn the purport of such gatherings, and did, therefore, conceal himself, on one occasion behind the hangings of a window, and on another listened at an open casement, and did hear much conversation regarding the best manner in which the taking of the king's life could be accomplished. this, it was agreed, should be done in the forest at richmond, where all should lie in wait, the said sir marmaduke carstairs undertaking that he and his son would, in the first place, fire with pistol or musquetoon, and that, only if they should fail, the rest should charge forward on horse, overthrow the king's companions, and despatch him, mr. william jervoise undertaking the management of this part of the enterprise. no date was settled for this wicked business, it being, however, agreed that all should journey separately to london, and take up their lodging there under feigned names; lying hid until they heard from a friend at court, whose name was not mentioned, a day on which the king would hunt at richmond. he further testified that, making another attempt to overhear the conspirators in order that he might gather fuller details as to the manner of the plot, he was seen by master charles carstairs, who, taking him by surprise, grievously assaulted him, and that he and the others would have slain him, had he not overthrown master carstairs and effected his escape before the others, rushing out sword in hand, had time to assail him. "during his stay at lynnwood he had, several times, watched at the window of the room where sir marmaduke carstairs sits when alone, and where he writes his letters and transacts business, and that he observed him, more than once, peruse attentively papers that seemed to be of importance, for, after reading them, he would lay them down and walk, as if disturbed or doubtful in mind, up and down the room; and these papers he placed, when he had done with them, in the bottom drawer of a desk in his cabinet, the said desk being always carefully locked by him. "that is all that i learnt from lancaster, save that instructions have been given that no pains should be spared to secure the persons of those engaged in the plot, and that a special watch was to be set at the northern ports, lest they should, finding their guilt discovered, try to escape from the kingdom. so you see that your good father, sir marmaduke, is in a state of sore peril, and that the rest of us, including yourself, will be in a like strait if they can lay hands on us." "but it is all false!" charlie exclaimed. "it is a lie from beginning to end." "that is so, but we cannot prove it. the matter is so cunningly laid, i see no way to pick a hole in it. we are jacobites, and as such long regarded as objects of suspicion by the whig magistrates and others. there have been other plots against william's life, in which men of seeming reputation have been concerned. this man's story will be confirmed by the man who set him on, and by other hidden papers, if necessary. as to the discovery of the documents, we may know well enough that the fellow himself put them there, but we have no manner of proof of it. it is evident that there is nothing for us but to leave the country, and to await the time when the king shall have his own again. my other friends, who were with me this afternoon when the news came from lancaster, all agreed that it would be throwing away our lives to stay here. we all have money by us, for each has, for years, laid by something for the time when money will be required to aid the king on his arrival. "having agreed to take this course, we drew up a document, which we all signed, and which will be sent in when we have got clear away. in it we declare that being informed that accusations of being concerned in a plot against the life of william of orange have been brought against us, we declare solemnly before god that we, and also sir marmaduke carstairs and his son, are wholly innocent of the charge, and that, although we do not hesitate to declare that we consider the title of the said william to be king of this realm to be wholly unfounded and without reason, and should therefore take up arms openly against it on behalf of our sovereign did occasion offer, yet that we hold assassination in abhorrence, and that the crime with which we are charged is as hateful in our sight as in that of any whig gentleman. as, however, we are charged, as we learn, by evilly disposed and wicked persons, of this design, and have no means of proving our innocence, we are forced to leave the realm until such time shall arrive when we can rely on a fair trial, when our reputation and honour will weigh against the word of suborned perjurers and knaves. "we were not forgetful of your father's case, and we debated long as to whether our remaining here could do him service. we even discussed the possibility of raising a force, and attacking lancaster castle. we agreed, however, that this would be nothing short of madness. the country is wholly unprepared at present. the whigs are on the alert, and such an attempt would cost the lives of most of those concerned in it. besides, we are all sure that sir marmaduke would be the first to object to numbers of persons risking their lives in an attempt which, even if, for the moment, successful, must bring ruin upon all concerned in it. nor do we see that, were we to remain and to stand in the dock beside him, it would aid him. our word would count for no more than would this protest and denial that we have signed together. a prisoner's plea of not guilty has but a feather's weight against sworn evidence. "at the same time, charlie, i do not intend to leave the country until i am sure that nothing can be done. as force is out of the question, i have advised the others to lose not an hour in trying to escape and, by this time, they are all on the road. two are making for bristol, one for southampton, and two for london. it would be too dangerous to attempt to escape by one of the northern ports. but, though force cannot succeed, we may be able to effect your father's escape by other means, and it is for this purpose that i am determined to stay, and i shall do so until all hope is gone. alone you could effect nothing; but i, knowing who are our secret friends, may be able to use them to advantage. "we will stay here tonight, but tomorrow we must change our quarters, for the search will be a close one. during the day we will go far up over the hills, but tomorrow night we will make for lancaster. i have warned friends there to expect us, and it is the last place where they would think of searching for us." "you will take me with you, too, father?" harry exclaimed eagerly; while charlie expressed his gratitude to mr. jervoise, for thus determining to risk his own life in the endeavour to effect the escape of sir marmaduke. "yes, i intend to take you with me, harry. they will pretend, of course, that, in spite of our assertions of innocence, our flight is a confession of guilt, and you may be sure that we shall be condemned in our absence, and our estates declared confiscated, and bestowed upon some of william's minions. there will be no place for you here. "my own plans are laid. as you know, your mother came from the other side of the border, and a cousin of hers, with whom i am well acquainted, has gone over to sweden, and holds a commission in the army that the young king is raising to withstand russia and saxony; for both are thinking of taking goodly slices of his domains. i could not sit down quietly in exile, and, being but forty, i am not too old for service, and shall take a commission if i can obtain it. there are many scottish jacobites who, having fled rather than acknowledge dutch william as their king, have taken service in sweden, where their fathers fought under the great gustavus adolphus; and, even if i cannot myself take service, it may be that i shall be able to obtain a commission for you. you are nearly sixteen, and there are many officers no older. "should evil befall your father, charlie, which i earnestly hope will not be the case, i shall regard you as my son, and shall do the same for you as for harry. "and now, i will to rest, for i have scarce slept the last two nights, and we must be in the saddle long before daybreak." the little bedroom, that charlie had used the two previous nights, was given up to mr. jervoise; while harry and charlie slept on some sheep skins, in front of the kitchen fire. two hours before daybreak they mounted and, guided by the farmer, rode to a shepherd's hut far up among the hills. late in the afternoon, a boy came up from the farm, with the news that the place had been searched by a party of troopers. they had ridden away without discovering that the fugitives had been at the farm, but four of the party had been left, in case mr. jervoise should come there. the farmer, therefore, warned them against coming back that way, as had been intended, naming another place where he would meet them. as soon as the sun was setting they mounted and, accompanied by the shepherd on a rough pony, started for lancaster. after riding for three hours, they stopped at a lonely farm house, at which mr. jervoise and his friends had held their meeting on the previous day. here they changed their clothes for others that had been sent for their use from lancaster. mr. jervoise was attired as a small trader, and the lads in garb suitable to boys in the same rank of life. they still, however, retained their swords, and the pistols in their holsters. three miles farther they met their host, as arranged, at some crossroads, and rode on until within three miles of lancaster. they then dismounted, placed their pistols in their belts, and handed their horses to the two men, who would take them back to the hut in the hills, where they would remain until required. it was two o'clock in the morning when they entered lancaster and, going up to a small house, standing in a garden in the outskirts of the town, mr. jervoise gave three low knocks in quick succession. the door was opened almost immediately. no light was shown, and they entered in the dark, but as soon as the door was closed behind them, a woman came out with a candle from an inner room. "i am glad to see you safe, mr. jervoise," a man said. "my wife and i were beginning to be anxious, fearing that you might have fallen into the hands of your enemies." "no, all has gone well, herries; but it is a long ride from the hills here, and we walked the last three miles, as we wanted to get the horses back again before daylight. we are deeply grateful to you for giving us shelter." "i would be ready to do more than that," the man said, "for the sake of the good cause. my wife's father and mine both fell at naseby, and we are as loyal to the stuarts as they were. you are heartily welcome, sir, and, as we keep no servant, there will be none to gossip. you can either remain in the house, in which case none will know of your presence here; or, if you wish to go abroad in the town, i will accompany you, and will introduce you to any acquaintance i may meet as a cousin of my wife who, with his two sons, has come over from preston to pay us a visit. i don't think that anyone would know you, in that attire." "i will run no more risks than are necessary, herries. those i wish to see will visit me here, and, if i go out at all, it will not be until after dark." for a fortnight they remained at the house. after dark each day, a man paid mr. jervoise a visit. he was the magistrates' clerk, and had an apartment in the castle. from him they learned that a messenger had been despatched to london, with an account of the evidence taken in sir marmaduke's case; and that, at the end of twelve days, he had returned with orders that all prisoners and witnesses were to be sent to town, where they would be examined, in the first place, by his majesty's council; and where sir marmaduke's trial for high treason would take place. they were to be escorted by a party of twelve troopers, under the command of a lieutenant. the fugitives had, before, learned that the search for mr. jervoise had been given up; it being supposed that he, with his son and young carstairs had, with their accomplices, all ridden for the coast at the first alarm, and had probably taken ship for france before the orders had arrived that all outgoing vessels should be searched. harry and charlie had both been away for two or three days, and had been occupied in getting together ten young fellows, from the two estates, who would be willing and ready to attempt to rescue sir marmaduke from his captors' hands. they were able to judge, with tolerable accuracy, when the messenger would return from london and, two days previously, the men had been directed to ride, singly and by different roads, and to put up at various small inns in manchester, each giving out that he was a farmer in from the country, either to purchase supplies, or to meet with a customer likely to buy some cattle he wished to dispose of. charlie had paid a visit to lynnwood, and had gone by the long passage into the priest's chamber, and had carried off the gold hidden there. as soon as it was known that the messenger had returned, herries had borrowed a horse, and had ridden with a note to the farmer, telling him to go up to the hills and bring the horses down, with one of his own, to the place where he had parted from them, when they entered lancaster. there he was met by mr. jervoise and the lads and, mounting, they started with the spare horse for blackburn, choosing that line in preference to the road through preston, as there were troops stationed at the latter town. the next day they rode on to manchester. they went round, that evening, to the various inns where the men had put up, and directed them to discover whether, as was probable, the escort was to arrive that night. if so, they were to mount at daybreak, and assemble where the road crossed the moor, three miles north of chapel le frith, where they would find mr. jervoise awaiting them. at nine o'clock that evening the troop rode in and, at daybreak, mr. jervoise and the boys started. two of the men were already at the spot indicated, and, half an hour later, the whole of them had arrived. mr. jervoise led them back to a spot that he had selected, where the road dipped into a deep valley, in which, sheltered from the winds, was a small wood. leaving one at the edge, to give warning directly the escort appeared on the road over the brow, he told the rest to dismount. most of them were armed with pistols. all had swords. "do you," he said, "who are good shots with your pistols, fire at the men when i give the word--let the rest aim at the horses. the moment you have opened fire, dash forward and fall on them. we are already as numerous as they are, and we ought to be able to dismount or disable four or five of them, with our first fire. i shall give the order as sir marmaduke arrives opposite me. probably the officer will be riding. i shall make the officer my special mark, for it may be that he has orders to shoot the prisoner, if any rescue is attempted. "i don't suppose they will be at all prepared for an attack. they were vigilant, no doubt, for the first two days but, once out of lancashire, they will think that there is no longer any fear of an attempt at rescue. pursue those that escape for half a mile or so, and then draw rein, and, as soon as they are out of sight, strike due north across the fells. keep to the east of glossop, and then make your way singly to your homes. it will be better for you to travel up through yorkshire, till you are north of ingleborough, so as to come down from the north to your farms. "i know that you have all engaged in this affair for love of sir marmaduke or myself, and because you hate to see a loyal gentleman made the victim of lying knaves; but when we come back with the king, you may be sure that sir marmaduke and i will well reward the services you have rendered." it was an hour before the man on the lookout warned them that the troop had just appeared over the hill. they mounted now, and, pistol in hand, awaited the arrival of the party. two troopers came first, trotting carelessly along, laughing and smoking. a hundred yards behind came the main body, four troopers first, then the lieutenant and sir marmaduke, followed by the other six troopers. with outstretched arm, and pistol pointed through the undergrowth, mr. jervoise waited till the officer, who was riding on his side of the road, came abreast of him. he had already told the boys that he intended to aim at his shoulder. "they are the enemies of the king," he said, "but i cannot, in cold blood, shoot down a man with whom i have no cause for quarrel. i can depend upon my aim, and he will not be twelve paces from the muzzle of my pistol." he fired. the officer gave a sudden start, and reeled on his horse, and, before he could recover himself, the band, who had fired at the flash of the first pistol, dashed out through the bushes and fell upon the troopers. four men had dropped, one horse had fallen, and two others were plunging wildly as, with a shout, their assailants dashed upon them. all who could turn their horse's head rode furiously off, some along the road forward, others back towards manchester. the lieutenant's horse had rolled over with him, as that of mr. jervoise struck it on the shoulder, with the full impetus of its spring. "it is all over, sir marmaduke, and you are a free man. we have nothing to do now but to ride for it." and, before the knight had fairly recovered from his astonishment, he found himself riding south across the moor, with his son on one side of him, and mr. jervoise and harry on the other. "you have saved my life, jervoise," he said, holding out his hand to his friend. "they had got me so firmly in their clutches, that i thought my chances were at an end. "how are you, charlie? i am right glad to see you, safe and sound, for they had managed to include you in their pretended plot, and, for aught i knew, you had been all this time lying in a cell next mine in lancaster castle. "but who are the good fellows who helped you?" mr. jervoise briefly gave an account of the affair. "they are only keeping up a sham pursuit of the soldiers, so as to send them well on their way. i told them not to overtake them, as there was no occasion for any further bloodshed, when you were once out of their hands. by tomorrow morning they will all be at work on their farms again, and, if they keep their own counsel, need not fear." suddenly sir marmaduke reined in his horse. "we are riding south," he said. "certainly we are," mr. jervoise said. "why not? that is our only chance of safety. they will, in the first place, suspect us of having doubled back to the hills, and will search every farmhouse and cottage. our only hope of escape is to ride either for bristol, or one of the southern ports." "i must go back," sir marmaduke said doggedly. "i must kill that scoundrel john dormay, before i do anything else. it is he who has wound this precious skein, in order to entrap us, expecting, the scoundrel, to have my estates bestowed on him as a reward." "it were madness to ride back now, sir marmaduke. it would cost you your life, and you would leave charlie here fatherless, and with but little chance of ever regaining the estate. you have but to wait for a time, and everything will right itself. as soon as the king comes to his own, your estates will be restored, and then i would not seek to stay your hand, if you sought vengeance upon this cunning knave." "besides, father," charlie put in, "much as he deserves any punishment you can give him, you would not kill cousin celia's husband and ciceley's father. when the truth is all made known, his punishment will be bitter enough, for no honest man would offer him a hand, or sit down to a meal with him. "ciceley has been as a young sister to me, and her mother has ever been as kind as if she had been my aunt. i would not see them grieved, even if that rogue came off scot free from punishment; but, at any rate, father, i pray you to let it pass at present. this time we have happily got you out of the clutches of the whigs, but, if you fell into them again, you may be sure they would never give us another chance." sir marmaduke still sat irresolute, and charlie went on: "besides, father, mr. jervoise has risked his life in lingering in lancashire to save you, and the brave fellows who aided us to rescue you have risked theirs, both in the fray and afterwards, if their share in it should ever be known; and it would not be fair to risk failure, after all they have done. i pray you, father, be guided by the opinion of your good friend, mr. jervoise." sir marmaduke touched his horse's flank with his heel. "you have prevailed, charlie. your last argument decided me. i have no right to risk my life, after my good friends have done so much to save me. john dormay may enjoy his triumph for a while, but a day of reckoning will surely come. "now, tell me of the others, jervoise. have all escaped in safety?" "all. your boy brought me the news of your arrest, and that we were charged with plotting william's assassination. i rode that night with the news, and next day all were on the road to the coast, and were happily on board and away before the news of their escape could be sent to the ports." "and now, what are your plans, jervoise--that is, if you have any plans, beyond reaching a port and taking ship for france?" "i am going to sweden," mr. jervoise said, and then repeated the reasons that he had given charlie for taking this step. "i am too old for the wars," sir marmaduke said. "i was sixty last birthday, and though i am still strong and active, and could strike a shrewd blow in case of need, i am too old for the fatigues and hardships of campaigning. i could not hope, at my age, to obtain a commission in the swedish service." "no, i did not think of your joining the army, sir marmaduke, though i warrant you would do as well as most; but i thought that you might take up your residence at stockholm, as well as at saint germains. you will find many scottish gentlemen there, and not a few jacobites who, like yourself, have been forced to fly. besides, both the life and air would suit you better than at saint germains, where, by all accounts the life is a gay one, and men come to think more of pleasure than of duty. moreover, your money will go much further in sweden than in france." sir marmaduke, checking the horse's speed, said, "i have not so much as a penny in my pocket, and methinks i am like to have some trouble in getting at the hoard i have been collecting, ever since dutch william came to the throne, for the benefit of his majesty when he arrives." "you will have no trouble in getting at that, father," charlie said laughing, "seeing that you have nothing to do but to lean over, and put your hand into my holsters, which are so full, as you see, that i am forced to carry my pistols in my belt." "what mean you, lad?" "i mean, father, that i have the whole of the hoard, that was stowed away in the priest's hiding place;" and he then related how banks had revealed to him the secret of the hiding place, and how he had, the night before sir marmaduke was removed from lancaster castle, visited the place and carried away the money. "i could not see banks," he said, "but i left a few words on a scrap of paper, saying that it was i who had taken the money. otherwise he would have been in a terrible taking, when he discovered that it was gone." "that is right good news, indeed, lad. for twelve years i have set aside half my rents, so that in those bags in your holsters there are six years' income, and the interest of that money, laid out in good mortgages, will suffice amply for my wants in a country like sweden, where life is simple and living cheap. the money itself shall remain untouched, for your use, should our hopes fail and the estates be lost for all time. that is indeed a weight off my mind. "and you are, i hope, in equally good case, jervoise, for if not, you know that i would gladly share with you?" "i am in very good case, sir marmaduke, though i none the less thank you for your offer. i too have, as you know, put aside half my income. my estates are not so large as those of lynnwood. their acreage may be as large, but a good deal of it is mountain land, worth but little. my fund, therefore, is not as large as yours, but it amounts to a good round sum; and as i hope, either in the army or in some other way, to earn an income for myself, it is ample. i shall be sorry to divert it from the use for which i intended it, but that cannot now be helped. i have had the pleasure, year by year, of putting it by for the king's use, and, now that circumstances have changed, it will be equally useful to myself." "do you know this country well, jervoise?" "personally i know nothing about it, save that the sun tells me that, at present, i am travelling south, sir marmaduke. but, for the last few days i have been so closely studying a map, that i know the name of every town and village on the various routes." "and whither think you of going?" "to london or southampton. strangers are far less noticed in large towns than in small, and we could hardly hope to find a ship, bound for sweden, in any of the dorset or devon ports." chapter : in sweden. after much discussion, the party agreed that it would be best to make for southampton. the road thither was less frequented than that leading to london, and there were fewer towns to be passed, and less chance of interruption. mr. jervoise had brought with him a valise and suit of clothes for sir marmaduke, of sober cut and fashion. they avoided all large towns and, at the places where they put up, represented themselves as traders travelling from the midlands to the southern coast, and they arrived at southampton without having excited the smallest suspicion. indeed, throughout the journey, they had heard no word of the affray near chapel le frith, and knew, therefore, that the news had not travelled as fast as they had. at southampton, however, they had scarcely put up at an inn when the landlord said: "i suppose, gentlemen, they are talking of nothing else, in london, but the rescue of a desperate jacobite by his friends. the news only reached here yesterday." "it has occasioned a good deal of scare," mr. jervoise replied. "i suppose there is no word of the arrest of the man, or his accomplices? we have travelled but slowly, and the news may have passed us on the way." "not as yet," the landlord replied. "they say that all the northern and eastern ports are watched, and they make sure of catching him, if he presents himself there. the general opinion is that he will, for a time, go into hiding with his friends, in the hills of cumberland or westmoreland, or perhaps on the yorkshire moors; but they are sure to catch him sooner or later." "it is a bad business altogether," mr. jervoise said, "and we can only hope that all guilty persons will in time get the punishment they so well deserve. how can trade be carried on, if the country is to be disturbed by plots, and conspiracies?" "how, indeed?" the landlord repeated heartily. "i do not meddle in politics, being content to earn my living by my business, and to receive all who can pay their reckoning, without caring a jot whether they be whigs or tories." the next morning mr. jervoise and sir marmaduke went down to the port, leaving the lads to wander about the town at their pleasure, as two persons were likely to attract less attention than four. they found that there were two vessels in port, loading with munitions of war for sweden, and that one of them would sail shortly. they at once went on board her, and saw the captain. "do you carry any passengers?" "none have applied so far," the captain said; "but, if they were to offer, i should not say no to them." "we want to take passage for sweden," mr. jervoise said. "the king of that country is, as they say, fitting out an army. clothes are as necessary for troops as swords and guns, and we think we could obtain a contract for these goods. there is no hope of doing so, unless we ourselves go over, and, though sorely loath to do so, for neither of us have ever before set foot on board a ship, we determined on making the journey, together with our two clerks, for whom we will take passage at the same rate as for ourselves, seeing that they are both related to us." "have you any goods with you?" "we shall take over but a bale or two of cloth, as samples of the goods we can supply; but, beyond that, we have but little luggage, seeing that our stay may be a very short one." there was a little haggling for terms, as the two gentlemen did not wish to appear eager to go; but the matter was finally settled to the satisfaction of both parties. on their return to the inn, mr. jervoise took the host aside. "we have business connected with our trade in cloth in sweden, where we hope to obtain a large contract. the matter may occupy us a week, or a month or two for aught we know, and we do not want our horses to be eating their heads off, here, while we are away. besides, we may be able, on our return, to take a passage to one of the devonshire ports, which would suit us much better. but we should not be able to do so, if there were need for returning here for our horses. therefore, we would fain dispose of them, and, if you can find us a purchaser by tomorrow night, we will pay you a fair commission on the money we receive." "i doubt not that i can do that readily enough," the landlord said. "three of them are fine animals, fit for any gentleman's riding. the other is a stout hackney. trust me, i will get the best price i can for them." the next day he came up to their room. "i have had a good offer for the horses," he said. "two gentlemen, who arrived yesterday from france, and are staying at the inn of a friend of mine, are requiring horses for themselves and their servants, and i have promised my friend a slice of my commission, if he will bring them round hither. will you name your price for them?" "no, i would rather not," mr. jervoise said cautiously. "if we asked too high a figure, we might frighten the purchasers away. if we should ask too little, we should be the losers. i daresay they have named, to your friend, the price they are willing to give. you had better ask from them a good bit above that, then you can come down little by little, and maybe, seeing the horses are really good ones, they may advance a bit. i am not used to a horse deal, and will leave it to you to make the bargain. we are sorry to part with the animals, but they might die on the voyage, or get so injured as to be worthless; and, moreover, we shall have no use for them there. therefore, as we must sell, we are ready to take the best terms we can get." when they returned to the inn, after an absence of two hours, they found that the landlord had sold the horses, for a sum nearly approaching their value, the gentlemen being as anxious to purchase them as they were to sell. the next day, they bought three or four rolls of west country cloth, and a supply of clothes suitable to their condition, together with trunks for their carriage. all these were sent down to the ship, in the course of the afternoon, and they themselves embarked late in the evening, as she was to set sail at daybreak. the lads, accustomed to spacious and airy rooms, were quite taken aback at the small and stuffy cabin allotted to their joint use, and slept but badly, for the loading of the ship continued by torchlight, until within an hour of the time of their departure. after tossing about for some hours in their narrow beds, they were glad to go on deck, and to plunge their heads into a pail of water, and were then, after combing their long hair, able to take an interest in what was passing round them. the sailors were busy; stowing away the cargo last received, tidying the decks, and coiling down the ropes. there were but few persons on the quay, for those who had been engaged in loading the cargo had gone off to bed, as soon as the last bale was on board. in half an hour the sailors began to hoist the sails, the hawsers were thrown off, and, with a gentle wind blowing aft, the ship glided along past the shore, being helped by the tide, which had begun to ebb half an hour before. the lads were greatly interested in watching the well-wooded slope on the left, with the stately ruins of tintern abbey rising above the trees. then they passed the round fort, at the water's edge, on their right, and issued out from southampton water into the broad sheet between the island and the mainland. it was dotted with sails; fishing craft and coasters for the most part, but with some larger ships bound from the east to southampton, and others that had come in through the solent. this was very entertaining to the boys, and they were still more pleased when they saw the fortifications of portsmouth, with cannon pointing seaward, and with many vessels riding in the strait by the side of the town. "that fort would give the french or the dutch a hot reception, were they at any time to think to capture the dockyard and shipping," sir marmaduke said. "the dutch have already captured the place, and that without shedding a drop of blood," mr. jervoise remarked. "'that is true enough," the knight said, stamping his foot angrily on the deck, "but what has been won so easily may be lost as quickly. i have seen several changes since i can first remember, and i hope i may live to see another. however, we need not talk of that now." "no, indeed," mr. jervoise agreed. "it may be, sir marmaduke, that it would be better if we had talked and thought less of it, during the last twelve years; better for ourselves, and for these lads. we might still have been ready to join his majesty as soon as he landed, but as, till then, we could do nothing, it seems to me now that it would have been wiser had we gone about our business without worrying our heads, to say nothing of risking them, about a matter that may not take place during our lives; as we know, well enough, the king of france uses the stuarts only for his own convenience, and at heart cares nothing for them or their cause. it is convenient to have the means of creating trouble here, and of so weakening william; and it may be that, some day or other, it may suit him to send over an army here to fight william, with the aid of the stuarts' friends, instead of fighting him in holland or elsewhere. but whether he may think fit to do so in one year, or in twenty years hence, who can say? it is a question solely of military policy. "the stuarts are simply used, by the french king, to pull english chestnuts out of the fire. i would that they had established themselves anywhere rather than in france. it does them harm with vast numbers who would otherwise be their friends, at any rate in england. in scotland it is otherwise, for scotland has always been in alliance with france; but in england it is different. france has always been the national foe; and, had not charles and james proved themselves so subservient to louis, william of orange would never have been crowned king. there are vast numbers in england who would rather see a stuart than a dutchman on the throne, but who will never strike a blow to replace them there, and that because they will come over backed up by french bayonets. "well, let us talk of something else. if the time ever comes to act, we shall be ready, but till then we can let the matter sleep, the more so as we have a new life before us, and plenty of other things to occupy our thoughts." "what is it, father," harry asked, "that the swedes and danes are going to fight about?" "it is a difficult question, harry; but there can be little doubt that denmark is in the wrong. the king of sweden died in april, . his death was unfortunate, for the powers contending in europe had all agreed to refer their quarrels to his mediation. at his death, denmark endeavoured to obtain the honour, but failed; and by the mediation, chiefly, of the swedish regency, peace was concluded between france, england, and holland, in the autumn of that year; and, shortly afterwards, the struggle between the german emperor, france, and spain was also concluded, but not at all to the satisfaction of the swedish mediators. "while sweden was occupied in this matter of the pacification of europe, the king of denmark thought to take advantage of the fact that charles of sweden was but a minor, to press frederick, duke of holstein, who was in close alliance with him. "there had long been serious differences between the rulers of denmark and holstein, both of whom were branches of the oldenburg family, and this in reference to the duchy of schleswig. the quarrel had arisen from the act of christian the third, of denmark, who decreed that the descendants of his brother adolphus should govern holstein, jointly with the king of denmark, and that holstein and schleswig should belong to them in common, neither making any change in holstein without the consent of the other a more foolish arrangement could not have been conceived, for anyone might have foreseen that it would lead to disputes and troubles. in fact, quarrels continually arose, until, at the peace of rosahild, in , the duchy was adjudged to denmark. "holstein, however, never acquiesced in this, and in there was war, when, holstein being defeated, the danes imprisoned its duke, christian albertus, until he signed a renunciation of all his rights. "his troops were disarmed, and all his towns and fortresses garrisoned by danish troops. on his release, the duke went to hamburg, where he remained till, at the peace of fontainebleau, four years later, he was replaced in possession of his estates and rights of sovereignty. "but this did not last long. new troubles arose, but sweden, england, and holland interested themselves in favour of the duke, and a peace was concluded in , by which he was confirmed in the rights given him, ten years before, with full liberty to raise a certain number of troops, and of building fortresses, on the condition that he should raise none to the prejudice of denmark. "this was another of those stipulations which inevitably lead to trouble, for it afforded to denmark a pretext for continual complaint and interference. when frederick the fourth succeeded his father as duke of holstein, in , the quarrel grew so hot that denmark would have invaded holstein, had not the parties to the treaty of ' interfered, and brought about a conference. this lasted all through the year , but the negotiators appointed to settle the matter were unable to arrive at any conclusion. "the following year, charles of sweden, who had just succeeded his father, furnished the duke with some troops, to help him to build some forts that were intended to protect the frontier, in case of invasion by denmark. christian of denmark at once attacked and captured these forts, and levelled them to the ground. the duke, being too weak to engage in a war with his powerful neighbour, did not resent this attack, and the negotiations were continued as before. in view of the danger of the situation, and the necessity for a monarch at the head of affairs, the swedish diet met, at stockholm, to take part in the funeral of the late king, which was to be performed on the th of november, and to deliberate upon the situation. "by the will of the late king, charles was not to ascend the throne until he reached the age of eighteen, but the diet passed a vote overruling this, and, as the regency concurred, he was at once crowned, and the alliance with holstein was cemented by the marriage, that had been previously arranged between charles's eldest sister and the duke of holstein, being celebrated at stockholm. charles the twelfth at once concluded treaties with france, england, and holland; while denmark is reported to have prepared for war by making a secret alliance with augustus of saxony, king of poland, and the czar of russia. both these monarchs were doubtless desirous of extending their dominions, at the cost of sweden, whose continental possessions are considerable. "augustus is not yet very firmly seated on the throne of poland. there are several parties opposed to him, and these united in obtaining, from the diet, a refusal to pay the saxon troops augustus had brought with him. the king, no doubt, considered that these could be employed for the conquest of livonia, and that the addition of so large a territory to poland would so add to his popularity, that he would have no further troubles in his kingdom. "charles the twelfth, being in ignorance of this secret agreement, sent an embassy to russia, to announce his accession to the throne. the ambassadors were kept a long time waiting for an audience, as the czar was bringing a war with the turks to a conclusion, and did not wish to throw off the mask until he was free to use his whole force against sweden. the ambassadors were, at last, received civilly, but the czar evaded taking the usual oaths of friendship, and, after long delays, the embassy returned to sweden, feeling somewhat disquieted as to the intentions of the czar, but having no sure knowledge of them. "the king of poland was more successful in disguising his leaning towards denmark, sending the warmest assurances to charles, requesting him to act as mediator in the quarrel between himself and the duke of brandenburg, and signing a treaty of alliance with sweden. but, while sweden had no idea of the triple alliance that had been formed against her, the intention of denmark to make war was evident enough, for king christian was gathering a great naval armament. "the duke of holstein, becoming much alarmed at these preparations, hastened on the fortifications of tonningen, on the eider, three leagues from its mouth. the garrison of the place was a weak one, and a thousand swedish troops were thrown in to strengthen it. the king of denmark complained that this was a breach of the treaty, but, as his own preparations for war were unmistakable, no one could blame the duke of holstein for taking steps to defend his territories. "as you know, christian of denmark died about this time, and was succeeded by his son frederick the fourth. "last august, he commenced the war, by sending a naval squadron to cover the passage of four regiments into pomerania. charles of sweden, seeing that holstein must be crushed by its powerful neighbour, called upon holland and the duke of lunenburg, who were with sweden guarantors of the treaty, to enforce its provisions; and a joint protest was sent to the king of denmark, who was informed that, if he invaded holstein, they should consider it a breach of the treaty of altena, and treat him as a common enemy. frederick replied by sending some troops into the duchy. "no active operations took place, until the beginning of this year. up to that time, sweden had not doubted the friendship of the king of poland, and charles, at first, could hardly believe the reports he received from the governor of livonia, that the saxon troops were approaching the frontier. "a few days later, however, came the news that they were advancing against riga. the governor prepared for defence, and hastily mounted cannon on the walls. his powers of resistance, however, were lessened by the fact that the river duna was frozen over. fleming, who commanded the saxon troops, arrived before the town, early in february, with four thousand men. the governor had set fire to the suburbs on the previous day; and fleming was surprised to find that, instead of taking it by surprise, as he had hoped, the place was in a position to offer a stout resistance. however, he attacked the fort of cobrun, on the opposite side of the river, and carried it by assault. "the news was brought to young charles the twelfth when he was out hunting, a sport of which he is passionately fond. by all accounts, he is an extraordinary young fellow. he is not content with hunting bears and shooting them, but he and his followers engage them armed only with forked sticks. with these they attack the bears, pushing and hustling the great creatures, with the forks of their sticks, until they are completely exhausted, when they are bound and sent away. in this hunt charles took fourteen alive, one of which nearly killed him before it was captured. he did not break up the hunting party, but continued his sport to the end, sending off, however, orders for the concentration of all the troops, in livonia and finland, to act against the saxons. "as soon as the king of denmark heard of the siege of riga, he ordered the duke of wurtemberg-neustadt, his commander-in-chief, to enter holstein with his army, sixteen thousand strong. all of that country was at once overrun, the ducal domains seized, and great contributions exacted from schleswig and holstein. fleming and the saxons, after one severe repulse, forced the garrison of the fort of dunamund, commanding the mouth of the duna, to surrender. tonningen is the only fortress that now holds out in holstein. so you see, lads, there is every chance of there being brisk fighting, and i warrant the young king of sweden will not be backward in the fray. a man who is fond of engaging with bears, armed with nothing but a forked stick, is not likely to hang back in the day of battle. "but, at present, we will say no more on the matter. now that we have got beyond the shelter of the island, the waves are getting up, and the vessel is beginning to toss and roll. i see that sir marmaduke has retired to his cabin. i mean to remain here as long as i can, and i should advise you both to do the same. i have always heard that it is better to fight with this sickness of the sea, as long as possible, and that it is easier to do so in fresh air than in a close cabin." the lads quite agreed with this opinion, but were, in spite of their efforts, presently prostrate. they remained on deck for some hours, and then crawled to their cabin, where they remained for the next three days, at the end of which time they came on deck again, feeling better, but as weak as if they had suffered from a long illness. mr. jervoise had been in frequently to see them, having escaped the malady, from which, as he told them, sir marmaduke was suffering to the full as severely as they were. "so you have found your feet again," the captain said, when they appeared on deck. "you will be all right now." "we feel much better," harry said, "now that the storm is over." "storm! what storm? the weather has been splendid. we cannot wish for anything better. it has been just as you see it now--a bright sun, and just enough wind for her to carry whole sail." the lads both looked astonished. "then why should we roll and toss about so much?" harry asked. "roll and toss! nonsense, lad! there has been a little movement, of course, as there always must be when there is a brisk wind; but as for rolling and tossing, you must wait till you see a storm, then you will begin to have an idea of what the sea is." the boys both felt rather crestfallen, for they had flattered themselves that their sufferings were caused by something quite out of the ordinary way, and it was mortifying to know that the weather had been really fine, and there had been nothing even approaching a storm. the rest of the voyage was a pleasant one. they found they had regained their appetites, and were able to enjoy their meals; still they were not sorry when they saw the coast of sweden, and, a few hours later, entered the port of gottenburg, where sir marmaduke, for the first time, came on deck--looking a mere shadow of his former jovial self. "well, lads," he said, "i was glad to hear that you got through this business quicker than i did. here we are in sweden, and here i, at least, am likely to stay, unless i can pass by land through holland, france, and across from calais, for never again will i venture upon a long voyage. i have been feeling very ungrateful, for, over and over again, i wished that you had not rescued me, as death on tower hill would have been nothing to the agonies that i have been enduring!" as soon as the vessel was warped alongside the quay, they landed, and put up at an hotel, sir marmaduke insisting that the ground was as bad as the sea, as it kept on rising and falling beneath his feet. mr. jervoise agreed to return on board the following day, to fetch the luggage, which would by that time have been got up from the hold. at the hotel, they met several persons able to speak english, and from them learnt how matters had been going on since they had last heard. the town and fortress of tonningen had fallen, after a vigorous defence; it had been bombarded for eight days, and had repulsed one assault, but had been captured at the second attack. england and holland had agreed to furnish fleets, and an army of twelve thousand swedes were in readiness to march, at once, while other armies were being formed. the king had, the week before, reviewed the army gathered at malmoe; and had, on the previous day, arrived at gottenburg, accompanied by the duke of holstein. mr. jervoise went, the same afternoon, to find out some of his friends who resided at gottenburg. he was fortunate enough to find one of them, who was able to inform him that his wife's cousin was now a major, in one of the newly-raised regiments stationed at gottenburg. he found him without difficulty. major jamieson was delighted at the coming of his former friend. "you are the last person i expected to see here, jervoise. it is true that, when we met last, you said that if matters went wrong in england you should come out here, instead of taking refuge in france; but, as everything is quiet, i had little hope of seeing you again, until i paid another visit to scotland, of which at present there is but little prospect. have you grown tired of doing nothing, and is it a desire to see something of a stirring life that has brought you over here?" mr. jervoise related, shortly, the events by which he had been driven into exile, and expressed his desire to serve in the army of sweden, and that his son and young carstairs should also enter the army. "they are but sixteen yet," he said, "but are stout, active fellows, and could hold their own in a day's march or in a stout fight with many men. of course, if i could obtain commissions for them, all the better, but if not they are ready to enlist in the ranks. roughing it will do them no harm." "their age is no drawback," major jamieson said. "there are many no older, both in the ranks and as officers. men in sweden of all ages and of all ranks are joining, for this unprovoked attack, on the part of poland, has raised the national spirit to boiling heat. the chief difficulty is their and your ignorance of the language. were it not for that, i could obtain, from the minister of war, commissions for you at once." he sat thinking for some minutes, in silence. "i think i see how it can be managed, jervoise. i have some twenty or thirty scotchmen in my regiment, and i know a colonel who has as many in his, and these i could manage to get, in exchange for an equal number of my swedes. ships are coming daily from scotland, and most of them bring young fellows who have come out to join the army. "you know how the scots fought, under gustavus adolphus, and there is scarce a glen in scotland where there are not traditions of fathers, or grandfathers, who fought in hepburn's green brigade. therefore, it is natural that, seeing there is no chance of military service at home, there should be many young fellows coming out to join. "i can go across this evening to the minister of war, who is a personal friend of mine, and get him to give you permission to raise a company of scotchmen for service. i shall, of course, point out to him that you will enlist them here. i shall show him the advantage of these men being gathered together, as their ignorance of the language makes them, for some time, useless as soldiers if enrolled in a swedish regiment. i shall mention that i have twenty in my own corps, who are at present positively useless, and in fact a source of great trouble, owing to their understanding nothing that is said to them, and shall propose that they be at once handed over to you. as to the exchange, we can manage that quietly between ourselves. you would have no difficulty with fresh-landed men, as these will naturally be delighted at joining a company of their own countrymen." "thank you very heartily, jamieson. this altogether exceeds my hopes, but i fear that i know nothing of drilling them." "two of my men are sergeants, and, having been in the army for some years, speak swedish well. they will do the drilling at first. the manoeuvres are not complicated, and, for a pound or two, they will be glad to teach you all the orders necessary. i don't know how you are situated as to money, but i can assure you my purse is at your service." "thank you; i am, in that respect, excellently well provided, as is my friend sir marmaduke. we have both made provision for unexpected contingencies." "then, if you will call tomorrow after breakfast, i shall probably have your commission ready. as a matter of course, you will have the appointment of your own officers, and will only have to send in their names. each company is from a hundred and forty to a hundred and fifty strong, and has a captain, two lieutenants, and two ensigns." mr. jervoise's news was, on his return to the inn, received with delight by the two lads; and sir marmaduke said: "i wish i could shake off twenty of my years, jervoise, and join also. well, well, i daresay i shall get on comfortably enough. i know there are a good many english and scotch jacobites settled in the town or neighbourhood, and i shall not be long before i meet someone i know. "as the matter seems settled, i should advise you lads to go down, the first thing in the morning, to the wharves. there is no saying when ships may come in. moreover, it is likely enough that you may light upon young fellows who have landed within the last few weeks, and who have been kept so far, by their ignorance of the language, from enlisting." "that is a very good idea," mr. jervoise said. "they will be delighted to hear a friendly voice, and be only too glad to enlist in a scottish company. you can say that each man will have a free outfit given him." accordingly, the next morning early, the two lads went down to the wharf. presently they saw three young fellows, who were evidently scotch by their dress and caps, talking together. they strolled up near enough to catch what they were saying. "it is hard," one said, "that, now we are here, we can make no one understand us, and it seems to me we had far better have stayed at home." "we shall find some one who speaks our language presently, jock," another said more cheerfully. "the old man, where we lodged last night, said in his broken tongue, that we had but to go over to malmoe, or some such place as that, where there is a big camp, and walk up to an officer and say we wish to enlist." "oh, that is all very well," the other grumbled; "but, if he did not understand us, we should be no better off than before." "are you wanting to enlist?" harry said, going up to them. the men gave an exclamation of pleasure, at being addressed in their own tongue. "that we do, sir. if you can put us in the way, we shall be grateful." "that i can do easily," harry said. "my father is raising a company of scotch and englishmen, for the regiment commanded by colonel jamieson. this will be far better than joining a swedish company, where no one will understand your language, and you will not be able to make out the orders given. my father will give each man who joins a free outfit." "that is the very thing for us, sir. we expected to find scotch regiments here, as there were in the old times, and we had hoped to join them; but whether it is a company or regiment, it makes but little difference, so that we are with those who speak our tongue." "very well, then. if you come to the lion inn, at nine o'clock, you will see my father there. if you know of any others in the same mind as yourselves, and willing to join, bring them with you." "there are ten or twelve others who came over in the ship with us, two days since, and i have no doubt they will be fine and glad to join." "well, see if you can hunt them up, and bring them with you." on returning to the inn, they found that mr. jervoise had already received his commission as captain, and, by ten o'clock, fifteen young scotchmen had been sworn in. all of them had brought broadswords and dirks, and captain jervoise at once set to work buying, at various shops, iron head pieces, muskets, and other accoutrements. during the next three days ten other english and scotchmen had joined, and then a ship came in, from which they gathered another four-and-twenty recruits. arms had already been purchased for them, and, on the following day, captain jervoise marched off to malmoe with his forty-nine recruits. harry accompanied them, charlie being left behind, with his father, to gather another fifty men as the ships arrived. a week later this number was obtained, and charlie started with them for the camp, sir marmaduke accompanying them on horseback, in order to aid charlie in maintaining order among his recruits. he had already fixed upon a small house, just outside the town, and, having met two or three old friends, who had been obliged to leave england at william's accession, he already began to feel at home. "don't you fidget about me, charlie," he said. "ferrers tells me that there are at least a score of jacobites here, and that they form quite a society among themselves. living is very cheap, and he will introduce me to a man of business, who will see that my money is well invested." chapter : narva. for the next fortnight, drilling went on from morning till night, the officers receiving instructions privately from the sergeants, and further learning the words of command by standing by while the men were being drilled. at the end of that time, both officers and men were sufficiently instructed to carry out the simple movements which were, alone, in use in those days. it was not, however, until two months later that they were called upon to act. the english and dutch fleets had arrived, and effected a junction with that of sweden, and the danish fleet had shut themselves up in the port of copenhagen, which was closely blockaded. a large army had crossed to zeeland, and repulsed the danes, who had endeavoured to prevent their landing, and had then marched up to within sight of the walls of copenhagen, which they were preparing to besiege; when the king of denmark, alarmed at this unexpected result of his aggression on holstein, conceded every point demanded, and peace was signed. the negotiations were carried on in holland, and the swedes were extremely angry, when they found that they were baulked of their expected vengeance on their troublesome neighbours. the peace, however, left charles the twelfth at liberty to turn his attention to his other foes, and to hurry to the assistance of riga, which was beleaguered by the saxons and poles; and of narva, against which city the russians had made several unsuccessful assaults. without losing an hour, the king crossed to malmoe. the troops there were ordered to embark, immediately, in the vessels in the harbour. they then sailed to revel, where the swedish commander, welling, had retired from the neighbourhood of riga, his force being too small to meet the enemy in the open field. no sooner had the troops landed than the king reviewed them, and general welling was ordered, at once, to march so as to place himself between the enemy and wesenberg, where a large amount of provisions and stores for the use of the army had been collected. the two lieutenants, in the company of captain jervoise, were young scotchmen of good family, who had three months before come over and obtained commissions, and both had, at the colonel's request, been transferred to his regiment, and promoted to the rank of lieutenants. captain jervoise and his four officers messed together, and were a very cheerful party; indeed, their commander, to the surprise both of his son and charlie, had quite shaken off his quiet and somewhat gloomy manner, and seemed to have become quite another man, in the active and bracing life in which he was now embarked. cunningham and forbes were both active young men, full of life and energy, while the boys thoroughly enjoyed roughing it, and the excitement and animation of their daily work. sometimes they slept in the open air, sometimes on the floor of a cottage. their meals were rough but plentiful. the king's orders against plundering were very severe, and, even when in denmark, the country people, having nothing to complain of, had brought in supplies regularly. here in linovia they were in swedish dominions, but there was little to be purchased, for the peasantry had been brought to ruin by the foraging parties of the russians and poles. there was some disappointment, that the enemy had fallen back at the approach of welling's force, but all felt sure that it would not be long before they met them, for the king would assuredly lose no time in advancing against them, as soon as his army could be brought over. they were not, however, to wait for the arrival of the main force, although the cavalry only took part in the first affair. general welling heard that a force of three thousand circassians had taken up their quarters in a village, some fifteen miles away, and sent six hundred horse, under majors patkul and tisenbausen, to surprise them. they were, at first, successful and, attacking the circassians, set fire to the village, and were engaged in slaughtering the defenders, when twenty-one squadrons of russian cavalry came up and fell upon them, attacking them on all sides, and posting themselves so as to cut off their retreat. the swedes, however, gathered in a body, and charged the russians so furiously that they cut a way through their ranks, losing, however, many of their men, while major patkul and another officer were made prisoners. the king was at revel when this engagement took place, and, although but few of the troops had arrived, he was too impatient for action to wait until the coming of the fleet. he therefore marched to wesenberg, with his bodyguard and a few troops from revel. he at once despatched a thousand men, to cover the frontier, and issued orders for the rest of the troops to leave the whole of their baggage behind them, to take three days' provision in their haversacks, and to prepare to march the next morning. major jamieson came into the cottage, occupied by captain jervoise and his officers, late in the evening. they had a blazing fire, for it was now the middle of november, and the nights were very sharp. "well, jervoise, what do you think of the orders?" he asked, as he seated himself on a log that had been brought in for the fire. "i have not thought much about them, except that we are going to do a long and quick march somewhere." "and where is that somewhere, do you think?" "that, i have not the slightest idea." "you would not say that it was to narva?" "i certainly should not, considering that we have but five thousand infantry, and three thousand cavalry, and of these a large number have been so weakened, by fever, as to be unfit for fighting; while at narva, report says there are eighty thousand russians, in a strongly intrenched camp." "well, that is where we are going, jervoise, nevertheless. at least, that is what the colonel has told me." "he must have been surely jesting, major. we may be going to push forward in that direction, and occupy some strong position until the army comes up, but it would be the height of madness to attack an enemy, in a strong position, and just tenfold our force." "well, we shall see," jamieson said coolly. "it is certain that narva cannot hold out much longer, and i know that the king has set his heart on relieving it; but it does seem somewhat too dangerous an enterprise to attack the russians. at any rate, that is the direction in which we are going, tomorrow. it is a good seventy miles distant, and, as they say that the whole country has been devastated, and the villagers have all fled, it is evident that when the three days' bread and meat we carry are exhausted we shall have to get some food, out of the russian camp, if nowhere else." captain jervoise laughed, as did the others. "we can live for a short time on the horses, jamieson, if we are hard pushed for it, though most of them are little beyond skin and bone." "that is true. the cavalry are certainly scarcely fit for service. welling's troops have had a very hard time of it, and we may thank our stars, though we did not think so at the time, that we were kept nearly three months at malmoe, instead of being here with welling." "but do you seriously think, major, that the king means to attack the russians?" cunningham asked. "my own idea is that he does, cunningham. i cannot see what else there is for us to do. at any rate, if he does, you may be sure that we shall make a tough fight for it. the cavalry showed, the other day, that they can stand up against many times their number of the russians, and if they can do it, i fancy we can. there is one thing, the very audacity of such an attempt is in its favour." "well, we will all do our best, you may be sure; but since thermopylae, i doubt if men have fought against longer odds." the next morning the men fell in. captain jervoise, who, like all of his rank, was mounted, took his place at the head of his company, and the little army marched away from wesenberg. it was a dreary march to purts, but the sight of the ruined villages, and devastated fields, aroused a feeling of indignation and fury among the troops, and a fierce longing to attack men who had so ruthlessly spread ruin through a fertile country. orders were issued, that evening, that the men were to husband their provisions as much as possible, and the order was more strictly obeyed than such orders usually are, for the men saw, for themselves, that there was no possibility of obtaining fresh supplies in the wasted country, and were well aware that there existed no train of waggons and horses capable of bringing up stores from wesenberg. there were a few aged men and women remaining at purts, and from these they learned that their next day's march would take them to a very difficult pass, which was held by six hundred of the russian cavalry, together with a force of infantry and some guns. it was the intention of the king to encamp that evening near the pass, and, when within three or four miles of it, general meidel, who had with him the quartermaster of the army, and four hundred cavalry, rode on ahead to choose a site for the camp. he presently saw a large body of russian foragers in front of him, and sent back to the king for permission to attack them. charles ordered the army to continue its march, and, hurrying forward with some of his officers, joined general meidel and charged the foragers, killing many, taking others prisoners, and putting the rest to flight. he followed close upon their heels, and rode right up to the mouth of the pass, in spite of the heavy fire of artillery and musketry opened by the russians. he at once determined to take advantage of the alarm produced by the defeat of the russian cavalry, and, although darkness was now drawing on, brought up some of his infantry and artillery, and attacked with such vigour that the russians fled, after offering a very feeble resistance. a battalion of foot were ordered to occupy the pass, while the rest of the army piled their arms, and lay down where they stood. in the morning, they were astonished at the strength of the position that had been gained so easily. the defile was deep and narrow, a rapid stream ran through it, and the ground was soft and marshy. a few determined men should have been able to bar the advance of an army. the troops were in high spirits at the result of this, their first action against the enemy, and were the more pleased that they found, in the russian camp, sufficient provisions to replace those they had used. after a hearty meal, they again advanced at a brisk march. the defile was captured on the evening of the th november, and, early in the morning of the th, the army reached lagena, a league and a half from narva, and, ordering the troops to follow, the king rode forward to reconnoitre the russian position. the troops were weary with their long marches, and many of those who had, but recently, recovered from fever were scarce able to drag themselves along, while great numbers were unfit to take part in a battle, until after two or three days of rest. the officers of the malmoe regiment, for it had taken its name from the camp where it had been formed, were gathered in a group at its head, discussing the situation. most of the officers were of opinion that, to attack at once, with men and horses worn out with fatigue, was to ensure destruction; but there were others who thought that, in face of so great an army as that gathered in front of them, the only hope was in an immediate attack. major jamieson was one of these. "the king is right," he said. "if the russian army have time to form, and to advance against us in order of battle, we must be annihilated. at present, their camp is an extensive one, for, as i hear, it extends in a great semi-circle four or five miles long, with the ends resting on the river. they cannot believe that we intend to attack them, and, if we go straight at them, we may possibly gain a footing in their intrenchments, before the whole army can gather to aid those at the point of attack. it will be almost a surprise, and i think the king is right to attempt it, for it is only by a quick and sudden stroke that we can gain a success over so great an army." the halt was but a short one and, as soon as the regiments had arrived at the positions assigned to them, they advanced. as soon as they appeared, on a rise of ground facing the intrenchments, the enemy opened fire. the king had already reconnoitred a portion of their position, exposing himself recklessly to their shot, and, as soon as the troops came up, he issued orders for them to prepare to attack in two columns. first, however, several of the regiments were ordered to fall out, and to cut down bushes and make fascines, to enable the troops to cross the ditches. the intrenchment was a formidable one, being provided with parapets armed with chevaux de frise, and flanked by strong exterior works, while several batteries had been placed to sweep the ground across which an enemy must advance. the right column, under general welling, was to march to a point nearly in the centre of the great semicircle; while the left, under general rhenschild, was to assault a point about halfway between the centre and the river, where one of the largest and most powerful of the enemy's batteries was placed. the king himself was with this wing, with his bodyguard, and he hoped that here he might meet the czar commanding in person. the russian emperor had, however, left the camp that morning, to fetch up forty thousand men who were advancing from plescow, and the command of the army had been assumed by the duke of croy. the swedish left wing had with it a battery of twenty-one guns, while sixteen guns covered the attack on the right. it was two o'clock in the afternoon when two guns gave the signal for the advance. hitherto the weather had been fine, but it had become gradually overcast, and, just as the signal was given, a tremendous storm of snow and hail began. it set right in the face of the russians, and concealed from them the movement of the swedes, for which, indeed, they were wholly unprepared, believing that the small force they saw was but the advance guard of a great swedish army, and that no attack need be expected until the main body arrived. the consequence was, the swedes were almost at the edge of the ditch before they were perceived, and both columns attacked with such vigour and courage that, in a quarter of an hour, they had gained a footing in the intrenchments, and had so filled up the ditch with the fascines that the cavalry were able to follow them. the russians were so astounded at this sudden attack that they lost heart altogether. the swedish left, as soon as it entered the intrenchments, swept along them, the russians abandoning their guns and batteries, and making for their bridge across the river. unfortunately for them, their huts were built close behind the works, and in rear was another intrenchment, designed to repel assaults from the town; and the terrified crowd, unable to make their way rapidly along, over ground encumbered by their huts, crossed the interior intrenchments, thinking to make their way faster through the fields to the bridge. the swedish king, however, placed himself at the head of his bodyguard, and, followed by the rest of his horse, charged right upon them, cutting down great numbers, and driving the rest before them towards the river, while the infantry kept up a heavy fire upon the fugitives in the intrenchments. the panic had spread quickly, and the russian troops nearest to the bridge were already pouring over, when the mass of the fugitives arrived. these pressed upon the bridge in such numbers that it speedily gave way, cutting off the retreat of their comrades behind. ignorant of the result, the terrified crowd pushed on, pressing those in front of them into the river, and the number of drowned was no less than that of those who fell beneath the bullets, pikes, and sabres of the swedes. in their despair the russians, rallied by some of their generals, now attempted to defend themselves, and, by occupying some houses and barracks, and barricading the passages between these with overturned waggons, they fought bravely, and repulsed, for some time, every effort of the swedes. darkness was now falling, and the king hastened to the spot where the battle was fiercely raging. as he ran towards it, he fell into a morass, from which he was rescued with some difficulty, leaving his sword and one boot behind him. however, he at once pushed on, and placed himself at the head of the infantry engaged in the assault. but even his presence and example did not avail. the russians maintained their position with desperate courage, and, when it became quite dark, the assault ceased. the right column had met with equal success. it had penetrated the intrenchments, defeated all the russians who opposed it, and now moved to assist the left wing. the king, however, seeing that the russian defences could not be carried, by a direct assault, without great loss, gathered the army in the space between the town and the russian intrenchments, and placed them in a position to repel an attack, should the russians take the offensive; giving orders that, at daylight, the hill on which the enemy had their principal battery should be assaulted. the guns here commanded all the intrenchments, and the capture of that position would render it impossible for the russians to continue their defence, or for the now separated wings of the army to combine. the officers in command of the russian right wing, finding themselves unable to cross the river on their broken bridge, and surrounded by the swedes, sent in to surrender in the course of the evening, and two battalions of the swedish guards took possession of the post that had been so gallantly defended. the king granted them permission to retire with their arms, the colours and standards being given up, and the superior officers being retained as prisoners of war. the broken bridge was repaired and, early the next morning, the russian troops passed over. their left wing was, after the surrender of their right, in a hopeless position, for on that side no bridge had been thrown over the river, and their retreat was wholly cut off. on learning, before daybreak, that the right wing had surrendered, they too sent in to ask for terms. the king granted them freedom to return to their country, but without their standards or arms. they filed off before him, officers and soldiers bareheaded, and passed over the bridge, their numbers being so great that all had not crossed until next morning. the russians lost over , men killed or drowned, a hundred and forty-five cannon, and twenty-eight mortars, all of which were new, besides vast quantities of military stores and provisions. a hundred and fifty-one colours, and twenty standards, and the greater proportion of their muskets, together with the military chest, the duke of croy, their commander-in-chief, and the whole of their generals, colonels, majors, and captains, fell into the hands of the swedes, as prisoners of war. the total loss in killed and wounded of the swedes was under two thousand, the chief loss being due to the desperate resistance of the russians, after the battle was irretrievably lost. it may be doubted whether so complete and surprising a victory, between armies so disproportionate in force, was ever before gained. the king had exposed himself, throughout the day, most recklessly, and was everywhere in the thick of the russian bullets, and yet he escaped without so much as a scratch. the malmoe regiment had been with the left wing, but suffered comparatively little loss, as they were one of the last to enter the intrenchments, and it was only when darkness was closing in that they were called up to take a part in the attack on the position held by the russians. "never was the saying, that fortune favours the brave, more signally verified, jervoise," major jamieson said, as he sat down to a rough breakfast with the officers of the scottish company, on the morning after the russian surrender. "that's true enough, but russians are brave, too, as they showed at the end of the day. i fancy you have a scotch proverb to the effect that 'fou folk come to no harm.' i think that is more applicable in the present case." the major laughed. "the fou folk relates rather to drunkenness than madness, jervoise. but, of course, it would do for both. i own that the whole enterprise did seem, to me, to be absolute madness, but the result has justified it. that sudden snowstorm was the real cause of our victory, and, had it not been for that, i still think that we could not have succeeded. the russian cannon certainly continued to fire, but it was wholly at random, and they were taken by surprise when we suddenly appeared at the side of the ditch, while we were across before they could gather any force sufficient to defend it. "after that, panic did the rest. the commander in chief fell early into our hands. there was no one to give orders, no one to rally them, and i expect the russian soldiers gave us credit for having brought on that storm, to cover our assault, by the aid of malign spirits. "well, lads, and how did you feel when the shots were whistling about?" "i did not like it at all, major," charlie said. "it seemed such a strange thing, marching along in the thick of that snowstorm, hearing the rush of cannonballs overhead, and the boom of guns, and yet be unable to see anything but the rear files of the company in front." "it was an uncanny feeling, charlie. i felt it myself, and was very grateful that we were hidden from the enemy, who, of course, were blazing away in the direction in which they had last seen us. we only lost three killed and twelve wounded, altogether, and i think those were, for the most part, hit by random shots. "well, if this is the way the king means to carry on war, we shall have enough of it before we are done." the sick and wounded were sent into the town, the first thing, but it was not until the russians had all crossed the river that the king, himself, rode triumphantly into the place, surrounded by his staff, amid the wild enthusiasm of the inhabitants, whom his victory had saved from ruin and massacre. the town, although strongly fortified, was not a large one, and its houses were so dilapidated, from the effects of the russian bombardment, that but few of the troops could be accommodated there. the rest were quartered in the russian huts. on the th, a solemn service of thanksgiving for the victory was celebrated, with a salute from all the cannon of the town and camp, and by salvos of musketry from the troops. the question of provisions was the most important now. it was true that large quantities had been captured in the russian camp, but, beyond a magazine of corn, abandoned by the fugitives at tama and brought in, there was no prospect of replenishing the store when exhausted, for the whole country, for a great distance round, had been completely devastated by the russians. these had not retreated far, having been rallied by the czar at plescow, and quartered in the towns of the frontier of livonia, whence they made incursions into such districts as had not been previously wasted. "this is dull work," archie cunningham said, one day. "the sooner we are busy again, the better. there is nothing to do, and very little to eat. the cold is bitter, and fuel scarce. one wants something to warm one's blood." "you are not likely to have anything of that kind, for some months to come," major jamieson replied dryly. "you don't suppose we are going to have a battle of narva once a week, do you? no doubt there will be a few skirmishes, and outpost encounters, but beyond that there will be little doing until next spring. you can make up your mind, for at least five months, of the worst side of a soldier's life--dull quarters, and probably bad ones, scanty food, cold, and disease." "not a very bright lookout, major," forbes laughed. "i hope it won't be as bad as that." "then i advise you to give up hoping, and to make up your mind to realities, forbes. there is a good deal of illness in the camp now, and there will be more and more as the time goes on. there is nothing like inaction to tell upon the health of troops. however, we certainly shall not stay here. it would be impossible to victual the army, and i expect that, before long, we shall march away and take up quarters for the winter. "as to operations on a great scale, they are out of the question. after the thrashing they have had, the russians will be months before they are in a condition to take the offensive again; while we are equally unable to move because, in the first place, we are not strong enough to do so, and in the second we have no baggage train to carry provisions with us, and no provisions to carry if we had it." on the th of december, the king quitted narva with the army, and on the th arrived at lais, an old castle six miles from derpt, and here established his headquarters. a few of the troops were stationed in villages, but the greater part in rough huts in the neighbourhood, and along the frontier. it was not long before major jamieson's predictions were verified. a low fever, occasioned by the fatiguing marches and the hardships they had endured, added to the misery from the cold and wet that penetrated the wretched huts, spread rapidly through the army. many died, and great numbers were absolutely prostrated. the king was indefatigable in his efforts to keep up the spirits of the troops. he constantly rode about from camp to camp, entering the huts, chatting cheerfully with the soldiers, and encouraging them by kind words and assurances that, when the spring came, they would soon gain strength again. at narva the four young officers had all purchased horses. most of the swedish officers were mounted; and the king encouraged this, as, on occasion, he could thereby collect at once a body of mounted men ready for any enterprise; but their own colonel preferred that, on the march, the lieutenants and ensigns should be on foot with their men, in order to set them an example of cheerful endurance. those who wished it, however, were permitted to have horses, which were, on such occasions, led in the rear of the regiment. captain jervoise had approved of the purchase of the horses, which were got very cheaply, as great numbers had been captured. "if we can get over the difficulty of the forage," he said, "you will find them very useful for preserving your health during the winter. a ride will set your blood in motion, and, wherever we are quartered, there are sure to be camps within riding distance. the king approves of officers taking part in dashing expeditions, so you may be able to take a share in affairs that will break the monotony of camp life." they found great benefit from being able to ride about. forage was indeed very scarce. they had no means of spending their pay on luxuries of any kind, their only outlay being in the purchase of black bread, and an occasional load of forage from the peasants. their regiment was with the force under the command of colonel schlippenbach, which was not very far from marienburg, a place open to the incursions of the russians. baron spens was at signiz, and colonel alvedyhl at rounenberg, and to both these places they occasionally paid a visit. in order to keep the company in health, captain jervoise encouraged the men to get up games, in which the four young officers took part. sometimes it was a snowball match in the open; at other times a snow fort was built, garrisoned, and attacked. occasionally there were matches at hockey, while putting the stone, throwing the caber, running and wrestling matches, were all tried in turn; and the company suffered comparatively little from the illness which rendered so large a proportion of the swedish army inefficient. colonel schlippenbach was an energetic officer, and had, several times, ridden past when the men were engaged in these exercises. he expressed to captain jervoise his approval of the manner in which he kept his men in strength and vigour. "i shall not forget it," he said, one day, "and if there is service to be done, i see that i can depend upon your company to do it." in january, he took a party of horse, and reconnoitred along the river aa, to observe the motions of the saxons on the other side; and, hearing that a party of them had entered marienburg, he determined to take possession of that place, as, were they to fortify it, they would be able greatly to harass the swedes. sending word to the king of his intention, and asking for an approval of his plan of fortifying the town, he took three companies of infantry and four hundred horse, made a rapid march to marienburg, and occupied it without opposition. he had not forgotten his promise, and the company of captain jervoise was one of those selected for the work. its officers were delighted at the prospect of a change, and, when the party started, captain jervoise was proud of the show made by his men, whose active and vigorous condition contrasted strongly with the debility and feebleness evident, so generally, among the swedish soldiers. as soon as marienburg was entered, the men were set to work, to raise and strengthen the rampart and to erect bastions; and they were aided, a few days later, by a reinforcement of two hundred infantry, sent by the king, with some cannon, from the garrison of derpt. as the place was surrounded by a morass, it was, ere long, put into a position to offer a formidable defence against any force that the russians or saxons might bring against it. the swedes engaged on the work gained strength rapidly, and, by the time the fortifications were finished, they had completely shaken off the effects of the fever. chapter : a prisoner. a fortnight after the fortifications of marienburg were completed, colonel schlippenbach sent off lieutenant colonel brandt, with four hundred horse, to capture a magazine at seffwegen, to which the saxons had forced the inhabitants of the country round to bring in their corn, intending later to convey it to the headquarters of their army. the expedition was completely successful. the saxon guard were overpowered, and a thousand tons of corn were brought, in triumph, into marienburg. some of it was sent on to the army, abundance being retained for the use of the town and garrison, in case of siege. it was now resolved to surprise and burn pitschur, a town on the frontier from which the enemy constantly made incursions. it was held by a strong body of russians. baron spens was in command of the expedition. he had with him both the regiments of horse guards. much excitement was caused, in marienburg, by the issue of an order that the cavalry, and a portion of the infantry, were to be ready to march at daylight; and by the arrival of a large number of peasants, brought in by small parties of the cavalry. many were the surmises as to the operation to be undertaken, its object being kept a strict secret. captain jervoise's company was one of those in orders, and paraded at daybreak, and, after a march of some distance, the force joined that of baron spens. the troops were halted in a wood, and ordered to light fires to cook food, and to prepare for a halt of some hours. great fires were soon blazing and, after eating their meal, most of the troops wrapped themselves in the blankets that they carried, in addition to their greatcoats, and lay down by the fires. they slept until midnight, and were then called to arms again. they marched all night, and at daybreak the next morning, the th of february, were near pitschur, and at once attacked the russian camp outside the town. taken completely by surprise, the russians fought feebly, and more than five hundred were killed before they entered the town, hotly pursued by the swedes. shutting themselves up in the houses, and barricading the doors and windows, they defended themselves desperately, refusing all offers of surrender. the livonian peasants were, however, at work, and set fire to the town in many places. the flames spread rapidly. great stores of hides and leather, and a huge magazine filled with hemp, added to the fury of the conflagration, and the whole town was burned to the ground; numbers of the russians preferring death by fire, in the houses, to coming out and surrendering themselves. many of the fugitives had succeeded in reaching a strong position on the hill commanding the town. this consisted of a convent, surrounded by strong walls mounted with cannon, which played upon the town while the fight there was going on. as baron spens had no guns with him, he was unable to follow up his advantage by taking this position, and he therefore gave orders to the force to retire, the peasants being loaded with booty that they had gathered before the fire spread. the loss of the swedes was thirty killed and sixty wounded, this being a small amount of loss compared with what they had inflicted upon the enemy. "i call that a horrible business, captain jervoise," charlie said, when the troops had returned to marienburg. "there was no real fighting in it." "it was a surprise, charlie. but they fought desperately after they gained the town." "yes, but we did nothing there beyond firing away at the windows. of course, i had my sword in my hand; but it might as well have been in its sheath, for i never struck a blow, and i think it was the same with most of our men. one could not cut down those poor wretches, who were scarce awake enough to use their arms. i was glad you held our company in rear of the others." "yes; i asked the colonel before attacking to put us in reserve, in case the enemy should rally. i did it on purpose, for i knew that our men, not having, like the swedes, any personal animosity against the russians, would not like the work. if it had come to storming the convent, i would have volunteered to lead the assault. at any rate, i am glad that, although a few of the men are wounded, no lives are lost in our company." harry cordially agreed with his friend. "i like an expedition, charlie, if there is fighting to be done; but i don't want to have anything more to do with surprises. however, the cavalry had a good deal more to do with it than we had; but, as you say, it was a ghastly business. the only comfort is they began it, and have been robbing the peasants and destroying their homes for months." many small expeditions were sent out with equally favourable results; but captain jervoise's company took no part in these excursions. charles the twelfth was passionately fond of hunting and, in spite of his many occupations, found time occasionally to spend a day or two in the chase. a few days after the attack upon pitschur, he came to marienburg to learn all particulars of the russian position from colonel schlippenbach, as he intended, in the spring, to attack the triangle formed by three fortresses, in order to drive the russians farther back from the frontier. "i hear that there are many wolves and bears in the forest, five leagues to the north. i want a party of about fifty footmen to drive the game, and as many horse, in case we come across one of the parties of russians. i want some hearty, active men for the march. i will send the foot on this afternoon, and ride with the horse so as to get there by daybreak. which is your best company of infantry?" "my best company is one composed chiefly of scotchmen, though there are some english among them. it belongs to the malmoe regiment, and is commanded by captain jervoise, an englishman. i do not say that they are braver than our swedes; they have not been tested in any desperate service; but they are healthier and more hardy, for their officers, since the battle of narva, have kept them engaged in sports of all kinds--mimic battles, foot races, and other friendly contests. i have marked them at it several times, and wondered sometimes at the rough play. but it has had its effect. while the rest of suborn's regiment suffered as much from fever as the other troops, scarce a man in this company was sick, and they have, all the winter, been fit for arduous service at any moment." "that is good indeed, and i will remember it, and will see that, another winter, similar games are carried on throughout the army. let the company be paraded at once. i will, myself, inspect them." the company's call was sounded, and, surprised at a summons just as they were cooking their dinners, the troops fell in, in front of their quarters, and the officers took their places in front of them, and waited for orders. "i wonder what is up now," nigel forbes said to harry. "you have not heard anything, from your father, of our being wanted, have you?" "no; he was just as much surprised as i was, when a sergeant ran up with schlippenbach's order that the company were to fall in." five minutes after they had formed up, three officers were seen approaching on foot. "it is the colonel himself," forbes muttered, as captain jervoise gave the word to the men to stand to attention. a minute later, captain jervoise gave the order for the salute, and harry saw that the tall young officer, walking with the colonel, was the king. without speaking a word, charles walked up and down the line, narrowly inspecting the men, then he returned to the front. "a fine set of fellows, schlippenbach. i wish that, like my grandfather, i had some fifteen thousand of such troops under my orders. present the captain to me." the officers were called up, and captain jervoise was presented. "your company does you great credit, captain jervoise," the king said. "i would that all my troops looked in as good health and condition. colonel schlippenbach tells me that you have kept your men in good health, all through the winter, by means of sports and games. it is a good plan. i will try to get all my officers to adopt it another winter. do the men join in them willingly?" captain jervoise and his officers had all, during the nine months that had passed since they landed in sweden, done their best to acquire the language, and could now speak and understand it thoroughly. "they like it, your majesty. our people are fond of games of this kind. my four officers take part in them with the men." the king nodded. "that is as it should be. it must create a good feeling on both sides. present your officers to me, captain jervoise." this was done, and the king spoke a few words to each. charlie had often seen the king at a distance, but never before so close as to be able to notice his face particularly. he was a tall young fellow, thin and bony. his face was long, and his forehead singularly high and somewhat projecting. this was the most noticeable feature of his face. his eyes were quick and keen, his face clean-shaven, and, had it not been for the forehead and eyes, would have attracted no attention. his movements were quick and energetic, and, after speaking to the officers, he strode a step or two forward and, raising his voice, said: "i am pleased with you, men. your appearance does credit to yourselves and your officers. scottish troops did grand service under my grandfather, gustavus adolphus, and i would that i had twenty battalions of such soldiers with me. i am going hunting tomorrow, and i asked colonel schlippenbach for half a company of men who could stand cold and fatigue. he told me that i could not do better than take them from among this company, and i see that he could not have made a better choice. but i will not separate you, and will therefore take you all. you will march in an hour, and i will see that there is a good supper ready for you, at the end of your journey." colonel schlippenbach gave captain jervoise directions as to the road they were to follow, and the village, at the edge of the forest, where they were to halt for the night. he then walked away with the king. highly pleased with the praise charles had given them, the company fell out. "get your dinners as soon as you can, men," captain jervoise said. "the king gave us an hour. we must be in readiness to march by that time." on arriving at the village, which consisted of a few small houses only, they found two waggons awaiting them, one with tents and the other with a plentiful supply of provisions, and a barrel of wine. the tents were erected, and then the men went into the forest, and soon returned with large quantities of wood, and great fires were speedily lighted. meat was cut up and roasted over them, and, regarding the expedition as a holiday, the men sat down to their supper in high spirits. after it was eaten there were songs round the fires, and, at nine o'clock, all turned into their tents, as it was known that the king would arrive at daylight. sentries were posted, for there was never any saying when marauding parties of russians, who were constantly on the move, might come along. half an hour before daybreak, the men were aroused. tents were struck and packed in the waggon, and the men then fell in, and remained until the king, with three or four of his officers and fifty cavalry, rode up. fresh wood had been thrown on the fires, and some of the men told off as cooks. "that looks cheerful for hungry men," the king said, as he leaped from his horse. "i did not know whether your majesty would wish to breakfast at once," captain jervoise said; "but i thought it well to be prepared." "we will breakfast by all means. we are all sharp set already. have your own men had food yet?" "no, sir. i thought perhaps they would carry it with them." "no, no. let them all have a hearty meal before they move, then they can hold on as long as may be necessary." the company fell out again, and, in a quarter of an hour, they and the troopers breakfasted. a joint of meat was placed, for the use of the king and the officers who had come with him, and captain jervoise and those with him prepared to take their meal a short distance away, but charles said: "bring that joint here, captain jervoise, and we will all take breakfast together. we are all hunters and comrades." in a short time, they were all seated round a fire, with their meat on wooden platters on their knees, and with mugs of wine beside them; captain jervoise, by the king's orders, taking his seat beside him. during the meal, he asked him many questions as to his reasons for leaving england, and taking service with him. "so you have meddled in politics, eh?" the king laughed, when he heard a brief account of captain jervoise's reason for leaving home. "your quarrels, in england and scotland, have added many a thousand good soldiers to the armies of france and sweden, and, i may say, of every country in europe. i believe there are some of your compatriots, or at any rate scotchmen, in the czar's camp. i suppose that, at william's death, these troubles will cease." "i do not know, sir. anne was james' favourite daughter, and it may be she will resign in favour of her brother, the lawful king. if she does so, there is an end of trouble; but, should she mount the throne, she would be a usurper, as mary was up to her death in ' . as anne has been on good terms with william, since her sister's death, i fear she will act as unnatural a part as mary did, and, in that case, assuredly we shall not recognize her as our queen." "you have heard the news, i suppose, of the action of the parliament last month?" "no, sir, we have heard nothing for some weeks of what is doing in england." "they have been making an act of settlement of the succession. anne is to succeed william, and, as she has no children by george of denmark, the succession is to pass from her to the elector of hanover, in right of his wife sophia, as the rest of the children of the elector of the palatinate have abjured protestantism, and are therefore excluded. how will that meet the views of the english and scotch jacobites?" "it is some distance to look forward to, sire. if anne comes to the throne at william's death, it will, i think, postpone our hopes, for anne is a stuart, and is a favourite with the nation, in spite of her undutiful conduct to her father. still, it will be felt that for stuart to fight against stuart, brother against sister, would be contrary to nature. foreigners are always unpopular, and, as against william, every jacobite is ready to take up arms. but i think that nothing will be done during anne's reign. the elector of hanover would be as unpopular, among englishmen in general, as is william of orange, and, should he come to the throne, there will assuredly ere long be a rising to bring back the stuarts." charles shook his head. "i don't want to ruffle your spirit of loyalty to the stuarts, captain jervoise, but they have showed themselves weak monarchs for a great country. they want fibre. william of orange may be, as you call him, a foreigner and a usurper, but england has greater weight in the councils of europe, in his hands, than it has had since the death of elizabeth." this was rather a sore point with captain jervoise, who, thorough jacobite as he was, had smarted under the subservience of england to france during the reigns of the two previous monarchs. "you englishmen and scotchmen are fighting people," the king went on, "and should have a military monarch. i do not mean a king like myself, who likes to fight in the front ranks of his soldiers; but one like william, who has certainly lofty aims, and is a statesman, and can join in european combinations." "william thinks and plans more for holland than for england, sire. he would join a league against france and spain, not so much for the benefit of england, which has not much to fear from these powers, but of holland, whose existence now, as of old is threatened by them." "england's interest is similar to that of holland," the king said. "i began this war, nominally, in the interest of the duke of holstein, but really because it was sweden's interest that denmark should not become too powerful. "but we must not waste time in talking politics. i see the men have finished their breakfast, and we are here to hunt. i shall keep twenty horse with me; the rest will enter the forest with you. i have arranged for the peasants here to guide you. you will march two miles along by the edge of the forest, and then enter it and make a wide semicircle, leaving men as you go, until you come down to the edge of the forest again, a mile to our left. "as soon as you do so, you will sound a trumpet, and the men will then move forward, shouting so as to drive the game before them. as the peasants tell me there are many wolves and bears in the forest, i hope that you will inclose some of them in your cordon, which will be about five miles from end to end. with the horse you will have a hundred and thirty men, so that there will be a man every sixty or seventy yards. that is too wide a space at first, but, as you close in, the distances will rapidly lessen, and they must make up, by noise, for the scantiness of their numbers. if they find the animals are trying to break through, they can discharge their pieces; but do not let them do so otherwise, as it would frighten the animals too soon, and send them flying out all along the open side of the semicircle." it was more than two hours before the whole of the beaters were in position. just before they had started, the king had requested captain jervoise to remain with him and the officers who had accompanied him, five in number. they had been posted, a hundred yards apart, at the edge of the forest. charlie was the first officer left behind as the troop moved through the forest, and it seemed to him an endless time before he heard a faint shout, followed by another and another, until, at last, the man stationed next to him repeated the signal. then they moved forward, each trying to obey the orders to march straight ahead. for some time, nothing was heard save the shouts of the men, and then charlie made out some distant shots, far in the wood, and guessed that some animals were trying to break through the lines. then he heard the sound of firing directly in front of him. this continued for some time, occasionally single shots being heard, but more often shots in close succession. louder and louder grew the shouting, as the men closed in towards a common point, and, in half an hour after the signal had been given, all met. "what sport have you had, father?" harry asked, as he came up to captain jervoise. "we killed seventeen wolves and four bears, with, what is more important, six stags. i do not know whether we are going to have another beat." it soon turned out that this was the king's intention, and the troops marched along the edge of the forest. charlie was in the front of his company, the king with the cavalry a few hundred yards ahead, when, from a dip of ground on the right, a large body of horsemen suddenly appeared. "russians!" captain jervoise exclaimed, and shouted to the men, who were marching at ease, to close up. the king did not hesitate a moment, but, at the head of his fifty cavalry, charged right down upon the russians, who were at least five hundred strong. the little body disappeared in the melee, and then seemed to be swallowed up. "keep together, shoulder to shoulder, men. double!" and the company set off at a run. when they came close to the mass of horsemen, they poured in a volley, and then rushed forward, hastily fitting the short pikes they carried into their musket barrels; for, as yet, the modern form of bayonets was not used. the russians fought obstinately, but the infantry pressed their way step by step through them, until they reached the spot where the king, with his little troop of cavalry, were defending themselves desperately from the attacks of the russians. the arrival of the infantry decided the contest, and the russians began to draw off, the king hastening the movement by plunging into the midst of them with his horsemen. charlie was on the flank of the company as it advanced, and, after running through a russian horseman with the short pike that was carried by officers, he received a tremendous blow on his steel cap, that stretched him insensible on the ground. when he recovered, he felt that he was being carried, and soon awoke to the fact that he was a prisoner. after a long ride, the russians arrived at plescow. they had lost some sixty men in the fight. charlie was the only prisoner taken. he was, on dismounting, too weak to stand, but he was half carried and half dragged to the quarters of the russian officer in command. the latter addressed him, but, finding that he was not understood, sent for an officer who spoke swedish. "what were the party you were with doing in the wood?" "we were hunting wolves and bears." "where did you come from?" "from marienburg." "how strong were you?" "fifty horse and a hundred and forty foot," charlie replied, knowing there could be no harm in stating the truth. "but it was a long way to march, merely to hunt, and your officers must have been mad to come out, with so small a party, to a point where they were likely to meet with us." "it was not too small a party, sir, as they managed to beat off the attack made upon them." the russian was silent for a moment, then he asked: "who was the officer in command?" "the officer in command was the king of sweden," charlie replied. an exclamation of surprise and anger broke from the russian general, when the answer was translated to him. "you missed a good chance of distinguishing yourself," he said to the officer in command of the troops. "here has this mad king of sweden been actually putting himself in your hands, and you have let him slip through your fingers. it would have got you two steps in rank, and the favour of the czar, had you captured him, and now he will be in a rage, indeed, when he hears that five hundred cavalry could do nothing against a force only a third of their number." "i had no idea that the king of sweden was there himself," the officer said humbly. "bah, that is no excuse. there were officers, and you ought to have captured them, instead of allowing yourself to be put to flight by a hundred and fifty men." "we must have killed half the horsemen before the infantry came up." "all the worse, colonel, that you did not complete the business. the infantry would not have been formidable, after they discharged their pieces. however, it is your own affair, and i wash my hands of it. what the czar will say when he hears of it, i know not, but i would not be in your shoes for all my estates." as charlie learned afterwards, the colonel was degraded from his rank by the angry czar, and ordered to serve as a private in the regiment he commanded. the officer who acted as translator said something in his own tongue to the general, who then, through him, said: "this officer tells me that by your language you are not a swede." "i am not. i am english, and i am an ensign in the malmoe regiment." "all the worse for you," the general said. "the czar has declared that he will exchange no foreign officers who may be taken prisoners." "very well, sir," charlie said, fearlessly. "he will be only punishing his own officers. there are plenty of them in the king of sweden's hands." the general, when this reply was translated to him, angrily ordered charlie to be taken away, and he was soon lodged in a cell in the castle. his head was still swimming from the effects of the blow that had stricken him down, and, without even trying to think over his position, he threw himself down on the straw pallet, and was soon asleep. it was morning when he woke and, for a short time, he was unable to imagine where he was, but soon recalled what had happened. he had been visited by someone after he had lain down, for a platter of bread and meat stood on the table, and a jug of water. he was also covered with two thick blankets. these had not been there when he lay down, for he had wondered vaguely as to how he should pass the night without some covering. he took a long draught of water, then ate some food. his head throbbed with the pain of the wound. it had been roughly bandaged by his captors, but needed surgical dressing. "i wonder how long i am likely to be, before i am exchanged," he said to himself. "a long time, i am afraid; for there are scores of russian officers prisoners with us, and i don't think there are half a dozen of ours captured by the russians. of course, no exchange can take place until there are a good batch to send over, and, it may be, months may pass before they happen to lay hands on enough swedish officers to make it worth while to trouble about exchanging them." an hour later the door opened, and an officer entered, followed by a soldier with a large bowl of broth and some bread. "i am a doctor," he said in swedish. "i came in to see you yesterday evening, but you were sound asleep, and that was a better medicine than any i can give; so i told the man to throw those two barrack rugs over you, and leave your food in case you should wake, which did not seem to me likely. i see, however, that you did wake," and he pointed to the plate. "that was not till this morning, doctor. it is not an hour since i ate it." "this broth will be better for you, and i daresay you can manage another breakfast. sit down and take it, at once, while it is hot. i am in no hurry." he gave an order in russian to the soldier, who went out, and returned in a few minutes with a small wooden tub, filled with hot water. by this time charlie had finished the broth. the doctor then bathed his head for some time in hot water, but was obliged to cut off some of his hair, in order to remove the bandage. as he examined the wound, charlie was astounded to hear him mutter to himself: "it is a mighty nate clip you have got, my boy; and, if your skull had not been a thick one, it is lying out there on the turf you would be." charlie burst into a fit of laughter. "so you are english, too," he exclaimed, as he looked up into the surgeon's face. "at laste irish, my boy," the doctor said, as surprised as charlie had been. "to think we should have been talking swedish to each other, instead of our native tongue. and what is your name? and what is it you are doing here, as a swede, at all?" "my name is charles carstairs. i come from lancashire, just on the borders of westmoreland. my father is a jacobite, and so had to leave the country. he went over to sweden, and i, with some friends of his, got commissions." "then our cases are pretty much alike," the doctor said. "i had gone through dublin university, and had just passed as a surgeon, when king james landed. it didn't much matter to me who was king, but i thought it was a fine opportunity to study gunshot wounds, so i joined the royal army, and was at the battle of the boyne. i had plenty of work with wounds, early in the day, but when, after the irish had fairly beat the dutchman back all day, they made up their minds to march away at night, i had to lave my patients and be off too. then i was shut up in limerick; and i was not idle there, as you may guess. when at last the surrender came, i managed to slip away, having no fancy for going over with the regiments that were to enter the service of france. i thought i could have gone back to dublin, and that no one would trouble about me; but someone put them up to it, and i had to go without stopping to ask leave. i landed at bristol, and there, for a time, was nearly starving. "i was well nigh my wits' end as to what to do for a living, and had just spent my last shilling, when i met an english captain, who told me that across at gottenburg there were a good many irish and scotchmen who had, like myself, been in trouble at home. he gave me a passage across, and took me to the house of a man he knew. of course, it was no use my trying to doctor people, when they could not tell me what was the matter with them, and i worked at one thing and another, doing anything i could turn my hands to, for four or five months. that is how i got to pick up swedish. then some people told me that russia was a place where a doctor might get on, for that they had got no doctors for their army who knew anything of surgery, and the czar was always ready to take on foreigners who could teach them anything. i had got my diploma with me, and some of my friends came forward and subscribed enough to rig me out in clothes and pay my passage. what was better, one of them happened to have made the acquaintance of le ford, who was, as you may have heard, the czar's most intimate friend. "i wished myself back a hundred times before i reached moscow, but when i did, everything was easy for me. le ford introduced me to the czar, and i was appointed surgeon of a newly-raised regiment, of which le ford was colonel. that was eight years ago, and i am now a sort of surgeon general of a division, and am at the head of the hospitals about here. till the war began i had not, for five years, done any military work, but had been at the head of a college the czar has established for training surgeons for the army. i was only sent down here after that business at narva. "so, you see, i have fallen on my feet. the czar's is a good service, and we employ a score or two of scotchmen, most of them in good posts. he took to them because a scotchman, general gordon, and other foreign officers, rescued him from his sister sophia, who intended to assassinate him, and established him firmly on the throne of his father. "it is a pity you are not on this side. perhaps it isn't too late to change, eh?" charlie laughed. "my father is in sweden, and my company is commanded by a man who is as good as a father to me, and his son is like my brother. if there were no other reason, i could not change. why, it was only yesterday i was sitting round a bivouac fire with king charles, and nothing would induce me to fight against him." "i am not going to try to persuade you. the czar has treated me well, and i love him. by the way, i have not given you my name after all. it's terence kelly." "is not the czar very fierce and cruel?" "bedad, i would be much more cruel and fierce if i were in his place. just think of one man, with all russia on his shoulders. there is he trying to improve the country, working like a horse himself, knowing that, like every other russian, he is as ignorant as a pig, and setting to improve himself--working in the dockyards of holland and england, attending lectures, and all kinds of subjects. why, man, he learnt anatomy, and can take off a leg as quickly as i can. he is building a fleet and getting together an army. it is not much good yet, you will say, but it will be some day. you can turn a peasant into a soldier in six months, but it takes a long time to turn out generals and officers who are fit for their work. "then, while he is trying everywhere to improve his country, every man jack of them objects to being improved, and wants to go along in his old ways. didn't they get up an insurrection, only because he wanted them to cut off their beards? any other man would have lost heart, and given it up years ago. it looks as hopeless a task as for a mouse to drag a mountain, but he is doing it. "i don't say that he is perfect. he gets into passions, and it is mighty hard for anyone he gets into a passion with. but who would not get into passions, when there is so much work to be done, and everyone tries to hinder instead of to help? it would break the heart of saint patrick! why, that affair at narva would have broken down most men. here, for years, has he been working to make an army, and the first time they meet an enemy worthy of the name, what do they do? why, they are beaten by a tenth of their number of half-starved men, led by a mad-brained young fellow who had never heard a shot fired before, and lose all their cannon, guns, ammunition, and stores. why, i was heartbroken, myself, when i heard of it; but peter, instead of blowing out his brains, or drowning himself, set to work, an hour after the news reached him, to bring up fresh troops, to re-arm the men, and to prepare to meet the swedes again, as soon as the snow is off the ground. "if james of england had been peter of russia, he would be ruling over ireland now, and england and scotland, too. "but now, i must be off. don't you worry about your head. i have seen as bad a clip given by a blackthorn. i have got to go round now and see the wounded, and watch some operations being done, but i will come in again this evening. don't eat any more of their messes, if they bring them in. you and i will have a snug little dinner together. i might get you put into a more dacent chamber, but the general is one of the old pig-headed sort. we don't pull together, so i would rather not ask any favours from him. "the czar may come any day--he is always flying about. i will speak to him when he comes, and see that you have better entertainment." chapter : exchanged. late in the afternoon, doctor kelly came in again to the cell. "come along," he said; "i have got lave for you to have supper with me, and have given my pledge that you won't try to escape till it is over, or make any onslaught on the garrison, but will behave like a quiet and peaceable man." "you are quite safe in giving the pledge, doctor," charlie laughed. "come along then, me boy, for they were just dishing up when i came to fetch you. it is cold enough outside, and there is no sinse in putting cold victuals into one in such weather as this." they were not long in reaching a snugly-furnished room, where a big fire was burning. another gentleman was standing, with his back to it. he was a man of some seven or eight and twenty, with large features, dark brown hair falling in natural curls over his ears, and large and powerful in build. "this is my friend, charlie carstairs," the doctor said. "this, carstairs, is peter michaeloff, a better doctor than most of those who mangle the czar's soldiers." "things will better in time," the other said, "when your pupils begin to take their places in the army." "i hope so," the doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. "there is one comfort, they can't be much worse." at this moment a servant entered, bearing a bowl of soup and three basins. they at once seated themselves at the table. "so you managed to get yourself captured yesterday," doctor michaeloff said to charlie. "i have not had the pleasure of seeing many of you gentlemen here." "we don't come if we can help it," charlie laughed. "but the cossacks were so pressing, that i could not resist. in fact, i did not know anything about it, until i was well on the way." "i hope they have made you comfortable," the other said, sharply. "i can't say much for the food," charlie said, "and still less for the cell, which was bitterly cold. still, as the doctor gave me two rugs to wrap myself up in, i need not grumble." "that is not right," the other said angrily. "i hear that the king of sweden treats our prisoners well. "you should have remonstrated, kelly." the irishman shrugged his shoulders. "i ventured to hint to the general that i thought an officer had a right to better treatment, even if he were a prisoner, but i was told sharply to mind my own business, which was with the sick and wounded. i said, as the prisoner was wounded, i thought it was a matter that did come to some extent under my control." "what did the pig say?" "he grumbled something between his teeth, that i did not catch, and, as i thought the prisoner would not be kept there long, and was not unaccustomed to roughing it, it was not worthwhile pressing the matter further." "have you heard that an officer has been here this afternoon, with a flag of truce, to treat for your exchange?" doctor michaeloff said, turning suddenly to charlie. "no, i have not heard anything about it," charlie said. "he offered a captain for you, which you may consider a high honour." "it is, no doubt," charlie said, with a smile. "i suppose his majesty thought, as it was in his special service i was caught, he was bound to get me released, if he could." "it was a hunting party, was it not?" "yes. there was only the king with four of his officers there, and my company of foot, and fifty horse. i don't think i can call it an escort, for we went principally as beaters." "rustoff missed a grand chance there, kelly. "what regiment do you belong to?" and he again turned to charlie. "the malmoe regiment. the company is commanded by an english gentleman, who is a neighbour and great friend of my father. his son is an ensign, and my greatest friend. the men are all either scotch or english, but most of them scotch." "they are good soldiers, the scotch; none better. there are a good many in the russian service, also in that of austria and france. they are always faithful, and to be relied upon, even when native troops prove treacherous. and you like charles of sweden?" "there is not a soldier in his army but likes him," charlie said enthusiastically. "he expects us to do much, but he does more himself. all through the winter, he did everything in his power for us, riding long distances from camp to camp, to visit the sick and to keep up the spirits of the men. if we live roughly, so does he, and, on the march, he will take his meals among the soldiers, and wrap himself up in his cloak, and sleep on the bare ground, just as they do. and as for his bravery, he exposes his life recklessly--too recklessly, we all think--and it seemed a miracle that, always in the front as he was, he should have got through narva without a scratch." "yes, that was a bad bit of business, that narva," the other said thoughtfully. "why do you think we were beaten in the horrible way we were?--because the russians are no cowards." "no; they made a gallant stand when they recovered from their surprise," charlie agreed. "but in the first place, they were taken by surprise." "they ought not to have been," the doctor said angrily. "they had news, two days before, brought by the cavalry, who ought to have defended that pass, but didn't." "still, it was a surprise when we attacked," charlie said, "for they could not suppose that the small body they saw were going to assail them. then, we had the cover of that snowstorm, and they did not see us, until we reached the edge of the ditch. of course, your general ought to have made proper dispositions, and to have collected the greater part of his troops at the spot facing us, instead of having them strung out round that big semicircle, so that, when we made an entry they were separated, and each half was ignorant of what the other was doing. still, even then they might have concentrated between the trenches and the town. but no orders had been given. the general was one of the first we captured. the others waited for the orders that never came, until it was too late. if the general who commanded on the left had massed his troops, and marched against us as we were attacking the position they held on their right, we should have been caught between two fires." "it was a badly managed business, altogether," doctor michaeloff growled; "but we shall do better next time. we shall understand charles's tactics better. we reckoned on his troops, but we did not reckon on him. "kelly tells me that you would not care to change service." "my friends are in the swedish army, and i am well satisfied with the service. i daresay, if russia had been nearer england than sweden is, and we had landed there first, we should have been as glad to enter the service of the czar as we were to join that of king charles. everyone says that the czar makes strangers welcome, and that he is a liberal master to those who serve him well. as to the quarrel between them, i am not old enough to be able to give my opinion on it, though, as far as i am concerned, it seems to me that it was not a fair thing for russia to take advantage of sweden's being at war with denmark and augustus of saxony, to fall upon her without any cause of quarrel." "nations move less by morality than interest," doctor michaeloff said calmly. "russia wants a way to the sea--the turks cut her off to the south, and the swedes from the baltic. she is smothered between them, and when she saw her chance, she took it. that is not good morality. i admit that it is the excuse of the poor man who robs the rich, but it is human nature, and nations act, in the long run, a good deal like individuals." "but you have not told me yet, doctor," charlie said, turning the conversation, "whether the proposal for an exchange was accepted." "the general had no power to accept it, carstairs. it had to be referred to the czar himself." "i wish his majesty could see me, then," charlie laughed. "he would see that i am but a lad, and that my release would not greatly strengthen the swedish army." "but then the czar may be of opinion that none of his officers, who allowed themselves to be captured by a handful of men at narva, would be of any use to him," doctor michaeloff laughed. "that may, doubtless, be said of a good many among them," charlie said, "but, individually, none of the captains could be blamed for the mess they made of it." "perhaps not, but if all the men had been panic stricken, there were officers enough to have gathered together and cut their way through the swedes." "no doubt there were; but you must remember, doctor michaeloff, that an officer's place is with his company, and that it is his duty to think of his men, before thinking of himself. supposing all the officers of the left wing, as you say, had gathered together and cut their way out, the czar would have had a right to blame them for the capture of the whole of the men. how could they tell that, at daybreak, the general would not have given orders for the left wing to attack the swedes? they were strong enough still to have eaten us up, had they made the effort, and had the czar been there in person, i will warrant he would have tried it." "that he would," doctor michaeloff said warmly. "you are right there, young sir. the czar may not be a soldier, but at least he is a man, which is more than can be said for the officer who ordered sixty thousand men to lay down their arms to eight thousand." "i am sure of that," charlie said. "a man who would do as he has done, leave his kingdom, and work like a common man in dockyards, to learn how to build ships, and who rules his people as he does, must be a great man. i don't suppose he would do for us in england, because a king has no real power with us, and peter would never put up with being thwarted in all his plans by parliament, as william is. but for a country like russia, he is wonderful. of course, our company being composed of scotchmen and englishmen, we have no prejudices against him. we think him wrong for entering upon this war against sweden, but we all consider him a wonderful fellow, just the sort of fellow one would be proud to serve under, if we did not serve under charles of sweden. "well, doctor kelly, when do you think the czar will be here?" the doctor did not reply, but michaeloff said quietly: "he arrived this afternoon." "he did!" charlie exclaimed excitedly. "why did you not tell me before, doctor kelly? has he been asked about my exchange, and is the swedish officer still here?" "he is here, and you will be exchanged in the morning. "i have other things to see about now, and must say goodnight; and if you should ever fall into the hands of our people again, and doctor kelly does not happen to be near, ask for peter michaeloff, and he will do all he can for you." "then i am really to be exchanged tomorrow, doctor?" charlie said, as doctor michaeloff left the room. "it seems like it." "but did not you know?" "no, i had heard nothing for certain. i knew the czar had come, but i had not heard of his decision. i congratulate you." "it is a piece of luck," charlie said. "i thought it might be months before there was an exchange. it is very good of the king to send over so quickly." "yes; and of the czar to let you go." "well, i don't see much in that, doctor, considering that he gets a captain in exchange for me; still, of course, he might have refused. it would not have been civil, but he might have done it." "what did you think of my friend, charlie?" "i like him. he has a pleasant face, though i should think he has got a temper of his own. he has a splendid figure, and looks more like a fighting man than a doctor. i will write down his name, so as not to forget it, as he says he might be able to help me if i am ever taken prisoner again, and you did not happen to be with the army. it is always nice having a friend. look at the difference it has made to me, finding a countryman here." "yes, you may find it useful, carstairs; and he has a good deal of influence. still, i think it probable that if you ever should get into a scrape again, you will be able to get tidings of me, for i am likely to be with the advanced division of our army, wherever it is, as i am in charge of its hospitals. "you had better turn in now, for i suppose you will be starting early, and i have two or three patients i must visit again before i go to bed. this is your room, next to mine. i managed, after all, to get it changed." "that is very good of you, doctor, but it really would not have mattered a bit for one night. it does look snug and warm, with that great fire." "yes, the stoves are the one thing i don't like in russia. i like to see a blazing fire, and the first thing i do, when i get into fresh quarters, is to have the stove opened so that i can see one. this is a second room of mine. there were three together, you see, and as my rank is that of a colonel, i was able to get them, and it is handy, if a friend comes to see me, to have a room for him." an hour later, just as charlie was dozing off to sleep, the doctor put his head in to the door. "you are to start at daybreak, carstairs. my servant will call you an hour before that. i shall be up. i must put a fresh bandage on your head before you start." "thank you very much, doctor. i am sorry to get you up so early." "that is nothing. i am accustomed to work at all hours. good night." at eight o'clock, having had a bowl of broth, charlie descended to the courtyard in charge of an officer and two soldiers, the doctor accompanying him. here he found a swedish officer belonging to the king's personal staff. the russian handed the lad formally over to his charge, saying: "by the orders of the czar, i now exchange ensign carstairs for captain potoff, whom you, on your part, engage to send off at once." "i do," the swede said; "that is, i engage that he shall be sent off, as soon as he can be fetched from revel, where he is now interned, and shall be safely delivered under an escort; and that if, either by death, illness, or escape, i should not be able to hand him over, i will return another officer of the same rank." "i have the czar's commands," the russian went on, "to express his regret that, owing to a mistake on the part of the officer commanding here, ensign carstairs has not received such worthy treatment as the czar would have desired for him, but he has given stringent orders that, in future, any swedish officers who may be taken prisoners shall receive every comfort and hospitality that can be shown them." "goodbye, doctor kelly," charlie said, as he mounted his horse, which had been saddled in readiness for him. "i am greatly obliged to you for your very great kindness to me, and hope that i may some day have an opportunity of repaying it." "i hope not, carstairs. i trust that we may meet again, but hope that i sha'n't be in the position of a prisoner. however, strange things have happened already in this war, and there is no saying how fortune may go. goodbye, and a pleasant journey." a russian officer took his place by the side of the swede, and an escort of twenty troopers rode behind them, as they trotted out through the gate of the convent. "it was very kind of the king to send for me," charlie said to the swede, "and i am really sorry that you should have had so long a ride on my account, captain pradovich." "as to that, it is a trifle," the officer said. "if i had not been riding here, i should be riding with the king elsewhere, so that i am none the worse. but, in truth, i am glad i came, for yesterday evening i saw the czar himself. i conversed with him for some time. he expressed himself very courteously with respect to the king, and to our army, against whom he seems to bear no sort of malice for the defeat we inflicted on him at narva. he spoke of it himself, and said, 'you will see that, some day, we shall turn the tables upon you.' "the king will be pleased when i return with you, for we all feared that you might be very badly hurt. all that we knew was that some of your men had seen you cut down. after the battle was over, a search was made for your body. when it could not be found, questions were asked of some of our own men, and some wounded russians, who were lying near the spot where you had been seen to fall. "our men had seen nothing, for, as the russians closed in behind your company as it advanced, they had shut their eyes and lay as if dead, fearing that they might be run through, as they lay, by the cossack lances. the russians, however, told us that they had seen two of the cossacks dismount, by the orders of one of their officers, lift you on to a horse, and ride off with you. there was therefore a certainty that you were still living, for the russians would assuredly not have troubled to carry off a dead body. his majesty interested himself very much in the matter, and yesterday morning sent me off to inquire if you were alive, and if so, to propose an exchange. "i was much pleased, when i reached plescow yesterday, to learn that your wound is not a serious one. i saw the doctor, who, i found, was a countryman of yours, and he assured me that it was nothing, and made some joke that i did not understand about the thickness of north country skulls. "the czar arrived in the afternoon, but i did not see him until late in the evening, when i was sent for. i found him with the general in command, and several other officers, among whom was your friend the doctor. the czar was, at first, in a furious passion. he abused the general right and left, and i almost thought, at one time, that he would have struck him. he told him that he had disgraced the russian name, by not treating you with proper hospitality, and especially by placing you in a miserable cell without a fire. "'what will the king of sweden think?' he said. 'he treats his prisoners with kindness and courtesy, and after narva gave them a banquet, at which he himself was present. the duke of croy writes to me, to say he is treated as an honoured guest rather than as a prisoner, and here you disgrace us by shutting your prisoner in a cheerless cell, although he is wounded, and giving him food such as you might give to a common soldier. the swedes will think that we are barbarians. you are released from your command, and will at once proceed to moscow and report yourself there, when a post will be assigned to you where you will have no opportunity of showing yourself ignorant of the laws of courtesy. "'doctor,' he went on, 'you will remember that all prisoners, officers and men, will be henceforth under the charge of the medical department, and that you have full authority to make such arrangements as you may think necessary for their comfort and honourable treatment. i will not have russia made a byword among civilized peoples.' "then he dismissed the rest of them, and afterwards sat down and chatted with me, just as if we had been of the same rank, puffing a pipe furiously, and drinking amazing quantities of wine. indeed, my head feels the effects of it this morning, although i was quite unable to drink cup for cup with him, for, had i done so, i should have been under the table long before he rose from it, seemingly quite unmoved by the quantity he had drank. i have no doubt he summoned me especially to hear his rebuke to the general, so that i could take word to the king how earnest he was, in his regrets for your treatment." "there was nothing much to complain of," charlie said; "and, indeed, the cell was a palace after the miserable huts in which we have passed the winter. i am glad, however, the czar gave the general a wigging, for he spoke brutally to me on my arrival. you may be sure, now, that any prisoners that may be taken will be well treated; for doctor kelly, who has been extremely kind to me, will certainly take good care of them. as to my wound, it is of little consequence. it fell on my steel cap, and i think i was stunned by its force, rather than rendered insensible by the cut itself." after three hours' riding they came to a village. as soon as they were seen approaching, there was a stir there. a man riding ahead waved the white flag that he carried, and, when they entered the village, they found a party of fifty swedish cavalry in the saddle. the russian escort, as soon as the swedish officer and charlie had joined their friends, turned and rode off. a meal was in readiness, and when charlie, who was still feeling somewhat weak from the effects of his wound, had partaken of it, the party proceeded on their way, and rode into marienburg before nightfall. two or three miles outside the town, they met harry jervoise. two soldiers had been sent on at full speed, directly charlie reached the village, to report that he had arrived there and was not seriously wounded, and, knowing about the time they would arrive, harry had ridden out to meet his friend. "you are looking white," he said, after the first hearty greeting. "i am feeling desperately tired, harry. the wound is of no consequence, but i lost a good deal of blood, and it is as much as i can do to keep my saddle, though we have been coming on quietly on purpose. however, i shall soon be all right again, and i need hardly say that i am heartily glad to be back." "we have all been in a great way about you, charlie, for we made sure that you were very badly wounded. i can tell you, it was a relief when the men rode in three hours ago, with the news that you had arrived, and were not badly hurt. the men seemed as pleased as we were, and there was a loud burst of cheering when we told them the news. cunningham and forbes would have ridden out with me; but cunningham is on duty, and forbes thought that we should like to have a chat together." on his arrival, charlie was heartily welcomed by captain jervoise and the men of the company, who cheered lustily as he rode up. "you are to go and see the king at once," captain jervoise said as he dismounted. "i believe he wants to hear, especially, how you were treated. make the best of it you can, lad. there is no occasion for the feeling of charles against the russians being embittered." "i understand," charlie said. "i will make things as smooth as i can." he walked quickly to the little house where the king had taken up his quarters. there was no sentry at the door, or other sign that the house contained an occupant of special rank. he knocked at the door, and hearing a shout of "enter," opened it and went in. "ah, my young ensign; is it you?" the king said, rising from a low settle on which he was sitting by the fire, talking with colonel schlippenbach. "hurt somewhat, i see, but not badly, i hope. i was sure that you would not have been taken prisoner, unless you had been injured." "i was cut down by a blow that clove my helmet, your majesty, and stunned me for some time; but, beyond making a somewhat long gash on my skull, it did me no great harm." "that speaks well for the thickness of your skull, lad, and i am heartily glad it is no worse. now, tell me, how did they treat you?" "it was a somewhat rough cell into which i was thrown, sir, but i was most kindly tended by an irish doctor high in the czar's service, and, when the czar himself arrived, and learned that i had not been lodged as well as he thought necessary, i hear he was so angered that he disgraced the general, deprived him of his command, and sent him to take charge of some fortress in the interior of russia; and i was, by his orders, allowed to occupy the doctor's quarters, and a bedroom was assigned to me next to his. i heard that the czar spoke in terms of the warmest appreciation of your treatment of your prisoners, and said that any of your officers who fell into his hands should be treated with equal courtesy." charles looked gratified. "i am glad to hear it," he said. "in the field, if necessary, blood must flow like water, but there is no reason why we should not behave towards each other with courtesy, when the fighting is over. you know nothing of the force there, at present?" "no, sir, i heard nothing. i did not exchange a word with anyone, save the doctor and another medical man; and as the former treated me as a friend, rather than as an enemy, i did not deem it right to question him, and, had i done so, i am sure that he would have given me no answer." "well, you can return to your quarters, sir. your company did me good service in that fight, and colonel schlippenbach did not speak in any way too warmly in their favour. i would that i had more of these brave englishmen and scotchmen in my service." charlie's head, however, was not as hard as he had believed it to be; and the long ride brought on inflammation of the wound, so that, on the following morning, he was in a high state of fever. it was a fortnight before he was convalescent, and the surgeon then recommended that he should have rest and quiet for a time, as he was sorely pulled down, and unfit to bear the hardships of a campaign; and it was settled that he should go down with the next convoy to revel, and thence take ship for sweden. he was so weak, that although very sorry to leave the army just as spring was commencing, he himself felt that he should be unable to support the fatigues of the campaign, until he had had entire rest and change. a few hours after the decision of the surgeon had been given, major jamieson and captain jervoise entered the room where he was sitting, propped up by pillows. "i have a bit of news that will please you, charlie. the king sent for the major this morning, and told him that he intended to increase our company to a regiment, if he could do so. he had heard that a considerable number of scotchmen and englishmen had come over, and were desirous of enlisting, but, from their ignorance of the language, their services had been declined. he said that he was so pleased, not only with the conduct of the company in that fight, but with its discipline, physique, and power of endurance, that he had decided to convert it into a regiment. he said he was sorry to lose its services for a time; but, as we lost twenty men in the fight, and have some fifteen still too disabled to take their places in the ranks, this was of the less importance. "so we are all going to march down to revel with you. major jamieson is appointed colonel, and i am promoted to be major. the king himself directed that cunningham and forbes shall have commissions as captains, and you and harry as lieutenants. the colonel has authority given him to nominate scotch and english gentlemen of good name to make up the quota of officers, while most of our own men will be appointed non-commissioned officers, to drill the new recruits. the king has been good enough, at colonel jamieson's request, to say that, as soon as the regiment is raised and organized, it shall be sent up to the front." "that is good news, indeed," charlie said, with more animation than he had evinced since his illness. "i have been so accustomed to be attended to, in every way, that i was quite looking forward with dread to the journey among strangers. still, if you are all going, it will be a different thing altogether. i don't think you will be long in raising the regiment. we only were a week in getting the company together, and, if they have been refusing to accept the services of our people, there must be numbers of them at gottenburg." early on the following morning, charlie and the men unable to march were placed in waggons, and the company started on its march to revel. it was a heavy journey, for the frost had broken up, and the roads were in a terrible state from the heavy traffic passing. there was no delay when they reached the port, as they at once marched on board a ship, which was the next day to start for sweden. orders from the king had already been received that the company was to be conveyed direct to gottenburg, and they entered the port on the fifth day after sailing. the change, the sea air, and the prospect of seeing his father again greatly benefited charlie, and, while the company was marched to a large building assigned to their use, he was able to make his way on foot to his father's, assisted by his soldier servant, jock armstrong. "why, charlie," sir marmaduke carstairs exclaimed as he entered, "who would have thought of seeing you? you are looking ill, lad; ill and weak. what has happened to you?" charlie briefly related the events that had brought about his return to gottenburg, of which sir marmaduke was entirely ignorant. postal communications were rare and uncertain, and captain jervoise had not taken advantage of the one opportunity that offered, after charlie had been wounded, thinking it better to delay till the lad could write and give a good account of himself. "so jervoise, and his son, and that good fellow jamieson are all back again? that is good news, charlie; and you have been promoted? that is capital too, after only a year in the service. and you have been wounded, and a prisoner among the russians? you have had adventures, indeed! i was terribly uneasy when the first news of that wonderful victory at narva came, for we generally have to wait for the arrival of the despatches giving the lists of the killed and wounded. i saw that the regiment had not been in the thick of it, as the lists contained none of your names. i would have given a limb to have taken part in that wonderful battle. when you get as old as i am, my boy, you will feel a pride in telling how you fought at narva, and helped to destroy an entire russian army with the odds ten to one against you. "of course, you will stay here with me. i suppose you have leave at present?" "yes, father, colonel jamieson told me that my first duty was to get strong and well again, and that i was to think of no other until i had performed that. and how have you been getting on, father?" "very well, lad. i don't pretend that it is not a great change from lynnwood, but i get along very well, and thank heaven, daily, that for so many years i had set aside a portion of my rents, little thinking that the time would come when they would prove my means of existence. my friends here have invested the money for me, and it bears good interest, which is punctually paid. with the english and scotch exiles, i have as much society as i care for, and as i find i am able to keep a horse--for living here is not more than half the cost that it would be in england--i am well enough contented with my lot. "there is but one thing that pricks me. that villain john dormay has, as he schemed for, obtained possession of my estates, and has been knighted for his distinguished services to the king. i heard of this some time since, by a letter from one of our jacobite friends to whom i wrote, asking for news. he says that the new knight has no great cause for enjoyment in his dignity and possessions, because, not only do the jacobite gentry turn their backs upon him, when they meet him in the town, but the better class of whigs hold altogether aloof from him, regarding his elevation, at the expense of his wife's kinsman, to be disgraceful, although of course they have no idea of the evil plot by which he brought about my ruin. there is great pity expressed for his wife, who has not once stirred beyond the grounds at lynnwood since he took her there, and who is, they say, a shadow of her former self. ciceley, he hears, is well. that cub of a son is in london, and there are reports that he is very wild, and puts his father to much cost. as to the man himself, they say he is surrounded by the lowest knaves, and it is rumoured that he has taken to drink for want of better company. it is some comfort to me to think that, although the villain has my estates, he is getting no enjoyment out of them. "however, i hope some day to have a reckoning with him. the stuarts must come to their own, sooner or later. until then i am content to rest quietly here in sweden." chapter : the passage of the dwina. a few hours after charlie's arrival home, major jervoise and harry came round to the house. "i congratulate you, jervoise, on your new rank," sir marmaduke said heartily, as he entered; "and you, too, harry. it has been a great comfort to me, to know that you and charlie have been together always. at present you have the advantage of him in looks. my lad has no more strength than a girl, not half the strength, indeed, of many of these sturdy swedish maidens." "yes, charlie has had a bad bout of it, carstairs," major jervoise said cheerfully; "but he has picked up wonderfully in the last ten days, and, in as many more, i shall look to see him at work again. i only wish that you could have been with us, old friend." "it is of no use wishing, jervoise. we have heard enough here, of what the troops have been suffering through the winter, for me to know that, if i had had my wish and gone with you, my bones would now be lying somewhere under the soil of livonia." "yes, it was a hard time," major jervoise agreed, "but we all got through it well, thanks principally to our turning to at sports of all kinds. these kept the men in health, and prevented them from moping. the king was struck with the condition of our company, and he has ordered that, in future, all the swedish troops shall take part in such games and amusements when in winter quarters. of course, charlie has told you we are going to have a regiment entirely composed of scots and englishmen. i put the scots first, since they will be by far the most numerous. there are always plenty of active spirits, who find but small opening for their energy at home, and are ready to take foreign service whenever the chance opens. besides, there are always feuds there. in the old days, it was chief against chief. now it is religion against religion; and now, as then, there are numbers of young fellows glad to exchange the troubles at home for service abroad. there have been quite a crowd of men round our quarters, for, directly the news spread that the company was landing, our countrymen flocked round, each eager to learn how many vacancies there were in the ranks, and whether we would receive recruits. their joy was extreme when it became known that jamieson had authority to raise a whole regiment. i doubt not that many of the poor fellows are in great straits." "that i can tell you they are," sir marmaduke broke in. "we have been doing what we can for them, for it was grievous that so many men should be wandering, without means or employment, in a strange country. but the number was too great for our money to go far among them, and i know that many of them are destitute and well-nigh starving. we had hoped to ship some of them back to scotland, and have been treating with the captain of a vessel sailing, in two or three days, to carry them home." "it is unfortunate, but they have none to blame but themselves. they should have waited until an invitation for foreigners to enlist was issued by the swedish government, or until gentlemen of birth raised companies and regiments for service here. however, we are the gainers, for i see that we shall not have to wait here many weeks. already, as far as i can judge from what i hear, there must be well-nigh four hundred men here, all eager to serve. "we will send the news by the next ship that sails, both to scotland and to our own country, that men, active and fit for service, can be received into a regiment, specially formed of english-speaking soldiers. i will warrant that, when it is known in the fells that i am a major in the regiment, and that your son and mine are lieutenants, we shall have two or three score of stout young fellows coming over." the next day, indeed, nearly four hundred men were enlisted into the service, and were divided into eight companies. each of these, when complete, was to be two hundred strong. six scottish officers were transferred, from swedish regiments, to fill up the list of captains, and commissions were given to several gentlemen of family as lieutenants and ensigns. most of these, however, were held over, as the colonel wrote to many gentlemen of his acquaintance in scotland, offering them commissions if they would raise and bring over men. major jervoise did the same to half a dozen young jacobite gentlemen in the north of england, and so successful were the appeals that, within two months of the return of the company to gottenburg, the regiment had been raised to its full strength. a fortnight was spent in drilling the last batch of recruits, from morning till night, so that they should be able to take their places in the ranks; and then, with drums beating and colours flying, the corps embarked at gottenburg, and sailed to join the army. they arrived at revel in the beginning of may. the port was full of ships, for twelve thousand men had embarked, at stockholm and other ports, to reinforce the army and enable the king to take the field in force; and, by the end of the month, the greater portion of the force was concentrated at dorpt. charlie had long since regained his full strength. as soon as he was fit for duty, he had rejoined, and had been engaged, early and late, in the work of drilling the recruits, and in the general organization of the regiment. he and harry, however, found time to take part in any amusement that was going on. they were made welcome in the houses of the principal merchants and other residents of gottenburg, and much enjoyed their stay in the town, in spite of their longing to be back in time to take part in the early operations of the campaign. when they sailed into the port of revel, they found that the campaign had but just commenced, and they marched with all haste to join the force with which the king was advancing against the saxons, who were still besieging riga. their army was commanded by marshal steinau, and was posted on the other side of the river dwina, a broad stream. charles the twelfth had ridden up to colonel jamieson's regiment upon its arrival, and expressed warm gratification at its appearance, when it was paraded for his inspection. "you have done well, indeed, colonel," he said. "i had hardly hoped you could have collected so fine a body of men in so short a time." at his request, the officers were brought up and introduced. he spoke a few words to those he had known before, saying to charlie: "i am glad to see you back again, lieutenant. you have quite recovered from that crack on your crown, i hope. but i need not ask, your looks speak for themselves. you have just got back in time to pay my enemies back for it." the prospect was not a cheerful one, when the swedes arrived on the banks of the dwina. the saxons were somewhat superior in force, and it would be a desperate enterprise to cross the river, in the teeth of their cannon and musketry. already the king had caused a number of large flat boats to be constructed. the sides were made very high, so as to completely cover the troops from musketry, and were hinged so as to let down and act as gangways, and facilitate a landing. charlie was standing on the bank, looking at the movements of the saxon troops across the river, and wondering how the passage was to be effected, when a hand was placed on his shoulder. looking round, he saw it was the king, who, as was his custom, was moving about on foot, unattended by any of his officers. "wondering how we are to get across, lieutenant?" "that is just what i was thinking over, your majesty." "we want another snowstorm, as we had at narva," the king said. "the wind is blowing the right way, but there is no chance of such another stroke of luck, at this time of year." "no, sir; but i was thinking that one might make an artificial fog." "how do you mean?" the king asked quickly. "your majesty has great stacks of straw here, collected for forage for the cattle. no doubt a good deal of it is damp, or if not, it could be easily wetted. if we were to build great piles of it, all along on the banks here, and set it alight so as to burn very slowly, but to give out a great deal of smoke, this light wind would blow it across the river into the faces of the saxons, and completely cover our movements." "you are right!" the king exclaimed. "nothing could be better. we will make a smoke that will blind and half smother them;" and he hurried away. an hour later, orders were sent out to all the regiments that, as soon as it became dusk, the men should assemble at the great forage stores for fatigue duty. as soon as they did so, they were ordered to pull down the stacks, and to carry the straw to the bank of the river, and there pile it in heavy masses, twenty yards apart. the whole was to be damped, with the exception of only a small quantity on the windward side of the heaps, which was to be used for starting the fire. in two hours, the work was completed. the men were then ordered to return to their camps, have their suppers, and lie down at once. then they were to form up, half an hour before daybreak, in readiness to take their places in the boats, and were then to lie down, in order, until the word was given to move forward. this was done, and just as the daylight appeared the heaps of straw were lighted, and dense volumes of smoke rolled across the river, entirely obscuring the opposite shore from view. the saxons, enveloped in the smoke, were unable to understand its meaning. those on the watch had seen no sign of troops on the bank, before the smoke began to roll across the water, and the general was uncertain whether a great fire had broken out in the forage stores of the swedes, or whether the fire had been purposely raised, either to cover the movements of the army and enable them to march away and cross at some undefended point, or whether to cover their passage. the swedish regiments, which were the first to cross, took their places at once in the boats, the king himself accompanying them. in a quarter of an hour the opposite bank was gained. marshal steinau, an able general, had called the saxons under arms, and was marching towards the river, when the wind, freshening, lifted the thick veil of smoke, and he saw that the swedes had already gained the bank of the river, and at once hurled his cavalry against them. the swedish formation was not complete and, for a moment, they were driven back in disorder, and forced into the river. the water was shallow, and the king, going about among them, quickly restored order and discipline, and, charging in solid formation, they drove the cavalry back and advanced across the plain. steinau recalled his troops and posted them in a strong position, one flank being covered by a marsh and the other by a wood. he had time to effect his arrangements, as charles was compelled to wait until the whole of his troops were across. as soon as they were so, he led them against the enemy. the battle was a severe one, for the swedes were unprovided with artillery, and the saxons, with the advantages of position and a powerful artillery, fought steadily. three times marshal steinau led his cavalry in desperate charges, and each time almost penetrated to the point where charles was directing the movements of his troops; but, at last, he was struck from his horse by a blow from the butt end of a musket; and his cuirassiers, with difficulty, carried him from the field. as soon as his fall became known, disorder spread among the ranks of the saxons. some regiments gave way, and, the swedes rushing forward with loud shouts, the whole army was speedily in full flight. this victory laid the whole of courland at the mercy of the swedes, all the towns opening their gates at their approach. they were now on the confines of poland, and the king, brave to rashness as he was, hesitated to attack a nation so powerful. poland, at that time, was a country a little larger than france, though with a somewhat smaller population, but in this respect exceeding sweden. with the poles themselves he had no quarrel, for they had taken no part in the struggle, which had been carried on solely by their king, with his saxon troops. the authority of the kings of poland was much smaller than that of other european monarchs. the office was not a hereditary one; the king being elected at a diet, composed of the whole of the nobles of the country, the nobility embracing practically every free man; and, as it was necessary, according to the constitution of the country, that the vote should be unanimous, the difficulties in the way of election were very great, and civil wars of constant occurrence. charles was determined that he would drive augustus, who was the author of the league against him, from the throne; but he desired to do this by means of the poles themselves, rather than to unite the whole nation against him by invading the country. poland was divided into two parts, the larger of which was poland proper, which could at once place thirty thousand men in the field. the other was lithuania, with an army of twelve thousand. these forces were entirely independent of each other. the troops were for the most part cavalry, and the small force, permanently kept up, was composed almost entirely of horsemen. they rarely drew pay, and subsisted entirely on plunder, being as formidable to their own people as to an enemy. lithuania, on whose borders the king had taken post with his army, was, as usual, harassed by two factions, that of the prince sapieha and the prince of oginski, between whom a civil war was going on. the king of sweden took the part of the former, and, furnishing him with assistance, speedily enabled him to overcome the oginski party, who received but slight aid from the saxons. oginski's forces were speedily dispersed, and roamed about the country in scattered parties, subsisting on pillage, thereby exciting among the people a lively feeling of hatred against the king of poland, who was regarded as the author of the misfortunes that had befallen the country. from the day when charlie's suggestion, of burning damp straw to conceal the passage of the river, had been attended with such success, the king had held him in high favour. there was but a few years' difference between their ages, and the suggestion, so promptly made, seemed to show the king that the young englishman was a kindred spirit, and he frequently requested him to accompany him in his rides, and chatted familiarly with him. "i hate this inactive life," he said one day, "and would, a thousand times, rather be fighting the russians than setting the poles by the ears; but i dare not move against them, for, were augustus of saxony left alone, he would ere long set all poland against me. at present, the poles refuse to allow him to bring in reinforcements from his own country; but if he cannot get men he can get gold, and with gold he can buy over his chief opponents, and regain his power. if it costs me a year's delay, i must wait until he is forced to fly the kingdom, and i can place on the throne someone who will owe his election entirely to me, and in whose good faith i can be secure. "that done, i can turn my attention to russia, which, by all accounts, daily becomes more formidable. narva is besieged by them, and will ere long fall; but i can retake narva when once i can depend upon the neutrality of the poles. would i were king of poland as well as of sweden. with eighty thousand polish horse, and my own swedish infantry, i could conquer europe if i wished to do so. "i know that you are as fond of adventure as i am, and i am thinking of sending you with an envoy i am despatching to warsaw. "you know that the poles are adverse to business of all kinds. the poorest noble, who can scarcely pay for the cloak he wears, and who is ready enough to sell his vote and his sword to the highest bidder, will turn up his nose at honest trade; and the consequence is, as there is no class between the noble and the peasant, the trade of the country is wholly in the hands of jews and foreigners, among the latter being, i hear, many scotchmen, who, while they make excellent soldiers, are also keen traders. this class must have considerable power, in fact, although it be exercised quietly. the jews are, of course, money lenders as well as traders. large numbers of these petty nobles must be in their debt, either for money lent or goods supplied. "my agent goes specially charged to deal with the archbishop, who is quite open to sell his services to me, although he poses as one of the strongest adherents of the saxons. with him, it is not a question so much of money, as of power. being a wise man, he sees that augustus can never retain his position, in the face of the enmity of the great body of the poles, and of my hostility. but, while my agent deals with him and such nobles as he indicates as being likely to take my part against augustus, you could ascertain the feeling of the trading class, and endeavour to induce them, not only to favour me, but to exert all the influence they possess on my behalf. as there are many scotch merchants in the city, you could begin by making yourself known to them, taking with you letters of introduction from your colonel, and any other scotch gentleman whom you may find to have acquaintanceship, if not with the men themselves, with their families in scotland. i do not, of course, say that the mission will be without danger, but that will, i know, be an advantage in your eyes. what do you think of the proposal?" "i do not know, sire," charlie said doubtfully. "i have no experience whatever in matters of that kind." "this will be a good opportunity for you to serve an apprenticeship," the king said decidedly. "there is no chance of anything being done here, for months, and as you will have no opportunity of using your sword, you cannot be better employed than in polishing up your wits. i will speak to colonel jamieson about it this evening. count piper will give you full instructions, and will obtain for you, from some of our friends, lists of the names of the men who would be likely to be most useful to us. you will please to remember that the brain does a great deal more than the sword, in enabling a man to rise above his fellows. you are a brave young officer, but i have many a score of brave young officers, and it was your quick wit, in suggesting the strategy by which we crossed the dwina without loss, that has marked you out from among others, and made me see that you are fit for something better than getting your throat cut." the king then changed the subject with his usual abruptness, and dismissed charlie, at the end of his ride, without any further allusion to the subject. the young fellow, however, knew enough of the king's headstrong disposition to be aware that the matter was settled, and that he could not, without incurring the king's serious displeasure, decline to accept the commission. he walked back, with a serious face, to the hut that the officers of the company occupied, and asked harry jervoise to come out to him. "what is it, charlie?" his friend said. "has his gracious majesty been blowing you up, or has your horse broken its knees?" "a much worse thing than either, harry. the king appears to have taken into his head that i am cut out for a diplomatist;" and he then repeated to his friend the conversation the king had had with him. harry burst into a shout of laughter. "don't be angry, charlie, but i cannot help it. the idea of your going, in disguise, i suppose, and trying to talk over the jewish clothiers and cannie scotch traders, is one of the funniest things i ever heard. and do you think the king was really in earnest?" "the king is always in earnest," charlie said in a vexed tone; "and, when he once takes a thing into his head, there is no gainsaying him." "that is true enough, charlie," harry said, becoming serious. "well, i have no doubt you will do it just as well as another, and after all, there will be some fun in it, and you will be in a big city, and likely to have a deal more excitement than will fall to our lot here." "i don't think it will be at all the sort of excitement i should care for, harry. however, my hope is, that the colonel will be able to dissuade him from the idea." "well, i don't know that i should wish that if i were in your place, charlie. undoubtedly, it is an honour being chosen for such a mission, and it is possible you may get a great deal of credit for it, as the king is always ready to push forward those who do good service. look how much he thinks of you, because you made that suggestion about getting up a smoke to cover our passage." "i wish i had never made it," charlie said heartily. "well, in that case, charlie, it is likely enough we should not be talking together here, for our loss in crossing the river under fire would have been terrible." "well, perhaps it is as well as it is," charlie agreed. "but i did not want to attract his attention. i was very happy as i was, with you all. as for my suggestion about the straw, anyone might have thought of it. i should never have given the matter another moment's consideration, and i should be much better pleased if the king had not done so, either, instead of telling the colonel about it, and the colonel speaking to the officers, and such a ridiculous fuss being made about nothing." "my dear charlie," harry said seriously, "you seem to be forgetting that we all came out here, together, to make our fortune, or at any rate to do as well as we could till the stuarts come to the throne again, and our fathers regain their estates, a matter concerning which, let me tell you, i do not feel by any means so certain as i did in the old days. then, you know, all our friends were of our way of thinking, and the faith that the stuarts would return was like a matter of religion, which it was heresy to doubt for an instant. well, you see, in the year that we have been out here one's eyes have got opened a bit, and i don't feel by any means sanguine that the stuarts will ever come to the throne of england again, or that our fathers will recover their estates. "you have seen here what good soldiers can do, and how powerless men possessing but little discipline, though perhaps as brave as themselves, are against them. william of orange has got good soldiers. his dutch troops are probably quite as good as our best swedish regiments. they have had plenty of fighting in ireland and elsewhere, and i doubt whether the jacobite gentlemen, however numerous, but without training or discipline, could any more make head against them than the masses of muscovites could against the swedish battalions at narva. all this means that it is necessary that we should, if possible, carve out a fortune here. so far, i certainly have no reason to grumble. on the contrary, i have had great luck. i am a lieutenant at seventeen, and, if i am not shot or carried off by fever, i may, suppose the war goes on and the army is not reduced, be a colonel at the age of forty. "now you, on the other hand, have, by that happy suggestion of yours, attracted the notice of the king, and he is pleased to nominate you to a mission in which there is a chance of your distinguishing yourself in another way, and of being employed in other and more important business. all this will place you much farther on the road towards making a fortune, than marching and fighting with your company would be likely to do in the course of twenty years, and i think it would be foolish in the extreme for you to exhibit any disinclination to undertake the duty." "i suppose you are right, harry, and i am much obliged to you for your advice, which certainly puts the matter in a light in which i had not before seen it. if i thought that i could do it well, i should not so much mind, for, as you say, there will be some fun to be got out of it, and some excitement, and there seems little chance of doing anything here for a long time. but what am i to say to the fellows? how can i argue with them? besides, i don't talk polish." "i don't suppose there are ten men in the army who do so, probably not five. as to what to say, count piper will no doubt give you full instructions as to the line you are to take, the arguments you are to use, and the inducements you are to hold out. that is sure to be all right." "well, do not say anything about it, harry, when you get back. i still hope the colonel will dissuade the king." "then you are singularly hopeful, charlie, that is all i can say. you might persuade a brick wall to move out of your way, as easily as induce the king of sweden to give up a plan he has once formed. however, i will say nothing about it." at nine o'clock, an orderly came to the hut with a message that the colonel wished to speak to lieutenant carstairs. harry gave his friend a comical look, as the latter rose and buckled on his sword. "what is the joke, harry?" his father asked, when charlie had left. "do you know what the colonel can want him for, at this time of the evening? it is not his turn for duty." "i know, father; but i must not say." "the lad has not been getting into a scrape, i hope?" "nothing serious, i can assure you; but really, i must not say anything until he comes back." harry's positive assurance, as to the impossibility of changing the king's decision, had pretty well dispelled any hopes charlie might before have entertained, and he entered the colonel's room with a grave face. "you know why i have sent for you, carstairs?" "yes, sir; i am afraid that i do." "afraid? that is to say, you don't like it." "yes, sir; i own that i don't like it." "nor do i, lad, and i told his majesty so. i said you were too young for so risky a business. the king scoffed at the idea. he said, 'he is not much more than two years younger than i am, and if i am old enough to command an army, he is old enough to carry out this mission. we know that he is courageous. he is cool, sharp, and intelligent. why do i choose him? has he not saved me from the loss of about four or five thousand men, and probably a total defeat? a young fellow who can do that, ought to be able to cope with jewish traders, and to throw dust in the eyes of the poles. "i have chosen him for this service for two reasons. in the first place, because i know he will do it well, and even those who consider that i am rash and headstrong, admit that i have the knack of picking out good men. in the next place, i want to reward him for the service he has done for us. i cannot, at his age, make a colonel of him, but i can give him a chance of distinguishing himself in a service in which age does not count for so much, and count piper, knowing my wishes in the matter, will push him forward. moreover, in such a mission as this, his youth will be an advantage, for he is very much less likely to excite suspicion than if he were an older man.' "the king's manner did not admit of argument, and i had only to wait and ask what were his commands. these were simply that you are to call upon his minister tomorrow, and that you would then receive full instructions. "the king means well by you, lad, and on turning it over, i think better of the plan than i did before. i am convinced, at any rate, that you will do credit to the king's choice." "i will do my best, sir," charlie said. "at present, it all seems so vague to me that i can form no idea whatever as to what it will be like. i am sure that the king's intentions are, at any rate, kind. i am glad to hear you say that, on consideration, you think better of the plan. then i may mention the matter to major jervoise?" "certainly, carstairs, and to his son, but it must go no farther. i shall put your name in orders, as relieved from duty, and shall mention that you have been despatched on service, which might mean anything. come and see me tomorrow, lad, after you have received count piper's instructions. as the king reminded me, there are many scotchmen at warsaw, and it is likely that some of them passed through sweden on the way to establish themselves there, and i may very well have made their acquaintance at gottenburg or stockholm. "once established in the house of one of my countrymen, your position would be fairly safe and not altogether unpleasant, and you would be certainly far better off than a swede would be engaged on this mission. the swedes are, of course, regarded by the poles as enemies, but, as there is no feeling against englishmen or scotchmen, you might pass about unnoticed as one of the family of a scottish trader there, or as his assistant." "i don't fear its being unpleasant in the least, colonel. nor do i think anything one way or the other about my safety. i only fear that i shall not be able to carry out properly the mission intrusted to me." "you will do your best, lad, and that is all that can be expected. you have not solicited the post, and as it is none of your choosing, your failure would be the fault of those who have sent you, and not of yourself; but in a matter of this kind there is no such thing as complete failure. when you have to deal with one man you may succeed or you may fail in endeavouring to induce him to act in a certain manner, but when you have to deal with a considerable number of men, some will be willing to accept your proposals, some will not, and the question of success will probably depend upon outside influences and circumstances over which you have no control whatever. i have no fear that it will be a failure. if our party in poland triumph, or if our army here advances, or if augustus, finding his position hopeless, leaves the country, the good people of warsaw will join their voices to those of the majority. if matters go the other way, you may be sure that they will not risk imprisonment, confiscation, and perhaps death, by getting up a revolt on their own account. the king will be perfectly aware of this, and will not expect impossibilities, and there is really no occasion whatever for you to worry yourself on that ground." upon calling upon count piper the next morning, charlie found that, as the colonel had told him, his mission was a general one. "it will be your duty," the minister said, "to have interviews with as many of the foreign traders and jews in warsaw as you can, only going to those to whom you have some sort of introduction from the persons you may first meet, or who are, as far as you can learn from the report of others, ill disposed towards the saxon party. here is a letter, stating to all whom it may concern, that you are in the confidence of the king of sweden, and are authorized to represent him. "in the first place, you can point out to those you see that, should the present situation continue, it will bring grievous evils upon poland. proclamations have already been spread broadcast over the country, saying that the king has no quarrel with the people of poland, but, as their sovereign has, without the slightest provocation, embarked on a war, he must fight against him and his saxon troops, until they are driven from the country. this you will repeat, and will urge that it will be infinitely better that poland herself should cast out the man who has embroiled her with sweden, than that the country should be the scene of a long and sanguinary struggle, in which large districts will necessarily be laid waste, all trade be arrested, and grievous suffering inflicted upon the people at large. "you can say that king charles has already received promises of support from a large number of nobles, and is most desirous that the people of the large towns, and especially of the capital, should use their influence in his favour. that he has himself no ambition, and no end to serve save to obtain peace and tranquillity for his country, and that it will be free for the people of poland to elect their own monarch, when once augustus of saxony has disappeared from the scene. "in this sealed packet you will find a list of influential citizens. it has been furnished me by one well acquainted with the place. the jews are to be assured that, in case of a friendly monarch being placed on the throne, charles will make a treaty with him, insuring freedom of commerce to the two countries, and will also use his friendly endeavours to obtain, from the king and diet, an enlargement of the privileges that the jews enjoy. to the foreign merchants you will hold the same language, somewhat altered, to suit their condition and wants. "you are not asking them to organize any public movement, the time has not yet come for that; but simply to throw the weight of their example and influence against the party of the saxons. of course our friends in warsaw have been doing their best to bring round public opinion in the capital to this direction, but the country is so torn by perpetual intrigues, that the trading classes hold aloof altogether from quarrels in which they have no personal interest, and are slow to believe that they can be seriously affected by any changes which will take place. "our envoy will start tomorrow morning. his mission is an open one. he goes to lay certain complaints, to propose an exchange of prisoners, and to open negotiations for peace. all these are but pretences. his real object is to enter into personal communication with two or three powerful personages, well disposed towards us. "come again to me this evening, when you have thought the matter over. i shall then be glad to hear any suggestion you may like to make." "there is one thing, sir, that i should like to ask you. it will evidently be of great advantage to me, if i can obtain private letters of introduction to scotch traders in the city. this i cannot do, unless by mentioning the fact that i am bound for warsaw. have i your permission to do so, or is it to be kept a close secret?" "no. i see no objection to your naming it to anyone you can implicitly trust, and who may, as you think, be able to give you such introductions, but you must impress upon them that the matter must be kept a secret. doubtless the saxons have in their pay people in our camp, just as we have in theirs, and were word of your going sent, you would find yourself watched, and perhaps arrested. we should, of course wish you to be zealous in your mission, but i would say, do not be over anxious. we are not trying to get up a revolution in warsaw, but seeking to ensure that the feeling in the city should be in our favour; and this, we think, may be brought about, to some extent, by such assurances as you can give of the king's friendship, and by such expressions of a belief in the justice of our cause, and in the advantages there would be in getting rid of this foreign prince, as might be said openly by one trader to another, when men meet in their exchanges or upon the street. so that the ball is once set rolling, it may be trusted to keep in motion, and there can be little doubt that such expressions of feeling, among the mercantile community of the capital, will have some effect even upon nobles who pretend to despise trade, but who are not unfrequently in debt to traders, and who hold their views in a certain respect." "thank you, sir. at what time shall i come this evening?" "at eight o'clock. by that time, i may have thought out farther details for your guidance." chapter : in warsaw. upon leaving the quarters of count piper, charlie returned to the camp, and, after discussing the matter with major jervoise, proceeded with him to the colonel's hut. "well, you look brighter this morning, carstairs. are you better pleased, now you have thought the matter over?" "yes, sir. what you said last night has been quite confirmed by count piper, and the matter does not really seem so difficult. i am merely, as a foreigner in the employment of the king of sweden, to talk with foreigners in warsaw, to assure them that the king is sincere in his desire to avoid war with poland, and will gladly make a lasting peace between the two countries, to urge upon them to show themselves favourable to his project for securing such a peace, by forcing augustus to resign the crown, and to use what influence they can in that direction, both upon their fellow traders and upon the poles." "there is nothing very difficult about that," colonel jamieson said cheerfully, "as it happens to be quite true; and there can be no real question as to the true interest of poland, and especially of the trading classes in the great towns, from whom heavy contributions towards the expenses of war are always exacted by their own rulers, and who have to pay a ruinous ransom in case of their city being captured by the enemy. the traders of warsaw will need no reminder of such well-known facts, and will be only too glad to be assured that, unless as a last resource, our king has no intention of making war upon poland, and they will certainly be inclined to bestir themselves to avert such a possibility. you have, i suppose, a list of names of the people with whom you had best put yourself into communication?" "yes, sir. here is a list. there are, i see, ten scotchmen, fifteen frenchmen, and about as many jews." "i know nothing of the frenchmen, and less of the jews," the colonel said, taking the list; "but i ought to know some of the scotchmen. they will hail from dundee and glasgow, and, it may be, dumfries." he ran his eye down the list. "aha! here is one, and we need go no further. allan ramsay; we were lads together at the high school of glasgow, and were classmates at the college. his father was a member of the city council, and was one of the leading traders in the city. allan was a wild lad, as i was myself, and many a scrape did we get into together, and had many a skirmish with the watch. allan had two or three half brothers, men from ten to twenty years older than himself, and, a year or two after i came out to sweden and entered the army as an ensign, who should i meet in the streets of gottenburg, but allan ramsay. "we were delighted to see each other, and he stopped with me nearly a week. he had, after leaving the college, gone into his father's business, but when the old man died he could not get on with his half brothers, who were dour men, and had little patience with allan's restlessness and love of pleasure. so, after a final quarrel, they had given him so much money for his share of the business, and a letter of introduction to a trader in poland, who had written to them saying that he wanted a partner with some capital; and allan was willing enough to try the life in a strange country, for he was a shrewd fellow, with all his love of fun. "five years afterwards, he came through gottenburg again. i did not see him, for my regiment was at stockholm at the time, but he wrote me a letter saying that he had been in scotland to marry and bring back one janet black, the daughter of a mercer, whom i remember well enough as an old flame of his. "he reported that he was doing well, and that the poles were not bad fellows to live among, though less punctual in their payments than might be wished. he said he did not suppose that, as a swedish officer, i should ever be in poland, unless sweden produced another gustavus adolphus; but if i was, he would be delighted to welcome me, and that anyone i asked in warsaw would direct me to his shop. i wonder that i did not think of him before; but that is ten years ago, and it had altogether passed out of my mind, till i saw his name here. unless he is greatly changed, you may be sure of a hearty welcome from allan ramsay, for my sake. we need not trouble about the other names. he will know all about them, and will be able to put you in the way of getting at them." this was a great relief to charlie, who felt that it would be an immense advantage to have the house of someone, from whom he might expect a welcome, to go to on his arrival in warsaw; and he was able, during the day, to talk over the prospects of the journey, with harry jervoise, with a real sense of interest and excitement in his mission. in the evening, he again went to the house of the minister. the latter, a close observer of men, saw at once that the young officer was in much better spirits than he had been in the morning. "have you obtained information respecting any of the persons whose names i gave you?" he asked. "yes, sir. it seems that, most fortunately, the trader named allan ramsay is an old friend of colonel jamieson, and the colonel has given me a letter to him which will, he assures me, procure me a hearty welcome." "and have you thought anything more of your best plan of action?" "yes, sir. it seems to me that i had better dress myself in an attire such as might be worn by a young scotchman, journeying through the country to place himself with a relation established in business. i could ride behind the royal envoy, as if i had received permission to journey under the protection of his escort, and could drop behind a few miles from the capital, and make my way in alone. i could not, of course, inquire for allan ramsay in polish, but i know enough french to ask for him at any shop having a french name over it, if i did not happen to light upon one kept by a scotchman." "yes, that plan will do very well. but you will have no difficulty in finding the house, as i have arranged that a man shall accompany you as servant. he is a lithuanian, and is the grandson of a soldier of gustavus adolphus, who married and settled there. his grandfather kept up his connection with his native country, and the young fellow speaks swedish fairly, and, of course, polish. for the last three weeks i have employed him in various matters, and find him shrewd and, i believe, faithful. such a fellow would be of great use to you, and could, if necessary, act as your interpreter in any interviews you may have with polish jews, although you will find that most of these men speak other languages besides their own." he touched a bell, and on a servant entering, said: "bring stanislas bistron here." an active, well-built young fellow of some four and twenty years of age entered the room a minute later. his fair hair and blue eyes showed that he took after his swedish ancestors. "this is the gentleman, stanislas, that you are to accompany to warsaw, as his servant. you will obey him, in all respects, as if he had hired you in his service, and, should he arrive at any situation of danger or difficulty, i trust that you will not be found wanting." the man had looked closely at charlie. "i will do my best, sir, and i doubt not that the gentleman's service will suit me. he has the look of one who would be kind to his servants." "wait at the outside door," the count said. "captain carstairs will speak to you as he leaves." the man bowed and went out, and the count then said, with a smile at the look of surprise on charlie's face: "it was not a slip of the tongue. here is a commission, signed by his majesty, appointing you to the rank of captain, as he has long considered that you had well won your promotion, by your suggestion which enabled him to cross the dwina without loss; but he thought there would be a difficulty in placing you over the heads of so many officers senior to yourself. this inconvenience no longer exists, now that you have what may be considered a staff appointment, and the rank may, moreover, add to your weight and influence in your interviews with persons at warsaw. "you will need money. here is a purse for your expenses. you may meet with some of these men, especially among the jewish traders, who may need a bribe. bribery is common, from the highest to the lowest, in poland. you will find, in this letter of instructions, that you are authorized to promise sums of money to men whose assistance may be valuable. it is impossible to fix the sums. these must depend upon the position of the men, and the value of their services; and i can only say do not be lavish, but at the same time do not hesitate to promise a sum that will secure the services of useful men. your best plan will be to find out, if you are able, what each man expects, and to make what abatement you can. the only limit placed is that you must not commit the royal treasury to a total sum exceeding ten thousand crowns. you will, i hope, find a smaller sum suffice. "the envoy will start at six tomorrow morning. i do not know that there are any further instructions to give you. you will find details, in these written instructions, as to the manner in which you are to communicate, from time to time, the result of your mission, and you will receive orders when to return." outside the house, charlie saw his new servant waiting him. "you have a horse, stanislas?" "yes, sir, i have been provided with one. i have also a brace of pistols, and a sword." "i hope you will not have to use them, but in these disturbed times they are necessaries." "i have better clothes than these, sir, if you wish me to look gay." "by no means," charlie replied. "i am going in the character of a young scotchman, on my way to join a relative in business in warsaw, and you accompany me in the capacity of guide and servant. as i should not be in a position to pay high wages, the more humble your appearance, the better. we start at six in the morning. the envoy will leave the royal quarters at that hour, and we travel with his escort. join me a quarter of an hour before that at my hut. you had better accompany me there now, so that you may know the spot. i shall not require your services before we start, as my soldier servant will saddle my horse, and have all in readiness." harry came to the door of the hut, as he saw his friend approaching. "well, charlie, is all satisfactorily settled? "yes, quite satisfactorily, i think. that is my new servant. count piper has appointed him. he speaks swedish and polish." "that will be a great comfort to you, charlie. jock armstrong, who has not picked up ten words of swedish since he joined, would have been worse than useless." "i have another piece of news, harry, that i am in one way very glad of, and in another sorry for. i had always hoped that we should keep together, and that, just as we joined together, and were made lieutenants at the same time, it would always be so." "you have got another step?" harry exclaimed. "i am heartily glad of it. i thought very likely you might get it. indeed, i was surprised that you did not get it, at once, after our fight with the saxons. i am sure you deserved it, if ever a fellow did, considering what it saved us all." "of course it is for that," charlie replied, "though i think it is very absurd. count piper said the king would have given it to me at once, only it would have taken me over the heads of so many men older than myself; but he considered that, now i am going on a sort of staff work, away from the regiment, i could be promoted, and he thought, too, that the title of captain would assist me in my mission." "of course it will," harry said, warmly. "that is just what i told you, you know. this business was not quite to your liking, but it was a good long step towards making your fortune. don't you think that i shall be jealous of your going ahead, for i am not in the least. i am sorry you are going away, for i shall miss you terribly; but i am quite content to be with the regiment, and to work my way up gradually. as it is, i am senior lieutenant in the regiment, and the first battle may give me my company; though i don't expect it, for i do not think my father would wish the colonel to give me the step, if it occurred, for all the other lieutenants are older than we are, though they are junior to us in the regiment, and i feel sure that he would prefer me to remain for another two or three years as lieutenant. in fact, he said as much to me, a short time ago. still, when i am fit to command a company, there is no doubt i shall get it. "of course, i am sorry you are going, very sorry, charlie; but, even if you go altogether on to the staff, i shall see a good deal of you, for, as the king is always with the army, this must be your headquarters still. "i wonder how long you will be away. i like the look of the fellow who is going with you. it was an honest, open sort of face, as far as i saw it. at any rate, it is a comfort to think that you won't be absolutely alone, especially among people whose language you don't know. mind, if you are sending letters to count piper, be sure you send a few lines, by the same messenger, to let me know how you are going on. not long letters, you know; i expect you will have your hands pretty well full; but just enough to give me an idea of how you are, and what you are doing." the following morning, charlie started. he had said goodbye to no one, except the colonel, major jervoise, and harry, as it was not considered advisable that his departure with the envoy for warsaw should be talked about. he only joined the party, indeed, after they had ridden out of the camp. he had laid aside his uniform, and was dressed in clothes which major jervoise had procured for him, from one of the last-joined recruits who had but just received his uniform. the lieutenant commanding the escort of twenty troopers rode up to him, as he joined the party. "baron seckers informs me that he has given permission to a young scotchman and his servant, travelling to warsaw, to ride under his protection. are you the person in question, sir?" "it is all right, lieutenant eberstein," charlie said, with a smile. "don't you recognize me?" "of course--lieutenant carstairs. i was at the hunt where you were taken prisoner; but i did not expect to see you in this garb." "i am going on duty," charlie said, "and am dressed according to orders. do not address me by my name. i am at present sandy anderson, going to join a relation in warsaw." "ah, ah! is that so? going to put your head into the den of the lion augustus. well, i rather envy you, for it is likely, by all accounts, to be dull work here for some time. it is hard to be sitting idle, while the russian guns are thundering round narva. now, i must join the baron again. where would you rather ride--after us, or behind the escort?" "behind the escort. i think it will be more natural, and i can chat more freely with my servant. he is a lithuanian, but speaks swedish, and i hope to get some information from him." the lieutenant rode on, and, as he passed the troopers, he told them that the two men behind had the baron's permission to ride with them, in order that they might have protection from the bands of pillagers who were roaming through the country. "now, stanislas," charlie said. "we can talk freely together. do you know warsaw?" "i have been there several times, sir, but i never stopped there long. still, i can find my way about the town." "when were you there last?" "some two months ago. it was just before i entered the swedish service." "and what do the people say about the war?" "they are bitterly opposed to it. the king entered upon it without consulting the diet, which was altogether contrary to the constitution. it is true that the king may do so, in cases of emergency, and obtain the sanction of the diet afterwards. there was no urgency here, and the king made his agreement with the czar and the king of denmark without anyone knowing of it. he certainly obtained a sort of sanction from the diet afterwards, but everyone knows how these things are worked. he has a strong party, of course, because it is the interest of a great many people to retain him in power, as no one can say who would be chosen to succeed him. but among the people in general, the traders and the peasants, he is hated, and so are his saxon soldiers. "suppose he had gained a slice of swedish territory. it would not have benefited them; while, as it is, all sorts of misfortunes and troubles have come upon the country, and none can say how much greater may ensue. "poland is always split up into parties. they used to unite against the turk, and they would unite again against the swedes, if their country was invaded; but as long as king charles keeps his army beyond the frontier, they are too deeply engaged in their own quarrels to think of anything else." "then, even if i were known, in the city, to be in the swedish service, there would be little danger, stanislas?" "i do not say that, at all," the man said gravely. "in the first place, warsaw is held by saxon soldiers, who would show you but scant mercy, were you known to be a swedish officer; and, in the second place, the lower classes are ever ready to make tumults; and, if worked upon by the archbishop, or the nobles of the king's party, they would readily enough tear a stranger to pieces. "going as you do as a scotchman, there is, i hope, little danger, especially if you are received into a scottish household." the journey passed without incident, until they were within a few miles of warsaw, when charlie, after formally thanking baron seckers for the protection his escort had afforded him, fell behind with his servant. several parties of armed men had been met with, but they knew better than to interfere with the little body of swedish cavalry; while, in the towns through which they passed, the baron was respectfully received as the envoy of the dreaded king of sweden. "is there another gate to the city, on this side of the town, beside that by which the swedes will enter? if so, it would be as well to use it, so that there should seem to be no connection between us and them," said charlie. there was another gate, and by this they rode into warsaw, at that time a city of far greater importance than it is at present. the gate was unguarded, and they passed through without question. the citizens were talking excitedly in groups, evidently discussing the question of the arrival of the swedish envoy, and the chances of peace; and no attention was paid to the travellers, whose appearance denoted them to be persons of no importance. richly-attired nobles, in costumes of almost oriental magnificence, galloped through the streets on splendid horses, scattering the groups of citizens, and paying no attention whatever to the angry murmurs that followed them. charlie stopped at a small inn, and there the horses were put up. stanislas made inquiries for the shop of allan ramsay, mentioning that his employer was a relation of the scottish merchant, and had come out to be with him, until he had learned the language. "the scots know their business," the landlord grumbled. "they and the french and the jews, together, have their hand in everyone's pocket. they buy the cattle and grain of the peasants, for what they choose to give for them, and send them out of the country, getting all the profits of the transaction; while, as to the nobles, there is scarce one who is not deep in their books." "still, you could not do without them," stanislas said. "there must be somebody to buy and to sell, and as the nobles won't do it, and the peasants can't, i don't see that the foreigners are to be blamed for coming in and taking the trade." "that is true enough," the landlord admitted reluctantly. "still, there is no doubt the country is kept poor, while, between them, these men gather up the harvest." "better that than let it rot upon the ground," stanislas said unconcernedly; and then, having obtained the name of the street where several of the scottish traders had places of business, he and charlie started on foot. they were not long in finding the shop with the sign of the merchant swinging over the door. "you had better wait outside, stanislas, while i go in and see the master. no; if he is not in the shop, his men will not understand me, so come in with me till you see that i have met him, and then go back to the inn for the night. whether i join you there will depend upon the warmth of my welcome." two or three young poles were in the shop. stanislas asked them for allan ramsay, and they replied that he was taking his evening meal upstairs, whereupon charlie produced the letter from colonel jamieson, and stanislas requested one of them to take it up to the merchant. three minutes later the inner door opened, and a tall man with a ruddy face and blue eyes entered, holding the open letter in his hand. charlie took a step forward to meet him. "so you are sandy anderson," he said heartily, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "my connection, it seems, and the friend of my dear classmate jamieson? come upstairs. who is this scotch-looking lad with you?" "he is my servant and interpreter. his grandfather was a swede, and to him he owes his fair hair and complexion. he is a lithuanian. he is to be trusted, i hope, thoroughly. he was sent with me by--" "never mind names," the scotchman said hastily. "we will talk about him afterwards. now come upstairs. your letter has thrown me quite into a flutter. "never say anything in english before those poles," he said, as he left the shop; "the fellows pick up languages as easily as i can drink whisky, when i get the chance. one of them has been with me two years, and it is quite likely he understands, at any rate, something of what is said. "here we are." he opened a door, and ushered charlie into a large room, comfortably furnished. his wife, a boy eight years of age, and a girl a year older, were seated at the table. "janet," the merchant said, "this is captain carstairs, alias sandy anderson, a connection of ours, though i cannot say, for certain, of what degree." "what are you talking of, allan?" she asked in surprise; for her husband, after opening and partly reading the letter, had jumped up and run off without saying a word. "what i say, wife. this gentleman is, for the present, sandy anderson, who has come out to learn the business and language, with the intent of some day entering into partnership with me; also, which is more to the point, he is a friend of my good friend jock jamieson, whom you remember well in the old days." "i am very glad, indeed, to see any friend of jock jamieson," janet ramsay said warmly, holding out her hand to charlie, "though i do not in the least understand what my husband is talking about, or what your name really is." "my name is carstairs, madam. i am a captain in the swedish service, and am here on a mission for king charles. colonel jamieson, for he is now colonel of the regiment to which i belong--" "what!" the merchant exclaimed. "do you mean to say that our jock jamieson is a colonel? well, well, who would have thought he would have climbed the tree so quickly?" "it is a regiment entirely of scotch and englishmen," charlie said; "and he was promoted, to take its command, only a short time since." "well, please to sit down and join us," mrs. ramsay said. "it is bad manners, indeed, to keep you talking while the meat is getting cold on the table. when you have finished, it will be time enough to question you." while the meal was going on, however, many questions were asked as to colonel jamieson, the regiment, and its officers. "as soon as matters are more settled," the merchant said, "i will give myself a holiday, and janet and i will go and spend a few days with jock. many of the names of the officers are well known to me, and two or three of the captains were at glasgow college with jock and myself. it will be like old times, to have four or five of us talking over the wild doings we had together." the supper over, the children were sent off to bed. allan ramsay lit a long pipe. a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed on the table, and mrs. ramsay withdrew, to see after domestic matters, and prepare a room for charlie. "now, lad, tell me all about it," allan ramsay said. "jock tells me you are here on a mission, which he would leave it to yourself to explain; but it is no business of mine, and, if you would rather keep it to yourself, i will ask no questions." "there is no secret about it, as far as you are concerned, mr. ramsay, for it is to you and to other merchants here that i have come to talk it over;" and he then went fully into the subject. the scotchman sat, smoking his pipe in silence, for some minutes after he had concluded. "we do not much meddle with politics here. we have neither voice nor part in the making of kings or of laws, and, beyond that we like to have a peace-loving king, it matters little to us whom the diet may set up over us. if we were once to put the tips of our fingers into polish affairs, we might give up all thought of trade. they are forever intriguing and plotting, except when they are fighting; and it would be weary work to keep touch with it all, much less to take part in it. it is our business to buy and to sell, and so that both parties come to us, it matters little; one's money is as good as the other. if i had one set of creditors deeper in my books than another, i might wish their party to gain the day, for it would, maybe, set them up in funds, and i might get my money; but, as it is, it matters little. there is not a customer i have but is in my debt. money is always scarce with them; for they are reckless and extravagant, keeping a horde of idle loons about them, spending as much money on their own attire and that of their wives as would keep a whole scotch clan in victuals. but, if they cannot pay in money, they can pay in corn or in cattle, in wine or in hides. "i do not know which they are fondest of--plotting, or fighting, or feasting; and yet, reckless as they are, they are people to like. if they do sell their votes for money, it is not a scotchman that should throw it in their teeth; for there is scarce a scotch noble, since the days of bruce, who has not been ready to sell himself for english gold. our own highlanders are as fond of fighting as the poles, and their chiefs are as profuse in hospitality, and as reckless and spendthrift. "but the poles have their virtues. they love their country, and are ready to die for her. they are courteous, and even chivalrous, they are hospitable to an excess, they are good husbands and kindly masters, they are recklessly brave; and, if they are unduly fond of finery, i, who supply so many of them, should be the last to find fault with them on that score. they are proud, and look down upon us traders, but that does not hurt us; and, if they were to take to trading themselves, there would be no place for us here. but this has nothing to do with our present purpose. "certainly, if it was a question of polish affairs, neither the foreign nor the jewish merchants here would move a finger one way or the other. we have everything to lose, and nothing to gain. suppose we took sides with one of the parties, and the other got the upper hand. why, they might make ordinances hampering us in every way, laying heavy taxes on us, forbidding the export of cattle or horses, and making our lives burdensome. true, if they drove us out they would soon have to repeal the law, for all trade would be at an end. but that would be too late for many of us. "however, i do not say that, at the present time, many would not be disposed to do what they could against augustus of saxony. we are accustomed to civil wars; and, though these may cause misery and ruin, in the districts where they take place, they do not touch us here in the capital. but this is a different affair. augustus has, without reason or provocation, brought down your fiery king of sweden upon us; and, if he continues on the throne, we may hear the swedish cannon thundering outside our walls, and may have the city taken and sacked. therefore, for once, politics become our natural business. "but, though you may find many well wishers, i doubt if you can obtain any substantial aid. with saxon troops in the town, and the nobles divided, there is no hope of a successful rising in warsaw." "the king did not think of that," charlie said. "his opinion was, that were it evident that the citizens of warsaw were strongly opposed to augustus of saxony, it would have a great moral effect, and that, perhaps, they might influence some of the nobles who, as you say, are deeply in their books, or upon whose estates they may hold mortgages, to join the party against the king." "they might do something that way," allan ramsay agreed. "of course, i have no money out on mortgages. i want badly enough all the money i can lay hands on in my own business. giving credit, as we have to, and often very long credit, it requires a large capital to carry on trade. but the jews, who no doubt do hold large mortgages on the land, cannot exert much power. they cannot hold land themselves, and, were one of them to venture to sell the property of any noble of influence, he would be ruined. the whole class would shrink from him, and, like enough, there would be a tumult got up, his house would be burned over his head, and he and his family murdered. "still, as far as popular opinion goes, something might be done. at any rate, i will get some of my friends here tomorrow, and introduce you to them and talk it over. but we must be careful, for augustus has a strong party here, and, were it suspected that you are a swedish officer, it would go very hard with you. "tomorrow you must fetch your servant here. i have already sent round to the inn, and you will find your valises in your room. you said you could rely thoroughly upon him?" "yes, he was handed over to me by count piper himself; and moreover, from what i have seen of him, i am myself confident that he can be trusted. he is of swedish descent, and is, i think, a very honest fellow." for a fortnight, charlie remained at allan ramsay's, and then, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his host and hostess, took a lodging near them. he had, by this time, seen a good many of the leading traders of the town. the scotch and frenchmen had all heartily agreed with his argument, that it was for the benefit of poland, and especially for that of warsaw, that augustus of saxony should be replaced by another king, who would be acceptable to charles of sweden; but all were of opinion that but little could be done, by them, towards bringing about this result. with the jewish traders his success was less decided. they admitted that it would be a great misfortune, were warsaw taken by the swedes, but, as poles, they retained their confidence in the national army, and were altogether sceptical that a few thousand swedes could withstand the host that could be put in the field against them. several of them pointedly asked what interest they had in the matter, and, to some of these, charlie was obliged to use his power of promising sums of money, in case of success. there were one or two, however, of whom he felt doubtful. chief among these was ben soloman muller, a man of great influence in the jewish community. this man had placed so large a value upon his services, that charlie did not feel justified in promising him such a sum. he did not like the man's face, and did not rely upon the promises of silence he had given, before the mission was revealed to him. it was for this reason, principally, that he determined to go into lodgings. should he be denounced, serious trouble might fall upon allan ramsay, and it would at least minimize this risk, were he not living at his house when he was arrested. ramsay himself was disposed to make light of the danger. "i believe myself that ben soloman is an old rogue, but he is not a fool. he cannot help seeing that the position of the king is precarious, and, were he to cause your arrest, he might get little thanks and no profit, while he would be incurring the risk of the vengeance of charles, should he ever become master of the town. did he have you arrested, he himself would be forced to appear as a witness against you, and this he could hardly do without the matter becoming publicly known. "i do not say, however, that, if he could curry favour with the king's party by doing you harm, without appearing in the matter, he would hesitate for a moment. "even if you were arrested here, i doubt whether any great harm would befall me, for all the scotch merchants would make common cause with me, and, although we have no political power, we have a good deal of influence one way or another, and augustus, at this time, would not care to make fresh enemies. however, lad, i will not further dispute your decision. were i quite alone, i would not let you leave me, so long as you stop in this city, without taking great offence; but, with a wife and two children, a man is more timid than if he had but himself to think of." charlie therefore moved into the lodging, but every day he went for three or four hours to the shop, where he kept up his assumed character by aiding to keep the ledgers, and in learning from the polish assistants the value of the various goods in the shop. one evening, he was returning after supper to his lodging, when stanislas met him. "i observed three or four evil-looking rascals casting glances at the house today, and there are several rough-looking fellows hanging about the house this evening. i do not know if it means anything, but i thought i would let you know." "i think it must be only your fancy, stanislas. i might be arrested by the troops, were i denounced, but i apprehend no danger from men of the class you speak of. however, if we should be interfered with, i fancy we could deal with several rascals of that sort." at the corner of his street, three or four men were standing. one of them moved, as he passed, and pushed rudely against him, sending his hat into the gutter. then, as his face was exposed, the fellow exclaimed: "it is he, death to the swedish spy!" they were the last words he uttered. charlie's sword flew from its scabbard, and, with a rapid pass, he ran the man through the body. the others drew instantly, and fell upon charlie with fury, keeping up the shout of, "death to the swedish spy!" it was evidently a signal--for men darted out of doorways, and came running down the street, repeating the cry. "go, stanislas!" charlie shouted, as he defended himself against a dozen assailants. "tell ramsay what has happened; you can do no good here." a moment later, he received a tremendous blow on the back of the head, from an iron-bound cudgel, and fell senseless to the ground. chapter : in evil plight. when charlie recovered his senses, he found himself lying bound in a room lighted by a dim lamp, which sufficed only to show that the beams were blackened by smoke and age, and the walls constructed of rough stone work. there was, so far as he could see, no furniture whatever in it, and he imagined that it was an underground cellar, used perhaps, at some time or other, as a storeroom. it was some time before his brain was clear enough to understand what had happened, or how he had got into his present position. gradually the facts came back to him, and he was able to think coherently, in spite of a splitting headache, and a dull, throbbing pain at the back of his head. "i was knocked down and stunned," he said to himself, at last. "i wonder what became of stanislas. i hope he got away. "this does not look like a prison. i should say that it was a cellar, in the house of one of the gang that set upon me. it is evident that someone has betrayed me, probably that jew, ben soloman. what have they brought me here for? i wonder what are they going to do with me." his head, however, hurt him too much for him to continue the strain of thought, and, after a while, he dozed off to sleep. when he awoke, a faint light was streaming in through a slit, two or three inches wide, high up on the wall. he still felt faint and dizzy, from the effects of the blow. parched with thirst, he tried to call out for water, but scarce a sound came from his lips. gradually, the room seemed to darken and become indistinct, and he again lapsed into insensibility. when he again became conscious, someone was pouring water between his lips, and he heard a voice speaking loudly and angrily. he had picked up a few words of polish from stanislas--the names of common things, the words to use in case he lost his way, how to ask for food and for stabling for a horse, but he was unable to understand what was said. he judged, however, that someone was furiously upbraiding the man who was giving him water, for the latter now and then muttered excuses. "he is blowing the fellow up, for having so nearly let me slip through their fingers," he said to himself. "probably they want to question me, and find out who i have been in communication with. they shall get nothing, at present, anyhow." he kept his eyes resolutely closed. presently, he heard a door open, and another man come in. a few words were exchanged, and, this time, wine instead of water was poured down his throat. then he was partly lifted up, and felt a cooling sensation at the back of his head. some bandages were passed round it, and he was laid down again. there was some more conversation, then a door opened and two of the men went out; the third walked back to him, muttering angrily to himself. charlie felt sure that he had been moved from the place in which he had been the evening before. his bonds had been loosed, and he was lying on straw, and not on the bare ground. opening his eyelids the slightest possible degree, he was confirmed in his belief, by seeing that there was much more light than could have entered the cellar. he dared not look farther, and, in a short time, fell into a far more refreshing sleep than that he before had. the next time he woke his brain was clearer, though there was still a dull sense of pain where he had been struck. without opening his eyes, he listened attentively. there was some sound of movement in the room, and, presently, he heard a faint regular breathing. this continued for some time, and he then heard a sort of grunt. "he is asleep," he said to himself, and, opening his eyes slightly looked round. he was in another chamber. it was grimy with dirt, and almost as unfurnished as the cellar, but there was a window through which the sun was streaming brightly. he, himself, lay upon a heap of straw. at the opposite side of the room was a similar heap, and upon this a man was sitting, leaning against the wall, with his chin dropped on his chest. the thought of escape at once occurred to charlie. could he reach the window, which was without glass and a mere opening in the wall, without awakening his guard, he could drop out and make for allan ramsay's. as soon as he tried to move, however, he found that this idea was for the present impracticable. he felt too weak to lift his head, and, at the slight rustle of straw caused by the attempt, the man opposite roused himself with a start. he gave another slight movement, and then again lay quiet with his eyes closed. the man came across and spoke, but he made no sign. some more wine was poured between his lips, then the man returned to his former position, and all was quiet. as he lay thinking his position over, charlie thought that those who had set his assailants to their work must have had two objects--the one to put a stop to his efforts to organize an agitation against the king, the second to find out, by questioning him, who were those with whom he had been in communication, in order that they might be arrested, and their property confiscated. he could see no other reason why his life should be spared by his assailants, for it would have been easier, and far less troublesome, to run him through as he lay senseless on the ground, than to carry him off and keep him a prisoner. this idea confirmed the suspicion he had first entertained, that the assault had been organized by ben soloman. he could have no real interest in the king, for he was ready to join in the organization against him, could he have obtained his own terms. he might intend to gain credit with the royal party, by claiming to have stopped a dangerous plot, and at the same time to benefit himself, by bringing about the expulsion or death of many of his foreign trade rivals. for this end, the jew would desire that he should be taken alive, in order to serve as a witness against the others. "he will not get any names from me," he said. "besides, none of them have promised to take any active measures against augustus. i did not ask them to do so. there is no high treason in trying to influence public opinion. still, it is likely enough that the jew wants to get me to acknowledge that an insurrection was intended, and will offer me my freedom, if i will give such testimony. as i am altogether in his power, the only thing to do is to pretend to be a great deal worse than i am, and so to gain time, till i am strong enough to try to get away from this place." all this was not arrived at, at once, but was the result of half-dreamy cogitation extending over hours, and interrupted by short snatches of sleep. he was conscious that, from time to time, someone came into the room and spoke to his guard; and that, three or four times, wine was poured between his lips. once he was raised up, and fresh cloths, dipped in water, and bandages applied to his head. in the evening, two or three men came in, and he believed that he recognized the voice of one of them as that of ben soloman. one of the men addressed him suddenly and sharply in swedish. "how are you feeling? are you in pain? we have come here to give you your freedom." charlie was on his guard, and remained silent, with his eyes closed. "it is of no use," ben soloman said in his own language. "the fellow is still insensible. the clumsy fool who hit him would fare badly, if i knew who he was. i said that he was to be knocked down, silenced, and brought here; and here he is, of no more use than if he were dead." "he will doubtless come round, in time," another said in an apologetic tone. "we will bring him round, if you will have patience, ben soloman." "well, well," the other replied, "a few days will make no difference; but mind that he is well guarded, directly he begins to gain strength. i will get him out of the town, as soon as i can. allan ramsay has laid a complaint, before the mayor, that his countryman has been attacked by a band of ruffians, and has been either killed or carried off by them. it is a pity that servant of his was not killed." "we thought he was dead. two or three of us looked at him, and i could have sworn that life was out of him." "well, then, you would have sworn what was not true, for he managed to crawl to ramsay's, where he lies, i am told, dangerously ill, and an official has been to him, to obtain his account of the fray. it was a bungled business, from beginning to end." "we could not have calculated on the fellows making such a resistance," the other grumbled. "this one seemed but a lad, and yet he killed three of our party, and the other killed one. a nice business that; and you will have to pay their friends well, ben soloman, for i can tell you there is grumbling at the price, which they say was not enough for the work, which you told them would be easy." "it ought to have been," the jew said sullenly. "fifteen or twenty men to overpower a lad. what could have been more easy? however, i will do something for the friends of the men who were fools enough to get themselves killed, but if i hear any grumbling from the others, it will be worse for them; there is not one i could not lay by the heels in jail. "well, as to this young fellow, i shall not come again. i do not want to be noticed coming here. keep a shrewd lookout after him." "there is no fear about that," the man said. "it will be long ere he is strong enough to walk." "when he gets better, we will have him taken away to a safe place outside the town. once there, i can make him say what i like." "and if he does not get well?" "in that case, we will take away his body and bury it outside. i will see to that myself." "i understand," the other sneered. "you don't want anyone to know where it is buried, so as to be able to bring it up against you." "you attend to your own business," the jew said angrily. "why should i care about what they say? at any rate, there are some matters between you and me, and there is no fear of your speaking." "not until the time comes when i may think it worth my while to throw away my life, in order to secure your death, ben soloman." "it is of no use talking like that," the jew said quietly. "we are useful to each other. i have saved your life from the gibbet, you have done the work i required. between us, it is worse than childish to threaten in the present matter. i do not doubt that you will do your business well, and you know that you will be well paid for it; what can either of us require more?" charlie would have given a good deal to understand the conversation, and he would have been specially glad to learn that stanislas had escaped with his life; for he had taken a great fancy to the young lithuanian, and was grieved by the thought that he had probably lost his life in his defence. three days passed. his head was now clear, and his appetite returning, and he found, by quietly moving at night, when his guard was asleep, that he was gaining strength. the third day, there was some talking among several men who entered the room; then he was lifted, wrapt up in some cloths, and put into a large box. he felt this being hoisted up, it was carried downstairs, and then placed on something. a minute afterwards he felt a vibration, followed by a swaying and bumping, and guessed at once that he was on a cart, and was being removed, either to prison or to some other place of confinement. the latter he considered more probable. the journey was a long one. he had no means of judging time, but he thought that it must have lasted two or three hours. then the rumbling ceased, the box was lifted down, and carried a short distance, then the lid was opened and he was again laid down on some straw. he heard the sound of cart wheels, and knew that the vehicle on which he had been brought was being driven away. he was now so hungry that he felt he could no longer maintain the appearance of insensibility. two men were talking in the room, and when, for a moment, their conversation ceased, he gave a low groan, and then opened his eyes. they came at once to his bedside, with exclamations of satisfaction. "how do you feel?" one asked in swedish. "i do not know," he said in a low tone. "where am i, how did i get here?" "you are with friends. never mind how you got here. you have been ill, but you will soon get well again. someone hit you on the head, and we picked you up and brought you here." "i am weak and faint," charlie murmured. "have you any food?" "you shall have some food, directly it is prepared. take a drink of wine, and see if you can eat a bit of bread while the broth is preparing." charlie drank a little of the wine that was put to his lips, and then broke up the bread, and ate it crumb by crumb, as if it were a great effort to do so, although he had difficulty in restraining himself from eating it voraciously. when he had finished it, he closed his eyes again, as if sleep had overpowered him. an hour later, there was a touch on his shoulder. "here is some broth, young fellow. wake up and drink that, it will do you good." charlie, as before, slowly sipped down the broth, and then really fell asleep, for the jolting had fatigued him terribly. it was evening when he awoke. two men were sitting at a blazing fire. when he moved, one of them brought him another basin of broth, and fed him with a spoon. charlie had been long enough in the country to know, by the appearance of the room, that he was in a peasant's hut. he wondered why he had been brought there, and concluded that it must be because allan ramsay had set so stringent a search on foot in the city, that they considered it necessary to take him away. "they will not keep me here long," he said to himself. "i am sure that i could walk now, and, in another two or three days, i shall be strong enough to go some distance. that soup has done me a deal of good. i believe half my weakness is from hunger." he no longer kept up the appearance of unconsciousness, and, in the morning, put various questions, to the man who spoke swedish, as to what had happened and how he came to be there. this man was evidently, from his dress and appearance, a jew, while the other was as unmistakably a peasant, a rough powerfully-built man with an evil face. the jew gave him but little information, but told him that in a day or two, when he was strong enough to listen, a friend would come who would tell him all about it. on the third day, he heard the sound of an approaching horse, and was not surprised when, after a conversation in a low tone outside, ben soloman entered. charlie was now much stronger, but he had carefully abstained from showing any marked improvement, speaking always in a voice a little above a whisper, and allowing the men to feed him, after making one or two pretended attempts to convey the spoon to his mouth. "well, master englishman," ben soloman said, as he came up to his bedside, "what do you think of things?" "i do not know what to think," charlie said feebly. "i do not know where i am, or why i am here. i remember that there was a fray in the street, and i suppose i was hurt. but why was i brought here, instead of being taken to my lodgings?" "because you would be no use to me in your lodging, and you may be a great deal of use to me here," ben soloman said. "you know you endeavoured to entrap me into a plot against the king's life." charlie shook his head, and looked wonderingly at the speaker. "no, no," he said, "there was no plot against the king's life. i only asked if you would use your influence among your friends to turn popular feeling against augustus." "nothing of the kind," the jew said harshly. "you wanted him removed by poison or the knife. there is no mistake about that, and that is what i am going to swear, and what, if you want to save your life, you will have to swear too; and you will have to give the names of all concerned in the plot, and to swear that they were all agreed to bring about the death of the king. now you understand why you were brought here. you are miles away from another house, and you may shout and scream as loud as you like. you are in my power." "i would die rather than make a false accusation." "listen to me," the jew said sternly. "you are weak now, too weak to suffer much. this day week i will return, and then you had best change your mind, and sign a document i shall bring with me, with the full particulars of the plot to murder the king, and the names of those concerned in it. this you will sign. i shall take it to the proper authorities, and obtain a promise that your life shall be spared, on condition of your giving evidence against these persons." "i would never sign such a villainous document," charlie said. "you will sign it," ben soloman said calmly. "when you find yourself roasting over a slow charcoal fire, you will be ready to sign anything i wish you to." so saying, he turned and left the room. he talked for some time to the men outside, then charlie heard him ride off. "you villain," he said to himself. "when you come, at the end of a week, you will not find me here; but, if i get a chance of having a reckoning with you, it will be bad for you." charlie's progress was apparently slow. the next day he was able to sit up and feed himself. two days later he could totter across the room, and lie down before the fire. the men were completely deceived by his acting, and, considering any attempt to escape, in his present weak state, altogether impossible, paid but little heed to him, the peasant frequently absenting himself for hours together. looking from his window, charlie saw that the hut was situated in a thick wood, and, from the blackened appearance of the peasant's face and garments, he guessed him to be a charcoal burner, and therefore judged that the trees he saw must form part of a forest of considerable extent. the weather was warm, and his other guard often sat, for a while, outside the door. during his absence, charlie lifted the logs of wood piled beside the hearth, and was able to test his returning strength, assuring himself that, although not yet fully recovered, he was gaining ground daily. he resolved not to wait until the seventh day; for ben soloman might change his mind, and return before the day he had named. he determined, therefore, that on the sixth day he would make the attempt. he had no fear of being unable to overcome his jewish guard, as he would have the advantage of a surprise. he only delayed as long as possible, because he doubted his powers of walking any great distance, and of evading the charcoal burner, who would, on his return, certainly set out in pursuit of him. moreover, he wished to remain in the hut nearly up to the time of the jew's return, as he was determined to wait in the forest, and revenge himself for the suffering he had caused him, and for the torture to which he intended to put him. the evening before the day on which he decided to make the attempt, the charcoal burner and the jew were in earnest conversation. the word signifying brigand was frequently repeated, and, although he could not understand much more than this, he concluded, from the peasant's talk and gestures, that he had either come across some of these men in the forest, or had gathered from signs he had observed, perhaps from their fires, that they were there. the jew shrugged his shoulders when the narration was finished. the presence of brigands was a matter of indifference to him. the next day, the charcoal burner went off at noon. "where does he go to?" charlie asked his guard. "he has got some charcoal fires alight, and is obliged to go and see to them. they have to be kept covered up with wet leaves and earth, so that the wood shall only smoulder," the man said, as he lounged out of the hut to his usual seat. charlie waited a short time, then went to the pile of logs, and picked out a straight stick about a yard long and two inches in diameter. with one of the heavier ones he could have killed the man, but the fellow was only acting under the orders of his employer, and, although he would doubtless, at ben soloman's commands, have roasted him alive without compunction, he had not behaved with any unkindness, and had, indeed, seemed to do his best for him. taking the stick, he went to the door. he trod lightly, but in the stillness of the forest the man heard him, and glanced round as he came out. seeing the stick in his hand he leaped up, exclaiming, "you young fool!" and sprang towards him. he had scarce time to feel surprise, as charlie quickly raised the club. it described a swift sweep, fell full on his head, and he dropped to the ground as if shot. charlie ran in again, seized a coil of rope, bound his hands and feet securely, and dragged him into the hut. then he dashed some cold water on his face. the man opened his eyes, and tried to move. "you are too tightly bound to move, pauloff," he said. "i could have killed you if i had chosen, but i did not wish to. you have not been unkind to me, and i owe you no grudge; but tell your rascally employer that i will be even with him, someday, for the evil he has done me." "you might as well have killed me," the man said, "for he will do so when he finds i let you escape." "then my advice to you is, be beforehand with him. you are as strong a man as he is, and if i were in your place, and a man who meant to kill me came into a lonely hut like this, i would take precious good care that he had no chance of carrying out his intentions." charlie then took two loaves of black bread and a portion of goat's flesh from the cupboard; found a bottle about a quarter full of coarse spirits, filled it up with water and put it in his pocket, and then, after taking possession of the long knife his captive wore in his belt, went out of the hut and closed the door behind him. he had purposely moved slowly about the hut, as he made these preparations, in order that the jew should believe that he was still weak; but, indeed, the effort of dragging the man into the hut had severely taxed his strength, and he found that he was much weaker than he had supposed. the hut stood in a very small clearing, and charlie had no difficulty in seeing the track by which the cart had come, for the marks of the wheels were still visible in the soft soil. he followed this until, after about two miles' walking, he came to the edge of the wood. then he retraced his steps for a quarter of a mile, turned off, and with some difficulty made his way into a patch of thick undergrowth, where, after first cutting a formidable cudgel, he lay down, completely exhausted. late in the afternoon he was aroused from a doze by the sound of footsteps, and, looking through the screen of leaves, he saw his late jailers hurrying along the path. the charcoal burner carried a heavy axe, while the jew, whose head was bound up with a cloth, had a long knife in his girdle. they went as far as the end of the forest, and then retraced their steps slowly. they were talking loudly, and charlie could gather, from the few words he understood, and by their gestures, something of the purport of their conversation. "i told you it was of no use your coming on as far as this," the jew said. "why, he was hardly strong enough to walk." "he managed to knock you down, and afterwards to drag you into the house," the other said. "it does not require much strength to knock a man down with a heavy club, when he is not expecting it, conrad. he certainly did drag me in, but he was obliged to sit down afterwards, and i watched him out of one eye as he was making his preparations, and he could only just totter about. i would wager you anything he cannot have gone two hundred yards from the house. that is where we must search for him. i warrant we shall find him hidden in a thicket thereabouts." "we shall have to take a lantern then, for it will be dark before we get back." "our best plan will be to leave it alone till morning. if we sit outside the hut, and take it in turns to watch, we shall hear him when he moves, which he is sure to do when it gets dark. it will be a still night, and we should hear a stick break half a mile away. we shall catch him, safe enough, before he has gone far." "well, i hope we shall have him back before ben soloman comes," the charcoal burner said, "or it will be worse for both of us. you know as well as i do he has got my neck in a noose, and he has got his thumb on you." "if we can't find this swede, i would not wait here for any money. i would fly at once." "you would need to fly, in truth, to get beyond ben soloman's clutches," the charcoal burner said gruffly. "he has got agents all over the country." "then what would you do?" "there is only one thing to do. it is our lives or his. when he rides up tomorrow, we will meet him at the door as if nothing had happened, and, with my axe, i will cleave his head asunder as he comes in. if he sees me in time to retreat, you shall stab him in the back. then we will dig a big hole in the wood, and throw him in, and we will kill his horse and bury it with him. "who would ever be the wiser? i was going to propose it last time, only i was not sure of you then; but, now that you are in it as deep as i am--deeper, indeed, for he put you here specially to look after this youngster--your interest in the matter is as great as mine." the jew was silent for some time, then he said: "he has got papers at home which would bring me to the gallows." "pooh!" the other said. "you do not suppose that, when it is found that he does not return, and his heirs open his coffers, they will take any trouble about what there may be in the papers there, except such as relate to his money. i will warrant there are papers there which concern scores of men besides you, for i know that ben soloman likes to work with agents he has got under his thumb. but, even if all the papers should be put into the hands of the authorities, what would come of it? they have got their hands full of other matters, for the present, and with the swedes on their frontier, and the whole country divided into factions, who do you think is going to trouble to hunt up men for affairs that occurred years ago? even if they did, they would not catch you. they have not got the means of running you down that ben soloman has. "i tell you, man, it must be done. there is no other way out of it." "well, conrad, if we cannot find this fellow before ben soloman comes, i am with you in the business. i have been working for him on starvation pay for the last three years, and hate him as much as you can." when they reached the hut they cooked a meal, and then prepared to keep alternate watch. charlie slept quietly all night, and, in the morning, remained in his hiding place until he heard, in the distance, the sound of a horse's tread. then he went out and sat down, leaning against a tree by the side of the path, in an attitude of exhaustion. presently he saw ben soloman approaching. he got up feebly, and staggered a few paces to another tree, farther from the path. he heard an angry shout, and then ben soloman rode up, and, with a torrent of execrations at the carelessness of the watchers, leapt from his horse and sprang to seize the fugitive, whom he regarded as incapable of offering the slightest resistance. charlie straightened himself up, as if with an effort, and raised his cudgel. "i will not be taken alive," he said. ben soloman drew his long knife from his girdle. "drop that stick," he said, "or it will be worse for you." "it cannot be worse than being tortured to death, as you said." the jew, with an angry snarl, sprang forward so suddenly and unexpectedly that he was within the swing of charlie's cudgel before the latter could strike. he dropped the weapon at once, and caught the wrist of the uplifted hand that held the knife. the jew gave a cry of astonishment and rage, as they clasped each other, and he found that, instead of an unresisting victim, he was in a powerful grasp. for a moment there was a desperate struggle. the jew would, at ordinary times, have been no match for charlie, but the latter was far from having regained his normal strength. his fury at the treatment he had received at the man's hands, however, enabled him, for the moment, to exert himself to the utmost, and, after swaying backwards and forwards in desperate strife for a minute, they went to the ground with a crash, ben soloman being undermost. the jew's grasp instantly relaxed, and charlie, springing to his feet and seizing his cudgel, stood over his fallen antagonist. the latter, however, did not move. his eyes were open in a fixed stare. charlie looked at him in surprise for a moment, thinking he was stunned, then he saw that his right arm was twisted under him in the fall, and at once understanding what had happened, turned him half over. he had fallen on the knife, which had penetrated to the haft, killing him instantly. "i didn't mean to kill you," charlie said aloud, "much as you deserve it, and surely as you would have killed me, if i had refused to act as a traitor. i would have broken your head for you, but that was all. however, it is as well as it is. it adds to my chance of getting away, and i have no doubt there will be many who will rejoice when you are found to be missing. "now," he went on, "as your agents emptied my pockets, it is no robbery to empty yours. money will be useful, and so will your horse." he stooped over the dead man, and took the purse from his girdle, when suddenly there was a rush of feet, and in a moment he was seized. the thought flashed through his mind that he had fallen into the power of his late guardians, but a glance showed that the men standing round were strangers. "well, comrade, and who are you?" the man who was evidently the leader asked. "you have saved us some trouble. we were sleeping a hundred yards or two away, when we heard the horseman, and saw, as he passed, he was the jew of warsaw, to whom two or three of us owe our ruin, and it did not need more than a word for us to agree to wait for him till he came back. we were surprised when we saw you, still more so when the jew jumped from his horse and attacked you. we did not interfere, because, if he had got the best of you, he might have jumped on his horse and ridden off, but directly he fell we ran out, but you were so busy in taking the spoil that you did not hear us. "i see the jew is dead; fell on his own knife. it is just as well for him, for we should have tied him to a tree, and made a bonfire of him, if we had caught him." charlie understood but little of this, but said when the other finished: "i understand but little polish." "what are you then--a russian? you do not look like one." "i am an englishman, and am working in the house of allan ramsay, a scotch trader in warsaw." "well, you are a bold fellow anyhow, and after the smart way in which you disposed of this jew, and possessed yourself of his purse, you will do honour to our trade." "i hope you will let me go," charlie said. "my friends in warsaw will pay a ransom for me, if you will let me return there." "no, no, young fellow. you would of course put down this jew's death to our doing, and we have weight enough on our backs already. he is a man of great influence, and all his tribe would be pressing on the government to hunt us down. you shall go with us, and the purse you took from ben soloman will pay your footing." charlie saw that it would be useless to try and alter the man's decision, especially as he knew so little of the language. he therefore shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was ready to go with them, if it must be so. the jew's body was now thoroughly searched. various papers were found upon him, but, as these proved useless to the brigands, they were torn up. "shall we take the horse with us?" one of the men asked the leader. "no, it would be worse than useless in the forest. leave it standing here. it will find its way back in time. then there will be a search, and there will be rejoicing in many a mansion throughout the country, when it is known that ben soloman is dead. they say he has mortgages on a score of estates, and, though i suppose these will pass to others of his tribe, they can hardly be as hard and mercenary as this man was. "i wonder what he was doing in this forest alone? let us follow the path, and see where he is going. "honred, you have a smattering of several languages, try then if you can make our new comrade understand." the man tried in russian without success, then he spoke in swedish, in which language charlie at once replied. "where does this pathway lead to?" "to a hut where a charcoal burner lives. i have been imprisoned there for the last fortnight. it was all the jew's doing. it was through him that i got this knock here;" and he pointed to the unhealed wound at the back of his head. "well, we may as well pay them a visit," the chief said, when this was translated to him. "we are short of flour, and they may have some there, and maybe something else that will be useful." chapter : with brigands. the man who had spoken to charlie drew the long knife from the back of the jew, wiped it on the grass, and handed it to him. "that ought to be your property," he said. "it has done you good service." not sorry to have a weapon in addition to his cudgel, charlie placed it in his belt, and then started with the bandits. he would not have cared to face the charcoal burner alone; but now that the band regarded him as enrolled among their number, he felt no uneasiness respecting him. when they issued from the trees, the jew was seen standing at the door of the hut. he at once ran in on seeing them, and came out again, accompanied by the charcoal burner, who carried his axe on his shoulder. the jew started, on catching sight of charlie among the ranks of the brigands, and said a word or two to his companion. "well, master charcoal burner," the leader of the party said, "how is it that honest woodmen consort with rogues of the town?" "i don't know that they do so, willingly," the man said gruffly. "but some of us, to our cost, have put our heads into nooses, and the rogues of the town have got hold of the other end of the ropes, and we must just walk as we are told to." "well, that is true enough," the brigand said. "and you, jew, what are you doing here?" "i am like conrad," he replied, sulkily. "it is not only countrymen who have their necks in a noose, and i have to do what i am ordered." "by a bigger rogue than yourself?" "that is so; bigger and cleverer." "you are expecting him here now, our new comrade tells us. well, you need expect him no longer. he will not come. if you will go along the path, you will come upon his body, and may bury him if you like to take the trouble." an exclamation of satisfaction broke from the two men. "you have done us a service, indeed," the charcoal burner said. "we had thought to do it for ourselves, this morning, for after the escape of him you call your new comrade, he would have shown us no mercy." "you may thank our new comrade, and not us," the brigand said. "we only arrived on the spot when it was all over." the jew looked at charlie in astonishment. "what! did he kill ben soloman?" "that did he; or rather, the jew killed himself. there was a grapple hand to hand, and a wrestle. the jew fell undermost, and was pierced with his own knife." "but the lad is but just out of a sickbed, and has no strength for a struggle, and ben soloman, though past middle life, was strong and active." "neither strong enough nor active enough," the man laughed. "you have been nicely taken in. who would have thought that two jews and a pole would have been cheated by an english lad? his face shows that he has been ill, and doubtless he has not yet recovered his full strength, but he was strong enough, anyhow, to overthrow ben soloman. "now, what have you in the hut? we are in need of provisions." the hut was ransacked; the flour, two bottles of spirits, and a skin of wine seized, and the meat cut up and roasted over the fire. after the meal was eaten, the captain called upon charlie to tell his story more fully, and this he did, with the aid of the man who spoke swedish; starting, however, only at the point when he was attacked in the street, as he felt it better to remain silent as to his connection with the swedish army. "but what was the cause of ben soloman's hostility to you?" "there are some in warsaw who are of opinion that augustus of saxony has done much harm to poland, in engaging without cause in the war against charles of sweden, and who think that it would be well that he should be dethroned, and some other prince made king in his place. to this party many of the traders belong, and the jew had reason to think that i was acquainted with the design, and could give the names of those concerned in it. there was really no plot against augustus, but it was only intended that a popular demonstration against his rule should be made. but soloman wanted me to give evidence that there was a conspiracy against the king's life, so that he might gain great credit by exposing it, and might at the same time rid himself of many of his rivals in the trade." "he was an artful fox," the leader of the brigands said, when this had been translated to him. "but where is the jew he put over you?" three or four of the men sprang to their feet and ran out, but the jew was nowhere to be seen. the captain was furious, and abused his men right and left, while his anger was in no way mitigated when one of them told him that, if he had wanted the jew kept, he should have given one of them orders to look after him. this was so evident that the chief was silenced for a moment. "how long is it since any of you saw him last?" "he went round with the wineskin, and filled our cups just as we sat down to breakfast," one of the men said. "i have not noticed him since." nor had any of the others. "then it will be no use to pursue. he has had more than half an hour's start, and long before this he will have mounted ben soloman's horse, and have ridden off. "well, comrade," he said, turning to charlie, "this settles your movements. i was but half in earnest before as to your joining us; but it is clear now that there's nothing else for you to do, for the present. this fellow will, directly he gets to warsaw, denounce you as the murderer of his master. that he is sure to do to avert suspicion from himself, and, if you were to return there, it would go hard with you. so, for a time, you must throw in your lot with us." when this was translated to charlie, he saw at once the force of the argument. he could not have denied that the jew had fallen in a hand-to-hand struggle with himself, and, were he to appear in warsaw, he might be killed by the co-religionists of ben soloman; or, if he escaped this, might lie in a dungeon for months awaiting his trial, and perhaps be finally executed. there was nothing for him now but to rejoin the swedes, and it would be some time, yet, before he would be sufficiently recovered to undertake such a journey. "i should not mind, if i could send a letter to allan ramsay, to tell him what has befallen me. he will be thinking i am dead, and will, at any rate, be in great anxiety about me." "i have taken a liking to you, young fellow," the leader said, "and will send in one of my men to warsaw with a letter; that is, if you can write one." "yes, i can write. fortunately there are paper, pen, and an ink horn on that shelf. ben soloman brought them the last time he came, to write down the lies he wanted me to testify to. i am greatly obliged to you, and will do it at once." as he had, only the day before he was attacked, sent off a messenger to count piper, telling him all he had done the previous week, there was no occasion to repeat this, and he had only to give an account of his capture, and the events that had since occurred. "you see," he said, "i cannot return to warsaw. the jew who was here unfortunately heard that it was in a struggle with me ben soloman was killed, and he will, of course, denounce me as his murderer, though the deed was done in fair fight. i should have all his tribe against me, and might be imprisoned for months awaiting trial. i am still very weak, and could not attempt the journey to the frontier. i am, however, gaining strength, and, as soon as i am quite recovered, i shall take the first opportunity of leaving the men i am with, and making for the swedish camp. please forward this news by a sure hand to count piper, and express my sorrow that my mission has not been completed, although, indeed, i do not think that my further stay at warsaw would have been any great service, for it is clear that the great majority of the traders will not move in the matter until the swedes advance, and, from their point of view, it is not to their interest to do so. "i know but little of the men i am with at present, beyond the fact that they are bandits, nor can i say whether they are disbanded soldiers, or criminals who have escaped from justice; but at any rate they show me no ill will. i have no doubt i shall be able to get on fairly with them, until i am able to make my escape. i wish i had poor stanislas with me. only one of the men here speaks swedish, and he does not know very much of the language. i cannot say, at present, whether the twenty men here are the whole of the band, or whether they are only a portion of it. nor do i know whether the men subsist by plundering the peasants, or venture on more serious crimes. thanking you for your great kindness during my stay at warsaw, i remain, yours gratefully-- "charlie carstairs." while he was occupied in writing this letter, an animated conversation was going on between the bandits. charlie gathered that this related to their future operations, but more than this he could not learn. in a postscript to the letter, he requested allan ramsay to hand over to the bearer some of the clothes left in his lodgings, and to pay him for his trouble. "as to the money i left in your hands, i do not think it worth while for you to send it. however much these men may consider me a comrade, i have not sufficient faith in their honesty to believe that money would reach me safely; but, if you send me a suit of clothes, two or three gold pieces might be wrapped up in a piece of cloth and shoved into the toe of a shoe. the parcel must be a small one, or there would be little chance of the man carrying it far. i will ask him, however, to bring me a sword, if you will buy one for me, and my pistols." he folded up the letter and gave it to the captain. there was no means of fastening it, but this mattered little, because, being written in english, there was no chance of its being read. the captain handed it to one of the men, with instructions for its delivery. the messenger started at once. the others, after remaining a short time in the hut, set out through the forest. after an hour's walking, charlie was unable to go further. the captain, seeing this, ordered four of the men to stop with him, and to follow the next morning. as soon as he had gone on with the rest of the band, the men set about collecting sticks and making a fire. charlie, who was utterly exhausted, threw himself on the ground, and was not long before he fell sound asleep. when he awoke, the shades of evening were already falling, and the men were sitting over the fire, roasting a portion of a goat, one of a flock they had fallen in with in the wood, where large numbers roamed about in a semi-wild state. the man who could speak swedish was one of those who had remained with him, and, from him, he learnt that the present headquarters of the band were some six miles farther away. this distance was performed next morning, frequent halts being made to enable him to sit down and rest; and it was not till five hours after the start that they arrived. overgrown as it now was, with trees and undergrowth, he could see that a village once stood there. it must, however, have been abandoned a very long time, as trees of considerable size grew among the low walls and piles of stones that marked where cottages had stood. the place occupied by the brigands had, in former times, been a castellated building of some strength, standing on a knoll in the middle of the village, which had probably been inhabited by the retainers of its owner. part of the wall had fallen, but a large arched room, that had doubtless been the banqueting hall of the castle, remained almost intact, and here the brigands had established themselves. several fires burned on the flagged floors, the smoke finding its way out through holes and crevices in the roof. some fifty men were gathered round these, and were occupied in cooking their midday meal. "i am glad to see that you have arrived," the captain said, coming across to charlie. "i expected you two hours ago, and intended, as soon as we had finished our meal, to send out another four men to meet you and help to carry you in." "thank you," charlie said. "it is not the men's fault we are late, but the last part of the way we came on very slowly. i was getting so exhausted that i had to stop every few hundred yards." "well, you had better eat something, and then lie down for a sleep. meat is plentiful with us, for there are thousands of goats in the forest, and occasionally we get a deer or wild boar. if we had but bread and wine we should live like nobles. our supplies, however, are low at present, and we shall have to make an expedition, tomorrow or next day, to replenish them." charlie ate a few mouthfuls of meat, and then lay down and slept, for some hours, on a bed of leaves. he was awoke by loud and excited talking among the men, and learnt from honred that one of the men, who had been left on watch at the mouth of the path by which he had entered the forest, had just brought in the news that a party of a hundred infantry, led by the jew, had arrived with a cart. in this the body of ben soloman had been sent off, while the troops had established themselves in the little clearing round the hut. "this comes of letting that jew escape," the captain said. "no doubt he told the story his own way, and the jewish traders went to the governor and asked that troops should be sent to root us out. well, they are far enough away at present, and i have sent off to have their movements watched. it is a good nine miles, from here to the hut, and they may look for a week before they find this place, unless that rascally jew has heard of it from the woodman, or they get hold of the fellow himself, though i should think they will hardly do that. i fancy he has some cause of quarrel with the authorities, and will not put himself in the way of being questioned closely, if he can help it." the next morning when charlie awoke, two men were standing beside him. his eyes first fell on the one who had been to the town, and who held a large bundle in his hand. then he turned his eyes to the other, and gave an exclamation of pleasure, as he saw that it was stanislas. he looked pale and weak, and was evidently just recovering from a severe illness. "why, stanislas!" he exclaimed. "this is a pleasure, indeed. i never for a moment dreamt of seeing you. i heard from the jew who guarded me that you got away, but i was afraid that you had been badly wounded. why, my brave fellow, what brings you here?" "i have come to be with your honour," the man said. "it was, of course, my duty to be by your side. i was very ill for a week, for i had half a dozen wounds, but i managed, after the assailants left me, to crawl back to mr. ramsay's to tell him what had happened. i don't remember much about the next few days. since then i have been mending rapidly. none of the wounds were very serious, and it was more loss of blood, than anything else, that ailed me. mr. ramsay searched high and low for you, and we had all given you up for dead, till a few hours before this man arrived with your letter. "we heard you had killed ben soloman. i had a long talk with your messenger, who received a handsome present from mr. ramsay, and he agreed to conduct me here, upon my solemn promise that, if the captain would not receive me, i would not give any information, on my return, as to the whereabouts of the band. mr. ramsay hired a light cart, and that brought us yesterday far into the forest. we camped there, and i had not more than a couple of miles to walk to get here this morning." "have you seen the captain?" charlie asked eagerly. "yes. i was stopped by some sentries, a quarter of a mile away, and was kept there while my guide came on and got permission of the captain for me to be brought in. when i met him, i had no great difficulty in persuading him to let me stop, for mr. ramsay had given me fifty rix-dollars to give him; and so, your honour, here i am, and here is a letter from mr. ramsay himself." "i cannot tell you how glad i am to have you, stanislas. i am getting better, but i am so weak that i took five hours, yesterday, to get six miles. now i have got you to talk to, i shall pick up strength faster than i have been doing, for it has been very dull work having no one who could understand me. there is only one man here who understands a word of swedish." "we will soon get you round, sir, never fear. i have brought with me four casks of wine. they were left at the place where the cart stopped last night, but the captain has sent off men already to bring them in. you will be all the better for a suit of clean clothes." "that i shall. it is a month now since i had a change, and my jerkin is all stained with blood. i want a wash more than anything; for there was no water near the hut, and the charcoal burner used to bring in a small keg from a spring he passed on his way to his work. that was enough for drinking, but not enough for washing--a matter which never seemed to have entered into his head, or that of the jew, as being in the slightest degree necessary." "there is a well just outside," stanislas said. "i saw them drawing water in buckets as we came in. i suppose it was the well of this castle, in the old time." "i will go and have a wash, and change my clothes the first thing," charlie said. "mr. ramsay's letter will keep till after that." they went out to the well together. "so you heard the story, that i had killed ben soloman, before you left?" "yes; before your letter arrived, mr. ramsay sent for me, and told me a jewish trader had just informed him that news had come that ben soloman had been murdered, and the deed had been done by the young scotchman who had been with him. mr. ramsay did not believe the story in the slightest. he admitted that ben soloman might have been murdered, and even said frankly that, hated as he was, it was the most natural end for him to come to; but that you should have done so was, he said, absurd. in the first place, he did not think that you were alive; and in the second, it was far more probable that you had been murdered by ben soloman, than that he should have been murdered by you. "however, even before your letter came, three or four hours later, there seemed no longer any doubt that you had killed the jew. by that time, there was quite an uproar among his people. he was the leader of their community, and had dealings with so many nobles that his influence was great; and, although he was little liked, he was regarded as an important person, and his loss was a very heavy one to the jewish community. a deputation went to the governor, and we heard that troops would be at once sent out to capture you, and the band of brigands you had joined. mr. ramsay told me that it was fortunate, indeed, that you had not returned to the city. but, no doubt, he has told you all that in the letter." "i feel quite another man, stanislas," charlie said, when he had changed his garments. "now i can read the letter you brought me." after expressing the great satisfaction he felt, at the news that charlie was alive, mr. ramsay went on to say that, even were he well, he could not return to warsaw in the present state of public feeling. "your story that you were attacked, grievously wounded, and, after being confined here for some days, carried away and confined in the wood, by order of ben soloman, and that he visited you there, would be treated with derision. the version given by the man who brought in the story of the jew's death was that he himself was staying in the cottage of a charcoal burner, an acquaintance of his, and that a party of brigands, of whom you were one, arrived there, and that they were boasting of having caused the death of ben soloman, who had fallen by your hand. he managed to escape from the brigands, and on the road found the dead body of his employer, who was, he knew, that morning coming out to give him some instructions. my opinion, and that of my friends who knew you, was that the fellow had himself killed and robbed his master; but your letter, of course, showed that his account was true to some extent--that ben soloman had fallen in a struggle with you, and that you yourself were a prisoner in the hands of these bandits. still, as it would be next to impossible for you to prove the truth of your story, and as the jews of the place, who are numerous and influential, are dead against you, your life would certainly be forfeited were you to be captured. "i know your story to be true, but it would appear wildly improbable, to others, that this wealthy jew should have conspired, in the first place, to cause an attack to be made upon an unknown young stranger, still less that he should have had him carried off to the forest, and should have gone to visit him there. the explanation that you were a swedish officer in disguise would not benefit you in any way, while it would involve us who knew you in your danger, and would cause the jew to be regarded as a man who had lost his life in endeavouring to unmask a plot against poland. therefore, i think it is extremely fortunate that you are, for the present, safe in the hands of these brigands, and should certainly advise you to make no attempt to leave them, until you are perfectly well and strong. "i have, as you directed me, hidden a few pieces of gold in your shoe, and have handed the rest of your money to your man, who is starting to join you. he will conceal it about him. i have just heard that a body of troops are starting at once for the forest, and that orders have been sent to other towns, to send detachments into it at different points, so it is evident the authorities are determined to catch you, if possible. if you had killed half a dozen traders in a smaller way, they would have cared little about it; but just at present, pressed as the king is by want of money, he is bound to do everything he can to please the jewish traders, as it is upon them that he must rely for loans for the payment of his troops. "in this matter, then, he will leave no stone unturned to gratify them, and i should strongly advise your band to move away from the neighbourhood, at any rate for a time. they may plunder whole villages with impunity, but what is regarded as the murder of the richest citizen of warsaw, a man mixed up in business and politics with half the principal nobles of the land, is a different matter altogether. do not think of trying to traverse the country until you are perfectly strong. it will be a dangerous business at the best, but with your man with you, to bear the brunt of replying to questions, i have every confidence that you will succeed in making your way through. as to this, i can give no advice, as there is no saying as to the point from which you may start, or the directions in which you may travel. "should you, at any time, find yourself in a town in which there are any of my countrymen established in trade, and you will find them nearly everywhere, use my name. i think it is pretty generally known to scotchmen in poland. you will see i have inclosed a note that will be useful to you." the inclosure contained only a few words: "i, allan ramsay, merchant of warsaw, do declare the bearer of this note to be my friend, and beg any countrymen of mine, to whom he may present himself, to assist him in every way, and, should he require money, to furnish him with it, i undertaking to make myself responsible for the same, and to pay all monies and other charges that he may incur." "the first thing to do," charlie said, as he placed the letters in his doublet, "is to let the leader of our band know that other bodies of troops, besides that at the hut, are about to enter the forest. he may decide that it is necessary to march away at once." as soon, indeed, as the outlaw received the tidings, he issued orders for the band to prepare for instant departure. "a party of five or six men together," he said to charlie, "might hide in this forest for years. but a band of fifty is too large to be long concealed. to begin with, they must get food, and must either buy it or hunt for it; and in the second, there are a considerable number of men living in the forest, charcoal burners and herders of goats and swine, and any of these, if questioned by the troops, might mention that they had seen a considerable number of men passing. as it is, we will break up into parties of seven or eight, and appoint a rendezvous where we may meet again." the band was speedily mustered, for, with the exception of those who were watching the forest through which the troops at the hut must march to reach them, the whole were close at hand. a messenger was sent off to call in the scouts. then the booty that had been taken during their late excursions was brought out, and emptied on the ground. it consisted of money and jewellery. it was divided into equal portions, of which each member took one, the lieutenants of the band two, and the captain three. "you don't share this time," the latter said to charlie; "but next time, of course, you and your comrade will each have your portion." when this was done, the men were told off in parties of six or seven, and instructions given as to the point of rendezvous. each band chose its own leader, and, in an hour from the reception of the news, the place was deserted, and the parties were making their way in different directions through the forest. charlie and stanislas formed part of the captain's own force, which numbered ten in all. "do you think they will all turn up at the meeting place?" charlie asked the leader, whose name he now ascertained was ladislas koffski. "they may," he said. "but it is seldom that bands, when they once disperse like this, ever come together again. it is impossible to content everyone, and any man who is chosen leader of a party may, if he is dissatisfied, persuade those with him to join some other band. even if they do not go in a body, many are sure to break off and make for their homes, to enjoy the booty they have gathered. "but, upon the other hand, as we go we shall gather up fresh recruits. with so many disbanded soldiers and discontented men roaming the country, there is no difficulty in getting as many men as one cares to keep together. "fifty is the outside that is advisable, for with more, even if one makes a good haul, it comes to so little, a head, that the men are dissatisfied. of course they work in small parties, but this does not succeed so well as when a small band are under a single leader." "how long have you been at this work?" "since last autumn." "and you find it pay?" "we do not get much in money. as you saw, there were but four rix dollars a head, and that is the result of a month's work. still, that is not bad for men who might otherwise starve. sometimes we do worse and sometimes better, but that is about the average. still, the life is a pleasant one, and unless we disbanded soldiers took to it, what would there be for us to do? if government would keep us on regular pay, there would soon be no brigands left, except the men who have escaped from justice. but the treasury is empty, and, even at the best of times, the troops are badly and irregularly paid, and are forced to plunder to keep life together. they are almost in rags, and though we poles do not mind fighting, there is generally a difficulty in getting sufficient infantry. as for the cavalry, they are nobles, and draw no pay. "how do you feel today?" "better. the night's rest, and a wash and change of clothes this morning, have made me feel another man. how far do you intend to march?" "we shall go slowly for a day or two. the other parties have all pushed on ahead fast, but by taking matters quietly, and by keeping a sharp lookout, we need have no great fear of being surprised. i know the forest well, and its thickest hiding places, so we can afford to travel slowly, and as you become accustomed to it you will be able to make longer journeys." for ten days they travelled through the forest, increasing their distance daily, as charlie regained his strength. the last day or two they did not make less than twenty miles a day. their faces were turned steadily east. occasionally they passed large tracts of cleared land, villages, and cultivated fields. at some of these they stopped and replenished their stock of flour, which they took without paying for it, but did no farther damage. of meat they had abundance. two or three men started each day as soon as they halted, and, in a short time, returned with a goat or young pig. "we are now close to the bug river," ladislas said at their last halting place. "tomorrow we shall meet some, at least, of our comrades. i do not expect a great many, for we were pretty equally divided as to the direction we should travel in. practically, we were safe from pursuit when we had gone fifteen miles, for the forest there spreads out greatly, and those in search of us would know that further pursuit would be useless. many of my men did not care about going farther, but all this part of the country has been so harried, for the last two or three years, that we thought it best to try altogether new ground. when we have crossed the bug we shall be beyond the forest, but there are great swamps and morasses, and hills with patches of wood. many streams take their rise there, all meeting farther on, and forming the dnieper. we must keep north of that river, for to the south the country is thinly populated, and we should have difficulty in maintaining ourselves." charlie made no comment, but he was glad to hear that the band intended to keep to the north of the dnieper, for that river would have formed a serious obstacle to his making his way to rejoin the swedes. the next day, they reached the bank of the bug, and, following the river down, came after an hour's walking upon a great fire, round which fifteen men were stretched. these, as the captain's party approached, rose to their feet with a shout of welcome. "that is better than i expected," ladislas said, as they came up to them. "five and twenty is quite enough for work here. in the forests one can do with more, but, moving steadily on, as we mean to do, till we get pretty near the eastern frontier, five and twenty is ample. it is enough, when together, to surprise a village; and it is not too many, travelling in twos and threes, to attract attention. things always go on better, too, after a dispersal. many who are discontented, or who want to command a band of their own, break off, and one starts fresh, with just the men one likes best to keep." "we had begun to give you up, captain," one of the men said, as he joined the other party. "we have been here six days." "we travelled but slowly, at first, and it is only the last two days we have really made fair journeys; but there was no reason for any great haste. the world is all our own, and, at any rate, as long as we were in the forest, there was no fear of wanting food. "so i see some of our comrades have left us." "we can do very well without them, captain. there were thirty of us here two days ago. essos and polinski quarrelled, and essos was killed. then polinski wanted us to elect him captain, and to move away at once. four or five, who have always been grumblers, joined him at once, and persuaded some of the others, till we were about equally divided. it came pretty nearly to a fight; but neither liked to begin, and they moved away." "there are quite enough of us left," ladislas said. "as to essos and polinski, i am heartily glad that they have gone. i know they have both been scheming for the leadership for some time. most of the others can be very well spared, too. there are plenty of us here for travel. there is no doubt, as we agreed before starting, that there is not much more to be done in this part of the country. what with the civil wars, and the bands of soldiers without a leader, and others like ourselves who do not mean to starve, the peasants have been wrought up into a state of desperation. they have little left to lose, but what they have got they are ready to fight to the death for, and, lately, at the first alarm they have sounded the bells and assembled for miles round, and, equipped with scythes and flails, routed those who meddled with them. we had more than one hot fight, and lost many good men. besides, many of the nobles who have suffered have turned out, with their followers, and struck heavy blows at some of the bands; so that the sooner we get out of this country, which is becoming a nest of hornets, the better, for there is little booty and plenty of hard blows to be got. "we will go on, as we agreed, till near the eastern frontier. the country is well covered with forest there, and we can sally out on which side we like, for, if there is not much gold to be had in the russian villages, there is plenty of vodka, and sometimes things worth taking in their churches. the priests and headmen, too, have generally got a little store, which can be got at with the aid of a few hot coals, or a string twisted tight enough round a thumb. at any rate we sha'n't starve; but we must move on pretty fast, for we shall have to get up a warm hut in the forest, and to lay in a stock of provisions before the winter sets in. so we must only stop to gather a little plunder when a good opportunity offers." chapter : treed by wolves. charlie and stanislas were, that evening, sitting apart from the rest, at a short distance from the fire, talking over the future. they agreed that it would be comparatively easy to withdraw from the band as they journeyed forward, if, as seemed likely, they travelled in very small parties. if, indeed, they found themselves with two others, they could leave openly, for these would scarcely care to enter upon a desperate struggle, merely for the sake of retaining two unwilling companions in the band. the difficulties would only begin when they started alone. as they were talking, the captain came across to them. "i can guess," he said, "that you are talking together as to the future. i like you, young englishman, and i like your companion, who seems an honest fellow, but i would not keep you with me by force. i understand that you are not placed as we are. we have to live. most of us would live honestly if we could, but at present it is the choice of doing as we do, or starving. we occasionally take a few crowns, if we come across a fat trader, or may ease a rich farmer of his hoard, but it is but seldom such a chance comes in our way. as a rule, we simply plunder because we must live. it is different with you. your friends may be far away, but if you can get to them you would have all that you need. therefore, this life, which is hard and rough, to say nothing of its danger, does not suit you; but for all that, you must stay with us, for it would be madness for you to attempt to escape. "as i told you, the peasants are maddened, and would kill any passing stranger as they would a wild beast. they would regard him as a spy of some band like ours, or of a company of disbanded soldiers, sent forward to discover which houses and villages are best worth plundering. in your case, you have other dangers to fear. you may be sure that news has been sent from warsaw to all the different governors, with orders for your arrest for killing ben soloman, and these orders will be transmitted to every town and village. your hair and eyes would at once betray you as strangers, and your ignorance of the language would be fatal to you. if, therefore, you escaped being killed as a robber by the peasants, you would run the risk of arrest at the first town or village you entered. "translate that to him, stanislas. he is learning our language fast, but he cannot understand all that." "that is just what we were talking about," charlie said, when stanislas had repeated the captain's speech, "and the danger seems too great to be risked. think you, that when we get farther to the east, we shall be able to make our way more easily up into livonia?" "much more easily, because the forest is more extensive there; but not until the winter is over. the cold will be terrible, and it would be death to sleep without shelter. besides, the forests are infested with wolves, who roam about in packs, and would scent and follow and devour you. but when spring comes, you can turn your faces to the north, and leave us if you think fit, and i promise you that no hindrance shall be thrown in your way. i only ask you not to risk your lives by trying now to pass through poland alone." "i think you are right, ladislas, and i promise you that we will not attempt to leave you during our journey east. as you say, it would be impossible for us to travel after winter had once set in. it is now the end of september." "and it will be november before we reach our destination. we shall not travel fast. we have no motive for doing so. we have to live by the way, and to gather a little money to help us through the winter. we may shoot a bear or an elk sometimes, a few deer, and hares, but we shall want two or three sacks of flour, and some spirits. for these we must either get money, or take the goods. the first is the best, for we have no means of dragging heavy weights with us, and it would not do to infuriate the peasants by plundering any of them within twenty miles of the place where we mean to winter. that would set them all against us." "i tell you frankly, ladislas, that we shall not be willing to aid in any acts of robbery. of course, when one is with an army one has to plunder on a large scale, and it has often gone terribly against the grain, when i have had to join parties sent out to forage. but it has to be done. i would rather not join men in taking food, yet i understand that it may be necessary. but as to taking money, i will have nothing to do with it. at the same time, i understand that we cannot share your food, and be with you, without doing something. stanislas has brought me a little money from warsaw, and i shall be ready to pay into the common treasury a sum sufficient to pay for our share of the food. as to money taken, we shall not expect any share of it. if you are attacked, we shall of course fight, and shall be ready to do our full share in all work. so, at any rate, you will not be losers by taking us with you." "that is fair enough," the captain said, when stanislas had translated what charlie said, suppressing, however, his remarks about foraging with the army, as the brigands were ignorant that charlie and he had any connection with the swedes, or that he was not, as he had given out, a young englishman come out to set up as a trader. the band now journeyed slowly on, keeping near the north bank of the dnieper. they went by twos and threes, uniting sometimes and entering a village or surrounding a farmhouse at night, and taking what they wanted. the people were, however, terribly poor, and they were able to obtain but little beyond scanty supplies of flour, and occasionally a few gold or silver trinkets. many other bands of plunderers had passed along, in the course of the summer, and the robbers themselves were often moved to pity by the misery that they everywhere met with. when in small parties they were obliged to avoid entering any villages, for once or twice furious attacks were made upon those who did so, the women joining the men in arming themselves with any weapon that came to hand, and in falling upon the strangers. only once did they succeed in obtaining plunder of value. they had visited a village, but found it contained nothing worth taking. one of the women said: "why do you trouble poor people like us? there is the count's chateau three miles away. they have every luxury there, while we are starving." after leaving the village, the man to whom she had spoken repeated what she had said, and it was agreed to make the attempt. at the first cottage they came to they made further inquiries, and found that the lord of the soil was very unpopular; for, in spite of the badness of the times, he insisted on receiving his rents without abatement, and where money was not forthcoming, had seized cattle and horses, assessing them at a price far below what they would have fetched at the nearest market. they therefore marched to the house. it was a very large one. the captain thoughtfully placed charlie and stanislas among the six men who were to remain without, to prevent any of the inmates leaving the chateau. with the rest, he made a sudden attack on the great door of the house, and beat it down with a heavy sledge hammer. just as it gave way, some shots were fired from the inside, but they rushed in, overpowered the servants, and were soon masters of the place. in half an hour they came out again, laden with booty. each man carried half a dozen bottles of choice wine, from the count's cellar, slung at his belt. on their shoulders they carried bundles containing silver cups and other valuables; while six of them had bags of silver money, that had been extracted from the count by threats of setting fire to the chateau, and burning him and his family. a halt was made two or three miles away, when the silver was divided into shares as usual, the men being well satisfied when they learned that charlie and his companion claimed no part of it. some of the provisions they had also taken were eaten. each man had a flask of wine, with which the count's health was derisively drunk. "this has been a good night's work," the leader said, "and you have each sixty rix dollars in your pockets, which is more than you have had for months past. that will keep us in provisions and spirits all through the winter; but mind, although we took it without much trouble, we have not heard the last of the business. no doubt, by this time, the count has sent off a messenger to the nearest town where there are troops, and, for a day or two, we shall have to march fast and far. it is one thing to plunder villages, and another to meddle with a rich nobleman." for the next forty-eight hours they marched by night instead of by day, keeping always together, and prepared to resist an attack. one morning they saw, from their hiding place among some high reeds near the river, a body of about sixty horsemen ride past at a distance. they were evidently searching for something, for parties could be seen to break off several times, and to enter woods and copses, the rest halting till they came out again. as the band had with them enough food for another three days, they remained for thirty-six hours in their hiding place, and then, thinking the search would by that time be discontinued, went on again. the next day they killed two or three goats from a herd, the boy in charge of them making off with such speed that, though hotly pursued and fired at several times, he made his escape. they carried the carcasses to a wood, lit a fire, and feasted upon them. then, having cooked the rest of the flesh, they divided it among the band. by this time the wine was finished. the next day they again saw horsemen in the distance, but remained in hiding till they had disappeared in the afternoon. they then went into a village, but scarcely had they proceeded up the street when the doors were opened, and from every house men rushed out armed with flails, clubs, and axes, and fell upon them furiously, shouting "death to the robbers!" they had evidently received warning that a band of plunderers were approaching, and everything had been prepared for them. the band fought stoutly, but they were greatly outnumbered, and, as but few of them carried firearms, they had no great advantage in weapons. charlie and stanislas, finding that their lives were at stake, were forced to take part in the fray, and both were with the survivors of the band, who at last succeeded in fighting their way out of the village, leaving half their number behind them, while some twenty of the peasants had fallen. reduced now to twelve men and the captain, they thought only of pushing forward, avoiding all villages, and only occasionally visiting detached houses for the sake of obtaining flour. the country became more thinly populated as they went on, and there was a deep feeling of satisfaction when, at length, their leader pointed to a belt of trees in the distance, and said: "that is the beginning of the forest. a few miles farther, and we shall be well within it." by nightfall they felt, for the first time since they had set out on their journey, that they could sleep in safety. a huge fire was lit, for the nights were now becoming very cold, and snow had fallen occasionally for the last four or five days, and in the open country was lying some inches deep. the next day they journeyed a few miles farther, and then chose a spot for the erection of a hut. it was close to a stream, and the men at once set to work, with axes, to fell trees and clear a space. it was agreed that the captain and two of the men, of the most pacific demeanour, should go to the nearest town, some forty miles away, to lay in stores. they were away five days, and then returned with the welcome news that a cart, laden with flour and a couple of barrels of spirits, was on a country track through the forest a mile and a half away. "how did you manage, captain?" charlie asked. "we went to the house of a well-to-do peasant, about a mile from the borders of the wood. i told him frankly that we belonged to a band who were going to winter in the forest, that we would do him no harm if he would give us his aid, but that if he refused he would soon have his place burnt over his head. as we said we were ready to pay a fair sum for the hire of his cart, he did not hesitate a moment about making the choice. the other two remained at his cottage, so as to keep his family as hostages for his good faith, and i went with him to the town, where we bought six sacks of good flour and the two barrels of spirits. we got a few other things--cooking pots and horns, and a lot of coarse blankets, and a thick sheepskin coat for each man. they are all in the car. i see that you have got the hut pretty nearly roofed in, so, in a day or two, we shall be comfortable." they went in a body to the place where the cart had been left, but it required two journeys before its contents were all transported to the hut. another three days and this was completed. it was roughly built of logs, the interstices being filled in with moss. there was no attempt at a door, an opening being left four feet high and eighteen inches wide for the purpose of an entry. the skin of a deer they had shot, since they arrived, was hung up outside; and a folded rug inside. there was no occasion for windows. a certain amount of light made its way in by an orifice, a foot square, that had been left in the roof for the escape of smoke. the hut itself consisted of one room only, about eighteen feet square. when this was finished, all hands set to work to pile up a great stack of firewood, close to the door, so as to save them from the necessity of going far, until snow had ceased falling, and winter had set in in earnest. the cart had brought six carcasses of sheep, that had been purchased from a peasant; these were hung up outside the hut to freeze hard, and the meat was eaten only once a day, as it would be impossible to obtain a fresh supply, until the weather became settled enough to admit of their hunting. the preparations were but just finished when the snow began to fall heavily. for a week it came down without intermission, the wind howled among the trees, and even charlie, half stifled as he was by the smoke, felt no inclination to stir out, except for half an hour's work to clear away the snow from the entrance, and to carry in wood from the pile. the time passed more cheerfully than might have been expected. he had by this time begun to talk polish with some facility, and was able to understand the stories that the men told, as they sat round the fire; sometimes tales of adventures they themselves had gone through, sometimes stories of the history of poland, its frequent internal wars, and its struggles with the turks. making bread and cooking occupied some portion of the time, and much was spent in sleep. at the end of a week the snow ceased falling and the sun came out, and all were glad to leave the hut and enjoy the clear sky and the keen air. while they had been confined to the hut, two of the men had made a large number of snares for hares, and they at once started into the forest, to set these in spots where they saw traces of the animals' passage over the snow. the rest went off in parties of twos and threes in search of other game. with the exception of charlie, all were accustomed to the woods; but, as stanislas had much less experience than the others, the captain decided to go with them. "it is easy for anyone to lose his way here," he said. "in fact, except to one accustomed to the woods, it would be dangerous to go far away from the hut. as long as it is fine, you will find your way back by following your own tracks, but if the weather changed suddenly, and it came on to snow, your case would be hopeless. one of the advantages of placing our hut on a stream is that it forms a great aid to finding one's way back. if you strike it above, you follow it down; if below, upwards, until you reach the hut. of course you might wander for days and never hit it, still it is much more easy to find than a small object like the hut, though even when found, it would be difficult to decide whether it had been struck above or below the hut. "now, there is one rule if, at any time, you get lost. don't begin to wander wildly about, for, if you did, you would certainly walk in a circle, and might never be found again. sit down quietly and think matters over, eat if you have got any food with you; then examine the sky, and try to find out from the position of the sun, or the direction in which the clouds are going, which way the hut ought to lie. always take with you one of your pistols; if you fire it three times, at regular intervals, it will be a signal that you want help, and any of us who are within hearing will come to aid you." with the exception of hares, of which a good many were snared, the hunting was not productive. tracks of deer were seen not unfrequently, but it was extremely difficult, even when the animals were sighted, to get across the surface of the snow to within range of the clumsy arquebuses that two or three of the men carried. they did, however, manage to shoot a few by erecting a shelter, just high enough for one man to lie down under, and leaving it until the next snowstorm so covered it that it seemed but a knoll in the ground, or a low shrub bent down and buried under the weight of the snow. these shelters were erected close to paths taken by the deer, and, by lying patiently all day in them, the men occasionally managed to get a close shot. several bears were killed, and two elks. these afforded food for a long time, as the frozen flesh would keep until the return of spring. holes were made in the ice on the stream, and baited hooks being set every night, it was seldom that two or three fish were not found fast on them in the morning. altogether, therefore, there was no lack of food; and as, under the teaching of the captain, charlie in time learnt to be able to keep his direction through the woods, he was often able to go out, either with stanislas or alone, thus keeping clear of the close smoky hut during the hours of daylight. upon the whole he found the life by no means an unpleasant one. among the articles purchased by the captain were high boots, lined with sheepskin, coming up to the thigh. with these and the coats, which had hoods to pull over the head, charlie felt the cold but little during the day; while at night he found the hut often uncomfortably warm, sleeping, as they all did, in the same attire in which they went out. in february the weather became excessively severe, more so, the peasants and charcoal burners they occasionally met with declared, than they ever remembered. the wild animals became tamer, and in the morning when they went out, they frequently found tracks of bears that had been prowling round the hut in search of offal, or bones thrown out. they were now obliged to hang their supply of meat, by ropes, from boughs at some distance from the ground, by which means they were enabled to prevent the bears getting at it. they no longer dared to venture far from the hut, for large packs of wolves ranged through the forest, and, driven by hunger, even entered villages, where they attacked and killed many women and children, made their entrance into sheds, and tore dogs, horses, and cattle to pieces, and became at last so dangerous that the villagers were obliged to keep great fires burning in the streets at night, to frighten them away. several times the occupants of the hut were awakened by the whining and snarling of wolves outside. but the walls and roof were alike built of solid timber, and a roughly-made door of thick wood was now fastened, every night, against the opening, and so stoutly supported by beams behind it as to defy assault. beyond, therefore, a passing grumble at being awakened by the noise, the men gave themselves no trouble as to the savage animals outside. "if these brutes grow much bolder," the captain said one day, "we shall be prisoners here altogether. they must have come down from the great forest that extends over a large part of russia. the villages are scarce there, and the peasants take good care to keep all their beasts in shelter, so no doubt they are able to pick up more at the edge of the forest here." "how far are we from the russian frontier?" "i do not think anyone could tell you. for aught i know, we may be in russia now. these forests are a sort of no man's land, and i don't suppose any line of frontier has ever been marked. it is russia to the east of this forest, some thirty miles away, and it is poland to the west of it. the forest is no good to anyone except the charcoal burners. i have met both russians and poles in the wood, and, as there is plenty of room for all--ay, and would be were there a thousand to every one now working in it--they are on friendly terms with each other, especially as the two nations are, at present, allied against sweden." in spite of the wolves, charlie continued his walks in the forest, accompanied always by stanislas. both carried axes and pistols, and, although charlie had heard many tales of solitary men, and even of vehicles, being attacked by the wolves in broad daylight, he believed that most of the stories were exaggerations, and that the chances of two men being attacked in daylight were small, indeed. he had found that the track, by which the cart had brought the stores, was a good deal used, the snow being swept away or levelled by the runners of sledges, either those of peasants who came into the forest for wood or charcoal, or of travellers journeying between russia and poland. he generally selected this road for his walk, both because it was less laborious than wading through the untrodden snow, and because there was here no fear of losing his way, and he was spared the incessant watchfulness for signs that was necessary among the trees. at first he had frequently met peasants' carts on the road, but, since the cold became more severe and the wolves more numerous and daring, he no longer encountered them. he had indeed heard, from some of the last he saw, that they should come no more, for that the charcoal burners were all abandoning their huts, and going into the villages. one afternoon, when they had, on their return, nearly reached the spot where they left the road to strike across the forest to the hut, they heard a noise behind them. "that is a pack of wolves, in full cry!" stanislas exclaimed. "you had better get up into a tree. they are after something." they hastily clambered into a tree, whose lower branches were but six or seven feet from the ground. a moment later two horses, wild with fright, dashed past, while some twenty yards behind them came a pack of fifty or sixty wolves. they were almost silent now, with their red tongues hanging out. "the brutes have been attacking a sledge," stanislas said in a low tone. "you saw the horses were harnessed, and their broken traces were hanging by their side. it is easy to read the story. the sledge was attacked; the horses, mad with fear, broke their traces and rushed off, or perhaps the driver, seeing at the last moment that escape was impossible, slashed the ropes with his knife, so as to give the horses a chance. i expect they got a start, for the wolves would be detained a little at the sledge." "do you think the poor beasts will get safe out of the forest, stanislas?" "i don't think so, but they may. the chase has evidently been a long one, and the wolves have tired themselves with their first efforts to come up to them. it did not seem to me that they were gaining when they passed us. it is simply a question of endurance, but i fancy the wolves will last longest. "see, here is a party of stragglers. i suppose they stopped longer at the sledge." "it seems to me they are on our scent, stanislas. do you see, they are coming along at the side of the road where we walked, with their heads down." "i am afraid they are. well, we shall soon see. yes, they are leaving the road where we did." a moment later a dozen wolves ran up to the trunk of the tree, and there gathered snuffing and whining. presently one caught sight of the two figures above them, and with an angry yelp sprang up in the air, and immediately all were growling, snarling, and leaping. charlie laughed out loud at their impotent efforts. "it is no laughing matter, sir," stanislas said gravely. "they cannot climb up here, stanislas." "no, but they can keep us here. it will be dark in an hour, and likely enough they will watch us all night." "then we had better shoot two of them, and jump down with our hatchets. keeping back to back, we ought to be able to face ten wolves." "yes, if that were all; but see, here come three or four more, and the dozen will soon swell to a score. no, we shall have to wait here all night, and probably for some time tomorrow, for the men are not likely to find us very early, and they will hardly hear our pistols unless some of them happen to come in this direction." "do you think, if we shoot two or three of them, the rest will go?" "certainly not. it will be all the worse. their comrades would at once tear them to pieces and devour them, and the scent of blood would very soon bring others to the spot." "well, if we have got to wait here all night, stanislas, we had better choose the most comfortable place we can, at once, before it gets dark. we must mind we don't go to sleep and tumble off." "there will be no fear of our sleeping," stanislas said. "the cold will be too great for that. we shall have to keep on swinging our hands and feet, and rubbing our noses, to prevent ourselves from getting frostbitten." "well, i have never felt the cold in these clothes," charlie said. "no, sir, but you have never been out at night, sitting cramped on a tree." hour after hour passed. even in the darkness they could see the wolves lying in the snow below them, occasionally changing their position, keeping close together for warmth, and often snarling or growling angrily, as one or two shifted their position, and tried to squeeze in so as to get into a warm spot. the cold was intense and, in spite of swinging his legs and arms, charlie felt that his vital heat was decreasing. "this is awful, stanislas. i do not think we can last on till morning." "i begin to have doubts myself, sir. perhaps it would be better to leap down and make a fight of it." "we might shoot some of them first," charlie said. "how many charges have you?" "i have only two, besides one in the barrel." "and i have only three," charlie said. "powder has run very short. the captain was saying, yesterday, that we must send to the village and try to get some more. still, six shots will help us." "not much, sir. there must be thirty or forty of them now. i have seen some come from the other way. i suppose they were part of the pack that followed the horses." charlie sat for some time thinking. then he exclaimed: "i think this is a dead tree." "it is, sir. i noticed it when we climbed up. the head has gone, and i think it must have been struck with lightning last summer." "then i think we can manage." "manage what, sir?" the man asked in surprise. "manage to make a fire, stanislas. first of all, we will crawl out towards the ends of the branches as far as we can get, and break off twigs and small boughs. if we can't get enough, we can cut chips off, and we will pile them all where these three big boughs branch off from the trunk. we have both our tinderboxes with us, and i see no reason why we should not be able to light a fire up here." "so we might," stanislas said eagerly. "but if we did, we might set the whole tree on fire." "no bad thing, either," charlie rejoined. "you may be sure the fire will keep the wolves at a respectful distance, and we could get down and enjoy the heat without fear." "i believe your idea will save our lives, sir. ten minutes ago i would not have given a crown for our chances." they at once crawled out upon two of the great branches, and a renewed chorus of snarls from below showed that their foes were watchful. the snapping of the small branches excited a certain amount of uneasiness among them, and they drew off a short distance. in ten minutes charlie and his companion worked themselves back to the main trunk, each carrying an armful of twigs. they first cut off a number of small dry chips, and made a pile of these at the junction of one of the branches with the trunk. they then got out their tinderboxes and bunches of rags, shook a few grains of powder from one of the horns among the chips, and then got the tinder alight. a shred of rag, that had been rubbed with damp powder, was applied to the spark and then placed among the shavings. a flash of light sprang up, followed by a steady blaze, as the dried chips caught. one by one at first, and then, as the fire gained strength, several sticks at a time were laid over the burning splinters, and in five minutes a large fire was blazing. charlie and his companion took their seats where the other two big branches shot out from the trunk. these were two or three feet higher than that on which the fire had been lighted, and, ere long, a sensation of genial warmth began to steal over them. fresh sticks were lighted as the first were consumed, and before long the trunk, where the flames played on it, began to glow. light tongues of flame rose higher and higher, until the trunk was alight ten or twelve feet up. "the wolves are all gone," charlie said, looking down. "i don't suppose they have gone very far, sir. but when the tree once gets fairly alight, you may be sure they won't venture anywhere near it." they had already been forced to move some little distance away from the trunk, by the heat, and as the flames rose higher and higher, embracing in the course of half an hour the whole of the trunk and upper branches, they felt that it was perfectly safe to drop off into the snow beneath them. blazing brands soon began to fall. they stood a short distance away, so as to be beyond the risk of accident, but, at charlie's suggestion, they ran in from time to time, gathered up the brands and laid them at the foot of the trunk, and in a short time a second fire was kindled here. the tree was now a pyramid of fire, lighting up the snow for a long distance round. outside this circle the wolves could be heard whining and whimpering, occasionally uttering a long-drawn howl. "they know that they are baulked of their prey," stanislas said. "we shall have some of the big branches falling soon, and shall be able to keep up a roaring fire, that will last until daylight. i should think by that time the wolves will be tired of it, and will make off; but if not, the captain will be sure to send men out to search for us. he will guess we have been treed by wolves, and we have only to get into another tree, and fire our pistols, to bring them in this direction." "but they may be attacked, too," charlie remarked. "there are ten of them, and they are sure to come armed with axes and swords. they ought to be able to fight their way through a good-sized pack. besides, the wolves will be so cowed by this great fire, that i don't think they will have the courage to meddle with so strong a party." one by one the arms of the tree fell, burnt through at the point where they touched the trunk. they would have been far too heavy to be dragged, but three or four of them fell across the lower fire, and there lay blazing. not knowing which way the tree itself would fall, charlie and his companion were obliged to remain at some distance off, but the heat there was amply sufficient for them. at last the trunk fell with a crash, and they at once established themselves as near the fire as they could sit, without being scorched, and there chatted until morning began to break. they felt sure that some, at least, of the wolves were around them, as they occasionally caught sight of what looked like two sparks among the undergrowth; these being, as they knew, the reflection of the fire in the eyes of a wolf. there was a tree hard by in which they could, if necessary, take refuge, and they therefore resolved to stay near the fire. fortunately the night had been perfectly still, and, as the tree they had fired was a detached one, the flames had not spread, as charlie had at one time been afraid they would do. half an hour after daylight had fairly broken, they discharged three shots at regular intervals with their pistols, then they waited half an hour. "shall we fire again?" "no. not until we hear shots from them," charlie replied. "we have but four charges left, and if the wolves made a sudden rush, we might want to use them." after a time, both thought they heard the distant report of a musket. stanislas looked at charlie inquiringly. the latter shook his head. "no, no! stanislas. that gun would be heard twice as far as one of these pistols. let us wait until we are pretty sure that they are near. i don't like leaving ourselves without other protection than our axes." chapter : a rescued party. after a considerable pause, a gun was again fired, this time much nearer to them. charlie drew out his pistol and was about to reply, when his companion touched his arm. "look!" he said. charlie turned in time to see several gray forms flit rapidly between the bushes. he stepped to the edge of the road, and saw some wolves spring out through the bushes, and go straight along the road. "what can have scared them?" he asked, in surprise. "the gun was not near enough for that." "no, besides they would have fled deeper into the forest, instead of taking to the road. perhaps they hear something coming." almost at the same moment, two shots were heard in the direction towards which the wolves were making. "that is it!" charlie excitedly exclaimed. "another body of wolves have attacked a passing traveller. heap the wood on, stanislas. if we make a great fire, and they get as far as this, possibly they could spring off and take refuge here. at any rate, the brands will be better weapons even than our axes." the ends of such branches as they were able to move were brought together, and a few blows with their axes speedily broke off several of the outer ends of charred wood. these were thrown on, and the fire soon blazed up high again. two more shots were heard, this time close at hand. they ran into the road. a sledge, with several figures in it, was coming along at full speed. it was almost surrounded by wolves, and, as they looked, two of them sprang at the horses' heads; but two shots again rung out, and they dropped backwards among their companions, many of whom threw themselves at once upon their bodies, while the sledge continued on its headlong course. "here! here!" charlie shouted at the top of his voice, waving his hands to show the direction which they were to take. a moment later the sledge dashed past them, and swept up to the fire. "seize the blazing brands!" charlie shouted, as those in the sledge threw themselves out. he and stanislas rolled the two first wolves over with their pistols, and then joined the others. the driver had run at once to the horses, and had muffled them, by throwing his coat over the head of one, and a rug over the head of the other, and, though snorting and trembling in every limb, they stood quiet until he had thrown a head rope round each of their necks, and fastened them to the heaviest of the branches. then he seized a handful of fallen leaves, which were exposed by the melting of the snow above them, and threw them into the fire, whence a dense smoke poured out. the wolves had again stopped to devour the two animals that had been shot, and this gave time to the men, by their united efforts, to move a heavy branch and place it across two others, whose ends lay in the fire, so as to form with them a sort of triangular breastwork, the face of which, next to them, was manned by the two travellers, their servants, charlie, and stanislas, with blazing brands. charlie and his companion hastily loaded their pistols again. the two gentlemen had each rifles and a brace of pistols, as had their servants. a lady and child had been lifted from the sledge, and these crouched down at the angle by the fire. the sledge and the two horses protected one of the faces of the position, and the driver, at his master's orders, took his position on the front seat again, so as to shoot down any wolf that might try to attack the flank of the outside horse. the wolves looked doubtful at the appearance of the dense smoke rising up, but, after a little hesitation, they rushed to the attack. four were rolled over by bullets from the rifles, and, as they came within a few yards, the pistols cracked out in rapid succession. as soon as these were all emptied, the six men caught up the blazing brands, and struck full in the faces of the wolves, shouting loudly as they did so. seized with a momentary panic, the animals turned and fled, and then a fierce fight took place between the injured wolves and their companions. there was but just time to recharge the rifles and pistols, when they came on again. although the fire of the defenders was as deadly as before, the wolves seemed this time determined to get at their victims. in vain were blows showered on their heads, while those who first sprang on the tree were stabbed with the knives the defenders held in their left hands. the contest could have had but one termination, when suddenly two shots were heard, and then, with loud shouts, a party of men burst through the forest, and with pistol and axe fell on the wolves. this unexpected onslaught had a decisive effect, and, with loud howls and yelps, the wolves turned and fled. up to this time, not a word had been exchanged by the defenders, beyond charlie's first shout of "lay this branch across those two," and the order of one of the gentlemen to the coachman to take his place in the sledge--where he had done his work well, for four wolves lay dead by the flank of the outside horse. several of those that had sprung at the heads of the horses had been shot or cut down by the master, who had placed himself close to them, and the horses' thick mufflings had saved them from any serious injury. as soon as the wolves fled, the gentleman turned to charlie, and, flinging down his weapons, threw his arms round his neck. "you have preserved us from death, sir. you have saved my wife and child from being torn to pieces. how can i express my thanks to you?" "it was fortunate that we happened to be here," charlie said, "and that we had this fire handy." a cry from the child called off the gentleman's attention, and he ran to his wife, who had sunk fainting on the ground; and charlie, not a little pleased at this diversion, turned to ladislas and his men, who were looking on with the most intense astonishment at the scene. charlie leapt over the branch, and grasped ladislas by the hand. "you have arrived at the nick of time, ladislas. another three minutes, and it would have been all over with us." "yes, i could see it was a close thing as soon as i caught sight of you. we have been wondering all night what became of you, and set out as soon as it was light. we fired a shot occasionally, but we listened in vain for your three shots." "we fired them half an hour after daylight," charlie said; "but, as we had then only five charges left between us, and there were wolves all round, we dared not waste them." "we heard firing at last," the captain went on. "first two shots faintly, then two nearer, and a minute later two others. we knew then that you must be engaged with wolves, and we were running as hard as we could in the direction of the shots, when we heard a number fired close together. of course we could make nothing of it, but on we ran. then there was another outbreak of firing, this time quite close. a moment later we caught sight of a confused mass. there was a fire, and a sledge with two horses, and a man standing up in it shooting; and we could see a desperate fight going on with the wolves in front, so alexander and hugo fired their pieces into the thick of them. we set up a yell, and went at them with our axes, yet i did not feel by any means sure that they would not be too many for us. "but what on earth does it all mean? and how is it that you have lived through the night? we had no expectation of finding you alive. however, that fire tells its own tale, as though nothing less than burning up a big tree would content you." "i will tell you all, presently. it is too long a story now. let us help these travellers to go their way, before the wolves rally again." "they will not do that," the captain said confidently. "if it was night, they might hang about the neighbourhood, but they are cowardly beasts in the daytime, and easily scared. they are still going away at their best pace, i will be bound." while charlie was speaking to ladislas, one of the travellers had been talking to stanislas, who, in answer to his question, had informed him that he was in charlie's service, and that the latter was an english gentleman, who had, from a variety of circumstances, especially the suspicion with which all strangers were regarded, been unable to travel through the country, and had therefore been passing the winter hunting, with this company of disbanded soldiers who had so opportunely arrived to their assistance. the other traveller had, by this time, carried his wife beyond the heat of the fire, and had applied some snow to her forehead, pouring a little brandy from the flask between her lips. she had now begun to revive, and, leaving her, he approached the party. his brother met him, and in a few words told him what he had learned from stanislas. "my friends," he said, "my brother tells me that you are a party of discharged soldiers, who are passing the winter in a hut here in the forest, supporting yourselves by shooting and fishing. i have to thank providence for the thought that sent you here. i have to thank you for your prompt assistance, to which we are indebted for our lives. "i am count nicholas staroski, and can at least make a substantial return for the service you have done me. my estates lie some sixty miles to the north. you will have no difficulty in finding me. present yourselves there at easter. i shall certainly be at my chateau then. i will then talk over what can be done for you. those who like to settle down on land shall have land, those who would like employment in my household shall have it, those who would prefer money to go their own way and settle in their own villages shall each have a heavy purse." then he turned to charlie. "you, sir, as my brother has learned from your brave follower here, are an english gentleman. to you i owe far heavier obligation than to these soldiers, for you and your man incurred a terrible risk, and well-nigh sacrificed your lives for ours. i pray you come with us, and stay with us for a time. i shall then hear your plans, and your object in visiting this country, and if i can in any way further them, you may be sure i will do so to the utmost; for the present, i can promise you at least excellent hunting, and the heartiest welcome." "i thank you very heartily, count staroski, and accept gladly your invitation; but i must first speak to the captain of these men, to whom i am much beholden for the kindness he has shown me." he went across to ladislas, who had heard what was said. "you will not think it ungrateful for me to quit you so suddenly, ladislas," he said in a low voice. "assuredly not. you have done us a service, indeed, in thus enabling us to obtain favour with the count. he is one of our richest and most powerful nobles, and our fortunes are as good as made." "i will introduce you to him personally," charlie said. "this, count, is the leader of the party. he has shown me very great kindness, and has proved a true friend. from what i have seen of him, i have no doubt whatever that, in spite of certain acts of lawlessness to which he and his friends have been driven of late, you will find him, in any position you may be good enough to give him, an honest and thoroughly trustworthy man." "i will bear it in mind," the count said. "now, the sooner we are off, the better. how far is it to the next village?" "about seven miles, count." the count gave orders for the sledge to be taken on to the road again. "one moment," the captain said, taking charlie aside. "pray tell us, in a few words, what has happened. the burning of the tree is a mystery to us, and we shall die of curiosity if we have to remain here for another two months with the matter unexplained." in as few words as possible, charlie related to the men the story of the preceding night, which was greeted with exclamations of surprise and admiration. "truly, you have your wits about you," the captain said. "i should have been frozen to death, if i had been in your position, for i should certainly never have thought of lighting a fire up in a tree. "well, goodbye, if we do not see you again, may all good fortune attend you, and may the saints protect you from all danger." charlie shook hands with the men all round, and then hurried down to the sledge. the coachman was already in the front seat, the countess and her child had taken their places, and the two armed servants and stanislas were standing behind, in readiness to jump on to a board fastened above the runners. "i must apologize for keeping you waiting, countess," charlie said as he ran up. "i had to explain to my friends, in a few words, how this had all come about." "we are also longing to know," the count said. "but i have not yet introduced you to my wife, nor have i learned the name of the gentleman to whom i owe so much." "ah, sir," the young countess said, holding out her hand after charlie had given his name, "what do we not owe you? i shall never forget it all, never." "we will talk when we have started, feodora. let us get out of this forest as soon as we can." he took his place beside his wife, and set the child on his knees; his brother and charlie sitting opposite to him. the servants spread a bearskin rug over their knees, and then jumped into their places, as the driver cracked his whip, and the horses started. "you must think us almost mad to be driving through the forest, at this time of the year," the count said to charlie. "but the countess is a russian. we have been staying two months at her father's place, a hundred miles to the east. my two youngest children are at home, and two days since a message arrived, saying that one of them was dangerously ill. we had heard, of course, many tales of the numbers and fierceness of the wolves, but we hoped that, by travelling only by day and with excellent horses, there was not much to fear, especially as we were five armed men. "we fell in with a few wolves yesterday, but beat them off easily enough. last night, we stopped at a little village in the forest. they certainly made me feel uneasy there, with their tales about the wolves, but there was no help for it. we started as soon as day broke, and had driven some fifteen miles, before we came up to you. we had not gone five when the wolves began to show themselves. "at first, they kept well behind us, but presently we came upon a large number, who joined in near where we saw an overturned sledge, with the snow stained with blood all round it. from there we kept up a running fight, and must have killed a score; but their numbers increased, rather than diminished, and when a fresh pack came up from ahead, a quarter of a mile before we saw you, it looked as if our case was hopeless; for the horses, which had been going at the top of their speed from the time we started, were beginning to flag, while the wolves were fast closing in upon us, and were just beginning to attack the horses, when i saw you in the road. "and now, pray tell us how you came to be there so opportunely, and how it was that you had that great fire blazing." charlie gave the full history of the previous night's adventure. "wonderful!" the count and his brother exclaimed; and the former went on: "i have heard many stories of escapes from wolves, but never one like yours. it was an admirable thought, indeed, that of at once obtaining heat and frightening the wolves away, by setting the tree on fire. that thought saved our lives as well as your own, for our fate would have been the same as those unfortunate travellers, whose horses you saw, and who brought the wolves upon you. "and now, sir, would it be impertinent to ask for what purpose you have come to poland? believe me, i only put the question in order to see if i can in any way be of assistance to you." "i do not know, count, whether my avowal will affect you unfavourably, but i know that it will make no difference in your conduct towards me. i am, as my servant told you, an englishman by birth; but i and my father were obliged, in consequence of political opinions, to leave the country, and i am now a captain in the service of charles of sweden." exclamations of surprise broke from his hearers. "well, sir," the count said, smiling, "as his majesty king charles, although not yet one-and-twenty, is one of the greatest generals in europe, i cannot consider it strange that you, who appear to me to be no older, should be a captain in his service. but i own that i pictured, to myself, that the officers of these wonderful soldiers were fierce-looking men, regular iron veterans." "i am but eighteen," charlie said, "and i myself feel it absurd that i should be a captain. it is but two years since i was appointed an ensign, and the king happening to be with my company, when we had a sharp fight with the russians, he rewarded us by having us made into a regiment; so each of us got promotion. i was appointed captain last may, as a reward for a suggestion that turned out useful." "may i ask what it was, captain carstairs, for it seems to me that you are full of happy ideas?" "king charles, as you may have heard, speaks freely to officers and soldiers as he moves about the camp. i was standing on the edge of the river, looking across at the saxons, on the day before we made the passage, when the king came up and spoke to me. he said there was no hope of our passage being covered--as our advance against the russians at narva had been--by a snowstorm; and i said that, as the wind was at our backs, if we were to set fire to the great straw stacks the smoke would hide our movements from the saxons. the idea was a very simple one, and would no doubt have occurred to the king himself; however, he put it into execution with success, and was good enough, afterwards, to promote me to the rank of captain." "so it was owing to you that our army--or rather the saxon army, for but few poles were engaged in the battle--was defeated," the count said, smiling. "well, sir, it will do you no harm with us, for personally we are entirely opposed to augustus of saxony. but you have not yet explained how you, an officer in the swedish service, came to be here." "i was sent by king charles to warsaw, to ascertain the feeling of the trading classes there. i had an introduction to a scottish merchant, and i passed as a countryman of his, who had come out to enter his business. one of the objects of my mission was to endeavour to induce the foreign merchants in warsaw to do what they could to promote a feeling in favour of peace with the swedes, and the substitution of another king in place of augustus." "it is not very clear, captain carstairs, how you can be fulfilling that object by passing your winter with a party of robbers--for i suppose your disbanded soldiers were little better--in a forest on the confines of russia." charlie laughed. "it is rather a long story, count. perhaps you will kindly tell me the news about public affairs, first." "by no means," the count said. "that is a long story, too, and my wife would much rather hear yours than listen to it. she has not yet recovered from the events of this morning. but we will wait until we are at the village. we have left the forest behind us, and another half hour will take us to stromoff, where we can get pretty good accommodation." the horses, a splendid pair of animals, had, during their passage through the forest, shown every sign of fear; starting nervously, swerving, and going in sharp, sudden rushes, and always needing a constant strain on the reins to keep them from bolting. once away from the trees, however, they settled down into a fast trot, and the seven miles to stromoff were done in less than half an hour. no sooner did the landlord of the inn learn the name of his guest, than he, his wife, and sons bustled about in the greatest haste to make things comfortable for them. huge fires were lighted in the guest rooms, and the common room was cleared of the other customers, until the chamber should be sufficiently warmed for occupation; while in the kitchen preparations were made for a meal, to which, in half an hour from their arrival, the party in the sledge sat down. when this was over, settles were placed round the fire, and charlie then gave a full account of his adventures, from the time he was attacked in the streets of warsaw. "so it was you, captain carstairs, after whom there was so keen a search in september. the death of ben soloman made a great stir, and i can assure you that there are a great many people who owe you a debt of gratitude. the man had no sons, and all his property passed to his widow, whom he had, it seems, treated harshly during his lifetime. she was from holland, and wished to return to her people, so, as his means were very large, she made the easiest terms with all those on whose estates her husband had held mortgages, in order to wind up her affairs as soon as possible. thus, his death was the subject of wide rejoicings. however, if you had been caught at the time, i fear it would have gone hard with you; for the jews were all very keen about it--as the man, rascal though he was, was one of the chief heads of their religion--and were you to fall into their hands in any of the towns, they would either kill you or send you to warsaw." "and now, sir, will you tell me what has taken place since september?" "things have moved slowly. augustus endeavoured, after his defeat on the dwina, to make peace with charles on his own account, and without the knowledge of the diet, but charles refused to give audience to any of his agents, and would not even see the beautiful countess of konigsmark, who is, you know, herself a swede, and whom augustus sent, thinking that her blandishments might win over the young king. it was useless. charles maintained the ground that he took up from the first--namely, that he would treat with the diet, but would have nothing whatever to say to augustus. so the diet sent an embassy of four senators. "instead of receiving them with every pomp and ceremony, as they expected, the king met them on horseback. he demanded that, as a first condition, they should dethrone augustus. parties in the diet were pretty equally divided; but the proposal was rejected, for even those most hostile to augustus resented the proposal that we, a free and unconquered people, should be ordered by a foreign prince to change our king. so nothing came of it. "the swedish army advanced a certain distance into poland, and there were a great number of skirmishes, but there has been no serious fighting, nor is there much chance of any, until the snow has gone and the country dried up in the spring. at present, augustus is quarrelling with the diet, who still set themselves against the importation of more saxon troops. but doubtless, before the campaign begins in earnest, he will have settled matters with the senators, and will have his own way in that respect. there is, however, little chance of the diet agreeing to call out the whole forces of the country, and the next battle will, like the last, be between the swedes and the saxons, who may have with them perhaps a few thousand poles, belonging to the king's party." "you don't belong to the king's party, count?" "no. i, like the majority of our nobles, have no interest whatever in the war, for we were never consulted before it began. it is an affair between saxony and the swedes. let them fight it out. it would be a bad day for poland, if augustus and the russians were to overcome and despoil sweden. we want no addition of territory, for that would be to strengthen our kings against us. we see the trouble caused by augustus having saxony at his command, and if he had other territory, the country would be divided into two parts, one of which would have nothing in common with the other. "still less do we wish to see russia gain territory to the north of us. hitherto we have thought but little of the muscovites, but this war has shown that they can put great armies into the field, and the czar is making them into a nation which may some day be formidable to us. "charles has sent every assurance that he has no ill will towards poland, and is an enemy not of the country but of its king--who had formed a coalition against him in a time of profound peace--and that his hostility will altogether cease with the overthrow and expulsion of augustus. so you see, we who live at a distance from the capital, and hold ourselves altogether aloof from the intrigues of court, look on at the fray as if it were one in which we have no part or lot. if augustus drives out the swedes, we shall probably have trouble with him afterwards. if charles drives out augustus, we shall have a fresh king, and shall no doubt choose one upon the recommendation of charles, who will then march away again, leaving us to manage our own affairs. therefore, we have no animosity whatever against you as a swedish officer, but for comfort's sake it is better that nothing should be said of this, and that i should introduce you to my friends simply as an english gentleman, who has rendered me the greatest possible service." the countess retired to bed, a short time after they had finished their meal, and the others sat up talking until late in the evening. charlie learnt that the country was still in a greatly disturbed state. parties of disbanded soldiers and others, rendered desperate by cold and hardship, were everywhere plundering the peasantry, and many encounters had taken place between them and the nobles, who, with their retainers, had marched against them. travel would be dangerous for a long time to come. "therefore, until the spring, you must not think of moving," the count said. "indeed, i think that your best plan, when you start, will be to work due north, and join the swedish forces near narva. it will be shorter as well as less dangerous. still, we can talk of that later on." the next morning they started early, and arrived in the afternoon at the chateau of the count. it was not a fortified building, for the poles differed from the western nations, abstaining from fortifying their towns and residences, upon the ground that they were a free people, capable of defending their country from foreign invasion, and therefore requiring no fortified towns, and that such places added to the risks of civil war, and enabled factions to set the will of the nation at defiance. the building was a large one, but it struck charlie as being singularly plain and barn-like in comparison with the residences of country gentlemen in england. a number of retainers ran out as they drove up into the courtyard, and exclamations of surprise and dismay rose, as the wounds on the horses' flanks and legs were visible; and when, in a few words, the count told them that they had been attacked by wolves, and had been saved principally by the english gentleman and his follower, the men crowded round charlie, kissed his hands, and in other ways tried to show their gratitude for his rescue of their master and mistress. "come along," the count said, taking his arm and leading him into the house. "the poor fellows mean well, and you must not be vexed with them." the countess's first question had been for her child, and with an exclamation of thankfulness, when she heard that it was better, she had at once hurried into the house. as soon as they had entered, the count left charlie in charge of his brother, and also hurried away. he was not long before he returned. "the child is doing well," he said, "and now that it has got its mother again, it will, i think, improve rapidly. the doctor said this morning that he considered it out of danger, but that it needed its mother sorely, to cheer and pet it." in a very short time the tables were laid. the count, his brother, and charlie sat at an upper table, and the hall was filled with the various officers and retainers. the count's arrival was expected, for a horseman had been sent forward on their arrival at the inn the evening before. the dinner had therefore been cooked in readiness, and charlie was astonished at the profusion with which it was served. fish, joints, great pies, and game of many kinds were placed on the table in unlimited quantities; the drink being a species of beer, although excellent wine was served at the high table. he could now understand how often the polish nobles impoverished themselves by their unbounded hospitality and love of display. "i suppose, for tomorrow, you will like to remain quiet," the count said, "but after that we will try to amuse you. there is game of all sorts to be shot, or if you have had enough sport, lately, there will be a sledge and horses at your disposal, whenever you choose to ride or drive, and in a few days we will give an entertainment, in honour at once of our return, your visit, and the child's restoration to health. then you will have an opportunity of seeing our national dances." charlie had had enough shooting, but he greatly enjoyed the drives in the sledges, behind the spirited horses. the entertainment came off a fortnight after his arrival at the chateau. the guests, for the most part, arrived early in the afternoon, many having driven in from great distances. the preparations had been on an immense scale, and the scene at night was a brilliant one. never had charlie seen anything like the magnificence of the dresses, not of the ladies only, but also of the gentlemen; the poles having the true oriental love for rich costumes, a taste that their national dress permitted them to gratify to the utmost. next to the splendour of the dresses, charlie was surprised at the grace and spirit of the dancing, which was far more vivacious than that of western nations. the poles were long considered to be the best dancers in the world. it was their great national amusement; and all danced, from noble to peasant, entering into it with spirit and enthusiasm, and uniting the perfection of rhythmical motion with the grace and ease peculiar to them, and to their kinsmen the hungarians. the dancing was kept up, with unflagging energy, during the whole night; and then, after a substantial breakfast, the men and women were muffled up in furs, and took their places in the sledges. the count would gladly have had charlie remain with him until spring began, but he was anxious to rejoin the army; and, seeing that this was so, the count did everything in his power to facilitate his journey, which, after talking it over, had been decided should be direct towards the royal camp. the count's brother insisted upon accompanying him on the journey, as in this way many of the difficulties would be avoided. two sledges were prepared, the one for the use of charlie and count john, and the other for the two servants and baggage. both were horsed by the fastest animals in the count's stables. charlie himself had been loaded with presents, which he had been obliged somewhat reluctantly to accept, as he saw that a refusal would hurt and mortify his kind hosts. he had, on his arrival, been provided with an ample wardrobe of clothes of all kinds, and to these were now added dolmans, cloaks, rugs, and most costly furs. a splendid gun, pistols, and a sword, with the hilt studded with gems, completed his outfit; while stanislas had been presented with a heavy purse of money. the whole of the retainers of the castle were assembled to see them start, and the count and countess, at parting, made him promise to come and pay them another visit, if the fortune of war should bring him within the possibility of reaching them. the journey was a delightful one. each night they put up at the chateau of some nobleman. to many of these count john staroski was personally known; at the others, his name secured at once a hearty welcome for himself and his companion. travelling only by day, and at the full speed of the horses, they escaped interruption by the marauding bands, and in fourteen days after starting they drove into the town where charles of sweden had his headquarters, after being twice stopped and questioned by bodies of swedish horse. the town was crowded with troops, and they had some difficulty in finding a lodging for themselves, and stabling for the horses. as soon as this was done, charlie proceeded alone to the quarters of count piper. chapter : the battle of clissow. charlie sent in his name, and was shown in at once. "i am glad, indeed, to see you, captain carstairs," the minister said, as he entered. "we had given you up for lost. we heard first that you had been murdered in the streets of warsaw. a month later, a man brought a letter to me from your scotch friend ramsay, to say that you were accused of the murder of a jew trader, a man, it seems, of some importance in warsaw. ramsay said that you were in the company of a band of brigands, and that the man who went with you as your servant had joined you, and had taken you some money. he forwarded the letter you had sent him explaining your position, and said he thought that, upon the whole, it was the best thing you could have done, as a vigorous search had been set on foot, at the instance of the jews, and there would have been but little chance of your making your way through the country alone. he added that he felt confident that, if alive, you would manage somehow to rejoin us before the campaign opened in the spring. "i am glad that you have been able to do so, but your appearance, at present, is rather that of a wealthy polish noble, than of a companion of brigands." "i was able to do some service to count staroski, as, when travelling with his wife and child, and his brother, count john, he was attacked by a pack of wolves. i have been staying with him for some weeks, and his brother has now had the kindness to accompany me here. he has thereby made my passage through the country easy, as we have travelled with fast horses in his sledge, and have always put up at the chateaux of nobles of his acquaintance. i have, therefore, avoided all risk of arrest at towns. in the letter forwarded to you i explained the real circumstances of the death of the jew." "yes, we quite understood that, captain carstairs. you had a very narrow escape from death at his hands, and, as the danger was incurred purely in the king's service, it will not be forgotten. up to the time when the jew organized the attack upon you in warsaw, i was well satisfied with your reports of your work. so far nothing has come of it, as augustus has been too strong for any movement against him, but we hope, ere long, to defeat him so decisively that our friends will be able to declare against him. i will inform the king of your return, and i have no doubt he will be glad to hear your story from your own lips. he loves tales of adventure, and time hangs somewhat heavily on hand, as, until the frost breaks, nothing can be done in the field." on the following day, indeed, charlie was sent for to the royal quarters, and had to recount the story of his adventures in full to the king, who was highly interested in them, and at the conclusion requested him to introduce count john staroski, in order that he might express to him his obligation for the service he had rendered to one of his officers. this done, charlie drove out with the count to the village where colonel jamieson's regiment was quartered, and where his return was received with delight by harry, and with great pleasure by major jervoise and his fellow officers. he was obliged to give a short outline of what he had been doing since he left, but put off going into details for a future occasion. "and are you coming back to us now, charlie?" harry asked. "certainly. my success in the diplomatic way was not sufficiently marked for them to be likely to employ me in that line again. we must return this afternoon, as the king has invited us both to sup with him tonight." two days later, count john staroski started upon his return journey, much pleased with the reception he had met with from the king of sweden, and determined to work vigorously, among the nobles of his acquaintance, to bring about the dethronement of augustus of saxony. charlie had already seen count piper, who had told him that, although the king and himself were both well satisfied with the work he had done, there was not at present any mission of the same sort on which he could be employed. indeed, it was evident that, until the saxons had been decisively defeated, political action would be useless, and that, therefore, for the present he could either remain at headquarters, or rejoin his regiment. charlie at once chose the latter alternative. "very well, captain carstairs, you can rejoin when you like, but remember i may claim your services again. you see, now that you have acquired a knowledge of polish, your value for this sort of work is largely increased." as soon as the frost had broken, the swedish army commenced its advance. skirmishes frequently took place, but augustus had, as yet, no army with which he could meet them in the field, and he summoned a diet at warsaw, in hopes of persuading the poles to decide upon calling out the whole national force. in this he failed altogether. the citizens, led by the foreign traders, were already openly opposed to him, and their attitude so encouraged his opponents in the diet, that many of these rose and openly denounced the government, and the conduct of the king, that had brought the country into its present difficulties. as the swedish army advanced, they were joined by the duke of holstein, and, in spite of the efforts of a considerable body of the enemy, under prince wisniowiski, progressed steadily, crossed the river memel, and, when near grodno, were met by an embassy sent by the diet, to endeavour to persuade charles not to advance further. an interview took place between the king, the poles, and his ministers, the conversation on both sides being in latin. but as the ambassadors had no definite plans to propose, and their leaders were wholly devoted to augustus, the king refused to allow his advance to be arrested, and continued his march. when near praga they crossed the plain where charles gustavus, king of sweden, had defeated the polish army in a great battle, that had lasted for three days. the city was occupied, and a contribution of , crowns imposed upon it, in addition to food for the army while it remained there. plundering, however, was strictly forbidden, and, as the king issued a proclamation declaring that he was no enemy of the polish republic, but simply of their king, the inhabitants were, on the whole, well satisfied with the conduct of the invaders. a halt was made here for some time, and a bridge was thrown across the vistula, while the army rested after the long and fatiguing marches it had made. a fresh attempt was made to arrest the advance of the swedes, and the cardinal primate, himself, met the king; but nothing came of the negotiations, and the army entered warsaw. here they were warmly received, and great entertainments were given to the king. towards the end of june, they again advanced to meet the force that augustus had gathered, and on the th of july the swedes arrived within a few miles of clissow. the next day some reinforcements arrived, and the king decided to give battle on the following day, which was the anniversary of the victory on the dwina, the previous year. his army was twelve thousand strong, while that of augustus was nearly double that strength, and was very strongly posted, his camp being surrounded by morasses, although situated on rising ground which commanded the whole of the country round it. the bogs in the front were found to be so impassable, that the swedes were forced to make a circuit to the left, where the ground was firmer. this movement obliged the enemy also to change front, a movement that caused considerable confusion, as they themselves were forced to traverse boggy ground, to take up a new position facing that by which the swedes would now advance. the attack was commenced by the division commanded by the duke of holstein, but, scarcely had he set his troops in motion than he was mortally wounded, by a ball from a falconet. his troops, however, pushed forward vigorously. the polish division opposed to them resisted the two first assaults bravely, but gave way at the third attack, and were driven from the ground, in such confusion that they took no further part in the engagement. while this was going on, the saxon cavalry had been repulsed by that of charles, and, passing in their retreat under the fire of three infantry regiments, suffered so heavily that they left the field. the swedish foot now advanced all along the line, and in the centre destroyed several battalions of saxons. but the swedish right was attacked so vigorously by the saxon left, under field marshal steinau, that for a time the conflict was doubtful. the swedish horse guards and other cavalry, however, charged with such determination that the saxon horse on this flank were also defeated, and driven off the field, while the swedish infantry, advancing without firing, drove several battalions of saxon foot into a village, where, being surrounded, almost all were killed or taken prisoners. the saxon horse, gathering once more, attempted bravely to retrieve the fate of the day, and engaged the swedish horse with such desperate valour, that a considerable portion of the saxon infantry were enabled, under cover of the conflict, to draw off, cross the morasses, and make their escape. the battle lasted four hours, and had been, throughout, severely contested. the saxons lost four thousand killed and wounded, and three thousand taken prisoners, while the swedes had eleven hundred killed and wounded. forty-eight cannon were captured by the victors, together with all the baggage and waggons. the death of the duke of holstein, a gallant prince who was exceedingly popular with the army, and beloved by the king, cast a gloom over this great victory, which virtually laid poland at the feet of the victors, and insured the fulfilment of the object for which charles had persisted in the war. jamieson's regiment had been on the left wing, but, as it had been held in reserve, to strengthen the line at any point at which it might give way, the scotch had taken but a small share in the fighting, and had but thirty men killed and wounded by the shot and bullets that passed over the heads of the fighting line. the captain of one of the companies was among those killed, and charlie, who had, since he rejoined the regiment, been doing duty as lieutenant, now took the vacant place. the army still advanced. augustus sent in several proposals for peace, but these were all rejected. the saxons had speedily rallied after the battle, but were not in a position to oppose the advance of the victorious swedes, who occupied cracow without meeting with any resistance. seeing that augustus would not be strong enough to hazard another pitched battle, charles had, on the morning after the victory, ordered three of his regiments, of which jamieson's was one, to march with all speed to reinforce major general schlippenbach, who had sent an urgent request for aid, as he heard that the russian army, fifty thousand strong, was preparing to cross the frontier; and as he had but six thousand, he could not hope to oppose their advance successfully. as the king's orders enjoined the troops to march with the greatest possible speed, they performed the journey back to warsaw in four days, although the distance exceeded a hundred miles. mounted messengers had been sent on before them, and, on reaching the town, they found boats already prepared to take them down the river to danzic, where orders had already been sent for ships to be in readiness to convey them to revel. the fatigues since the campaign opened had been severe, and the troops all enjoyed the long days of rest, while the craft that conveyed them dropped quietly down the vistula. then came the short sea passage. on their arrival at revel, bad news met them. they had come too late. on the th of july the russian army had passed the frontier, and the swedes had tried to oppose them at the passage of the river embach; but the water was low, from the effects of a long drought, and the russians were enabled to ford it at several points. the swedes fell upon those who first crossed, and for two hours repulsed their attacks, obtaining at some points considerable advantage, and capturing some guns, but, as fresh reinforcements poured across the river, the tide of battle turned. the russian cavalry drove back the swedish horse, who, as they retreated, rode through the infantry and threw them into disorder. these were attacked by the russians before they could recover from their confusion, and were almost entirely destroyed or taken prisoners. the general, and many of the mounted officers, effected their escape, rallied the broken cavalry, and fell back towards revel. the russians spread over the country and plundered it, burning the little town of valk, murdering its inhabitants, and carrying off into slavery the whole of the population who fell into their hands. the arrival of the three regiments was hailed with much satisfaction by the people of revel, who feared that the russians might besiege the town. they did not, however, approach within many miles, but, after completely wasting the country, retired across the frontier. the victory that had been gained over the swedes at embach, and the destruction of the greater part of general schlippenbach's force, enabled the czar to turn his arms against ingria, the extreme eastern province of sweden, which included the shores of lake ladoga and the whole of the coast of the baltic between narva and finland. urgent messages were sent by the governor of that province to general schlippenbach, requesting him to send him aid, as he had not even sufficient men to garrison the walled towns. the general was, however, afraid that narva would be again besieged, and he therefore dared not reduce his small force to any considerable degree, but drew one company from each of the three regiments, and embarked them on board a ship for the mouth of the neva. as there seemed little prospect of service, for a time, near revel, all the officers were eager that their company should be chosen for the service in ingria. colonel jamieson therefore said: "i do not wish to choose one company more than another; all can equally be depended upon. therefore, i think the fairest way will be to draw lots as to which shall go." the lot fell upon charlie's company, which therefore formed part of the expedition. on reaching the mouth of the neva, they heard that the town of notteburg, situated at the point where the neva issues from the lake, was already besieged by the russians, and that the swedish vessels on the lake had been obliged to come down the river. a fort had been raised by the russians on the bank, to prevent succour being conveyed into the town, and two thousand men had crossed the river and occupied a small redoubt on the northern side, so that the town was completely invested. the newly-arrived force was ordered to march, at once, with a hundred horse and four field pieces, the whole under the command of major sion, who was well acquainted with the country. "what do you think of this expedition, captain carstairs?" his lieutenant, john bowyer, asked him. "i would rather be back with king charles," charlie replied. "of course, i don't know the geography of the place, but if the russians keep their eyes at all open, i don't see how a force like ours, with cavalry and guns, can hope to enter the town unnoticed. the addition of the horsemen seems to me altogether ridiculous, as they could be no good whatever, if they did enter the town. as for those four field pieces, they will hamper our march; and as they say the russians have already some forty cannon in position about the town, those little pieces would be useless. "four hundred infantry, making the attempt at night under good guidance, might manage to slip into the place, but this procession of ours is, to my mind, tempting destruction, for we certainly cannot hope to cut our way, by force, through the whole russian army. "but even if we do get inside the town, our plight can be no better. the russians' cannon are bombarding it, night and day, and more batteries are in course of erection, and schlippenbach the governor, who is, i believe, a brother of the general, has but a few pieces to reply to them. "were there an army advancing to the relief of the place, it would be different altogether, for our reinforcement might be of vital importance in repelling assaults, until aid arrived. but there is no hope of aid. the king's army is some nine hundred miles away, and his hands are full. general schlippenbach has sent as many men as he could spare. they say there are at least twenty thousand russians round the town, and where is an army to come from that can compel them to raise the siege? to my mind, we shall either be destroyed making our way into the town, or, if we do get in, shall be made prisoners of war, if not massacred--for the russians have but vague ideas as to giving quarter--when the town falls, which may be a fortnight hence." "it seems a bad lookout, altogether," the lieutenant remarked. "very much so. the best possible thing that could befall us would be for the russians to make us out, before we get too far into their lines, in which case we may be able to fall back before they can gather in overwhelming strength, and may thus draw off without any very great loss." major sion called the captains of the infantry companies, and the troop of horse, to a sort of council of war, when the little force halted for an hour at three o'clock in the afternoon. "we have another ten miles to march, gentlemen, and i should like to ask your opinion as to whether it would be best to try to force our way in as soon as we get there, or to halt at a distance of three or four miles from the russians, and make our effort at daybreak before they are fairly afoot." the other three officers gave their opinion in order of seniority, and all advocated the plan of falling upon the muscovites at daybreak. "and what do you think, captain carstairs?" major sion asked charlie. "i regret to say, major, that my opinion differs from that of the other gentlemen, and this for several reasons. in the first place, if we halt so near the russians, our presence in their neighbourhood may be betrayed by a peasant, and we may be surprised in the night. if no such mishap should take place, we should have to be on foot two hours before sunrise. i in no way doubt your knowledge of the road, but it is at all times difficult to make out a mere track, like that we are following, at night, and in the morning we might well find ourselves involved in the russian intrenchments, from which we could not extricate ourselves before a large force had gathered round us, in which case we must be all either killed or taken prisoners. my own suggestion would be that we should remain here another two hours, and then continue our march so as to reach the spot, where we are to endeavour to break through their line, about sunset. should we be observed, as we most likely should be, we might at that hour be taken for a freshly-arrived body of russian troops. there would be no risk of losing our way, and we might hope to be close upon them before we were discovered to be enemies. if we succeed, as i trust we shall, in breaking our way through and reaching the town, well and good. if, on the other hand, we find greater obstacles than we expect, and are forced to fall back fighting, we shall have the advantage that darkness will be setting in. the russians, the greater part of whom will be ignorant of our strength, will lose time before they move, fearing they may be assaulted in other quarters, and in the darkness we might be able to make good our escape, which it is certain none of us would do, should we meet with a repulse at daybreak." "your reasons are very just, captain carstairs. though certainly my opinion was in accordance with that given by your fellow officers, i am bound to say that your argument seems unanswerable. "what say you, gentlemen? i have two objects in view--the first to reinforce the garrison of notteburg, the second to save the troops under my command, if i should fail in doing so. i know the country well, but its features will be considerably altered. trees will have been cut down, houses levelled, intrenchments thrown up, camps scattered here and there, and i own that in the dark, i might, as captain carstairs says, very easily miss my way. i think his proposal therefore unites the greatest chances of getting through their line and entering the town, with a possibility of drawing off the troops without great loss, in case of failure." the other three officers at once agreed, and orders were issued for the men to lie down until five o'clock and rest themselves before pursuing their march. it was past that hour before they were in motion again. major sion, with a peasant from the neighbourhood of notteburg, rode ahead. then came the troop of cavalry, with the guns close behind them, followed by the infantry. as they approached the russian lines, the peasant several times went on in advance, and presently a trooper rode down the line, with the order that the troops with firearms were to light their matches, and the spearmen to keep in a compact body. they were now not far from the russian lines, and the destruction that had been wrought during the last ten days was visible to them. every tree and bush had been felled, for use in the intrenchments or for the erection of shelters. a few blackened walls alone showed where houses had stood. gardens had been destroyed, and orchards levelled. light smoke could be seen rising at many points from the russian fires, and, when the troops were halted, they were but half a mile from the intrenchments. word was passed down that the rapid swedish march was to be moderated, and that they were to move carelessly and at a slow rate, as if fatigued by a long march, and that the spears were to be carried at the trail, as they were so much longer than those used by the russians that their length would, if carried erect, at once betray the nationality of the troops. there was no attempt at concealment, for the cavalry would be visible for a considerable distance across the flat country. considerable bodies of men could be seen, gathered round fires at a distance of not more than a quarter of a mile on either hand, but, as the column passed between them, there was no sign of any stir. in a short time, the order was passed for the troops to form from column into line, and the cavalry officer who brought it said that there was a russian battery erected right across the road, a little more than a quarter of a mile ahead. "things look better, captain carstairs," the lieutenant said, as the company, which happened to be leading, fell into line. "yes, i have no doubt we shall take their battery, coming down, as we do, upon its rear. the question is, are there any intrenchments ahead? major sion told us, when we halted, that the peasant assured him that there were no works beyond it, and that it was the weakest point of the line; but it is three days since he came out from notteburg, and, working hard as the russians evidently do, they may have pushed on their intrenchments far in advance of the battery by this time." the force halted for a moment. the guns were unlimbered, turned round, and loaded. then the line of cavalry opened right and left, the four pieces poured a discharge of grape into the russians, clustered thickly in the battery four hundred yards away, and then, with a shout, the swedish cavalry charged, the infantry coming on at a run behind them. the surprise was complete. with cries of terror, the russians for the most part leapt from the battery and fled, and the few who attempted to defend their guns were sabred by the cavalry. "there are other works ahead!" major sion exclaimed, as, sitting on his horse, he looked over the parapet, "and bodies of troops scattered all about. push forward, men, at a double, and do you, captain sherlbach, cut a way for us with your cavalry." the sun had set a few minutes before the guns were fired, and charlie, as he led his men over the earthwork, and saw the russian lines in front, congratulated himself upon the fact that, in another half hour, it would be quite dark. as they approached the next line of works, a scattering fire of musketry opened upon them, but the aim was wide, and without loss they reached the work. the russians, though inferior in numbers, defended themselves obstinately, and continually received reinforcements of bodies of men, running up from all sides. in five minutes the swedes cleared the works of them, but, as they prepared to advance again, they saw a large body of horse riding down to bar their advance, while numbers of footmen were running to occupy some intrenchments ahead of them. trumpets were sounding to the right, left, and rear. "we cannot force our way farther," the major said to charlie. "we knew nothing of these works, and they are fatal to our enterprise. we must retreat while we can. do you not think so?" "yes, sir, i think the enterprise is quite hopeless." the order was given. the troops faced about, formed into closer order, and at the double retraced their steps, the spearmen of each company forming its front line, and the musketeers the second. already it was growing dusk. the cavalry, riding ahead, scattered the small bodies of men who threw themselves in their way, and the battery they had first taken was entered without loss. there was a momentary halt here, for the men to recover their wind. then the musketeers poured a volley into a dark line advancing upon them, the horsemen charged in among them, the long pikes of the front line cleared the way, and, with a shout, the swedes passed through their foes and pressed forward. but more troops were gathering to bar their way, and the major changed the line of march sharply to the right, sweeping along by the side of the force through which they had just cut their way, the musketeers on the flank firing into them as they passed. the movement was an adroit one, for in the gathering darkness the enemy in front would not be able to distinguish friends from foes, or to perceive the nature of the movement. for a few minutes they were unmolested, then the course was again changed, and charlie was beginning to think that, in the darkness, they would yet make their escape, when a dull heavy sound was heard in their rear. "that's the russian cavalry, bowyer. take the musketeers on with you, and keep close to the company ahead. i will break them up with the pikemen. if they do come up to you, give them a volley and then continue your retreat with the rest." while the captains of the other two companies had placed their pikemen in the front line, charlie had placed his in the rear, in order to repel any attack of cavalry from that direction. he now formed them in a close clump, taking his place among them. the russian squadrons came along with a deep roll like that of thunder. they were but thirty yards away when they perceived the little cluster of men with levelled lances. a few, unable to check their horses, rushed upon the points, but most of them reined in their little steeds in time. in a moment, the swedes were surrounded by a wall of yelling horsemen, some of whom tried to break through the hedge of spears, while others discharged their pistols. charlie listened anxiously for the roll of a volley of musketry, but no sound came, and he felt sure that the whole body of cavalry had halted round him, and that his movement had saved the rest, who would now, if fortunate, be able to make their way off in the darkness. but the men were falling now from the pistol fire of the cossacks, and, feeling that the work had been done, he determined to make one effort to save the men with him. "level your spears, and charge through them shoulder to shoulder," he said. "it is your only chance. once through, throw away your spears, and break up in the darkness. most of you may escape. "now!" with a shout, the swedes rushed forward in a body. horses and riders went down before them. there was a rush from behind. charlie shouted to the rear rank, to face about, but in the confusion and din his words were unheard. there was a brief struggle in the darkness. charlie emptied his pistols, and cut down more than one of his opponents, then a sword fell on his shoulder, while at the same moment he was ridden over by a cossack, and was stunned by the force of his fall. when he recovered consciousness, several men with torches were moving about him, and, at the orders of an officer, were examining the bodies of the fallen. he saw them pass their swords through the bodies of three of his own men, who were lying near him, and as they came up to him he closed his eyes, expecting a similar fate. "this is an officer, captain," one of the torch bearers said in russian. "very well. carry him to the camp, then. if he is alive, the general may want to question him." seeing that he breathed, four of the russian soldiers took him upon their shoulders, and carried him away. the pain of his wound, caused by the movement, was acute, but he retained consciousness until, after what seemed to him a journey of immense length, he was again laid down on the ground, close to a large fire. several officers stood round him, and he asked, first in polish and then in swedish, for water, and at the orders of one who seemed of superior rank to the others, some was at once brought to him. "your king treats his prisoners well," the officer said. "we will do everything we can for you." half an hour later, a doctor came to his side, and cutting open his coat, applied a bandage to his shoulder. "is it a serious wound?" charlie asked in swedish. "it might be worse, but it will be a troublesome one; it is a sabre cut, and has cleft right through your shoulder bone. are you hurt anywhere else?" "no, i do not think so. i was knocked down in the dark, and i believe stunned, though i have a sort of recollection of being trampled on, and i feel sore all over." the surgeon felt his ribs and limbs, repeatedly asking him if it hurt him. when he finished the examination, he said: "you are doubtless badly bruised, but i don't think anything is broken. our cossack horses are little more than ponies. had they been heavy horse, they would have trod your life out." a few moments later there was a sound of trampling horses. they halted close by. the officers drew back, and a moment later marshal scheremetof, the commander of the russian army, came up to charlie's side. "which of you speaks swedish?" he asked the officers, and one of them stepped forward. "ask him what force was this that attacked us, and with what object." as charlie saw no reason for concealment, he replied that it was a body of four hundred swedish infantry, and a troop of horse, with four guns, and that their object was to enter the town. "they must have been mad to attempt to cut their way through our whole army," the general said, when the answer was translated to him; "but, by saint paul, they nearly succeeded. the swedes are mad, but this was too much even for madmen. ask him whence the force came. it may be that a large reinforcement has reached vyburg, without our knowing it." "we arrived two days since," charlie replied, when the question was put to him. "we came in a ship together from revel." "did others come with you?" was next asked, at the general's dictation. "no other ship but ours has arrived." "but others are coming?" as charlie had no doubt that great efforts would be made to send further reinforcements, he replied: "many more troops are coming, but i cannot say when they will arrive." "will it be soon?" "that i cannot say, but i don't think they will come from revel. there was a talk of large reinforcements, but whether from sweden or from the king's army, i cannot say." "are you a swede?" the general asked. "i am an englishman in the swedish service, general." "we have many of your countrymen with us," the general said. "it would have been better for you, had you come to the czar. "see that he is well treated," he said to the officers, and then mounted and rode away. chapter : an old acquaintance. the next morning charlie was placed in a tent, in which lay several officers who had been wounded, either the night before or by shots from the town. he learned with great pleasure, upon questioning the doctor, that the swedes had got off safely in the darkness. some eight or ten men only had straggled and been made prisoners, and not more than twenty had been left dead on the field. he had the satisfaction, therefore, of knowing that the defence made by his own pikemen had been the means of saving the whole force. in other respects he had nothing to complain of, for he was well attended to, and received the same treatment as the russians. for another ten days the roar of the cannon continued, some seventy guns keeping up an incessant fire on the town. at the end of that time the governor capitulated, and was allowed to march out with the honours of war. only forty out of the brave garrison remained unwounded at the end of the siege. they, as well as such of their comrades as were strong enough to travel, passed through the lines of the russians, and marched to vyburg. three weeks after being made a prisoner, charlie's wound was so far healed that the surgeon pronounced him able to sit a horse, and, under the escort of an officer and four cossacks, he was taken by easy stages to bercov, a prison fortress a short distance from moscow. he had inquired from the surgeon who attended him for doctor kelly. the doctor knew him, but said that he was not with the army, but was, he believed, away visiting some towns on the volga, where a serious pestilence was raging. charlie remained but a short time at bercov. his wound was healing rapidly, and the surgeon who attended him assured him that there was every prospect of his making a complete cure, if he would but keep his arm, for some weeks, in a sling. he had nothing to complain of, either as to his comfort or food. the governor, who spoke a little polish, visited him every day, and asked many questions as to his native country. on one of these visits he said to him: "you asked me yesterday if i knew doctor kelly, one of the chief surgeons of the army, who, as you had heard, was at present on the volga. you mentioned that he was a friend of yours, and that you had made his acquaintance, when you were unlucky enough before to be a prisoner in our hands. i am sorry to say that i have today seen an official report, in which his name appears among the list of those who have fallen victims to the pestilence." "i am sorry to hear that," charlie exclaimed; "both because he was very kind to me, and i liked him much, and because, in the second place, i was sure that he would have used his influence, with the czar, to obtain my exchange as soon as possible." "it is very unfortunate," the governor said, "especially as these exchanges are of rare occurrence. a few officers may be taken prisoners on each side in the skirmishes, but the numbers are too small to make the loss of any importance, either to russia or sweden, and it is months since either have taken any steps to bring about exchanges. i myself have no influence. my appointment here is a sort of punishment, for having offended the czar by not having brought up my regiment in time to take part in the fight, when you attacked us at narva. i saved the regiment, but that was not regarded as any excuse for having been three days longer on the march than the czar expected; so i was sent here, as a sort of dismissal from active service. "you know no one else who could move in your matter?" "no one. the governor of the castle at plescow was a surly fellow, and was reprimanded by the czar, at least so i heard, for not having treated me sufficiently well. i was only three or four days there, and the only officer i saw besides doctor kelly was a friend of his, another doctor. he was at the table when i dined with kelly. he seemed to me to be a fine fellow, and, by the by, he did say jokingly that, if i was ever made prisoner again, i was to ask for him, and that he would do anything he could for me." "what was his name?" the governor asked. "peter michaeloff. "do you know him?" he added, as he saw a look of surprise in the governor's face. "i know one of that name," the governor said doubtfully, "i don't know that he is a doctor; though he may be, for he knows something of many things." "oh, he was a doctor," charlie said confidently. "i know kelly said he could take off a limb as well as he could do it, himself." "what sort of man was he?" "he was a tall, strong man, with black hair and gray eyes. he has rather a positive way of talking, and seemed to have very strong opinions about things. he looked good tempered, but i should say that he could be passionate enough, if he were put out." "that might be the peter michaeloff i know," the governor said. "you are sure he said that you were to ask for him, if you were a second time taken prisoner?" "i am quite certain he said so, though i don't know whether the promise meant much. but he certainly spoke as if he thought he might be able to help me, and, though it did not seem likely that i could have such bad luck twice, i think he meant at the time what he said, and i should think he was the sort of man who would keep his word." "i will make some inquiries," the governor said, "and find out, if i can, where he is at present. yes, i should think that he would be able to assist you, if he chose to interest himself in the matter." ten days later, the governor came into charlie's room. "an officer has arrived, with an order for your removal," he said. "you are to be taken up again to notteburg." "i am very sorry," charlie said. "i have been very comfortable here. you have been very kind to me, and i feel sure the change will not be for the better. besides, we are nearly into september now, and in that marshy country round the lake and river, the winter will be even more severe than it is here. the only thing i can think of is that the swedes at vyburg may have taken a russian captain prisoner, and that they are going to exchange us." the governor shook his head. "there are no longer any swedes at vyburg. all ingria is in our hands and the swedes have retired into finland. it may be that it is the work of your friend. i sent a message to peter michaeloff, should he be found in that neighbourhood, by an officer who was going there, telling him that you were here, and that, having met him when a prisoner at plescow, you relied on his good offices. should the officer have found him there, and have given him my message, he may probably have begged the field marshal to order you to be taken to the prison there, where he could be near you, and visit you sometimes." "your doctors must have a good deal more influence in your army than they have among the swedes," charlie remarked, "if that is how it has come about." "it would be a matter of favour," the governor said. "if michaeloff is acquainted with the field marshal, or had attended him when unwell, he could ask a little favour of that sort. if the field marshal sent you here, he could send for you again without more trouble than signing his name to the order." "well, if it is michaeloff who has done this," charlie grumbled; "no doubt he meant it kindly, but i would much rather that he left me here. a ride of two hundred and fifty miles, in august, is not pleasant to begin with, and the thought of winter in those swamps is enough to make one shiver." "with a comfortable room and a warm stove, you will not find much to complain of, captain carstairs," the governor said with a smile; "and, no doubt, michaeloff may be enabled to obtain leave for you to go out with him on parole. i was about myself to ask you, now that you are strong and well again, whether you would like to give your parole, and offer you the use of my horse for a ride, when inclined for it." "thank you, governor. if michaeloff can do that, it will certainly be a boon, but i am not disposed to agree that the change can be his work. in the first place, we don't know that he is there. in the second, i can hardly think that he could have managed it; and, most of all, i do not see he could possibly have had a hand in the matter, for, even supposing the officer had found him directly he arrived, and then given him the message, and he had acted upon it at once, there would have been no time for the order to get here. it would have needed a messenger riding night and day, with frequent relays of horses, to have got to notteburg and back since the day i spoke to you about the matter. "when am i to start?" "as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. the order says 'send at once,' and field marshals expect their orders to be attended to promptly." on descending to the courtyard after breakfast, charlie was surprised to see that, instead of a horse as he had expected, a well-appointed carriage, with an ample supply of rugs, was standing there. the governor was there to see him off. "well, sir," charlie said. "if this is the way in which you convey prisoners from one place to another in russia, i shall certainly be able, when i meet king charles, to report to him most favourably as to the treatment of his officers who have fallen into the czar's hands. this will make the journey a very much more pleasant one than i had expected." "i am glad you are pleased," the governor said, "and that you have no unpleasant recollection of your stay here." a minute later, the carriage dashed out through the gate of the prison. an officer was seated by charlie's side, two cossacks galloping in front, while two others rode behind. "it was worth making the change, if only for this drive," charlie thought cheerfully, as the dust flew up in a cloud before the horses' hoofs, and he felt a sense of exhilaration from the keen air that blew in his face. the journey was performed with great rapidity. one of the cossacks galloped ahead, as soon as they arrived at the station where they changed horses, and had fresh ones in readiness at the next post house. the cossacks themselves were changed at every other station, fresh relays from the men stationed there taking their place. excellent meals were served three times a day, and each night a comfortable bed was provided, at the last post house where they stopped. the officer was a pleasant fellow, but he spoke nothing except russian, and, although charlie fancied he understood him to some extent when he spoke to him in polish, he shook his head and gave no answers in that language. late in the evening of the third day, they arrived at notteburg. the building at which the carriage stopped was of considerable size. it stood in the heart of the town, and had no outward appearance of a prison. it was apparently at a side entrance at which they stopped. on the officer knocking at the door, it was opened by two cossacks, who, after exchanging a few words in russian with the officer, led charlie along a passage and up a narrow staircase, which led into a somewhat spacious corridor. they opened a door, and he found himself in a comfortable room. a table laid for dinner with handsome silver and appointments stood in the middle of the room, which was carpeted with tartar rugs. one of the cossacks opened an inner door, which led into a bedroom, snugly furnished. "it must be the doctor, after all," charlie murmured to himself, in great surprise. "i see now that there was plenty of time for a letter to come up here and have gone back again, and i suppose the good fellow has got leave for me to stay for a night in his quarters, before i am handed over to the prison. well, for the last three days i have travelled like a prince, and this is the closing act of it." he enjoyed a good wash, then returned to the other room, and sat down in a comfortable chair to wait for his host. he was on the point of dozing off, when the door opened, and peter michaeloff entered. charlie sprang to his feet. "well, captain carstairs," the russian said, holding out his hand, "so it seems you had bad luck again. you must have quite an affection for our prisons." "i shall have, at least, a pleasant remembrance of the kindness shown to me as a prisoner," charlie said; "and i am sure it is you that i have to thank for my transfer here, and for the pleasant journey i have had. i could not have travelled more comfortably, if i had been a russian grandee." "well, i am glad to meet you again," the doctor said heartily. "let me see, it is some twenty months since we supped together last at kelly's quarters. poor fellow! i shall miss him greatly. you have heard of his death?" "the governor of bercov told me of it, a fortnight ago. i was indeed sorry to hear it. i shall never forget his kindness to me." "yes, he was a good man, skilful in his profession, and full of zeal and energy. the blood runs faster somehow, in the veins of you islanders, than of us sluggish muscovites. if we could but at one sweep banish every russian official, from the highest to the lowest, and fill their places with men from your islands, what progress we should make, what work could we get done, what reforms could be carried out! "however, at present," he went on, changing the subject abruptly, "the point is supper. i am as hungry as a bear, for i have been at work since daylight, and have eaten nothing since i broke my fast." he rang a handbell placed on the table. two cossacks entered bearing dishes, and the doctor and his guest at once fell to on the supper, which was excellent. "hard work deserves good food," the russian said, in reply to a remark of charlie's as to the excellence both of the food and wine. "your charles does not think so, i hear, and lives on the roughest of food. what will be the consequence? he will wear himself out. his restless activity will exhaust his powers, and weaken his judgment. i can eat rough food if i can get no better, but i take the best, when opportunity offers. "what have you been doing ever since you left plescow? i inquired after you the other day, when our troops broke up schlippenbach's force on the embach. i found you were not among the prisoners, and i wondered if you were among the killed." "i was not in livonia at the time. i was with the king's army at warsaw. three regiments were sent off, the day after the battle of clissow, by boats down the vistula, and then by ship to revel. mine was one of them, but we arrived a fortnight too late." "then you were present at charles' third victory? how that young fellow handles his troops, and what wonderful troops they are! now we will get into our easy chairs again, and you shall tell me something about what you have been doing, since we last met." charlie gave a sketch of his adventures. "so you fought at the dwina, too? you have had luck in going through three battles without a wound." when charlie stated that he had gone to warsaw on a private mission, whose nature was immaterial to the story, the doctor broke in: "you need not tell me what it was, it was of course something to do with augustus. the way charles is hunting down that unfortunate king is shocking, it is downright malignity. why, he has wasted fifteen months over it already, and it has cost him ingria. he could have made any terms with poland he liked, after his victory on the dwina, and would then have been free to use all his forces against us. as it is, he has wasted two summers, and is likely to waste another, and that not for any material advantage, but simply to gratify his hatred against augustus; and he has left us to take ingria almost without a blow, and to gain what russia has wanted for the last hundred years, a foothold on the baltic. he may be a great general, but he is no politician. no real statesman would throw away solid advantages in order to gratify personal pique." "he considers augustus the author of this league against him," charlie said. "he and the czar had no grounds at all of quarrel against him." "we talked over that, the last time we met," the doctor said with a laugh, "and i told you then that a foothold on the baltic was so necessary to russia, that she would have accepted the alliance of the prince of darkness himself to get it. as to augustus, i don't defend him. he was ambitious, as i suppose most of us are. he thought he saw an opportunity of gaining territory. he has found that he has made a mistake, and will of course lose a province. but charles' persecution of him goes beyond all bounds. never before did a sovereign insist upon a nation consenting to dethrone its king at his dictation. "but go on with your story." he listened without remark, until charlie concluded. "i wish you had been in our service," he said, "instead of that of sweden. you would have mounted fast. you have all the requisites for success, above all, promptitude of decision and quickness of invention. you did well in getting away from that jewish scoundrel in the hut, and in killing his master, but it was your adventure with the wolves that showed your quality. that idea of setting fire to the tree in which you were sitting, in order at once to warm yourself and to frighten away the wolves, would never have occurred to a russian, and the quickness with which you formed, with three logs, a redoubt against the wolves, showed a quick military eye, and the ability to think and act in a moment of danger. "now tell me how it was that you were the only officer captured the other day." charlie briefly related how he, with the pikemen of his company, had stayed behind to check the pursuit of the russian horse, and to gain time for the main body to lose themselves in the darkness. the russian struck his fist on the arm of his chair. "it was well done," he said. "there is the difference. a russian captain would have done it, if he had been ordered, and he and his men would, without a question, have sacrificed themselves to cover the retreat of the rest, but he would never have done it on his own initiative. the idea would never have struck him. he would have plodded along until the enemy's cavalry came up and annihilated them all. by the way, why did you not ask for me at once?" "i had asked for doctor kelly the day after i was taken prisoner, and was told that he had gone to the volga. i thought that he would be back before long, and it was only when i heard of his death that it occurred to me to endeavour to find one who had kindly promised, after a few hours' acquaintance only, to befriend me should i ever find myself in a similar scrape." "it would have saved you the journey down to moscow. i heard, of course, that a swedish captain had been made prisoner that night, but i was myself at moscow at the time, and did not happen to notice the name of the officer taken. were you well treated at bercov?" "the governor there was most kind, and all the arrangements of the prison seem excellent. i had no reason whatever to complain. the governor was good enough to come frequently himself to talk to me. he is a fine soldierly man, and though he did not say much, i think he is eating his heart out at being laid on the shelf there, instead of aiding to fight the battles of his country." the russian took out a pocketbook and made a note, then he rose. "it is time for bed," he said. "i am up at daybreak." "i hope i shall see you often in the prison," charlie said. "i suppose i shall go in there tomorrow morning. i am indebted to you, indeed, for the very great kindness you have shown me." "no, you will not go in early. i have got leave for you for another day, and i am going to take you for a drive in the morning. you will be called an hour before sunrise. take your breakfast as soon as you are dressed. do not wait for me. i have work to do before i start, and shall breakfast elsewhere." as soon as charlie had breakfasted the next morning, a cossack told him that the carriage was below, and he followed him to the door where he had entered on the previous evening. the carriage was a simple one, but the three horses harnessed abreast to it were magnificent animals. charlie stood admiring them for some little time. "i should think," he said to himself, "the doctor must be a man of large property, and most likely of noble family, who has taken up his profession from pure love of it. he is evidently full of energy, and has an intense desire to see russia greater and higher in the rank of nations. i suppose that, like kelly, he is one of the principal medical officers in the army. certainly he must be a man of considerable influence to obtain my transfer here so easily, and to see that i travelled so comfortably. i wonder where he is going to take me this morning." four or five minutes later charlie's friend appeared at the door. he was evidently out of temper. he sprung hastily into the vehicle, as if he had altogether forgotten that he had asked charlie to accompany him. then, as his eye fell on him, he nodded and said briefly, "jump in." a little surprised at the unceremonious address, charlie sprang into the seat beside him without hesitation, seeing that his companion was evidently so much out of temper that he was not thinking of what he was doing at the moment. the coachman cracked his whip, and the spirited horses went off, at a rate of speed that threatened danger to persons traversing the narrow streets of the town. the cracking of the coachman's whip, and an occasional loud shout and the jangling of the bells, gave, however, sufficient warning of their approach. charlie smiled at the alacrity with which every one sprang out of the way, and either leapt into doorways or squeezed themselves against the wall. he was surprised, however, to see that not only did the townspeople show no resentment, at the reckless pace at which the carriage was driven, but that the soldiers, officers as well as men, cleared out as quickly, and without any expression of indignation or anger. indeed, most of them, as soon as they gained a place of safety, saluted his companion. "these russians have evidently a higher respect for their doctors than have the swedes," he said to himself. "i am sure that not even the chief surgeon of the army would be treated with anything like the same respect, and, indeed, no one would recognize him at all, if he were not in uniform." the doctor seemed to pay no attention to what was passing round him, but was muttering angrily to himself. it was not until they dashed out into the open country that he seemed to remember charlie's presence at his side. "these people are enough to vex one of the saints, by their stupidity," he said. "unless they have some one standing behind them with a whip, they cannot be trusted to do what they are told. it is not that they are not willing, but that they are stupid. no one would believe that people could be so stupid. they drive me well nigh to madness sometimes, and it is the more irritating because, against stupidity, one is powerless. beating a man or knocking him down may do him good if he is obstinate, or if he is careless, but when he is simply stupid it only makes him more stupid than before. you might as well batter a stone wall. "you slept well and breakfasted well, captain carstairs?" "excellently well, thank you. what superb horses you have, doctor." "yes. i like travelling fast. life is too short to throw away time in travelling. a busy man should always keep good horses." "if he can afford to do so," charlie said with a laugh. "i should say that every one, busy or not, would like to sit behind such horses as these, and, as you say, it would save a good deal of time to one who travelled much. but three such horses as these would only be in the reach of one with a very long purse." "they were bred here. their sire was one of three given by the king of england to the czar. the dams were from the imperial stables at vienna. so they ought to be good." charlie guessed that the team must have been a present from the czar, and, remembering what doctor kelly had said of the czar's personal communications with him, he thought that the ruler of russia must have a particular liking for doctors, and that the medical profession must be a more honoured and profitable one in russia than elsewhere. after driving with great rapidity for upwards of an hour along the banks of the neva, charlie saw a great number of people at work on an island in the middle of the river, some distance ahead, and soon afterwards, to his surprise, observed a multitude on the flat, low ground ahead. "this is what i have brought you to see," his companion said. "do you know what they are doing?" "it seems to me that they are building a fortress on that island." "you are right. we have got a footing on the sea, and we are going to keep it. while charles of sweden is fooling away his time in poland, in order to gratify his spite against augustus, we are strengthening ourselves here, and never again will sweden wrest ingria from our hands." "it is marvellous how much has been done already," charlie said, as he looked at the crowd of workmen. "everything was prepared," his companion said. "while the army was invading livonia, and driving the remnant of the swedes into revel, thousands of carts laden with piles of wood, stone, and cement were moving towards ingria. tens of thousands of workmen and peasants were in motion from every part of russia towards this point, and, the day after notteburg surrendered, they began their work here. it was the opportunity in the lifetime of a nation, and we have seized it. the engineers who had, in disguise, examined it months ago, had reported that the island was covered at high tides, and was unfit to bear the foundations of even the slightest buildings. piles are being driven in, as close as they will stand, over every foot of ground in it. over this a coating of concrete many feet thick will be laid, and on this the fortress, which is to be the centre and heart of russia, will rise. in the fort will stand a pile, which will be the tomb of the future czars of russia, and there in front of us, where you see fifty thousand peasants at work, shall be the future capital of the empire." "but it is a swamp," charlie said in astonishment, alike at the vastness of the scheme, and the energy with which it was being prosecuted. "nature has made it a swamp," his companion said calmly, "but man is stronger than nature. the river will be embanked, the morass drained, and piles driven everywhere, as has been done in the island, and the capital will rise here. the fort has already been named the fortress of saint peter and saint paul. the capital will be named alike after the patron saint and its founder--petersburg." they had now reached the spot. the carriage stopped and they alighted. charlie saw, with astonishment, that a wide deep cut had been driven, between the road and the river, in a straight line. looking down into it, he saw that it was paved with the heads of piles, and that carts were already emptying loads of concrete down upon it. "every bag of cement, every stone that you see, has been brought from a great distance," his companion said. "there is not a stone to be had within fifty miles of this spot. the work would seem well-nigh impossible, but it is the work of a nation. in another month, there will be a hundred and fifty thousand peasants at work here, and well nigh as many carts, bringing materials for the work and provisions for the workers." "it is stupendous! but it will take years to complete, and it will surely be terribly unhealthy here?" "i calculate the work will occupy ten years, and will cost a hundred thousand, maybe two hundred thousand lives," the other said calmly; "but what is that to the making of a nation? before, russia was stifled, she could not grow. now we have a communication with the world. the island that lies at the mouth of the neva will be fortified, and become a great naval arsenal and fort. along the walls which will rise here will be unloaded the merchandise of europe, and in exchange the ships will carry away our products. some day we shall have another port on the south, but for the present this must suffice. you will say that this is dangerously near our frontier, but that will soon be remedied. as we have pushed the swedes out of ingria, so in time shall we drive them from livonia on the west, and from finland on the north. "but i must to work." and he motioned to a group of five or six officers, who had been standing a short distance away, to approach him. charlie was struck with the air of humility with which they saluted his companion, who at once asked a number of questions as to the supplies that had arrived, the progress that had been made, at a point where they had met with a deep slough into which the piles had penetrated without meeting with any firm ground, the number of huts that had been erected during the past three days for the reception of labourers, the state of stocks of meat and flour, and other particulars. to each he gave short, sharp orders. when they had left, he turned to charlie. "you guess who i am, i suppose?" "i guess now, your majesty," charlie said respectfully, "but until now the idea that my kind friend was the czar himself never entered my mind. i understood, from doctor kelly, that you were a surgeon." "i don't think he said so," the czar replied. "he simply said that i could perform an amputation as well as he could, which was not quite true. but i studied surgery for a time in holland, and performed several operations under the eyes of the surgeons there. "i saw that you did not recognize my name. it is known to every russian, but doubtless you never heard of me save as peter the czar. directly you mentioned it to the commandant at bercov, and described my appearance, he knew who it was you were speaking of, and despatched a messenger at once to me. he will be here in the course of a week or so. upon your report of the state of the prison, i at once despatched an order for him to hand over his command to the officer next in rank, and to proceed hither at once. he is evidently a good administrator, and heaven knows i have need of such men here. "i was pleased with you, when i saw you with my friend doctor kelly. it was pleasant not to be known, and hear a frank opinion such as you gave me, and as you know, i sent you back on the following morning. i certainly told kelly, at the time, not to mention who i was, but i did not intend that he should keep you in ignorance of it after i had left, and it was not until i heard, from your jailer at bercov, that you were ignorant that peter michaeloff was the czar, that i knew that he had kept you in ignorance of it until the end. "i should have liked to have kept you as my guest for a time, but winter comes on early and suddenly, and if you did not go now you might be detained here until the spring. i have therefore given orders that one of the swedish vessels we captured on the lake should be got in readiness, and its crew placed on board again. you shall embark in an hour, and it shall carry you to any port in sweden you may choose. the wind is from the east, and you have every chance of a quick run thither." charlie expressed his warm thanks to the czar for his thoughtful kindness. "i have much to do now," the czar said, "and must hand you over to the care of one of my officers. he will accompany you, in my carriage, to the spot where the vessel is lying, near the mouth of the river, and will there see you on board. should the fortune of war again throw you into our hands, do not lose an hour in sending a message to peter michaeloff." so saying, the czar shook hands with charlie, beckoned an officer to him and gave him instructions, and then moved away among the workmen, while charlie, with his conductor, took their places in the vehicle and drove rapidly off. an hour later, he was on board the swedish vessel, whose master and crew were delighted at their sudden and unlooked for release. the former was overjoyed, for the vessel was his own property. "you will find your things in your cabin, sir," he said. "they were sent on board this morning, together with food and wine sufficient for a month's voyage, whereas, with this wind, we ought not to be more than four days. at which port will you land?" "i would rather go to gottenburg, captain, though it is farther for you than stockholm." "it shall be gottenburg, sir. it is thanks to you that i have got my liberty and my ship, and a day or two can make no difference to me." charlie, indeed, had thought the matter over as he drove along. he would not be able to rejoin the army until it had gone into winter quarters, and therefore decided that he would go to gottenburg, apply for six months' leave, and spend the winter with his father. somewhat puzzled at the mention of his things having gone on board, he went into the cabin, and found there a handsome pelisse trimmed with costly furs, two robes composed of valuable skins, and a change of clothes. the wind held fair, blowing strongly, and four days later he arrived at gottenburg. chapter : in england again. charlie was received with delight by his father, whom he had not seen since the spring of the previous year. "then you got my letter, charlie?" sir marmaduke asked, when the first greetings were over. "and yet, i do not see how you could have done so. it is little over a fortnight since i wrote, and i had not looked for you for another month yet." "i have certainly received no letter, father. a fortnight ago i was in a russian prison, and my arrival here, in so short a time, seems to me almost miraculous;" and he then briefly related his singular experiences. "now about the letter, father," he said, as he concluded. "i suppose you must have written to ask me to get leave for a time, as it seems that you were expecting me shortly. i suppose you felt that you would like me with you, for a time." "so i should, lad, of that you may be sure, but i should not have called you away for that. no, i had this letter the other day from old banks. you know he writes to me once a year. his letters have been only gossip so far, for you know my precious cousin kicked him out of the house, as soon as he took possession; but this is a different matter. read it for yourself." charlie took the letter, and with some trouble spelt through the crabbed handwriting. it began: "honoured sir and master, i hope that this finds you and captain charles both well in health. i have been laid up with rhematis in the bones, having less comfort in my lodgings than i used to have at lynnwood. your honour will have heard that king william has fallen from his horse, and broken his collarbone, and died. may the lord forgive him for taking the place of better men. anne has come to the throne, and there were some hopes that she would, of herself, step aside and let him to whom the throne rightly belongs come to it. such, however, has not been the case, and those who know best think that things are no forwarder for william's death, rather indeed the reverse, since the princess anne is better liked by the people than was her sister's husband. "there is no sure news from lynnwood. none of the old servants are there; and i have no one from whom i can learn anything for certain. things however are, i hear, much worse since young mr. dormay was killed in the duel in london, of which i told you in my last letter. "dame celia and mistress ciceley go but seldom abroad, and when seen they smile but little, but seem sad and downcast. the usurper has but small dealing with any of the gentry. there are always men staying there, fellows of a kind with whom no gentleman would consort, and they say there is much drinking and wild going on. as captain charles specially bade me, i have done all that i could to gather news of nicholson. till of late i have heard nothing of him. he disappeared altogether from these parts, just after your honour went away. news once came here from one who knew him, and who had gone up to london on a visit to a kinsman, that he had met him there, dressed up in a garb in no way according with his former position, but ruffling it at a tavern frequented by loose blades, spending his money freely, and drinking and dicing with the best of them. "a week since he was seen down here, in a very sorry state, looking as if luck had gone altogether against him. benjamin haddock, who lives, as you know, close to the gate of lynnwood, told me that he saw one pass along the road, just as it was dusk, whom he could swear was that varlet nicholson. he went to the door and looked after him to make sure, and saw him enter the gate. next day nicholson was in lancaster. he was spending money freely there, and rode off on a good horse, which looked ill assorted with his garments, though he purchased some of better fashion in the town. it seemed to me likely that he must have got money from the usurper. i do not know whether your honour will deem this news of importance, but i thought it well to write to you at once. any further news i may gather, i will send without fail. "your humble servant, "john banks." "there is no doubt that this is of importance," charlie said, when he had read the letter through. "it is only by getting hold of this villain that there is any chance of our obtaining proof of the foul treachery of which you were the victim. hitherto, we have had no clue whatever as to where he was to be looked for. now, there can be little doubt that he has returned to his haunts in london. i understand now, father, why you wanted me to get leave. you mean that i shall undertake this business." "that was my thought, charlie. you are now well-nigh twenty, and would scarce be recognized as the boy who left four years ago. the fellow would know me at once, and i might be laid by the heels again under the old warrant; besides being charged with breaking away from the custody of the soldiers. besides, in this business youth and strength and vigour are requisite. i would gladly take the matter in my own hands, but methinks you would have a better chance of bringing it to a favourable issue. now that anne is on the throne, she and her advisers will look leniently upon the men whose only fault was devotion to her father; and if we can once get this foul charge of assassination lifted from our shoulders, i and jervoise and the others who had to fly at the same time, may all be permitted to return, and obtain a reversal of the decree of the act of confiscation of our estates. "i have no friends at court, but i know that jervoise was a close acquaintance, years ago, of john churchill, who is now duke of marlborough, and they say high in favour with anne. i did not think of it when i wrote to you, but a week later it came to my mind that his intervention might be very useful, and i took advantage of an officer, leaving here for the army, to send by him a letter to jervoise, telling him that there was now some hope of getting at the traitor who served as john dormay's instrument in his plot against us. i said that i had sent for you, and thought it probable you would take the matter in hand; and i prayed him to send me a letter of introduction for you to the duke, so that, if you could by any means obtain the proof of our innocence of this pretended plot, he might help you to obtain a reversal of the act of confiscation against us all. i have asked him to write at once, and i will send the letter after you, as soon as i get it. "i know nothing of london, but i have heard of the bull's head, in fenchurch street, as being one frequented by travellers from the country. you had best put up there, and thither i will forward the note from jervoise." "the letter will be a useful one, indeed, father, when i have once wrung the truth from that villain nicholson. it will be an expedition after my own heart. there is first the chance of punishing the villain, and then the hope of restoring you to your place at dear old lynnwood." "you must be careful, charlie. remember it would never do to kill the rascal. that would be the greatest of misfortunes; for, with his death, any chance of unmasking the greater villain would disappear." "i will be careful, father. i cannot say how i shall set about the matter, yet. that must depend upon circumstances; but, as you say, above all things i must be careful of the fellow's life. when is there a ship sailing, father?" "the day after tomorrow, charlie. you will want that time for getting clothes, suitable to a young gentleman of moderate condition, up from the country on a visit to london. you must make up your mind that it will be a long search before you light on the fellow, for we have no clue as to the tavern he frequents. as a roistering young squire, wanting to see london life, you could go into taverns frequented by doubtful characters, for it is probably in such a place that you will find him. "however, all this i must leave to you. you showed yourself, in that polish business, well able to help yourself out of a scrape, and if you could do that among people of whose tongues you were ignorant, you ought to be able to manage on english soil." "at any rate, i will do my best, father, of that you may be sure. i have the advantage of knowing the fellow, and am pretty certain that he will not know me." "not he, charlie," his father said confidently. "even in the last two years, since you were here with jervoise and the others, you have changed so much that i, myself, might have passed you in the street without knowing you. "now, you had better go off and see about your things. there is no time to be lost. i have drawn out a hundred guineas of my money, which will, i should say, serve you while you are away; but don't stint it, lad. let me know if it runs short, and i will send you more." "i have money, too, father. i have four months' pay due, besides money i have in hand, for there was but little need for us to put our hands in our pockets." ten days later, charlie arrived in the port of london, and took up his abode at the bull's head, where he found the quarters comfortable, indeed, after the rough work of campaigning. the next morning he took a waiter into his confidence. "i have come to london to see a little life," he said, "and i want to be put into the way of doing it. i don't want to go to places where young gallants assemble. my purse is not deep enough to stand such society. i should like to go to places where i shall meet hearty young fellows, and could have a throw of the dice, or see a main fought by good cocks, or even sally out and have a little fun with the watch. my purse is fairly lined, and i want some amusement--something to look back upon when i go home again. what is the best way to set about it?" "well, sir, if that is your humour, i have a brother who is one of the mayor's tipstaffs. he knows the city well, ay, and westminster, too, and the purlieus of saint james's, and whether you want to meet young gallants or roistering blades, or to have a look in at places where you can hire a man to cut another's throat for a few crowns, he can show you them. he will be on duty now, but i will send him a message to come round this evening, and i warrant me he will be here. he has showed young squires from the country over the town before this, and will guess what is on hand when he gets my message." having nothing to do, charlie sauntered about the town during the day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen eye on passers by, with the vague hope that he might be lucky enough to come across his man. after he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and told him that his brother was outside. "i have spoken to him, sir, and he warrants that he can take you into the sort of society you want to meet, whatever it may be." charlie followed him out. a man was standing under the lamp that swung before the door. "this is the gentleman i was speaking to you of, tony." as the man took off his cap, charlie had a good view of his face. it was shrewd and intelligent. "you understand what i want?" he asked, as the waiter ran into the house again, to attend to his duties. "yes, sir. so far as i understood him, you wish to go to taverns of somewhat inferior reputations, and to see something of that side of london life. if you will pardon my boldness, it is somewhat of a dangerous venture. in such places brawls are frequent, and rapiers soon out. "you look to me like one who could hold his own in a fray," he added, as his eye ran over the athletic figure before him, "but it is not always fair fighting. these fellows hang together, and while engaged with one, half a dozen might fall upon you. as to your purse, sir, it is your own affair. you will assuredly lose your money, if you play or wager with them. but that is no concern of mine. neither, you may say, is your life; but it seems to me that it is. one young gentleman from the country, who wanted, like you, to see life, was killed in a brawl, and i have never forgiven myself for having taken him to the tavern where he lost his life. thus, i say that, though willing enough to earn a crown or two outside my own work, i must decline to take you to places where, as it seems to me, you are likely to get into trouble." "you are an honest fellow, and i like you all the more, for speaking out frankly to me," charlie said, "and were i, as i told your brother, thinking of going to such places solely for amusement, what you say would have weight with me. but, as i see that you are to be trusted, i will tell you more. i want to find a man who did me and mine a grievous ill turn. i have no intention of killing him, or anything of that sort, but it is a matter of great importance to lay hand on him. all i know of him is that he is a frequenter of taverns here, and those not of the first character. just at present he is, i have reason to believe, provided with funds, and may push himself into places where he would not show himself when he is out of luck. still, it is more likely he is to be found in the lowest dens, among rascals of his own kidney. i may lose a little money, but i shall do so with my eyes open, and solely to obtain a footing at the places where i am most likely to meet him." "that alters the affair," the man said gravely. "it will add to your danger; for as you know him, i suppose he knows you, also." "no. it is four years since we met, and i have so greatly changed, in that time, that i have no fear he would recognize me. at any rate, not here in london, which is the last place he would suspect me of being in." "that is better. well, sir, if that be your object, i will do my best to help you. what is the fellow's name and description?" "he called himself nicholson, when we last met; but like enough that is not his real name, and if it is, he may be known by another here. he is a lanky knave, of middle height; but more than that, except that he has a shifty look about his eyes, i cannot tell you." "and his condition, you say, is changeable?" "very much so, i should say. i should fancy that, when in funds, he would frequent places where he could prey on careless young fellows from the country, like myself. when his pockets are empty, i should say he would herd with the lowest rascals." "well, sir, as you say he is in funds at present, we will this evening visit a tavern or two, frequented by young blades, some of whom have more money than wit; and by men who live by their wits and nothing else. but you must not be disappointed, if the search prove a long one before you run your hare down, for the indications you have given me are very doubtful. he may be living in alsatia, hard by the temple, which, though not so bad as it used to be, is still an abode of dangerous rogues. but more likely you may meet him at the taverns in westminster, or near whitehall; for, if he has means to dress himself bravely, it is there he will most readily pick up gulls. "i will, with your permission, take you to the better sort to begin with, and then, when you have got more accustomed to the ways of these places, you can go to those a step lower, where, i should think, he is more likely to be found; for such fellows spend their money freely, when they get it, and unless they manage to fleece some young lamb from the country, they soon find themselves unable to keep pace with the society of places where play runs high, and men call for their bottles freely. besides, in such places, when they become unable to spend money freely, they soon get the cold shoulder from the host, who cares not to see the money that should be spent on feasting and wine diverted into the pockets of others. "i shall leave you at the door of these places. i am too well known to enter. i put my hand on the shoulder of too many men, during the year, for me to go into any society without the risk of someone knowing me again." they accordingly made their way down to westminster, and charlie visited several taverns. at each he called for wine, and was speedily accosted by one or more men, who perceived that he was a stranger, and scented booty. he stated freely that he had just come up to town, and intended to stay some short time there. he allowed himself to be persuaded to enter the room where play was going on, but declined to join, saying that, as yet, he was ignorant of the ways of town, and must see a little more of them before he ventured his money, but that, when he felt more at home, he should be ready enough to join in a game of dice or cards, being considered a good hand at both. after staying at each place about half an hour, he made his way out, getting rid of his would-be friends with some little difficulty, and with a promise that he would come again, ere long. for six days he continued his inquiries, going out every evening with his guide, and taking his meals, for the most part, at one or other of the taverns, in hopes that he might happen upon the man of whom he was in search. at the end of that time, he had a great surprise. as he entered the hotel to take supper, the waiter said to him: "there is a gentleman who has been asking for you, in the public room. he arrived an hour ago, and has hired a chamber." "asking for me?" charlie repeated in astonishment. "you must be mistaken." "not at all, sir. he asked for mr. charles conway, and that is the name you wrote down in the hotel book, when you came." "that must be me, sure enough, but who can be asking for me i cannot imagine. however, i shall soon know." and, in a state of utter bewilderment as to who could have learnt his name and address, he went into the coffee room. there happened, at the moment, to be but one person there, and as he rose and turned towards him, charlie exclaimed in astonishment and delight: "why, harry, what on earth brings you here? i am glad to see you, indeed, but you are the last person in the world i should have thought of meeting here in london." "you thought i was in a hut, made as wind tight as possible, before the cold set in, in earnest. so i should have been, with six months of a dull life before me, if it had not been for sir marmaduke's letter. directly my father read it through to me he said: "'get your valises packed at once, harry. i will go to the colonel and get your leave granted. charlie may have to go into all sorts of dens, in search of this scoundrel, and it is better to have two swords than one in such places. besides, as you know the fellow's face you can aid in the search, and are as likely to run against him as he is. his discovery is as important to us as it is to him, and it may be the duke will be more disposed to interest himself, when he sees the son of his old friend, than upon the strength of a letter only.' "you may imagine i did not lose much time. but i did not start, after all, until the next morning, for when the colonel talked it over with my father, he said: "'let harry wait till tomorrow. i shall be seeing the king this evening. he is always interested in adventure, and i will tell him the whole story, and ask him to write a few lines, saying that harry and carstairs are young officers who have borne themselves bravely, and to his satisfaction. it may help with the duke, and will show, at any rate, that you have both been out here, and not intriguing at saint germains.' "the colonel came in, late in the evening, with a paper, which the king had told count piper to write and sign, and had himself put his signature to it. i have got it sewn up in my doublet, with my father's letter to marlborough. they are too precious to lose, but i can tell you what it is, word for word: "'by order of king charles the twelfth of sweden. this is to testify, to all whom it may concern, that captain charles carstairs, and captain harry jervoise--'" "oh, i am glad, harry!" charlie interrupted. "it was horrid that i should have been a captain, for the last year, and you a lieutenant. i am glad, indeed." "yes, it is grand, isn't it, and very good of the king to do it like that. now, i will go on-- "'have both served me well and faithfully during the war, showing great valour, and proving themselves to be brave and honourable gentlemen, as may be seen, indeed, from the rank that they, though young in years, have both attained, and which is due solely to their deserts.' "what do you think of that?" "nothing could be better, harry. did you see my father at gottenburg?" "yes. the ship i sailed by went to stockholm, and i was lucky enough to find there another, starting for england in a few hours. she touched at gottenburg to take in some cargo, and i had time to see sir marmaduke, who was good enough to express himself as greatly pleased that i was coming over to join you." "well, harry, i am glad, indeed. before we talk, let us go in and have supper, that is, if you have not already had yours. if you have, i can wait a bit." "no; they told me you had ordered your supper at six, so i told them i would take mine at the same time; and, indeed, i can tell you that i am ready for it." after the meal, charlie told his friend the steps he was taking to discover nicholson. "do you feel sure that you would know him again, harry?" "quite sure. why, i saw him dozens of times at lynnwood." "then we shall now be able to hunt for him separately, harry. going to two or three places, of an evening, i always fear that he may come in after i have gone away. now one of us can wait till the hour for closing, while the other goes elsewhere." for another fortnight, they frequented all the places where they thought nicholson would be most likely to show himself; then, after a consultation with their guide, they agreed that they must look for him at lower places. "like enough," the tipstaff said, "he may have run through his money the first night or two after coming up to town. that is the way with these fellows. as long as they have money they gamble. when they have none, they cheat or turn to other evil courses. now that there are two of you together, there is less danger in going to such places; for, though these rascals may be ready to pick a quarrel with a single man, they know that it is a dangerous game to play with two, who look perfectly capable of defending themselves." for a month, they frequented low taverns. they dressed themselves plainly now, and assumed the character of young fellows who had come up to town, and had fallen into bad company, and lost what little money they had brought with them, and were now ready for any desperate enterprise. still, no success attended their search. "i can do no more for you," their guide said. "i have taken you to every house that such a man would be likely to use. of course, there are many houses near the river frequented by bad characters. but here you would chiefly meet men connected, in some way, with the sea, and you would be hardly likely to find your man there." "we shall keep on searching," charlie said. "he may have gone out of town for some reason, and may return any day. we shall not give it up till spring." "well, at any rate, sirs, i will take your money no longer. you know your way thoroughly about now, and, if at any time you should want me, you know where to find me. it might be worth your while to pay a visit to islington, or even to go as far as barnet. the fellow may have done something, and may think it safer to keep in hiding, and in that case islington and barnet are as likely to suit him as anywhere." the young men had, some time before, left the inn and taken a lodging. this they found much cheaper, and, as they were away from breakfast until midnight, it mattered little where they slept. they took the advice of their guide, stayed a couple of nights at islington, and then went to barnet. in these places there was no occasion to visit the taverns, as, being comparatively small, they would, either in the daytime or after dark, have an opportunity of meeting most of those living there. finding the search ineffectual, charlie proposed that they should go for a long walk along the north road. "i am tired of staring every man i meet in the face, harry. and i should like, for once, to be able to throw it all off and take a good walk together, as we used to do in the old days. we will go eight or ten miles out, stop at some wayside inn for refreshments, and then come back here for the night, and start back again for town tomorrow." harry at once agreed, and, taking their hats, they started. they did not hurry themselves, and, carefully avoiding all mention of the subject that had occupied their thoughts for weeks, they chatted over their last campaign, their friends in the swedish camp, and the course that affairs were likely to take. after four hours' walking they came to a small wayside inn, standing back twenty or thirty yards from the road. "it is a quiet-looking little place," charlie said, "and does but a small trade, i should say. however, no doubt they can give us some bread and cheese, and a mug of ale, which will last us well enough till we get back to barnet." the landlord placed what they demanded before them, and then left the room again, replying by a short word or two to their remarks on the weather. "a surly ill-conditioned sort of fellow," harry said. "it may be, harry, that badness of trade has spoiled his temper. however, so long as his beer is good, it matters little about his mood." they had finished their bread and cheese, and were sitting idly, being in no hurry to start on their way back, when a man on horseback turned off from the road and came up the narrow lane in which the house stood. as charlie, who was facing that way, looked at him he started, and grasped harry's arm. "it is our man," he said. "it is nicholson himself! to think of our searching all london, these weeks past, and stumbling upon him here." the man stopped at the door, which was at once opened by the landlord. "all right, i suppose, landlord?" the man said, as he swung himself from his horse. "there is no one here except two young fellows, who look to me as if they had spent their last penny in london, and were travelling down home again." he spoke in a lowered voice, but the words came plainly enough to the ears of the listeners within. another word or two was spoken, and then the landlord took the horse and led it round to a stable behind, while its rider entered the room. he stopped for a moment at the open door of the taproom, and stared at the two young men, who had just put on their hats again. they looked up carelessly, and harry said: "fine weather for this time of year." the man replied by a grunt, and then passed on into the landlord's private room. "that is the fellow, sure enough, charlie," harry said, in a low tone. "i thought your eyes might have deceived you, but i remember his face well. now what is to be done?" "we won't lose sight of him again," charlie said. "though, if we do, we shall know where to pick up his traces, for he evidently frequents this place. i should say he has taken to the road. there were a brace of pistols in the holsters. that is how it is that we have not found him before. well, at any rate, there is no use trying to make his acquaintance here. the first question is, will he stay here for the night or not--and if he does not, which way will he go?" "he came from the north," harry said. "so if he goes, it will be towards town." "that is so. our best plan will be to pay our reckoning and start. we will go a hundred yards or so down the road, and then lie down behind a hedge, so as to see if he passes. if he does not leave before nightfall, we will come up to the house and reconnoitre. if he does not leave by ten, he is here for the night, and we must make ourselves as snug as we can under a stack. the nights are getting cold, but we have slept out in a deal colder weather than this. however, i fancy he will go on. it is early for a man to finish a journey. if he does, we must follow him, and keep him in sight, if possible." two hours later they saw, from their hiding place, nicholson ride out from the lane. he turned his horse's head in their direction. "that is good," charlie said. "if he is bound for london, we shall be able to get into his company somehow; but if he had gone up to some quiet place north, we might have had a lot of difficulty in getting acquainted with him." as soon as the man had ridden past they leapt to their feet, and, at a run, kept along the hedge. he had started at a brisk trot, but when, a quarter of a mile on, they reached a gate, and looked up the road after him, they saw to their satisfaction that the horse had already fallen into a walk. "he does not mean to go far from barnet," charlie exclaimed. "if he had been bound farther, he would have kept on at a trot. we will keep on behind the hedges as long as we can. if he were to look back and see us always behind him, he might become suspicious." they had no difficulty in keeping up with the horseman. sometimes, when they looked out, he was a considerable distance ahead, having quickened his pace; but he never kept that up long, and by brisk running, and dashing recklessly through the hedges running at right angles to that they were following, they soon came up to him again. once, he had gone so far ahead that they took to the road, and followed it until he again slackened his speed. they thus kept him in sight till they neared barnet. "we can take to the road now," harry said. "even if he should look round, he will think nothing of seeing two men behind him. we might have turned into it from some by-lane. at any rate, we must chance it. we must find where he puts up for the night." chapter : the north coach. barnet was then, as now, a somewhat straggling place. soon after entering it, the horseman turned off from the main road. his pursuers were but fifty yards behind him, and they kept him in sight until, after proceeding a quarter of a mile, he stopped at a small tavern, where he dismounted, and a boy took his horse and led it round by the side of the house. "run to earth!" harry said exultantly. "he is not likely to move from there tonight." "at any rate, he is safe for a couple of hours," charlie said. "so we will go to our inn, and have a good meal. by that time it will be quite dark, and we will have a look at the place he has gone into; and if we can't learn anything, we must watch it by turns till midnight. we will arrange, at the inn, to hire a horse. one will be enough. he only caught a glimpse of us at that inn, and certainly would not recognize one of us, if he saw him alone. the other can walk." "but which way, charlie? he may go back again." "it is hardly likely he came here merely for the pleasure of stopping the night at that little tavern. i have no doubt he is bound for london. you shall take the horse, harry, and watch until he starts, and then follow him, just managing to come up close to him as he gets into town. i will start early, and wait at the beginning of the houses, and it is hard if one or other of us does not manage to find out where he hides." they had no difficulty in arranging with the landlord for a horse, which was to be left in a stable he named in town. they gave him a deposit, for which he handed them a note, by which the money was to be returned to them by the stable keeper, on their handing over the horse in good condition. after the meal they sallied out again, and walked to the tavern, which was a small place standing apart from other houses. there was a light in the taproom, but they guessed that here, as at the other stopping place, the man they wanted would be in a private apartment. passing the house, they saw a light in a side window, and, noiselessly opening a little wicket gate, they stole into the garden. going a short distance back from the window, so that the light should not show their faces, they looked in, and saw the man they sought sitting by the fire, with a table on which stood a bottle and two glasses beside him, and another man facing him. "stay where you are, harry. i will steal up to the window, and find out whether i can hear what they are saying." stooping close under the window, he could hear the murmur of voices, but could distinguish no words. he rejoined his companion. "i am going to make a trial to overhear them, harry, and it is better that only one of us should be here. you go back to the inn, and wait for me there." "what are you going to do, charlie?" "i am going to throw a stone through the lower part of the window. then i shall hide. they will rush out, and when they can find no one, they will conclude that the stone was thrown by some mischievous boy going along the road. when all is quiet again i will creep up to the window, and it will be hard if i don't manage to learn something of what they are saying." the plan was carried out, and charlie, getting close up to the window, threw a stone through one of the lowest of the little diamond-shaped panes. he heard a loud exclamation of anger inside, and then sprang away and hid himself at the other end of the garden. a moment later he heard loud talking in the road, and a man with a lantern came round to the window; but in a few minutes all was quiet again, and charlie cautiously made his way back to the window, and crouched beneath it. he could hear plainly enough, now, the talk going on within. "what was i saying when that confounded stone interrupted us?" "you were saying, captain, that you intended to have a week in london, and then to stop the north coach." "yes, i have done well lately, and can afford a week's pleasure. besides, jerry skinlow got a bullet in his shoulder, last week, in trying to stop a carriage on his own account, and jack mercer's mare is laid up lame, and it wants four to stop a coach neatly. jack ponsford is in town. i shall bring him out with me." "i heard that you were out of luck a short time ago." "yes, everything seemed against me. my horse was shot, and, just at the time, i had been having a bad run at the tables and had lost my last stiver. i was in hiding for a fortnight at one of the cribs; for they had got a description of me from an old gentleman, who, with his wife and daughter, i had eased of their money and watches. it was a stupid business. i dropped a valuable diamond ring on the ground, and in groping about for it my mask came off, and, like a fool, i stood up in the full light of the carriage lamp. so i thought it better, for all reasons, to get away for a month or so, until things quieted down. i wanted to visit my banker, and it was a good many miles to tramp." "oh, you have got a banker, captain?" "i have one who is just as good, though i cannot say he shells out his money willingly--in fact he was rude enough to say, when i called this time, that if i ever showed my face to him again he would shoot me, even if he were hung for it. bad taste, wasn't it? at any rate, i mustn't call on him again too soon." "you haven't settled on the night yet, i suppose, captain?" "about the end of next week. friday will be a full moon, i think, and i like a moon for the work. it gives light enough to see what you are doing, and not light enough for them to see much of you. so i suppose i may as well fix friday. i will send up a message for jack mercer and jerry skinlow to be here on thursday evening. i will be here that afternoon, and settle matters with them as to where they shall meet me, and what each man shall do. then i will ride back to town, and come out again just as it gets dark, with jack ponsford." "i suppose you will do it north of here?" "no, i will do it a mile or two out of town. the road north of this is getting rather a bad reputation, and in going out of barnet the guard now looks to his blunderbuss, and the passengers get their pistols ready. it isn't once in a hundred times they have pluck enough to use them, but they always think they will, until the time comes. near town we shall take them by surprise, and stop them before they have time to think of getting out their arms. "confound that window. shove something into the hole, johnson. i can feel the cold right down my back." a cloth was pushed into the broken pane, and charlie could hear no more of what was said inside. he had heard, indeed, enough for his purpose, but he had hoped to gather the name of the place at which the man would put up in london. however, he was well satisfied with his success, and at once made his way back to the inn. "well, charlie, how have you succeeded?" harry asked, as he sat down at the table. "could not be better, harry, though i did not find out where he puts up in london. however, that is of small consequence. in the first place, i found out that our suspicions were right, and that the fellow is a highwayman, and seems to be captain of a gang consisting anyhow of three, and perhaps of more, fellows like himself. in the second place, he intends, with his three comrades, to attack the coach on friday week, two or three miles out of town. nothing could better suit our purpose, even if we had planned the affair ourselves. of course, we will be there. if we can capture him while engaged in that work, we can get anything out of him. he has either got to confess or be hanged." "that is a stroke of good luck, indeed," harry exclaimed. "it will be rather difficult to manage, though. the fellows will be sure to be masked; and, if we were to shoot him instead of one of the others, it would be fatal." "yes, that would be awkward. besides," charlie said, "even if we did recognize him and shot his horse, he might jump up behind one of the other men, or might make off across the country, and we might lose sight of him before we could get down from the top of the coach to pursue." "it might be better if we were mounted, instead of being on the coach." "better in some ways, harry; but if they heard two mounted men coming along beside the coach, they would probably take the alarm and not attack at all; while, if we were to keep a bit behind, and ride up as soon as we heard the firing--for they generally shoot one of the horses to bring the coach to a standstill--they might ride off as soon as they heard the sound of the horses on the road. those fellows are splendidly mounted. their lives depend upon it, and nothing we should be able to hire would be likely to have a chance with them." "well, we shall have plenty of time to think this over, charlie. i suppose we shall carry out our plan tomorrow, as we arranged." "certainly. it is as important to find out where he lives in london as it was before, for if he gets away, we can then look him up there. we may as well go to bed at once, for i shall start at four, so as to get to town before him, however early he may be off. but as we know, now, he is going up on pleasure and not on business, i don't suppose he will be in any hurry in the morning." charlie arrived in town about eight o'clock, and, having breakfasted at the first tavern he came to, walked along for some distance, to decide upon the spot where he should take up his position. as nicholson was going up, as he said, to enjoy himself, it was not likely that he would put up at islington, but would take up his quarters in the centre of the town. he therefore decided to walk on, until he came to some junction of important roads; and there wait, as the man might make either for the city or westminster, though the latter appeared the more probable direction. here he walked up and down for an hour, and then, entering a tavern, took his place at the window, where he could see up the street, called for a stoup of wine, and prepared for a long wait. it was not, indeed, until three o'clock that he saw nicholson coming along. he was more gaily dressed than he had been on the previous day. he had on a green cloth coat with gold braid round the cuffs, an embroidered waistcoat, yellow breeches, top boots, and three-cornered hat. he was riding at foot pace. charlie went to the door as soon as he passed, and saw that, as he expected, he took the road to westminster. looking round, he saw harry riding about a hundred yards behind. charlie had no difficulty in keeping up with nicholson, and traced him to a house in a quiet street lying behind the abbey. a boy came out and held the horse, while its rider dismounted, and then led it away to the stable of an inn a short distance away. charlie turned at once, and joined harry. "i need not have taken all the trouble i have, harry, still there was no knowing. evidently the fellow has no fear of being detected, and is going to pass, for a week, as a gentleman from the country. i suppose he is in the habit of stopping at that house whenever he comes up with his pockets lined, and is regarded there as a respectable gentleman by the landlord. now you had better take your horse to the stable, where you agreed to hand it over, and we will meet at our lodgings and plan what to do next." the discussion did not lead to much. there did not seem, to them, anything to do until the day when the coach was to be attacked, but they agreed it would be well to take the advice of their friend the tipstaff. hitherto, they had not told him more of their motive for desiring to find nicholson, than charlie had said at his first interview with him. they thought it would be better, now, to make him more fully acquainted with the facts, for they had found him shrewd, and eager to assist them to the best of his power. they therefore sent a boy with a note to him, at the court, and at seven o'clock he came to their lodgings. "we have found our man," charlie said as he entered. "i am very glad to hear it, gentlemen. i had quite given up all hopes that you would be able to do so, and thought he must have left town altogether for a time." "sit down and take a glass of wine. we want your advice in this matter, and unless you know how much there is at stake, you will not be able to enter fully into the affair. "some four years ago, this fellow was concerned in a plot by which six gentlemen, among whom were our friends, were brought to ruin. they were in the habit of meeting together, being all of similar political opinions, and advantage was taken of this by a man, who hoped to profit largely by their ruin, especially by that of my father. in order to bring this about, he recommended this fellow we are in search of to my father, who happened, at the time, to be in want of a servant. "the fellow undoubtedly acted as a spy, for i once caught him at it. but spying alone would have been of no use, for there was nothing at any time said that would have brought harm upon them. they simply discussed what thousands of other people have discussed, the measures that should be taken on behalf of the stuarts, if one of them came over from france supported by a french force. the fellow, however, swore that the object of these meetings was to arrange for an assassination of william. he gave full details of the supposed plot, and in order to give substance to his statements, he hid, in a cabinet of my father's, a number of compromising papers, professing to be letters from abroad. "these were found by the officers sent to arrest my father. he and his five friends managed to escape, but their estates were forfeited. of course, what we want to prove is the connection between this spy and his employer, who, for his services in bringing this supposed plot to light, received as a reward my father's estates. there is no way of doing this, unless this man can be brought to confess his own villainy in the matter of the letters, and to denounce the scoundrel whose agent he was. probably, by this time, he has got nearly all he can expect from his employer, and will at least feel no scruples in exposing him, if by so doing he can save his own neck. "now, we have not only discovered the man, but have found out that he is a notorious highwayman, and the leader of a gang; but more, i have found out the day and hour on which he proposes to stop and rob the north coach." "well, mr. carstairs, if you have done that," the man said, "you have done marvels. that you should find the man might be a piece of good luck, but that you should have learned all this about him seems to me wonderful." "it was a lucky accident, altogether. we saw him, watched him, and managed to overhear a conversation from which we gathered these facts. it was all simple enough. of course, our idea is that we should, if possible, catch him in the act of robbing the coach, bind and take charge of him, saying that we should hand him over to justice, when the coachman and passengers would, of course, appear to testify against him. instead of doing this, we should take him somewhere, and then give him the option of either making a clean breast of the whole story, and remaining in our custody until called upon to testify to his statement in a court of justice, whenever required; or of being handed over to the authorities, to be tried and hung as a highwayman. "one of our greatest difficulties is how to effect his capture. the attack will be made at night on the coach, and in the darkness we might shoot him, or he might get away. he is at present in london, at a lodging in a street behind the abbey, where, doubtless, his real profession is altogether unsuspected by the people of the house. "now you know the whole affair. let us have your opinion as to the manner in which we had best set about the business." the man sat for some time, in silence. "i can think of no better plan than yours, sir, and yet it seems to me that there is scarcely any chance of your catching him at the coach. of course, it would be easy enough if you did not care whether you killed or caught him. all you would have to do would be to get half a dozen stout fellows, armed with pistols, on the coach with you instead of passengers, and then you would be pretty certain to kill some of them, perhaps all; but, as you can't do that, and are afraid to shoot lest you should kill him, it seems to me that you have a very small chance of catching him that way." charlie and his friend so thoroughly saw this, that they sat silent when he ceased speaking. "we could not arrest him now, i suppose?" harry said at last. "well, you see, you have got nothing against him. he may have been a knight of the road for the last five years, but you have no witnesses to prove it, and it is not much use to accuse him of intending to rob the north mail. you have no proofs, even of that. it is only your word against his. "there is no doubt that, after they have robbed the coach, they will separate. they may go away in twos, or singly. now, you see, we know three of this fellow's hiding places. he would hardly choose the one at barnet. it is too close. it is more likely he would choose the next place, the little inn in which you saw him first; but i think it more likely still that he and his mates will divide the plunder, half a mile or so from the place where they stopped the coach, and will then separate, and i am inclined to think his most likely course is to strike off from the main road, make a long round, and come down before morning to where he is now. he may take his horse into its stable, or, more likely, he may leave it at some place he may know of on the road leading out through putney, and then arrive at his lodgings just about daybreak. he would explain he had been at a supper, and had kept it up all night, and no one would even have a suspicion he had been engaged in the affair with the coach. i am sure that is his most likely plan." "then, what would you do?" harry asked. "what i should do is this. i will get two sharp active boys. i know of two who would just do, they have done jobs for us before now. i will give them the exact description of those two taverns, and send them down the day before the coach is to be attacked, and tell them that, that night, they are each to keep watch over one of them, see who goes in, watch till they come out, and then follow them, for days if necessary, and track them down. then they can send word up by the guard of the coach, each day; so that, if we find our man does not come back here by saturday morning, we shall have news that will put us on his track again, before long. "however, i think he is sure to come back here. you had better point out to me, this evening, where he lodges, and i shall be able to find out, before long, whether they are respectable people, or whether they are likely to be pals of his. "if they are respectable, i will see them on friday evening, show them my badge, and tell them that the man who has been lodging here is a notorious highwayman, and that i am going to arrest him. to prevent any chance of a mistake, i will put three or four of my mates round the house, to see that no one goes out to give him the alarm. i will come down and open the door for you, at two o'clock in the morning. you can then come up with me into his bedroom, and as he comes in, i will nab him. "if, on the other hand, i find the people of the house have a doubtful reputation in the neighbourhood, we must simply hide in doorways, make a rush upon him as he goes up to the house, and overpower him there. if one stands in his doorway, and leaps out on him as he comes up, he won't have much chance of using a pistol. i will have a cart ready, close by. we will truss him up tightly, gag him and put him into it, and i will have some place ready for us to drive him to, if you think that plan is as good as any other." "i think it is an excellent plan, and could not be better," charlie exclaimed, and his friend heartily agreed with him. "i think you will be able to get anything out of him, when you get him there," said the tipstaff. "he is sure to have some of the swag about him, and, even if none of the passengers of the coach are able to swear to him, that and the talk you overheard would be sufficient to hang him." "can those boys you speak of write?" "not they, sir." "there might be a difficulty about a verbal message." "the guard will give it, all right, if he gets half a crown with it. you need not trouble about that, sir. i will have a man to meet each coach, as it comes in. "and now we have arranged matters, sir, i will go with you to see the house, and will send a sharp fellow down tomorrow, to make inquiries about the people of the place." when they returned, the friends sat for a long time, talking together. the suggested plan looked so hopeful that they felt confident of its success. "i think, charlie," harry said, "it would be a good thing for us to present ourselves to the duke of marlborough. then we shall see if he is disposed to take an interest in us, and help us. if he is, he will tell us what had best be done towards getting nicholson's statement made in the presence of some sort of official who will act on it. if he gives us the cold shoulder, we shall have to do as best we can in some other direction, and it will be well to have the matter settled, if possible, before we catch the fellow." "i think that will be a very good plan, harry. i know where he lives. i inquired directly i came over. tomorrow morning we can go there and inquire, at the door, at what hour he receives callers." the next day at eleven o'clock the young men, dressed in their best attire, called at the duke's. they were informed that the great man was at home, and would be as likely to see them then as at any other hour. accordingly they entered, and were shown into an anteroom, and sent their names in by a footman. he returned with a request that they would follow him, and were shown into a library, where a singularly handsome man, in the prime of life, was sitting at a desk. he looked at them in some surprise. "is there not some mistake, young gentlemen?" he asked. "my servant gave the names as captain jervoise, and captain carstairs. i do not recall the names as those of officers in her majesty's service." "no, my lord, we have the honour to be captains in the service of king charles of sweden, as this document, signed both by his minister, count piper, and by the king himself, will testify." the duke took the paper, and read it. "the king of sweden speaks very highly of you both, gentlemen," he said cordially. "it is no mean credit to have gained such warm praise from the greatest general of his time. what can i do for you? do you wish to be transferred from the service of sweden to that of her majesty? we have need of good officers, and i can promise that you shall receive the same rank that you now hold, and it is likely that, before long, you will have an opportunity of seeing some service under your national flag." "i thank you warmly for your kindness, my lord, but it is not with that view that we have now come to you, though i am sure that we both should prefer to fight under our own flag, rather than under that of a foreign king, however kindly he may be disposed to us, personally. we have called upon a private matter, and i am the bearer of this letter from my father, who had once the honour of your lordship's friendship." "jervoise," the duke repeated, as he took the letter. "not mat jervoise, surely?" "that is my father's name, sir." "do i remember him? why, he was one of my closest friends when i was a lad, and i once stayed with him at his father's place, for a fortnight, on a journey i took to the north. but i will read his letter-- "what changes happen," he said, as he laid it down. "to think that mat jervoise should be an exile, his old home in the hands of strangers, and he a major in the swedish service; and that i should never have heard a word about it! "well, young sir," and he held out his hand to harry, "i can promise you my aid and protection, to the utmost, in whatever matter you may be concerned. i seem to remember the name of your companion, too." "his father, sir marmaduke, was a neighbour of ours. there has always been great friendship between the two families." "of course, i remember him now. he was some fifteen or twenty years older than your father. i remember that i went over with your father and grandfather, and dined at his place. he is still alive and well, i hope?" "he is both, sir," charlie said; "but, like major jervoise, an exile." "you amaze me, but i will not ask you to tell me more, now. i have to be at saint james's at twelve. "let me see, this evening i shall be engaged. come tomorrow morning, at half past eight, and i shall then be able to give you an hour, or maybe two, if necessary, and will then hear the whole story fully." the young men, on presenting themselves the next morning, at the hour named, were at once ushered in. "now, let us lose no time," the duke said, after shaking hands heartily. "which of you will tell the story?" "carstairs will do so, my lord," harry replied. "the mischief was hatched in his house, and my father, and six other gentlemen, were the victims of the treachery of a kinsman of his." charlie told the story of the events that had brought about the ruin of his father and friends. "it is monstrous!" the duke exclaimed indignantly, when he had brought this part of his story to a conclusion. "that my old friend, mat jervoise, should be concerned in a plot for assassination, is, i would pledge my life, untrue; and sir marmaduke carstairs was, i know, an honourable gentleman, who would be equally incapable of such an act. that they were both jacobites, i can well believe, for the jacobites are strong everywhere in the north, but, as half of us are or have been jacobites, that can scarcely be counted as an offence. at any rate, a stuart is upon the throne now, and, as long as she reigns, there is no fear that a civil war will be set up by another of the race. the story, as you have told it, sir, is, i doubt not for a moment, true, but at present it is unsupported; and though, on my assurance of their loyalty, i think i can promise that her majesty would extend a pardon to the gentlemen who have been so unjustly accused, i fear that she could not, by her own act, restore the estates that have been confiscated, unless you can bring some proof that this fellow you speak of was suborned to get up false evidence against them." "that, sir, is what i shall have the honour to inform you now." and charlie then related the story of their quest for the man nicholson, and its result. "rarely devised and carried out," the duke said warmly. "do you lay the knave by the heels, and frighten him into confessing the truth, and i will see to the rest of the matter. i do not know that i ought to let the north coach be robbed, after the information you have given me, but, as we will hunt down all the other fellows, and shall probably recover the booty they carry off, the passengers will have no reason to grumble. "well, young sirs, the king of sweden has given you a testimonial as to your bravery and conduct. if necessary, i will give you one for your ingenuity in planning and carrying out a difficult scheme. "so you have both been with the swedes through their campaign against the russians and poles. i envy you. king charles' service is a grand school for soldiers, and that victory of narva is the most extraordinary one ever seen. had you the honour of any personal intercourse with the king?" "only during three days, when our company formed part of his escort at a hunting expedition," harry, whom he addressed, replied. "but carstairs spoke to him more frequently. he has been a captain nearly two years, while i only had my promotion two months ago. we were in the same regiment, and of the same rank, but carstairs was promoted by the king, after the battle at the passage of the dwina, as a reward for the suggestion he made in conversation with him, that the passage might be made under the screen of smoke caused by the lighting of the forage stacks." "i must have a long talk with you both. it is certain that, next spring, the campaign with france will re-open, and your experience in the field will be very useful to me. the swedes are wonderful soldiers. the muscovites, at present, are little better than barbarians carrying european arms, but the saxons are good troops, and the swedes have twice beaten them heavily, and they evidently retain the fighting qualities that, under gustavus adolphus, shook the imperial power to its centre. "the trouble is to find time. i am pestered with men desirous of employment in the army, with persons who want favours at court, with politicians of both parties, with people with schemes and intrigues of all kinds. i have to be in attendance at the palace, and to see into the whole details of the organization of the army. i have no doubt that, at present, my antechamber is crowded with people who want to see me." he looked at his tablets. "next wednesday evening i am free, except for a reception at lord godolphin's, but i can look in there late. i will not ask you here, because i want you to myself. i will have a private room at parker's coffee house in covent garden. we will sup at seven. when you go there, ask for mr. church's room, and make yourself comfortable there until i come, for i can never answer for my own hours. in that way, we shall be free from all chance of interruption, and i can pick your brains undisturbed. you will remember the day and hour. should there be any change in this private matter of yours, do not hesitate to come to me here." tony peters, their guide and adviser, reported favourably as to the people with whom the highwayman was lodging. "the house is kept by the widow of an usher at the palace. she entertains gentlemen from the country, who come up on business at the courts of justice, or with people of influence at court. i have ascertained that our man passes as a well-to-do trader of salisbury, who comes up, two or three times a year, to transact business, and to enjoy for a short time the pleasures of town. he is liberal in his payments, and is held in high respect by the woman, whose only objection to him, as a lodger, is the late hours he keeps. he is a crafty fellow this, for by always going to the same house, and comporting himself with moderation, he secures a place of retirement, where, however close the quest after him, there will be no suspicion whatever, as to his profession, on the part of the people he is with. "my man found out all these matters from the servant wench. we shall have no difficulty in taking him quietly. the woman will be so terrified, when i tell her what he is wanted for, that she will do anything rather than have a scandal that would damage the reputation of the house." he assured charlie that he need give the matter no further thought. all the arrangements would be made, and, unless he heard farther from him, he and harry would only have to present themselves, at the door of the house in question, at two o'clock on the morning of saturday. the evening with the duke passed off pleasantly. the general's questions turned, not so much upon the actual fighting, as upon the organization of the swedes, their methods of campaigning, of victualling the army, of hutting themselves in winter, the maintenance of discipline in camp, and other military points that would be of service to him in his next campaign. "your king is very wise, in so strictly repressing all plundering and violence," he said. "only so can a general maintain an army in an enemy's country. if the peasantry have confidence in him, and know that they will get a fair price for their produce, they will bring it into the market gladly, in spite of any orders their own government may issue to the contrary. i am determined that, if i again lead an english army in the field, i will follow king charles' example; though i shall find it more difficult to enforce my orders than he does, for he is king as well as general, and his swedes are quiet, honest fellows, while my army will be composed of ne'er-do-wells--of men who prefer to wear the queen's uniform to a prison garment, of debtors who wish to escape their creditors, and of men who find village life too quiet for them, and prefer to see the world, even at the risk of being shot, to honest labour on the farms. it requires a stern hand to make a disciplined army out of such materials, but when the time of fighting comes, one need wish for no better." before parting with them, the duke inquired farther into their arrangements for the arrest of the highwayman, and said he should expect to see them on saturday, and that, if he heard that all had gone well, he would at once take steps for bringing the matter before a court that would deal with it. the young men felt restless, as the day approached. they had seen no more of tony, but they felt complete confidence in him, and were sure that they would hear if any difficulties arose; but though, throughout friday, they did not quit their lodging, no message reached them. chapter : a confession. at the appointed hour, as the clock of the abbey was striking, they gave three gentle knocks at the door of the house. it was immediately opened by tony, who held a candle in his hand, closed the door quietly behind them, and then led them into a parlour. "well, tony, i suppose all has gone well, as we have not heard from you." "there was nothing to tell you, sir, and, indeed, i have been mightily busy. in the first place, i got two days' leave from the courts, and went down myself, in a light cart, with the boys and two men. that way i made sure that there should be no mistake as to the houses the boys were to watch. the two men i sent on, ten miles beyond the farthest tavern there to watch the road, and if any horseman goes by tonight, to track him down. "this evening i came here. i brought with me one of my comrades from the courts, and we told the good woman the character of the lodger we had seen leave the house a quarter of an hour before. she almost fainted when we showed her our badges, and said we must arrest him, on his return, as a notorious highwayman and breaker of the laws. she exclaimed that her house would be ruined, and it took some time to pacify her, by saying that we would manage the job so quietly that no one in the house need know of it, and that we would, if possible, arrange it so that the place of his arrest should not be made public. "at that, she at once consented to do all that we wished her. we searched his room carefully, and found some watches, rings, and other matters, that answered to the description of those stolen from a coach that was stopped near dorking, three weeks ago. my mate has taken them away. as she was afraid that a scuffle in the bedroom might attract the attention of the four other gentlemen who are lodging here, i arranged that it should be done at the door. in that case, if there was any inquiry in the morning, she could say that it was some drunken fellow, who had come to the house by mistake, and had tried to force his way in. "so she put this parlour at our disposal, and, as i have got the shutters up and the curtains drawn, there is no fear of his noticing the light, for, as we may have some hours to wait, it is more pleasant to have a candle, than to sit in the dark." "does she come down to let him in?" harry asked. "no, sir, the door is left on the latch. she says he finds his way up to his room, in the dark, and the candle and a tinderbox are always placed handy for him there. we will take our shoes off presently, and, when we hear footsteps come up to the door and stop, we will blow out the candle and steal out into the passage, so as to catch him directly he closes the door. i have got handcuffs here, some rope, and a gag." "very well, then. i will undertake the actual seizing of him," charlie said. "you slip on the handcuffs, and you, harry, if you can find his throat in the dark, grip it pretty tightly, till tony can slip the gag into his mouth. then he can light the candle again, and we can then disarm and search him, fasten his legs, and get him ready to put in the cart." the hours passed slowly, although tony did his best to divert them, by telling stories of various arrests and captures in which he had been concerned. the clock had just struck five, when they heard a step coming up the quiet street. "that is likely to be the man," tony said. "it is about the hour we expected him." he blew out the candle and opened the door quietly, and they went out into the passage. a moment later the step stopped at the door, the latch clicked, and it was opened. a man entered, and closed the door behind him. as he did so charlie, who had marked his exact position, made a step forward and threw his arms round him. the man gave an exclamation of surprise and alarm, and then struggled fiercely, but he was in the hands of one far stronger than himself. a moment later, he felt that his assailant was not alone, for he was grasped by the throat, and at the same time he felt something cold close round his wrists. there was a sharp click, and he knew that he was handcuffed. then a low voice said, "i arrest you, in the name of the queen, for being concerned in the robbery of the portsmouth coach at dorking." then a gag was forced between his teeth. bewildered at the suddenness of the attack, he ceased to struggle, and remained quiet, in the grasp of his captors, till there was the sound of the striking of flint and steel hard by. then tony came out of the parlour with a lighted candle, the highwayman was lifted into the room, and the door was shut. he then saw that his captors were three in number. there were two young gentlemen, and a smaller man, who, as he looked at him, held out a badge, and showed that he was an officer of the law. his pistols and sword were removed, then his pockets were searched, and two watches and three purses, with some rings and bracelets, were taken out and laid on the table. "it came off, you see," tony said to charlie. "well, master nicholson, to use one of your aliases, of which you have, no doubt, a score or more, you may consider yourself under arrest, not only for the robbery of the portsmouth coach three weeks ago, but of the north coach last evening." the prisoner started. it seemed impossible to him that that affair should be known yet, still less his connection with it. "you know what that means?" tony went on grimly. "tyburn. now i am going to make you a little safer still. you have been a hard bird to catch, and we don't mean to let you slip through our fingers again." so saying, he bound his arms closely to his side with a rope, and then, with a shorter piece, fastened his ankles securely together. "now i will fetch the cart." he had been gone but five minutes, when they heard a vehicle stop at the door. the others lifted the highwayman by his shoulders and feet, carried him out, and laid him in the cart. tony closed the door quietly behind them, and then jumped up by the side of the driver, who at once started the horse at a brisk trot. they crossed westminster bridge, and, after another ten minutes' drive, stopped at a small house standing back from the road, in a garden of its own. "we will carry him in, tony," charlie said, "if you will get the door open." they carried him in through the door, at which a woman was standing, into a room, where they saw, to their satisfaction, a blazing fire. the prisoner was laid down on the ground. leaving him to himself, charlie and his friends sat down to the table, which was laid in readiness. two cold chickens, and ham, and bread had been placed on it. "now, tony, sit down. you must be as hungry as we are." "thank you, gentlemen. i am going to have my breakfast in the kitchen, with my wife." as he spoke, the woman came in with two large tankards full of steaming liquid, whose odour at once proclaimed it to be spiced ale. "well, wife, we have done a good night's work," tony said. "a good night's work for all of us," charlie put in. "your husband has done us an immense service, mrs. peters, and, when our fathers come to their own again, they will not forget the service he has rendered us." when they had made a hearty meal, tony was called in again. "now, tony, we will proceed to business. you have got pen and ink and paper, i suppose?" "i have everything ready, sir. i will clear away this table, so as to have all in order." when this was done, the highwayman was lifted up and placed in a chair, and the gag removed from his mouth. "you don't remember us, i suppose, my man?" charlie began. "the last time i saw you was when i brought my stick down on your head, when you were listening outside a window at lynnwood." an exclamation of surprise broke from the prisoner. "yes, i am charlie carstairs, and this gentleman is harry jervoise. by the way, i have made a mistake. i have seen you twice since then. the first time was in a wayside tavern, some twelve miles beyond barnet, nine days ago. the second time was at another tavern in barnet. you will remember that a mischievous boy threw a stone, and broke one of the lattice panes of the window, where you were sitting talking over this little affair of the north coach." a deep execration broke from the lips of the highwayman. "now you see how we know all about it," charlie went on. "now, it entirely depends on yourself whether, in the course of another hour, we shall hand you over to a magistrate, as the leader of the gang who robbed the north coach, and took part in the robbery near dorking--we have found some of the watches and other plunder in your bedroom--or whether you escape trial for these offences. you may be wanted for other, similar affairs." "yes, sir," tony put in. "now i see him, he answers exactly to the description of a man the officers have been in search of, for a long time. he goes by the name of dick cureton, and has been engaged in at least a dozen highway robberies, to my knowledge." "you see," charlie went on, "there is no doubt whatever what will happen, if we hand you over to the officers. you will be hung at tyburn, to a moral certainty. there is no getting out of that. "now, on the other hand, you have the alternative of making a clean breast of your dealings with john dormay, of how he put you at lynnwood to act as a spy, how you hid those two letters he gave you in my father's cabinet, and how he taught you the lying story you afterwards told before the magistrates at lancaster. after having this story written down, you will sign it in the presence of this officer and his wife, and you will also repeat that story before any tribunal before which you may be brought. "i don't know whether this is a hanging matter, but, at any rate, i can promise that you shall not be hung for it. the duke of marlborough has taken the matter in hand, and will, i have no doubt, be able to obtain for you some lesser punishment, if you make a clean breast of it. i don't say that you will be let free. you are too dangerous a man for that. but, at any rate, your punishment will not be a heavy one--perhaps nothing worse than agreeing to serve in the army. you understand that, in that case, nothing whatever will be said as to your being dick cureton, or of your connection with these last coach robberies. you will appear before the court simply as robert nicholson, who, having met captain jervoise and myself, felt constrained to confess the grievous wrong he did to our fathers, and other gentlemen, at the bidding of, and for money received from, john dormay." "i do not need any time to make up my mind," the highwayman said. "i am certainly not going to be hung for the advantage of john dormay, who has paid me poorly enough, considering that it was through me that he came into a fine estate. i take it that you give me your word of honour, that if i make a clean breast of it, and stick to my story afterwards, this other business shall not be brought up against me." "yes, we both promise that on our word of honour." "very well then; here goes." the story he told was in precise accordance with the suspicions that his hearers had entertained. he had been tramping through the country, sometimes pilfering, sometimes taking money as a footpad. he had, one day, met john dormay and demanded his money. he was armed only with a heavy cudgel, and thought dormay was defenceless. the latter, however, produced a pistol from his pocket, and compelled him to drop his stick; and then, taking him by the collar, made him walk to his house. he had asked him questions as to his previous life, and had then given him the choice of going to jail, or of acting under his instructions, in which case he would be well rewarded. naturally, he had chosen the second alternative. and, having him completely under his thumb, john dormay had made him sign a paper, acknowledging his attempt at highway robbery upon him. the rest of the story was already known to his hearers. he had, several times, overheard the conversations in the dining room, but had gathered nothing beyond talk of what would be done, if the pretender came over. john dormay had taught him the story of the assassination plot, and had given him the letters to hide. he now swore that the whole story was false, and had been told entirely at the dictation of john dormay, and from fear of the consequence to himself, if he refused to obey his orders. when he had finished, tony's wife was called in, and she made her mark, and her husband signed his name, as witnesses to the signature of robert nicholson. "now, i hope i may have something to eat," the man said, recklessly. "i am ready to tell my story to whomsoever you like, but am not ready to be starved." "give him food, tony," charlie said, "and keep a sharp lookout after him. we will go across, and show this paper to the duke." "i will bring the matter, at once, before the council," the general said, when charlie gave him the document, and briefly stated its contents. "there is a meeting at three o'clock today. i shall see the queen previously, and will get her to interest herself in the matter, and to urge that justice shall be done without any delay. i will arrange that the man shall be brought before the council, at the earliest date possible. if you will come here this evening, i may be able to tell you more. come at eight. i shall be in then to dress, as i take supper at the palace, at nine." "i have ventured to promise the man that he shall not be hung, my lord." "you were safe in doing so. the rogue deserves the pillory or branding, but, as he was almost forced into it, and was the mere instrument in the hands of another, it is not a case for hanging him. he might be shipped off to the plantations as a rogue and a vagabond. "what are you smiling at?" "i was thinking, sir, that, as you said there were a good many of that class in the army, the man might have the option of enlisting given him." "and so of getting shot in the netherlands, instead of getting hung at tyburn, eh? well, i will see what i can do." at eight o'clock, they again presented themselves. the duke looked at them critically. "you will do," he said. "put your cloaks on again, and come with me. where do you suppose that you are going?" "before the council, sir," harry suggested. "bless me, you don't suppose that your business is so pressing, that ministers have been summoned in haste to sit upon it. no, you are going to sup with the queen. i told her your story this afternoon. she was much interested in it, and when i informed her that, young as you both were, you had fought behind charles of sweden, in all his desperate battles, and that he had not only promoted you to the rank of captain, but that he had, under his own hand, given you a document expressing his satisfaction at your conduct and bravery, she said that i must bring you to supper at the palace. i told her that, being soldiers, you had brought with you no clothes fit for appearance at court; but, as at little gatherings there is no ceremony, she insisted that i should bring you as you are. "my wife sarah went on half an hour ago, in her chair. there will probably be two others, possibly godolphin and harley, but more likely some courtier and his wife. "you do not feel nervous, i hope? after being accustomed to chat with charles of sweden, to say nothing of the czar of russia, carstairs, you need not feel afraid of queen anne, who is good nature itself." nevertheless, both the young men felt nervous. after being conducted up some private stairs, the duke led them into an oak-panelled room, of comparatively small size, lighted by numerous tapers, which displayed the rich hangings and furniture. a lady was sitting by the fire. a tall, handsome woman, with a somewhat imperious face, stood on the rug before her, talking to her, while a pleasant-looking man, who by his appearance and manner might have been taken for a country squire, was sitting opposite, playing with the ears of a spaniel lying on his knee. the tall lady moved aside, as they entered, and charlie noticed a little glance of affectionate welcome pass between her and the duke--for the pair were devotedly attached to each other--then he bowed to the seated lady. "madam," he said, "allow me to present to you the two young officers, of whose bravery charles of sweden has written so strongly, and whose parents have, with other gentlemen, been driven from the land by villainy." the young men bowed deeply. anne held out her hand, and each in turn, bending on one knee, raised it to his lips. "there," she said, "let that be the beginning and end of ceremony. this is not a court gathering, but a family meeting. i want to hear your stories, and i want you, for the time, to forget that i am anne of england. i know that your fathers have always been faithful to our house, and i hope that their sons will, ere long, do as good service for me as they have done for a foreign prince. "you have not seen these gentlemen yet, sarah?" "no, my husband has kept them to himself." "i have had but little time to give them, sarah, and wanted it all, to question them on the swedish modes of warfare." "and you thought i should be an interruption? "i am glad to meet you both, nevertheless. since my husband likes you, i am sure to do so;" and she smiled pleasantly, as she gave a hand to each. they were then introduced to the prince consort, george of denmark. at this moment, supper was announced. the queen and the duchess went in together, followed by the four gentlemen. "lord godolphin and mr. harley were to have been of the party tonight," the queen said, as she took her seat at table, "but i put them off till tomorrow, as i wanted to hear these gentlemen's story." during the meal, the conversation was gay. as soon as the last dish was removed, the party returned to the other room. then the queen called upon the young men to tell their story. charlie began, and related up to the time when he had aided in the rescue of his father from the hands of his escort. harry told the story of their military experiences, and then charlie related his narrow escape at warsaw, his adventure with the brigands, and the fight with the wolves. "that is the most exciting of all," the queen said. "i think that even you, general, would rather have gone through the battle of narva, than have spent that night among the wolves." "that would i, indeed, madam, and i doubt if i should have got as well through it as captain carstairs did. i am sure, madam, you will agree with me, that these young gentlemen ought to be fighting under our flag, rather than that of sweden. there is no blame to them, for they were most unjustly driven from the country; but i hope that, by monday at this time, i shall have the pleasure of presenting a document for your majesty's signature, stating that, in the opinion of the council, a very grave miscarriage of justice has taken place; and that the gentlemen, whose estates were four years ago confiscated, are proved to be innocent of the crime of which they were accused, and are true and faithful subjects of your majesty; and that the proceedings against them are hereby quashed, and their estates restored to them. "i had the honour of relating to you, this afternoon, the manner in which these gentlemen have succeeded in bringing the truth to light." shortly afterwards, the party broke up, the queen speaking most graciously to each of the young men. on monday morning, they received a summons to appear before the council, at two o'clock in the afternoon, and to produce one robert nicholson, whose evidence was required in a matter of moment. they hired a carriage, and took the highwayman with them to saint james's, and were conducted to the council chamber; where they found lord godolphin, the marquis of normanby, mr. harley, and the duke of marlborough, together with two judges, before whom the depositions, in the case of sir marmaduke carstairs and his friends, had been laid. lord normanby, as privy seal, took the chair, and briefly said that, having heard there had been a grievous miscarriage of justice, he had summoned them to hear important evidence which was produced by captains carstairs and jervoise, officers in the service of the king of sweden. "what have you to say, captain carstairs?" "i have, sir, only to testify that this man, who stands beside me, is robert nicholson, who was in my father's employment for two years, and was, i believe, the principal witness against him. captain jervoise can also testify to his identity. i now produce the confession, voluntarily made by this man, and signed in the presence of witnesses." he handed in the confession, which was read aloud by a clerk standing at the lower end of the table. a murmur of indignation arose from the council, as he concluded. "you have acted the part of a base villain," lord normanby said to nicholson. "hanging would be too good for such a caitiff. what induced you to make this confession?" "i have long repented my conduct," the man said. "i was forced into acting as i did, by john dormay, who might have had me hung for highway robbery. i would long ago have told the truth, had i known where to find the gentlemen i have injured; and, meeting them by chance the other day, i resolved upon making a clean breast of it, and to take what punishment your lordships may think proper; hoping, however, for your clemency, on account of the fact that i was driven to act in the way i did." one of the judges, who had the former depositions before him, asked him several questions as to the manner in which he had put the papers into sir marmaduke's cabinet. he replied that he found the key in a vase on the mantel, and after trying several locks with it, found that it fitted the cabinet. "his statement agrees, my lords," the judge said, "with that made by sir marmaduke carstairs in his examinations. he then said that he could not account for the papers being in his cabinet, for it was never unlocked, and that he kept the key in a vase on the mantel, where none would be likely to look for it." in a short time, all present were requested to withdraw, but in less than five minutes they were again called in. "gentlemen," lord normanby said to the young officers, "i have pleasure in informing you, that the council are of opinion that the innocence of your fathers and friends, of the foul offence of which they were charged, is clearly proven; and that they have decided that the sentence passed against them, in their absence, shall be quashed. they will also recommend, to her majesty, that the sentence of confiscation against them all shall be reversed. "as to you, sir, seeing that you have, however tardily, endeavoured to undo the evil you have caused, we are disposed to deal leniently, and, at the request of the duke of marlborough, we have agreed, if you are ready to leave the country and enlist at once, as a soldier in the army of flanders, and there to expiate your fault by fighting in the service of your country, we will not recommend that any proceedings shall be taken against you. but if, at any time, you return hither, save as a soldier with a report of good conduct, this affair will be revived, and you will receive the full punishment you deserve. "for the present you will be lodged in prison, as you will be needed to give evidence, when the matter of john dormay comes up for hearing." nicholson was at once removed in custody. the two young officers retired, an usher bringing them a whispered message, from marlborough, that they had better not wait to see him, as the council might sit for some time longer; but that, if they would call at his house at five o'clock, after his official reception, he would see them. "this is more than we could have hoped for," harry said, as they left saint james's. "a fortnight ago, although i had no intention of giving up the search, i began to think that our chances of ever setting eyes on that rascal were of the slightest; and now everything has come right. the man has been found. he has been made to confess the whole matter. the case has been heard by the council. our fathers are free to return to england, and their estates are restored to them; at least, the council recommends the queen, and we know the queen is ready to sign. so that it is as good as done." "it seems too good to be true." "it does, indeed, charlie. they will be delighted across the water. i don't think my father counted, at all, upon our finding nicholson, or of our getting him to confess; but i think he had hoped that the duke would interest himself to get an order, that no further proceedings should be taken in the matter of the alleged plot. that would have permitted them to return to england. he spoke to me, several times, of his knowledge of the duke when he was a young man; but churchill, he said, was a time server, and has certainly changed his politics several times; and, if a man is fickle in politics, he may be so in his friendships. it was a great many years since they had met, and marlborough might not have been inclined to acknowledge one charged with so serious a crime. "but, as he said to me before i started, matters have changed since the death of william. marlborough stands far higher, with anne, than he did with william. his leanings have certainly been, all along, jacobite, and, now that he and the tories are in power, and the whigs are out of favour, marlborough could, if he chose, do very much for us. it is no longer a crime to be a jacobite, and indeed, they say that the tories are intending to upset the act of succession, and bring in a fresh one, making james stuart the successor to anne. "still, even if we had succeeded so far, by marlborough's influence, that our fathers could have returned to england without fear of being tried for their lives, i do not think that either of them would have come, so long as the charge of having been concerned in an assassination plot was hanging over them. "now that they are cleared, and can come back with honour, it will be different, altogether. it will be glorious news for them. of course, we shall start as soon as we get the official communication that the estates are restored. we shall only have to go back to them, for, as you know, yours is the only estate that has been granted to anyone else. the others were put up for sale, but no one would bid for them, as the title deeds would have been worth nothing if king james came over. so they have only been let to farmers, and we can walk straight in again, without dispossessing anyone." "i don't know what to do about john dormay," charlie said. "there is no doubt that, from what the judge said, they will prosecute him." "so they ought to," harry broke in. "he has striven, by false swearing, to bring innocent men to the scaffold. why, it is worse than murder." "i quite agree with you, harry, and, if i were in your place, i would say just as strongly as you do that he ought to be hung. but you see, i am differently situated. the man is a kinsman of ours by marriage. my cousin celia has been always most kind to me, and is my nearest relative after my father. she has been like an aunt, and, indeed, did all she could to supply the place of a mother to me; and i am sure my little sweetheart ciceley has been like a sister. this must have been a most terrible trial to them. it was a bad day for cousin celia when she married that scoundrel, and i am sure that he has made her life a most unhappy one. still, for their sake, i would not see his villainy punished as it deserves, nor indeed for our own, since the man is, to a certain extent, our kinsman. "besides, harry, as you must remember well enough, ciceley and i, in boy and girl fashion, used to say we should be some day husband and wife, and i have never since seen anyone whom i would so soon marry as my bonny little cousin; and if ciceley is of the same mind, maybe some day or other she may come to lynnwood as its mistress; but that could hardly be, if her father were hung for attempting to swear away the life of mine." "no, indeed, charlie. i know how fond you were of your cousin." "indeed, harry, there was a talk between my father and cousin celia, a few months before the troubles came, of a formal betrothal between us, and, had it not been for the coolness between our fathers, it would have taken place." "yes, i remember now your telling me about it, charlie. "well, what is to be done? for i agree with you that, if possible, john dormay must escape from the punishment he deserves. but how is it to be done?" "well, harry, a week or two will make no difference to our fathers. they will have no expectation of hearing from us, for a long time to come. i should say it were best that i should go down and warn him, and i shall be glad if you will go with me." "of course i will go," harry said. "indeed, it were best that the warning came from me. the man is a villain, and a reckless one; and in his passion, when he hears that his rascality is known, the prize for which he schemed snatched from him, and his very life in danger, might even seek to vent his rage and spite upon you. now it is clear, charlie, that you could not very well kill a man, and afterwards marry his daughter. the thing would be scarce seemly. but the fellow is no kinsman of mine. he has grievously injured us, and i could kill him without the smallest compunction, and thereby rid the world of a scoundrel, and you of a prospective father-in-law of the most objectionable kind." charlie laughed. "no, harry; we will have no killing. we will go down and see him together. we will let him know that the orders are probably already on the road for his arrest, and that he had best lose not an hour, but at once cross the water. i should not think that he would wish to encumber himself with women, for i never thought he showed the least affection to either his wife or daughter. at any rate, we will see that he does not take them with him. i will tell him that, if he goes, and goes alone, i will do my best to hush up the matter; and that, so long as he remains abroad, the tale of his villainy shall never be told; but that, if he returns, the confession of nicholson shall be published throughout the country, even if no prosecution is brought against him." when they called upon the duke, he shook them warmly by the hand. "this parchment is the royal assent to the decision of the council, that the estates of those inculpated in the alleged plot for the assassination of the late king should be forthwith restored to them, it having been clearly proved that they have been falsely accused of the said crime, and that her majesty is satisfied that these gentlemen are her true and loyal subjects. "i think i may say," the duke continued with a smile, "that no affair of state has ever been so promptly conducted and carried through." "we feel how deeply indebted we are, for our good fortune, to your kindness, your grace," charlie said. "we know that, but for you, months might have elapsed, even years, before we could have obtained such a result, even after we had the confession of nicholson in our hands." "i am glad, in every way, to have been able to bring this about," the duke said. "in the first place, because i have been able to right a villainous piece of injustice; in the second, because those injured were loyal gentlemen, with no fault save their steadfast adherence to the cause of the stuarts; and lastly, because one of these gentlemen was my own good friend, mat jervoise, of whose company i have so many pleasant recollections. "i hope that, as soon as you have informed your fathers that their names are cleared, and their property restored, you will think of what i said, and will decide to quit the service of sweden, and enter that of your queen. "an officer fighting for a foreign monarch is, after all, but a soldier of fortune, however valiantly he fights. he is fighting for a cause that is not his own, and, though he may win rewards and honours, he has not the satisfaction that all must feel who have risked their lives, not for gold, but in the service of their country. but i do not want any answer from you on that head now. it is a matter for you to decide upon after due thought. i only say that i shall go out, early in the spring, to take command of the army; and that, if you present yourselves to me before i leave, i shall be glad to appoint you on my personal staff, with the same rank you now hold. "you can now leave the country without any farther trouble. as to the affair of the man dormay, a messenger has been sent off, this afternoon, with an order to the magistrates at lancaster, to arrest him on the charge of suborning false evidence, by which the lives of some of her majesty's subjects were endangered; and of forging letters whereby such evil designs might be furthered. i do not suppose i shall see you again before you sail, for tomorrow we go down to our country place, and may remain there some weeks. i may say that it was the desire to get your affair finished, before we left town, that conduced somewhat to the speed with which it has been carried through." after again thanking the duke most warmly for his kindness, and saying that they would lay his offer before their fathers, and that their own inclinations were altogether in favour of accepting it, the young men took their leave. "it is unfortunate about dormay." "most unfortunate," harry said. "i think, if we start tomorrow morning, harry, we shall be in time. there is no reason why the messenger should travel at any extraordinary speed, and, as he may be detained at lancaster, and some delay may arise before officers are sent up to lynnwood to make the arrest, we may be in time. "we must take a note of the date. it is one we shall remember all our lives. it is the th of november, and we will keep it up as a day of festivity and rejoicing, as long as we live." "that will we," harry agreed. "it shall be the occasion of an annual gathering of those who got into trouble from those suppers at sir marmaduke's. i fancy the others are all in france, but their friends will surely be able to let them know, as soon as they hear the good news. "i think we shall have a stormy ride tomorrow. the sky looks very wild and threatening." "it does, indeed; and the wind has got up very much, in the last hour.'' "yes, we are going to have a storm, beyond all doubt." the wind got up hourly, and when, before going to bed, they went to pass an hour at a tavern, they had difficulty in making their way against it. several times in the night they were awoke by the gusts, which shook the whole house, and they heard the crashing of falling chimney pots above the din of the gale. they had arranged to start as soon as it was light, and had, the evening before, been to a posting inn, and engaged a carriage with four horses for the journey down to lancashire. "there is no starting today, gentlemen," the landlord said, as they went down to breakfast by candlelight. "i have looked out, and the street is strewn with chimney pots and tiles. never do i remember such a gale, and hour by hour it seems to get worse. why, it is dangerous to go across the street." "well, we must try," charlie said, "whatever the weather. it is a matter of almost life and death." "well, gentlemen, you must please yourselves, but i am mistaken if any horse keeper will let his animals out, on such a day as this." as soon as they had eaten their breakfasts, they wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, pressed their hats over their heads, and sallied out. it was not until they were in the streets that they realized how great was the force of the gale. not only were the streets strewn with tiles and fragments of chimney pots, but there was light enough for them to see that many of the upper windows of the houses had been blown in by the force of the wind. tiles flew about like leaves in autumn, and occasionally gutters and sheets of lead, stripped from the roofs, flew along with prodigious swiftness. "this is as bad as a pitched battle, charlie. i would as lief be struck by a cannonball as by one of those strips of lead." "well, we must risk it, harry. we must make the attempt, anyhow." it was with the greatest difficulty that they made their way along. although powerful young fellows, they were frequently obliged to cling to the railings, to prevent themselves from being swept away by the gusts, and they had more than one narrow escape from falling chimneys. although the distance they had to traverse was not more than a quarter of a mile, it took them half an hour to accomplish it. the post master looked at them in surprise, as they entered his office flushed and disordered. "why, gentlemen, you are not thinking of going on such a day as this? it would be a sheer impossibility. why, the carriage would be blown over, and if it wasn't, no horses would face this wind." "we would be willing to pay anything you may like to ask," charlie said. "it ain't a question of money, sir. if you were to buy the four horses and the carriage, you would be no nearer, for no post boy would be mad enough to ride them; and, even supposing you got one stage, which you never would do, you would have to buy horses again, for no one would be fool enough to send his animals out. you could not do it, sir. why, i hear there are half a dozen houses, within a dozen yards of this, that have been altogether unroofed, and it is getting worse instead of better. if it goes on like this, i doubt if there will be a steeple standing in london tomorrow. "listen to that!" there was a tremendous crash, and, running out into the street, they saw a mass of beams and tiles lying in the roadway--a house two doors away had been completely unroofed. they felt that, in such a storm, it was really impossible to proceed, and accordingly returned to their lodgings, performing the distance in a fraction of the time it had before taken them. for some hours the gale continued to increase in fury. not a soul was to be seen in the streets. occasional heavy crashes told of the damage that was being wrought, and, at times, the house shook so that it seemed as if it would fall. never was such a storm known in england. the damage done was enormous. the shores were strewn with wrecks. twelve ships of the royal navy, with fifteen hundred men, were lost; and an enormous number of merchant vessels. many steeples, houses, and buildings of all kinds were overthrown, and the damage, in london alone, was estimated at a million pounds. there were few who went to bed that night. many thought that the whole city would be destroyed. towards morning, however, the fury of the gale somewhat abated, and by nightfall the danger had passed. the next morning the two friends started, and posted down to lancashire. the journey was a long one. in many places the road was completely blocked by fallen trees, and sometimes by the ruins of houses and barns. in the former case, long detours had often to be made through villainous roads, where the wheels sank almost to their axles, and, in spite of the most liberal bribes to post boys and post masters, the journey occupied four days longer than the usual time. at last, they reached the lodge gate of lynnwood. a man came out from the cottage. he was the same who had been there in sir marmaduke's time. charlie jumped out of the post chaise. "why, norman, don't you know me?" the man looked hard at him. "no, sir, i can't say as i do." "what, not charlie carstairs?" "bless me, it is the young master!" the man said. "to think of my not knowing you. but you have changed wonderful. why, sir, i have been thinking of you often and often, and most of all the last three days, but i never thought of you like this." "why the last three days, norman?" "haven't you heard the news, sir?" "no, i have heard nothing. captain jervoise and i--my old friend, you know, norman--have posted all the way from london, and should have been here six days ago, if it had not been for the storm." "well, sir, there is bad news; at least, i don't know whether you will consider it bad. most of the folk about here looks at it the other way. but the man in there shot hisself, three days ago. a magistrate, with some men from lancaster, came over here. they say it was to arrest him, but i don't know the rights of the case. anyhow, it is said they read some paper over to him, and then he opened a drawer at the table where he was sitting, and pulled out a pistol, and shot hisself before anyone could stop him. "there have been bad goings here of late, mr. charles, very bad, especially for the last year. he was not friends with his son, they say, but the news of his death drove him to drink, worse than before; and besides, there have been dicing, and all sorts of goings on, and i doubt not but that the ladies have had a terrible time of it. there were several men staying in the house, but they all took themselves off, as soon as it was over, and there are only the ladies there now. they will be glad enough to see you, i will be bound." charlie was shocked; but at the same time, he could not but feel that it was the best thing that could happen, and harry freely expressed himself to that effect. "we won't take the carriage up to the house," charlie said, after a long pause. "take the valises out, and bring them up to the house presently, norman." he paid the postilion who had brought them from lancaster, and stood quiet until the carriage had driven off. "i hope sir marmaduke is well, sir. we have missed him sorely here." "he was quite well when i saw him, ten weeks ago. i hope he will be here before long. i am happy to say that his innocence of the charge brought against him has been proved, and his estates, and those of mr. jervoise and the other gentlemen, have been restored by the queen." "that is good news, indeed, sir," the man exclaimed. "the best i have heard for many a long year. everyone about here will go wild with joy." "then don't mention it at present, norman. any rejoicings would be unseemly, while john dormay is lying dead there." "shall i go up with you, charlie, or will you go alone?" harry asked. "of course, there are some horses here, and you could lend me one to drive over to our own place." "you shall do that presently, harry, and tell them the news. but come in now. you know my cousin and ciceley. it will be all the better that you should go in with me." his cousin received charlie with a quiet pleasure. she was greatly changed since he had seen her last, and her face showed that she had suffered greatly. ciceley had grown into a young woman, and met him with delight. both were pleased to see harry. "we were talking of you but now, charlie," mrs. dormay said. "ciceley and i agreed that we would remove at once to our old place, and that this should be kept up for you, should you at any time be able to return. now that queen anne is on the throne, and the tories are in power, we hoped that you, at least, would ere long be permitted to return. how is your dear father?" "he is well, cousin, and will, i trust, be here ere long. our innocence of the charge has been proved, the proceedings against us quashed, and the act of confiscation against my father, mr. jervoise, and the others reversed." "thank god for that," mrs. dormay said earnestly, and ciceley gave an exclamation of pleasure. "that accounts, then, for what has happened here. "i do not want to talk about it, charlie. you may imagine how ciceley and i have suffered. but he was my husband, spare him for my sake." "i will never allude to the subject again, cousin," charlie said. "but i must tell you that harry and i have posted down from london, in hopes of being in time to warn him, and enable him to escape. i need not say we did so because he was your husband, and ciceley's father." harry then turned the subject, by a remark as to the effects of the storm. then ciceley asked questions as to their life abroad, and there was so much to tell, and to listen to, that even mrs. dormay's face brightened. harry willingly allowed himself to be persuaded to remain for the night, and to ride over to his place in the morning. the funeral took place two days later. charlie went as sole mourner. "he was my kinsman," he said to harry, "and, though i can pretend no sorrow at his death, my attendance at the funeral will do something towards stopping talk, and will make it easier for my cousin." the next day, mrs. dormay and ciceley returned to rockley, whose tenant had fortunately left a few weeks before. charlie and harry both went over with them, and stayed for three or four days, and they were glad to see that mrs. dormay seemed to be shaking off the weight of her trouble, and was looking more like her old self. they then rode to lancaster, and returned to london by coach. they crossed to gottenburg by the first vessel that was sailing, and sir marmaduke was delighted to hear the success of their mission, and that he was at liberty to return at once, as master of lynnwood. "luck favoured you somewhat, charlie, in throwing that vagabond in your way, but for all else we have to thank you both, for the manner in which you have carried the affair out, and captured your fox. as for john dormay, 'tis the best thing that could have happened. i have often thought it over, while you have been away, and have said to myself that the best settlement of the business would be that you, harry, when you obtained proofs, should go down, confront him publicly, and charge him with his treachery, force him to draw, and then run him through the body. charlie would, of course, have been the proper person, in my absence, so to settle the matter, but he could not well have killed my cousin's husband, and it would have added to the scandal. "however, the way it has turned out is better altogether. it will be only a nine days' wonder. the man has been cut by all the gentry, and when it is known that he shot himself to escape arrest, many will say that it was a fit ending, and will trouble themselves no more concerning him. "you are coming back with me, i hope, charlie. i have seen but little of you for the last four years, and if you are, as you say, going with the duke of marlborough to the war in the spring, i don't want to lose sight of you again till then. you can surely resign your commission here without going back to the army, especially as you have leave of absence until the end of march." charlie hesitated. "i think so, too," harry said. "i know that the colonel told the king the whole story, when he asked for leave for me and obtained that paper. he told my father that the king was greatly interested, and said: 'i hope the young fellows will succeed, though i suppose, if they do, i shall lose two promising young officers.' so he will not be surprised when he hears that we have resigned. "as for me, i shall, of course, go on at once. my father will, i am sure, be delighted to return home. the hardships have told upon him a good deal, and he has said several times, of late, how much he wished he could see his way to retiring. i think, too, he will gladly consent to my entering our own service, instead of that of sweden. he would not have done so, i am sure, had william been still on the throne. now it is altogether different." "well, harry, if you do see the king, as it is possible you may do, or if you do not, you might speak to the colonel, and ask him, in my name, to express to charles my regret at leaving his service, in which i have been so well treated, and say how much i feel the kindly interest that his majesty has been pleased to take in me. if there had been any chance of the war coming to an end shortly, i should have remained to see it out; but, now that the polish business may be considered finished, it will be continued with russia, and may go on for years, for the czar is just as obstinate and determined as charles himself." accordingly, the next morning, charlie sent in the formal resignation of his commission to the war minister at stockholm, and harry left by ship for revel. sir marmaduke placed his business affairs in the hands of a scotch merchant at gottenburg, with instructions to call in the money he had lent on mortgage, and, two days later, took passage with charlie for hull, whence they posted across the country to lancaster, and then drove to lynnwood. as soon as the news spread that sir marmaduke had returned, the church bells rang a joyous peal, bonfires were lighted, the tenants flocked in to greet him, and the gentry for miles round rode over to welcome and congratulate him. the next morning he and charlie rode over to rockley. "oh, marmaduke," cried celia, "i am happy indeed to know that you are back again. i have never known a day's happiness since you went." "well, don't let us think any more about it, celia," sir marmaduke said, as he kissed her tenderly. "let us look on it all as an ugly dream. it has not been without its advantages, as far as we are concerned. it has taken me out of myself, and broadened my view of things. i have not had at all an unpleasant time of it in sweden, and shall enjoy my home all the more, now that i have been away from it for a while. as to charlie, it has made a man of him. he has gained a great deal of credit, and had opportunities of showing that he is made of good stuff; and now he enters upon life with every advantage, and has a start, indeed, such as very few young fellows can have. he enters our army as a captain, under the eye of marlborough himself, with a reputation gained under that of the greatest soldier in europe. "so we have no reason to regret the past, cousin, and on that score you have no cause for grief. as to the future, i trust that it will be bright for both of us, and i think," he added meaningly, "our former plans for our children are likely to be some day realized." four years later, indeed, the union that both parents had at heart took place, during one of the pauses of the fierce struggle between the british forces under marlborough, and the french. at blenheim, ramillies, and oudenarde, and in several long and toilsome sieges, charlie had distinguished himself greatly, and was regarded by marlborough as one of the most energetic and trustworthy of his officers. he had been twice severely wounded, and had gained the rank of colonel. harry jervoise--who had had a leg shot away, below the knee, by a cannonball at ramillies, and had then left the army with the rank of major--was, on the same day as his friend, married to the daughter of one of the gentlemen who had been driven into exile with his father. in the spring charlie again joined the army, and commanded a brigade in the desperate struggle on the hill of malplaquet, one of the hardest fought battles in the history of war. peace was made shortly afterwards, and, at the reduction of the army that followed, he went on half pay, and settled down for life at lynnwood, where tony peters and his wife had, at the death of the former occupant of the lodge, been established. when harry jervoise returned to the swedish headquarters, with the news that his father was cleared, he was the bearer of a very handsome present from charlie to his faithful servant stanislas, who had, on their return from poland, been at once employed by count piper on other service. when, years afterwards, the young pretender marched south with the highland clans, neither charlie nor harry were among the gentlemen who joined him. he had their good wishes, but, having served in the british army, they felt that they could not join the movement in arms against the british crown; and indeed, the strong jacobite feelings of their youth had been greatly softened down by their contact with the world, and they had learned to doubt much whether the restoration of the stuarts would tend, in any way, to the benefit or prosperity of britain. they felt all the more obliged to stand aloof from the struggle, inasmuch as both had sons, in the army, that had fought valiantly against the french at dettingen and fontenoy. the families always remained united in the closest friendship, and more than one marriage took place between the children of charlie carstairs and harry jervoise. [transcriber's note: the inconsistent orthography of the original is retained in this etext.] the wonderful adventures of nils by selma lagerlÖf translated from the swedish by velma swanston howard contents the boy akka from kebnekaise the wonderful journey of nils glimminge castle the great crane dance on kullaberg in rainy weather the stairway with the three steps by ronneby river karlskrona the trip to Öland Öland's southern point the big butterfly little karl's island two cities the legend of småland the crows the old peasant woman from taberg to huskvarna the big bird lake ulvåsa-lady the homespun cloth the story of karr and grayskin the wind witch the breaking up of the ice thumbietot and the bears the flood dunfin stockholm gorgo the eagle on over gästrikland a day in hälsingland in medelpad a morning in Ångermanland westbottom and lapland osa, the goose girl, and little mats with the laplanders homeward bound legends from härjedalen vermland and dalsland the treasure on the island the journey to vemminghög home at last the parting with the wild geese _some of the purely geographical matter in the swedish original of the "further adventures of nils" has been eliminated from the english version. the author has rendered valuable assistance in cutting certain chapters and abridging others. also, with the author's approval, cuts have been made where the descriptive matter was merely of local interest. but the story itself is intact. v.s.h_. the boy the elf _sunday, march twentieth_. once there was a boy. he was--let us say--something like fourteen years old; long and loose-jointed and towheaded. he wasn't good for much, that boy. his chief delight was to eat and sleep; and after that--he liked best to make mischief. it was a sunday morning and the boy's parents were getting ready to go to church. the boy sat on the edge of the table, in his shirt sleeves, and thought how lucky it was that both father and mother were going away, and the coast would be clear for a couple of hours. "good! now i can take down pop's gun and fire off a shot, without anybody's meddling interference," he said to himself. but it was almost as if father should have guessed the boy's thoughts, for just as he was on the threshold--ready to start--he stopped short, and turned toward the boy. "since you won't come to church with mother and me," he said, "the least you can do, is to read the service at home. will you promise to do so?" "yes," said the boy, "that i can do easy enough." and he thought, of course, that he wouldn't read any more than he felt like reading. the boy thought that never had he seen his mother so persistent. in a second she was over by the shelf near the fireplace, and took down luther's commentary and laid it on the table, in front of the window--opened at the service for the day. she also opened the new testament, and placed it beside the commentary. finally, she drew up the big arm-chair, which was bought at the parish auction the year before, and which, as a rule, no one but father was permitted to occupy. the boy sat thinking that his mother was giving herself altogether too much trouble with this spread; for he had no intention of reading more than a page or so. but now, for the second time, it was almost as if his father were able to see right through him. he walked up to the boy, and said in a severe tone: "now, remember, that you are to read carefully! for when we come back, i shall question you thoroughly; and if you have skipped a single page, it will not go well with you." "the service is fourteen and a half pages long," said his mother, just as if she wanted to heap up the measure of his misfortune. "you'll have to sit down and begin the reading at once, if you expect to get through with it." with that they departed. and as the boy stood in the doorway watching them, he thought that he had been caught in a trap. "there they go congratulating themselves, i suppose, in the belief that they've hit upon something so good that i'll be forced to sit and hang over the sermon the whole time that they are away," thought he. but his father and mother were certainly not congratulating themselves upon anything of the sort; but, on the contrary, they were very much distressed. they were poor farmers, and their place was not much bigger than a garden-plot. when they first moved there, the place couldn't feed more than one pig and a pair of chickens; but they were uncommonly industrious and capable folk--and now they had both cows and geese. things had turned out very well for them; and they would have gone to church that beautiful morning--satisfied and happy--if they hadn't had their son to think of. father complained that he was dull and lazy; he had not cared to learn anything at school, and he was such an all-round good-for-nothing, that he could barely be made to tend geese. mother did not deny that this was true; but she was most distressed because he was wild and bad; cruel to animals, and ill-willed toward human beings. "may god soften his hard heart, and give him a better disposition!" said the mother, "or else he will be a misfortune, both to himself and to us." the boy stood for a long time and pondered whether he should read the service or not. finally, he came to the conclusion that, this time, it was best to be obedient. he seated himself in the easy chair, and began to read. but when he had been rattling away in an undertone for a little while, this mumbling seemed to have a soothing effect upon him--and he began to nod. it was the most beautiful weather outside! it was only the twentieth of march; but the boy lived in west vemminghög township, down in southern skane, where the spring was already in full swing. it was not as yet green, but it was fresh and budding. there was water in all the trenches, and the colt's-foot on the edge of the ditch was in bloom. all the weeds that grew in among the stones were brown and shiny. the beech-woods in the distance seemed to swell and grow thicker with every second. the skies were high--and a clear blue. the cottage door stood ajar, and the lark's trill could be heard in the room. the hens and geese pattered about in the yard, and the cows, who felt the spring air away in their stalls, lowed their approval every now and then. the boy read and nodded and fought against drowsiness. "no! i don't want to fall asleep," thought he, "for then i'll not get through with this thing the whole forenoon." but--somehow--he fell asleep. he did not know whether he had slept a short while, or a long while; but he was awakened by hearing a slight noise back of him. on the window-sill, facing the boy, stood a small looking-glass; and almost the entire cottage could be seen in this. as the boy raised his head, he happened to look in the glass; and then he saw that the cover to his mother's chest had been opened. his mother owned a great, heavy, iron-bound oak chest, which she permitted no one but herself to open. here she treasured all the things she had inherited from her mother, and of these she was especially careful. here lay a couple of old-time peasant dresses, of red homespun cloth, with short bodice and plaited shirt, and a pearl-bedecked breast pin. there were starched white-linen head-dresses, and heavy silver ornaments and chains. folks don't care to go about dressed like that in these days, and several times his mother had thought of getting rid of the old things; but somehow, she hadn't had the heart to do it. now the boy saw distinctly--in the glass--that the chest-lid was open. he could not understand how this had happened, for his mother had closed the chest before she went away. she never would have left that precious chest open when he was at home, alone. he became low-spirited and apprehensive. he was afraid that a thief had sneaked his way into the cottage. he didn't dare to move; but sat still and stared into the looking-glass. while he sat there and waited for the thief to make his appearance, he began to wonder what that dark shadow was which fell across the edge of the chest. he looked and looked--and did not want to believe his eyes. but the thing, which at first seemed shadowy, became more and more clear to him; and soon he saw that it was something real. it was no less a thing than an elf who sat there--astride the edge of the chest! to be sure, the boy had heard stories about elves, but he had never dreamed that they were such tiny creatures. he was no taller than a hand's breadth--this one, who sat on the edge of the chest. he had an old, wrinkled and beardless face, and was dressed in a black frock coat, knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed black hat. he was very trim and smart, with his white laces about the throat and wrist-bands, his buckled shoes, and the bows on his garters. he had taken from the chest an embroidered piece, and sat and looked at the old-fashioned handiwork with such an air of veneration, that he did not observe the boy had awakened. the boy was somewhat surprised to see the elf, but, on the other hand, he was not particularly frightened. it was impossible to be afraid of one who was so little. and since the elf was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he neither saw nor heard, the boy thought that it would be great fun to play a trick on him; to push him over into the chest and shut the lid on him, or something of that kind. but the boy was not so courageous that he dared to touch the elf with his hands, instead he looked around the room for something to poke him with. he let his gaze wander from the sofa to the leaf-table; from the leaf-table to the fireplace. he looked at the kettles, then at the coffee-urn, which stood on a shelf, near the fireplace; on the water bucket near the door; and on the spoons and knives and forks and saucers and plates, which could be seen through the half-open cupboard door. he looked at his father's gun, which hung on the wall, beside the portrait of the danish royal family, and on the geraniums and fuchsias, which blossomed in the window. and last, he caught sight of an old butterfly-snare that hung on the window frame. he had hardly set eyes on that butterfly-snare, before he reached over and snatched it and jumped up and swung it alongside the edge of the chest. he was himself astonished at the luck he had. he hardly knew how he had managed it--but he had actually snared the elf. the poor little chap lay, head downward, in the bottom of the long snare, and could not free himself. the first moment the boy hadn't the least idea what he should do with his prize. he was only particular to swing the snare backward and forward; to prevent the elf from getting a foothold and clambering up. the elf began to speak, and begged, oh! so pitifully, for his freedom. he had brought them good luck--these many years--he said, and deserved better treatment. now, if the boy would set him free, he would give him an old coin, a silver spoon, and a gold penny, as big as the case on his father's silver watch. the boy didn't think that this was much of an offer; but it so happened--that after he had gotten the elf in his power, he was afraid of him. he felt that he had entered into an agreement with something weird and uncanny; something which did not belong to his world, and he was only too glad to get rid of the horrid thing. for this reason he agreed at once to the bargain, and held the snare still, so the elf could crawl out of it. but when the elf was almost out of the snare, the boy happened to think that he ought to have bargained for large estates, and all sorts of good things. he should at least have made this stipulation: that the elf must conjure the sermon into his head. "what a fool i was to let him go!" thought he, and began to shake the snare violently, so the elf would tumble down again. but the instant the boy did this, he received such a stinging box on the ear, that he thought his head would fly in pieces. he was dashed--first against one wall, then against the other; he sank to the floor, and lay there--senseless. when he awoke, he was alone in the cottage. the chest-lid was down, and the butterfly-snare hung in its usual place by the window. if he had not felt how the right cheek burned, from that box on the ear, he would have been tempted to believe the whole thing had been a dream. "at any rate, father and mother will be sure to insist that it was nothing else," thought he. "they are not likely to make any allowances for that old sermon, on account of the elf. it's best for me to get at that reading again," thought he. but as he walked toward the table, he noticed something remarkable. it couldn't be possible that the cottage had grown. but why was he obliged to take so many more steps than usual to get to the table? and what was the matter with the chair? it looked no bigger than it did a while ago; but now he had to step on the rung first, and then clamber up in order to reach the seat. it was the same thing with the table. he could not look over the top without climbing to the arm of the chair. "what in all the world is this?" said the boy. "i believe the elf has bewitched both the armchair and the table--and the whole cottage." the commentary lay on the table and, to all appearances, it was not changed; but there must have been something queer about that too, for he could not manage to read a single word of it, without actually standing right in the book itself. he read a couple of lines, and then he chanced to look up. with that, his glance fell on the looking-glass; and then he cried aloud: "look! there's another one!" for in the glass he saw plainly a little, little creature who was dressed in a hood and leather breeches. "why, that one is dressed exactly like me!" said the boy, and clasped his hands in astonishment. but then he saw that the thing in the mirror did the same thing. then he began to pull his hair and pinch his arms and swing round; and instantly he did the same thing after him; he, who was seen in the mirror. the boy ran around the glass several times, to see if there wasn't a little man hidden behind it, but he found no one there; and then he began to shake with terror. for now he understood that the elf had bewitched him, and that the creature whose image he saw in the glass--was he, himself. the wild geese the boy simply could not make himself believe that he had been transformed into an elf. "it can't be anything but a dream--a queer fancy," thought he. "if i wait a few moments, i'll surely be turned back into a human being again." he placed himself before the glass and closed his eyes. he opened them again after a couple of minutes, and then expected to find that it had all passed over--but it hadn't. he was--and remained--just as little. in other respects, he was the same as before. the thin, straw-coloured hair; the freckles across his nose; the patches on his leather breeches and the darns on his stockings, were all like themselves, with this exception--that they had become diminished. no, it would do no good for him to stand still and wait, of this he was certain. he must try something else. and he thought the wisest thing that he could do was to try and find the elf, and make his peace with him. and while he sought, he cried and prayed and promised everything he could think of. nevermore would he break his word to anyone; never again would he be naughty; and never, never would he fall asleep again over the sermon. if he might only be a human being once more, he would be such a good and helpful and obedient boy. but no matter how much he promised--it did not help him the least little bit. suddenly he remembered that he had heard his mother say, all the tiny folk made their home in the cowsheds; and, at once, he concluded to go there, and see if he couldn't find the elf. it was a lucky thing that the cottage-door stood partly open, for he never could have reached the bolt and opened it; but now he slipped through without any difficulty. when he came out in the hallway, he looked around for his wooden shoes; for in the house, to be sure, he had gone about in his stocking-feet. he wondered how he should manage with these big, clumsy wooden shoes; but just then, he saw a pair of tiny shoes on the doorstep. when he observed that the elf had been so thoughtful that he had also bewitched the wooden shoes, he was even more troubled. it was evidently his intention that this affliction should last a long time. on the wooden board-walk in front of the cottage, hopped a gray sparrow. he had hardly set eyes on the boy before he called out: "teetee! teetee! look at nils goosey-boy! look at thumbietot! look at nils holgersson thumbietot!" instantly, both the geese and the chickens turned and stared at the boy; and then they set up a fearful cackling. "cock-el-i-coo," crowed the rooster, "good enough for him! cock-el-i-coo, he has pulled my comb." "ka, ka, kada, serves him right!" cried the hens; and with that they kept up a continuous cackle. the geese got together in a tight group, stuck their heads together and asked: "who can have done this? who can have done this?" but the strangest thing of all was, that the boy understood what they said. he was so astonished, that he stood there as if rooted to the doorstep, and listened. "it must be because i am changed into an elf," said he. "this is probably why i understand bird-talk." he thought it was unbearable that the hens would not stop saying that it served him right. he threw a stone at them and shouted: "shut up, you pack!" but it hadn't occurred to him before, that he was no longer the sort of boy the hens need fear. the whole henyard made a rush for him, and formed a ring around him; then they all cried at once: "ka, ka, kada, served you right! ka, ka, kada, served you right!" the boy tried to get away, but the chickens ran after him and screamed, until he thought he'd lose his hearing. it is more than likely that he never could have gotten away from them, if the house cat hadn't come along just then. as soon as the chickens saw the cat, they quieted down and pretended to be thinking of nothing else than just to scratch in the earth for worms. immediately the boy ran up to the cat. "you dear pussy!" said he, "you must know all the corners and hiding places about here? you'll be a good little kitty and tell me where i can find the elf." the cat did not reply at once. he seated himself, curled his tail into a graceful ring around his paws--and stared at the boy. it was a large black cat with one white spot on his chest. his fur lay sleek and soft, and shone in the sunlight. the claws were drawn in, and the eyes were a dull gray, with just a little narrow dark streak down the centre. the cat looked thoroughly good-natured and inoffensive. "i know well enough where the elf lives," he said in a soft voice, "but that doesn't say that i'm going to tell _you_ about it." "dear pussy, you must tell me where the elf lives!" said the boy. "can't you see how he has bewitched me?" the cat opened his eyes a little, so that the green wickedness began to shine forth. he spun round and purred with satisfaction before he replied. "shall i perhaps help you because you have so often grabbed me by the tail?" he said at last. then the boy was furious and forgot entirely how little and helpless he was now. "oh! i can pull your tail again, i can," said he, and ran toward the cat. the next instant the cat was so changed that the boy could scarcely believe it was the same animal. every separate hair on his body stood on end. the back was bent; the legs had become elongated; the claws scraped the ground; the tail had grown thick and short; the ears were laid back; the mouth was frothy; and the eyes were wide open and glistened like sparks of red fire. the boy didn't want to let himself be scared by a cat, and he took a step forward. then the cat made one spring and landed right on the boy; knocked him down and stood over him--his forepaws on his chest, and his jaws wide apart--over his throat. the boy felt how the sharp claws sank through his vest and shirt and into his skin; and how the sharp eye-teeth tickled his throat. he shrieked for help, as loudly as he could, but no one came. he thought surely that his last hour had come. then he felt that the cat drew in his claws and let go the hold on his throat. "there!" he said, "that will do now. i'll let you go this time, for my mistress's sake. i only wanted you to know which one of us two has the power now." with that the cat walked away--looking as smooth and pious as he did when he first appeared on the scene. the boy was so crestfallen that he didn't say a word, but only hurried to the cowhouse to look for the elf. there were not more than three cows, all told. but when the boy came in, there was such a bellowing and such a kick-up, that one might easily have believed that there were at least thirty. "moo, moo, moo," bellowed mayrose. "it is well there is such a thing as justice in this world." "moo, moo, moo," sang the three of them in unison. he couldn't hear what they said, for each one tried to out-bellow the others. the boy wanted to ask after the elf, but he couldn't make himself heard because the cows were in full uproar. they carried on as they used to do when he let a strange dog in on them. they kicked with their hind legs, shook their necks, stretched their heads, and measured the distance with their horns. "come here, you!" said mayrose, "and you'll get a kick that you won't forget in a hurry!" "come here," said gold lily, "and you shall dance on my horns!" "come here, and you shall taste how it felt when you threw your wooden shoes at me, as you did last summer!" bawled star. "come here, and you shall be repaid for that wasp you let loose in my ear!" growled gold lily. mayrose was the oldest and the wisest of them, and she was the very maddest. "come here!" said she, "that i may pay you back for the many times that you have jerked the milk pail away from your mother; and for all the snares you laid for her, when she came carrying the milk pails; and for all the tears when she has stood here and wept over you!" the boy wanted to tell them how he regretted that he had been unkind to them; and that never, never--from now on--should he be anything but good, if they would only tell him where the elf was. but the cows didn't listen to him. they made such a racket that he began to fear one of them would succeed in breaking loose; and he thought that the best thing for him to do was to go quietly away from the cowhouse. when he came out, he was thoroughly disheartened. he could understand that no one on the place wanted to help him find the elf. and little good would it do him, probably, if the elf were found. he crawled up on the broad hedge which fenced in the farm, and which was overgrown with briers and lichen. there he sat down to think about how it would go with him, if he never became a human being again. when father and mother came home from church, there would be a surprise for them. yes, a surprise--it would be all over the land; and people would come flocking from east vemminghög, and from torp, and from skerup. the whole vemminghög township would come to stare at him. perhaps father and mother would take him with them, and show him at the market place in kivik. no, that was too horrible to think about. he would rather that no human being should ever see him again. his unhappiness was simply frightful! no one in all the world was so unhappy as he. he was no longer a human being--but a freak. little by little he began to comprehend what it meant--to be no longer human. he was separated from everything now; he could no longer play with other boys, he could not take charge of the farm after his parents were gone; and certainly no girl would think of marrying _him_. he sat and looked at his home. it was a little log house, which lay as if it had been crushed down to earth, under the high, sloping roof. the outhouses were also small; and the patches of ground were so narrow that a horse could barely turn around on them. but little and poor though the place was, it was much too good for him _now_. he couldn't ask for any better place than a hole under the stable floor. it was wondrously beautiful weather! it budded, and it rippled, and it murmured, and it twittered--all around him. but he sat there with such a heavy sorrow. he should never be happy any more about anything. never had he seen the skies as blue as they were to-day. birds of passage came on their travels. they came from foreign lands, and had travelled over the east sea, by way of smygahuk, and were now on their way north. they were of many different kinds; but he was only familiar with the wild geese, who came flying in two long rows, which met at an angle. several flocks of wild geese had already flown by. they flew very high, still he could hear how they shrieked: "to the hills! now we're off to the hills!" when the wild geese saw the tame geese, who walked about the farm, they sank nearer the earth, and called: "come along! come along! we're off to the hills!" the tame geese could not resist the temptation to raise their heads and listen, but they answered very sensibly: "we're pretty well off where we are. we're pretty well off where we are." it was, as we have said, an uncommonly fine day, with an atmosphere that it must have been a real delight to fly in, so light and bracing. and with each new wild geese-flock that flew by, the tame geese became more and more unruly. a couple of times they flapped their wings, as if they had half a mind to fly along. but then an old mother-goose would always say to them: "now don't be silly. those creatures will have to suffer both hunger and cold." there was a young gander whom the wild geese had fired with a passion for adventure. "if another flock comes this way, i'll follow them," said he. then there came a new flock, who shrieked like the others, and the young gander answered: "wait a minute! wait a minute! i'm coming." he spread his wings and raised himself into the air; but he was so unaccustomed to flying, that he fell to the ground again. at any rate, the wild geese must have heard his call, for they turned and flew back slowly to see if he was coming. "wait, wait!" he cried, and made another attempt to fly. all this the boy heard, where he lay on the hedge. "it would be a great pity," thought he, "if the big goosey-gander should go away. it would be a big loss to father and mother if he was gone when they came home from church." when he thought of this, once again he entirely forgot that he was little and helpless. he took one leap right down into the goose-flock, and threw his arms around the neck of the goosey-gander. "oh, no! you don't fly away this time, sir!" cried he. but just about then, the gander was considering how he should go to work to raise himself from the ground. he couldn't stop to shake the boy off, hence he had to go along with him--up in the air. they bore on toward the heights so rapidly, that the boy fairly gasped. before he had time to think that he ought to let go his hold around the gander's neck, he was so high up that he would have been killed instantly, if he had fallen to the ground. the only thing that he could do to make himself a little more comfortable, was to try and get upon the gander's back. and there he wriggled himself forthwith; but not without considerable trouble. and it was not an easy matter, either, to hold himself secure on the slippery back, between two swaying wings. he had to dig deep into feathers and down with both hands, to keep from tumbling to the ground. the big checked cloth the boy had grown so giddy that it was a long while before he came to himself. the winds howled and beat against him, and the rustle of feathers and swaying of wings sounded like a whole storm. thirteen geese flew around him, flapping their wings and honking. they danced before his eyes and they buzzed in his ears. he didn't know whether they flew high or low, or in what direction they were travelling. after a bit, he regained just enough sense to understand that he ought to find out where the geese were taking him. but this was not so easy, for he didn't know how he should ever muster up courage enough to look down. he was sure he'd faint if he attempted it. the wild geese were not flying very high because the new travelling companion could not breathe in the very thinnest air. for his sake they also flew a little slower than usual. at last the boy just made himself cast one glance down to earth. then he thought that a great big rug lay spread beneath him, which was made up of an incredible number of large and small checks. "where in all the world am i now?" he wondered. he saw nothing but check upon check. some were broad and ran crosswise, and some were long and narrow--all over, there were angles and corners. nothing was round, and nothing was crooked. "what kind of a big, checked cloth is this that i'm looking down on?" said the boy to himself without expecting anyone to answer him. but instantly the wild geese who flew about him called out: "fields and meadows. fields and meadows." then he understood that the big, checked cloth he was travelling over was the flat land of southern sweden; and he began to comprehend why it looked so checked and multi-coloured. the bright green checks he recognised first; they were rye fields that had been sown in the fall, and had kept themselves green under the winter snows. the yellowish-gray checks were stubble-fields--the remains of the oat-crop which had grown there the summer before. the brownish ones were old clover meadows: and the black ones, deserted grazing lands or ploughed-up fallow pastures. the brown checks with the yellow edges were, undoubtedly, beech-tree forests; for in these you'll find the big trees which grow in the heart of the forest--naked in winter; while the little beech-trees, which grow along the borders, keep their dry, yellowed leaves way into the spring. there were also dark checks with gray centres: these were the large, built-up estates encircled by the small cottages with their blackening straw roofs, and their stone-divided land-plots. and then there were checks green in the middle with brown borders: these were the orchards, where the grass-carpets were already turning green, although the trees and bushes around them were still in their nude, brown bark. the boy could not keep from laughing when he saw how checked everything looked. but when the wild geese heard him laugh, they called out--kind o' reprovingly: "fertile and good land. fertile and good land." the boy had already become serious. "to think that you can laugh; you, who have met with the most terrible misfortune that can possibly happen to a human being!" thought he. and for a moment he was pretty serious; but it wasn't long before he was laughing again. now that he had grown somewhat accustomed to the ride and the speed, so that he could think of something besides holding himself on the gander's back, he began to notice how full the air was of birds flying northward. and there was a shouting and a calling from flock to flock. "so you came over to-day?" shrieked some. "yes," answered the geese. "how do you think the spring's getting on?" "not a leaf on the trees and ice-cold water in the lakes," came back the answer. when the geese flew over a place where they saw any tame, half-naked fowl, they shouted: "what's the name of this place? what's the name of this place?" then the roosters cocked their heads and answered: "its name's lillgarde this year--the same as last year." most of the cottages were probably named after their owners--which is the custom in skåne. but instead of saying this is "per matssons," or "ola bossons," the roosters hit upon the kind of names which, to their way of thinking, were more appropriate. those who lived on small farms, and belonged to poor cottagers, cried: "this place is called grainscarce." and those who belonged to the poorest hut-dwellers screamed: "the name of this place is little-to-eat, little-to-eat, little-to-eat." the big, well-cared-for farms got high-sounding names from the roosters--such as luckymeadows, eggberga and moneyville. but the roosters on the great landed estates were too high and mighty to condescend to anything like jesting. one of them crowed and called out with such gusto that it sounded as if he wanted to be heard clear up to the sun: "this is herr dybeck's estate; the same this year as last year; this year as last year." a little further on strutted one rooster who crowed: "this is swanholm, surely all the world knows that!" the boy observed that the geese did not fly straight forward; but zigzagged hither and thither over the whole south country, just as though they were glad to be in skåne again and wanted to pay their respects to every separate place. they came to one place where there were a number of big, clumsy-looking buildings with great, tall chimneys, and all around these were a lot of smaller houses. "this is jordberga sugar refinery," cried the roosters. the boy shuddered as he sat there on the goose's back. he ought to have recognised this place, for it was not very far from his home. here he had worked the year before as a watch boy; but, to be sure, nothing was exactly like itself when one saw it like that--from up above. and think! just think! osa the goose girl and little mats, who were his comrades last year! indeed the boy would have been glad to know if they still were anywhere about here. fancy what they would have said, had they suspected that he was flying over their heads! soon jordberga was lost to sight, and they travelled towards svedala and skaber lake and back again over görringe cloister and häckeberga. the boy saw more of skåne in this one day than he had ever seen before--in all the years that he had lived. whenever the wild geese happened across any tame geese, they had the best fun! they flew forward very slowly and called down: "we're off to the hills. are you coming along? are you coming along?" but the tame geese answered: "it's still winter in this country. you're out too soon. fly back! fly back!" the wild geese lowered themselves that they might be heard a little better, and called: "come along! we'll teach you how to fly and swim." then the tame geese got mad and wouldn't answer them with a single honk. the wild geese sank themselves still lower--until they almost touched the ground--then, quick as lightning, they raised themselves, just as if they'd been terribly frightened. "oh, oh, oh!" they exclaimed. "those things were not geese. they were only sheep, they were only sheep." the ones on the ground were beside themselves with rage and shrieked: "may you be shot, the whole lot o' you! the whole lot o' you!" when the boy heard all this teasing he laughed. then he remembered how badly things had gone with him, and he cried. but the next second, he was laughing again. never before had he ridden so fast; and to ride fast and recklessly--that he had always liked. and, of course, he had never dreamed that it could be as fresh and bracing as it was, up in the air; or that there rose from the earth such a fine scent of resin and soil. nor had he ever dreamed what it could be like--to ride so high above the earth. it was just like flying away from sorrow and trouble and annoyances of every kind that could be thought of. akka from kebnekaise evening the big tame goosey-gander that had followed them up in the air, felt very proud of being permitted to travel back and forth over the south country with the wild geese, and crack jokes with the tame birds. but in spite of his keen delight, he began to tire as the afternoon wore on. he tried to take deeper breaths and quicker wing-strokes, but even so he remained several goose-lengths behind the others. when the wild geese who flew last, noticed that the tame one couldn't keep up with them, they began to call to the goose who rode in the centre of the angle and led the procession: "akka from kebnekaise! akka from kebnekaise!" "what do you want of me?" asked the leader. "the white one will be left behind; the white one will be left behind." "tell him it's easier to fly fast than slow!" called the leader, and raced on as before. the goosey-gander certainly tried to follow the advice, and increase his speed; but then he became so exhausted that he sank away down to the drooping willows that bordered the fields and meadows. "akka, akka, akka from kebnekaise!" cried those who flew last and saw what a hard time he was having. "what do you want now?" asked the leader--and she sounded awfully angry. "the white one sinks to the earth; the white one sinks to the earth." "tell him it's easier to fly high than low!" shouted the leader, and she didn't slow up the least little bit, but raced on as before. the goosey-gander tried also to follow this advice; but when he wanted to raise himself, he became so winded that he almost burst his breast. "akka, akka!" again cried those who flew last. "can't you let me fly in peace?" asked the leader, and she sounded even madder than before. "the white one is ready to collapse." "tell him that he who has not the strength to fly with the flock, can go back home!" cried the leader. she certainly had no idea of decreasing her speed--but raced on as before. "oh! is that the way the wind blows," thought the goosey-gander. he understood at once that the wild geese had never intended to take him along up to lapland. they had only lured him away from home in sport. he felt thoroughly exasperated. to think that his strength should fail him now, so he wouldn't be able to show these tramps that even a tame goose was good for something! but the most provoking thing of all was that he had fallen in with akka from kebnekaise. tame goose that he was, he had heard about a leader goose, named akka, who was more than a hundred years old. she had such a big name that the best wild geese in the world followed her. but no one had such a contempt for tame geese as akka and her flock, and gladly would he have shown them that he was their equal. he flew slowly behind the rest, while he deliberated whether he should turn back or continue. finally, the little creature that he carried on his back said: "dear morten goosey-gander, you know well enough that it is simply impossible for you, who have never flown, to go with the wild geese all the way up to lapland. won't you turn back before you kill yourself?" but the farmer's lad was about the worst thing the goosey-gander knew anything about, and as soon as it dawned on him that this puny creature actually believed that he couldn't make the trip, he decided to stick it out. "if you say another word about this, i'll drop you into the first ditch we ride over!" said he, and at the same time his fury gave him so much strength that he began to fly almost as well as any of the others. it isn't likely that he could have kept this pace up very long, neither was it necessary; for, just then, the sun sank quickly; and at sunset the geese flew down, and before the boy and the goosey-gander knew what had happened, they stood on the shores of vomb lake. "they probably intend that we shall spend the night here," thought the boy, and jumped down from the goose's back. he stood on a narrow beach by a fair-sized lake. it was ugly to look upon, because it was almost entirely covered with an ice-crust that was blackened and uneven and full of cracks and holes--as spring ice generally is. the ice was already breaking up. it was loose and floating and had a broad belt of dark, shiny water all around it; but there was still enough of it left to spread chill and winter terror over the place. on the other side of the lake there appeared to be an open and light country, but where the geese had lighted there was a thick pine-growth. it looked as if the forest of firs and pines had the power to bind the winter to itself. everywhere else the ground was bare; but beneath the sharp pine-branches lay snow that had been melting and freezing, melting and freezing, until it was hard as ice. the boy thought he had struck an arctic wilderness, and he was so miserable that he wanted to scream. he was hungry too. he hadn't eaten a bite the whole day. but where should he find any food? nothing eatable grew on either ground or tree in the month of march. yes, where was he to find food, and who would give him shelter, and who would fix his bed, and who would protect him from the wild beasts? for now the sun was away and frost came from the lake, and darkness sank down from heaven, and terror stole forward on the twilight's trail, and in the forest it began to patter and rustle. now the good humour which the boy had felt when he was up in the air, was gone, and in his misery he looked around for his travelling companions. he had no one but them to cling to now. then he saw that the goosey-gander was having even a worse time of it than he. he was lying prostrate on the spot where he had alighted; and it looked as if he were ready to die. his neck lay flat against the ground, his eyes were closed, and his breathing sounded like a feeble hissing. "dear morten goosey-gander," said the boy, "try to get a swallow of water! it isn't two steps to the lake." but the goosey-gander didn't stir. the boy had certainly been cruel to all animals, and to the goosey-gander in times gone by; but now he felt that the goosey-gander was the only comfort he had left, and he was dreadfully afraid of losing him. at once the boy began to push and drag him, to get him into the water, but the goosey-gander was big and heavy, and it was mighty hard work for the boy; but at last he succeeded. the goosey-gander got in head first. for an instant he lay motionless in the slime, but soon he poked up his head, shook the water from his eyes and sniffed. then he swam, proudly, between reeds and seaweed. the wild geese were in the lake before him. they had not looked around for either the goosey-gander or for his rider, but had made straight for the water. they had bathed and primped, and now they lay and gulped half-rotten pond-weed and water-clover. the white goosey-gander had the good fortune to spy a perch. he grabbed it quickly, swam ashore with it, and laid it down in front of the boy. "here's a thank you for helping me into the water," said he. it was the first time the boy had heard a friendly word that day. he was so happy that he wanted to throw his arms around the goosey-gander's neck, but he refrained; and he was also thankful for the gift. at first he must have thought that it would be impossible to eat raw fish, and then he had a notion to try it. he felt to see if he still had his sheath-knife with him; and, sure enough, there it hung--on the back button of his trousers, although it was so diminished that it was hardly as long as a match. well, at any rate, it served to scale and cleanse fish with; and it wasn't long before the perch was eaten. when the boy had satisfied his hunger, he felt a little ashamed because he had been able to eat a raw thing. "it's evident that i'm not a human being any longer, but a real elf," thought he. while the boy ate, the goosey-gander stood silently beside him. but when he had swallowed the last bite, he said in a low voice: "it's a fact that we have run across a stuck-up goose folk who despise all tame birds." "yes, i've observed that," said the boy. "what a triumph it would be for me if i could follow them clear up to lapland, and show them that even a tame goose can do things!" "y-e-e-s," said the boy, and drawled it out because he didn't believe the goosey-gander could ever do it; yet he didn't wish to contradict him. "but i don't think i can get along all alone on such a journey," said the goosey-gander. "i'd like to ask if you couldn't come along and help me?" the boy, of course, hadn't expected anything but to return to his home as soon as possible, and he was so surprised that he hardly knew what he should reply. "i thought that we were enemies, you and i," said he. but this the goosey-gander seemed to have forgotten entirely. he only remembered that the boy had but just saved his life. "i suppose i really ought to go home to father and mother," said the boy. "oh! i'll get you back to them some time in the fall," said the goosey-gander. "i shall not leave you until i put you down on your own doorstep." the boy thought it might be just as well for him if he escaped showing himself before his parents for a while. he was not disinclined to favour the scheme, and was just on the point of saying that he agreed to it--when they heard a loud rumbling behind them. it was the wild geese who had come up from the lake--all at one time--and stood shaking the water from their backs. after that they arranged themselves in a long row--with the leader-goose in the centre--and came toward them. as the white goosey-gander sized up the wild geese, he felt ill at ease. he had expected that they should be more like tame geese, and that he should feel a closer kinship with them. they were much smaller than he, and none of them were white. they were all gray with a sprinkling of brown. he was almost afraid of their eyes. they were yellow, and shone as if a fire had been kindled back of them. the goosey-gander had always been taught that it was most fitting to move slowly and with a rolling motion, but these creatures did not walk--they half ran. he grew most alarmed, however, when he looked at their feet. these were large, and the soles were torn and ragged-looking. it was evident that the wild geese never questioned what they tramped upon. they took no by-paths. they were very neat and well cared for in other respects, but one could see by their feet that they were poor wilderness-folk. the goosey-gander only had time to whisper to the boy: "speak up quickly for yourself, but don't tell them who you are!"--before the geese were upon them. when the wild geese had stopped in front of them, they curtsied with their necks many times, and the goosey-gander did likewise many more times. as soon as the ceremonies were over, the leader-goose said: "now i presume we shall hear what kind of creatures you are." "there isn't much to tell about me," said the goosey-gander. "i was born in skanor last spring. in the fall i was sold to holger nilsson of west vemminghög, and there i have lived ever since." "you don't seem to have any pedigree to boast of," said the leader-goose. "what is it, then, that makes you so high-minded that you wish to associate with wild geese?" "it may be because i want to show you wild geese that we tame ones may also be good for something," said the goosey-gander. "yes, it would be well if you could show us that," said the leader-goose. "we have already observed how much you know about flying; but you are more skilled, perhaps, in other sports. possibly you are strong in a swimming match?" "no, i can't boast that i am," said the goosey-gander. it seemed to him that the leader-goose had already made up her mind to send him home, so he didn't much care how he answered. "i never swam any farther than across a marl-ditch," he continued. "then i presume you're a crack sprinter," said the goose. "i have never seen a tame goose run, nor have i ever done it myself," said the goosey-gander; and he made things appear much worse than they really were. the big white one was sure now that the leader-goose would say that under no circumstances could they take him along. he was very much astonished when she said: "you answer questions courageously; and he who has courage can become a good travelling companion, even if he is ignorant in the beginning. what do you say to stopping with us for a couple of days, until we can see what you are good for?" "that suits me!" said the goosey-gander--and he was thoroughly happy. thereupon the leader-goose pointed with her bill and said: "but who is that you have with you? i've never seen anything like him before." "that's my comrade," said the goosey-gander. "he's been a goose-tender all his life. he'll be useful all right to take with us on the trip." "yes, he may be all right for a tame goose," answered the wild one. "what do you call him?" "he has several names," said the goosey-gander--hesitantly, not knowing what he should hit upon in a hurry, for he didn't want to reveal the fact that the boy had a human name. "oh! his name is thumbietot," he said at last. "does he belong to the elf family?" asked the leader-goose. "at what time do you wild geese usually retire?" said the goosey-gander quickly--trying to evade that last question. "my eyes close of their own accord about this time." one could easily see that the goose who talked with the gander was very old. her entire feather outfit was ice-gray, without any dark streaks. the head was larger, the legs coarser, and the feet were more worn than any of the others. the feathers were stiff; the shoulders knotty; the neck thin. all this was due to age. it was only upon the eyes that time had had no effect. they shone brighter--as if they were younger--than any of the others! she turned, very haughtily, toward the goosey-gander. "understand, mr. tame-goose, that i am akka from kebnekaise! and that the goose who flies nearest me--to the right--is iksi from vassijaure, and the one to the left, is kaksi from nuolja! understand, also, that the second right-hand goose is kolmi from sarjektjakko, and the second, left, is neljä from svappavaara; and behind them fly viisi from oviksfjällen and kuusi from sjangeli! and know that these, as well as the six goslings who fly last--three to the right, and three to the left--are all high mountain geese of the finest breed! you must not take us for land-lubbers who strike up a chance acquaintance with any and everyone! and you must not think that we permit anyone to share our quarters, that will not tell us who his ancestors were." when akka, the leader-goose, talked in this way, the boy stepped briskly forward. it had distressed him that the goosey-gander, who had spoken up so glibly for himself, should give such evasive answers when it concerned him. "i don't care to make a secret of who i am," said he. "my name is nils holgersson. i'm a farmer's son, and, until to-day, i have been a human being; but this morning--" he got no further. as soon as he had said that he was human the leader-goose staggered three steps backward, and the rest of them even farther back. they all extended their necks and hissed angrily at him. "i have suspected this ever since i first saw you here on these shores," said akka; "and now you can clear out of here at once. we tolerate no human beings among us." "it isn't possible," said the goosey-gander, meditatively, "that you wild geese can be afraid of anyone who is so tiny! by to-morrow, of course, he'll turn back home. you can surely let him stay with us overnight. none of us can afford to let such a poor little creature wander off by himself in the night--among weasels and foxes!" the wild goose came nearer. but it was evident that it was hard for her to master her fear. "i have been taught to fear everything in human shape--be it big or little," said she. "but if you will answer for this one, and swear that he will not harm us, he can stay with us to-night. but i don't believe our night quarters are suitable either for him or you, for we intend to roost on the broken ice out here." she thought, of course, that the goosey-gander would be doubtful when he heard this, but he never let on. "she is pretty wise who knows how to choose such a safe bed," said he. "you will be answerable for his return to his own to-morrow." "then i, too, will have to leave you," said the goosey-gander. "i have sworn that i would not forsake him." "you are free to fly whither you will," said the leader-goose. with this, she raised her wings and flew out over the ice and one after another the wild geese followed her. the boy was very sad to think that his trip to lapland would not come off, and, in the bargain, he was afraid of the chilly night quarters. "it will be worse and worse," said he. "in the first place, we'll freeze to death on the ice." but the gander was in a good humour. "there's no danger," said he. "only make haste, i beg of you, and gather together as much grass and litter as you can well carry." when the boy had his arms full of dried grass, the goosey-gander grabbed him by the shirt-band, lifted him, and flew out on the ice, where the wild geese were already fast asleep, with their bills tucked under their wings. "now spread out the grass on the ice, so there'll be something to stand on, to keep me from freezing fast. you help me and i'll help you," said the goosey-gander. this the boy did. and when he had finished, the goosey-gander picked him up, once again, by the shirt-band, and tucked him under his wing. "i think you'll lie snug and warm there," said the goosey-gander as he covered him with his wing. the boy was so imbedded in down that he couldn't answer, and he was nice and comfy. oh, but he was tired!--and in less than two winks he was fast asleep. night it is a fact that ice is always treacherous and not to be trusted. in the middle of the night the loosened ice-cake on vomb lake moved about, until one corner of it touched the shore. now it happened that mr. smirre fox, who lived at this time in Övid cloister park--on the east side of the lake--caught a glimpse of that one corner, while he was out on his night chase. smirre had seen the wild geese early in the evening, and hadn't dared to hope that he might get at one of them, but now he walked right out on the ice. when smirre was very near to the geese, his claws scraped the ice, and the geese awoke, flapped their wings, and prepared for flight. but smirre was too quick for them. he darted forward as though he'd been shot; grabbed a goose by the wing, and ran toward land again. but this night the wild geese were not alone on the ice, for they had a human being among them--little as he was. the boy had awakened when the goosey-gander spread his wings. he had tumbled down on the ice and was sitting there, dazed. he hadn't grasped the whys and wherefores of all this confusion, until he caught sight of a little long-legged dog who ran over the ice with a goose in his mouth. in a minute the boy was after that dog, to try and take the goose away from him. he must have heard the goosey-gander call to him: "have a care, thumbietot! have a care!" but the boy thought that such a little runt of a dog was nothing to be afraid of and he rushed ahead. the wild goose that smirre fox tugged after him, heard the clatter as the boy's wooden shoes beat against the ice, and she could hardly believe her ears. "does that infant think he can take me away from the fox?" she wondered. and in spite of her misery, she began to cackle right merrily, deep down in her windpipe. it was almost as if she had laughed. "the first thing he knows, he'll fall through a crack in the ice," thought she. but dark as the night was, the boy saw distinctly all the cracks and holes there were, and took daring leaps over them. this was because he had the elf's good eyesight now, and could see in the dark. he saw both lake and shore just as clearly as if it had been daylight. smirre fox left the ice where it touched the shore. and just as he was working his way up to the land-edge, the boy shouted: "drop that goose, you sneak!" smirre didn't know who was calling to him, and wasted no time in looking around, but increased his pace. the fox made straight for the forest and the boy followed him, with never a thought of the danger he was running. all he thought about was the contemptuous way in which he had been received by the wild geese; and he made up his mind to let them see that a human being was something higher than all else created. he shouted, again and again, to that dog, to make him drop his game. "what kind of a dog are you, who can steal a whole goose and not feel ashamed of yourself? drop her at once! or you'll see what a beating you'll get. drop her, i say, or i'll tell your master how you behave!" when smirre fox saw that he had been mistaken for a scary dog, he was so amused that he came near dropping the goose. smirre was a great plunderer who wasn't satisfied with only hunting rats and pigeons in the fields, but he also ventured into the farmyards to steal chickens and geese. he knew that he was feared throughout the district; and anything as idiotic as this he had not heard since he was a baby. the boy ran so fast that the thick beech-trees appeared to be running past him--backward, but he caught up with smirre. finally, he was so close to him that he got a hold on his tail. "now i'll take the goose from you anyway," cried he, and held on as hard as ever he could, but he hadn't strength enough to stop smirre. the fox dragged him along until the dry foliage whirled around him. but now it began to dawn on smirre how harmless the thing was that pursued him. he stopped short, put the goose on the ground, and stood on her with his forepaws, so she couldn't fly away. he was just about to bite off her neck--but then he couldn't resist the desire to tease the boy a little. "hurry off and complain to the master, for now i'm going to bite the goose to death!" said he. certainly the one who was surprised when he saw what a pointed nose, and heard what a hoarse and angry voice that dog which he was pursuing had,--was the boy! but now he was so enraged because the fox had made fun of him, that he never thought of being frightened. he took a firmer hold on the tail, braced himself against a beech trunk; and just as the fox opened his jaws over the goose's throat, he pulled as hard as he could. smirre was so astonished that he let himself be pulled backward a couple of steps--and the wild goose got away. she fluttered upward feebly and heavily. one wing was so badly wounded that she could barely use it. in addition to this, she could not see in the night darkness of the forest but was as helpless as the blind. therefore she could in no way help the boy; so she groped her way through the branches and flew down to the lake again. then smirre made a dash for the boy. "if i don't get the one, i shall certainly have the other," said he; and you could tell by his voice how mad he was. "oh, don't you believe it!" said the boy, who was in the best of spirits because he had saved the goose. he held fast by the fox-tail, and swung with it--to one side--when the fox tried to catch him. there was such a dance in that forest that the dry beech-leaves fairly flew! smirre swung round and round, but the tail swung too; while the boy kept a tight grip on it, so the fox could not grab him. the boy was so gay after his success that in the beginning, he laughed and made fun of the fox. but smirre was persevering--as old hunters generally are--and the boy began to fear that he should be captured in the end. then he caught sight of a little, young beech-tree that had shot up as slender as a rod, that it might soon reach the free air above the canopy of branches which the old beeches spread above it. quick as a flash, he let go of the fox-tail and climbed the beech tree. smirre fox was so excited that he continued to dance around after his tail. "don't bother with the dance any longer!" said the boy. but smirre couldn't endure the humiliation of his failure to get the better of such a little tot, so he lay down under the tree, that he might keep a close watch on him. the boy didn't have any too good a time of it where he sat, astride a frail branch. the young beech did not, as yet, reach the high branch-canopy, so the boy couldn't get over to another tree, and he didn't dare to come down again. he was so cold and numb that he almost lost his hold around the branch; and he was dreadfully sleepy; but he didn't dare fall asleep for fear of tumbling down. my! but it was dismal to sit in that way the whole night through, out in the forest! he never before understood the real meaning of "night." it was just as if the whole world had become petrified, and never could come to life again. then it commenced to dawn. the boy was glad that everything began to look like itself once more; although the chill was even sharper than it had been during the night. finally, when the sun got up, it wasn't yellow but red. the boy thought it looked as though it were angry and he wondered what it was angry about. perhaps it was because the night had made it so cold and gloomy on earth, while the sun was away. the sunbeams came down in great clusters, to see what the night had been up to. it could be seen how everything blushed--as if they all had guilty consciences. the clouds in the skies; the satiny beech-limbs; the little intertwined branches of the forest-canopy; the hoar-frost that covered the foliage on the ground--everything grew flushed and red. more and more sunbeams came bursting through space, and soon the night's terrors were driven away, and such a marvellous lot of living things came forward. the black woodpecker, with the red neck, began to hammer with its bill on the branch. the squirrel glided from his nest with a nut, and sat down on a branch and began to shell it. the starling came flying with a worm, and the bulfinch sang in the tree-top. then the boy understood that the sun had said to all these tiny creatures: "wake up now, and come out of your nests! i'm here! now you need be afraid of nothing." the wild-goose call was heard from the lake, as they were preparing for flight; and soon all fourteen geese came flying through the forest. the boy tried to call to them, but they flew so high that his voice couldn't reach them. they probably believed the fox had eaten him up; and they didn't trouble themselves to look for him. the boy came near crying with regret; but the sun stood up there--orange-coloured and happy--and put courage into the whole world. "it isn't worth while, nils holgersson, for you to be troubled about anything, as long as i'm here," said the sun. goose-play _monday, march twenty-first_. everything remained unchanged in the forest--about as long as it takes a goose to eat her breakfast. but just as the morning was verging on forenoon, a goose came flying, all by herself, under the thick tree-canopy. she groped her way hesitatingly, between the stems and branches, and flew very slowly. as soon as smirre fox saw her, he left his place under the beech tree, and sneaked up toward her. the wild goose didn't avoid the fox, but flew very close to him. smirre made a high jump for her but he missed her; and the goose went on her way down to the lake. it was not long before another goose came flying. she took the same route as the first one; and flew still lower and slower. she, too, flew close to smirre fox, and he made such a high spring for her, that his ears brushed her feet. but she, too, got away from him unhurt, and went her way toward the lake, silent as a shadow. a little while passed and then there came another wild goose. she flew still slower and lower; and it seemed even more difficult for her to find her way between the beech-branches. smirre made a powerful spring! he was within a hair's breadth of catching her; but that goose also managed to save herself. just after she had disappeared, came a fourth. she flew so slowly, and so badly, that smirre fox thought he could catch her without much effort, but he was afraid of failure now, and concluded to let her fly past--unmolested. she took the same direction the others had taken; and just as she was come right above smirre, she sank down so far that he was tempted to jump for her. he jumped so high that he touched her with his tail. but she flung herself quickly to one side and saved her life. before smirre got through panting, three more geese came flying in a row. they flew just like the rest, and smirre made high springs for them all, but he did not succeed in catching any one of them. after that came five geese; but these flew better than the others. and although it seemed as if they wanted to lure smirre to jump, he withstood the temptation. after quite a long time came one single goose. it was the thirteenth. this one was so old that she was gray all over, without a dark speck anywhere on her body. she didn't appear to use one wing very well, but flew so wretchedly and crookedly, that she almost touched the ground. smirre not only made a high leap for her, but he pursued her, running and jumping all the way down to the lake. but not even this time did he get anything for his trouble. when the fourteenth goose came along, it looked very pretty because it was white. and as its great wings swayed, it glistened like a light, in the dark forest. when smirre fox saw this one, he mustered all his resources and jumped half-way up to the tree-canopy. but the white one flew by unhurt like the rest. now it was quiet for a moment under the beeches. it looked as if the whole wild-goose-flock had travelled past. suddenly smirre remembered his prisoner and raised his eyes toward the young beech-tree. and just as he might have expected--the boy had disappeared. but smirre didn't have much time to think about him; for now the first goose came back again from the lake and flew slowly under the canopy. in spite of all his ill luck, smirre was glad that she came back, and darted after her with a high leap. but he had been in too much of a hurry, and hadn't taken the time to calculate the distance, and he landed at one side of the goose. then there came still another goose; then a third; a fourth; a fifth; and so on, until the angle closed in with the old ice-gray one, and the big white one. they all flew low and slow. just as they swayed in the vicinity of smirre fox, they sank down--kind of inviting-like--for him to take them. smirre ran after them and made leaps a couple of fathoms high--but he couldn't manage to get hold of a single one of them. it was the most awful day that smirre fox had ever experienced. the wild geese kept on travelling over his head. they came and went--came and went. great splendid geese who had eaten themselves fat on the german heaths and grain fields, swayed all day through the woods, and so close to him that he touched them many times; yet he was not permitted to appease his hunger with a single one of them. the winter was hardly gone yet, and smirre recalled nights and days when he had been forced to tramp around in idleness, with not so much as a hare to hunt, when the rats hid themselves under the frozen earth; and when the chickens were all shut up. but all the winter's hunger had not been as hard to endure as this day's miscalculations. smirre was no young fox. he had had the dogs after him many a time, and had heard the bullets whizz around his ears. he had lain in hiding, down in the lair, while the dachshunds crept into the crevices and all but found him. but all the anguish that smirre fox had been forced to suffer under this hot chase, was not to be compared with what he suffered every time that he missed one of the wild geese. in the morning, when the play began, smirre fox had looked so stunning that the geese were amazed when they saw him. smirre loved display. his coat was a brilliant red; his breast white; his nose black; and his tail was as bushy as a plume. but when the evening of this day was come, smirre's coat hung in loose folds. he was bathed in sweat; his eyes were without lustre; his tongue hung far out from his gaping jaws; and froth oozed from his mouth. in the afternoon smirre was so exhausted that he grew delirious. he saw nothing before his eyes but flying geese. he made leaps for sun-spots which he saw on the ground; and for a poor little butterfly that had come out of his chrysalis too soon. the wild geese flew and flew, unceasingly. all day long they continued to torment smirre. they were not moved to pity because smirre was done up, fevered, and out of his head. they continued without a let-up, although they understood that he hardly saw them, and that he jumped after their shadows. when smirre fox sank down on a pile of dry leaves, weak and powerless and almost ready to give up the ghost, they stopped teasing him. "now you know, mr. fox, what happens to the one who dares to come near akka of kebnekaise!" they shouted in his ear; and with that they left him in peace. the wonderful journey of nils on the farm _thursday, march twenty-fourth_. just at that time a thing happened in skåne which created a good deal of discussion and even got into the newspapers but which many believed to be a fable, because they had not been able to explain it. it was about like this: a lady squirrel had been captured in the hazelbrush that grew on the shores of vomb lake, and was carried to a farmhouse close by. all the folks on the farm--both young and old--were delighted with the pretty creature with the bushy tail, the wise, inquisitive eyes, and the natty little feet. they intended to amuse themselves all summer by watching its nimble movements; its ingenious way of shelling nuts; and its droll play. they immediately put in order an old squirrel cage with a little green house and a wire-cylinder wheel. the little house, which had both doors and windows, the lady squirrel was to use as a dining room and bedroom. for this reason they placed therein a bed of leaves, a bowl of milk and some nuts. the cylinder wheel, on the other hand, she was to use as a play-house, where she could run and climb and swing round. the people believed that they had arranged things very comfortably for the lady squirrel, and they were astonished because she didn't seem to be contented; but, instead, she sat there, downcast and moody, in a corner of her room. every now and again, she would let out a shrill, agonised cry. she did not touch the food; and not once did she swing round on the wheel. "it's probably because she's frightened," said the farmer folk. "to-morrow, when she feels more at home, she will both eat and play." meanwhile, the women folk on the farm were making preparations for a feast; and just on that day when the lady squirrel had been captured, they were busy with an elaborate bake. they had had bad luck with something: either the dough wouldn't rise, or else they had been dilatory, for they were obliged to work long after dark. naturally there was a great deal of excitement and bustle in the kitchen, and probably no one there took time to think about the squirrel, or to wonder how she was getting on. but there was an old grandma in the house who was too aged to take a hand in the baking; this she herself understood, but just the same she did not relish the idea of being left out of the game. she felt rather downhearted; and for this reason she did not go to bed but seated herself by the sitting-room window and looked out. they had opened the kitchen door on account of the heat; and through it a clear ray of light streamed out on the yard; and it became so well lighted out there that the old woman could see all the cracks and holes in the plastering on the wall opposite. she also saw the squirrel cage which hung just where the light fell clearest. and she noticed how the squirrel ran from her room to the wheel, and from the wheel to her room, all night long, without stopping an instant. she thought it was a strange sort of unrest that had come over the animal; but she believed, of course, that the strong light kept her awake. between the cow-house and the stable there was a broad, handsome carriage-gate; this too came within the light-radius. as the night wore on, the old grandma saw a tiny creature, no bigger than a hand's breadth, cautiously steal his way through the gate. he was dressed in leather breeches and wooden shoes like any other working man. the old grandma knew at once that it was the elf, and she was not the least bit frightened. she had always heard that the elf kept himself somewhere about the place, although she had never seen him before; and an elf, to be sure, brought good luck wherever he appeared. as soon as the elf came into the stone-paved yard, he ran right up to the squirrel cage. and since it hung so high that he could not reach it, he went over to the store-house after a rod; placed it against the cage, and swung himself up--in the same way that a sailor climbs a rope. when he had reached the cage, he shook the door of the little green house as if he wanted to open it; but the old grandma didn't move; for she knew that the children had put a padlock on the door, as they feared that the boys on the neighbouring farms would try to steal the squirrel. the old woman saw that when the boy could not get the door open, the lady squirrel came out to the wire wheel. there they held a long conference together. and when the boy had listened to all that the imprisoned animal had to say to him, he slid down the rod to the ground, and ran out through the carriage-gate. the old woman didn't expect to see anything more of the elf that night, nevertheless, she remained at the window. after a few moments had gone by, he returned. he was in such a hurry that it seemed to her as though his feet hardly touched the ground; and he rushed right up to the squirrel cage. the old woman, with her far-sighted eyes, saw him distinctly; and she also saw that he carried something in his hands; but what it was she couldn't imagine. the thing he carried in his left hand he laid down on the pavement; but that which he held in his right hand he took with him to the cage. he kicked so hard with his wooden shoes on the little window that the glass was broken. he poked in the thing which he held in his hand to the lady squirrel. then he slid down again, and took up that which he had laid upon the ground, and climbed up to the cage with that also. the next instant he ran off again with such haste that the old woman could hardly follow him with her eyes. but now it was the old grandma who could no longer sit still in the cottage; but who, very slowly, went out to the back yard and stationed herself in the shadow of the pump to await the elf's return. and there was one other who had also seen him and had become curious. this was the house cat. he crept along slyly and stopped close to the wall, just two steps away from the stream of light. they both stood and waited, long and patiently, on that chilly march night, and the old woman was just beginning to think about going in again, when she heard a clatter on the pavement, and saw that the little mite of an elf came trotting along once more, carrying a burden in each hand, as he had done before. that which he bore squealed and squirmed. and now a light dawned on the old grandma. she understood that the elf had hurried down to the hazel-grove and brought back the lady squirrel's babies; and that he was carrying them to her so they shouldn't starve to death. the old grandma stood very still, so as not to disturb them; and it did not look as if the elf had noticed her. he was just going to lay one of the babies on the ground so that he could swing himself up to the cage with the other one--when he saw the house cat's green eyes glisten close beside him. he stood there, bewildered, with a young one in each hand. he turned around and looked in all directions; then he became aware of the old grandma's presence. then he did not hesitate long; but walked forward, stretched his arms as high as he could reach, for her to take one of the baby squirrels. the old grandma did not wish to prove herself unworthy of the confidence, so she bent down and took the baby squirrel, and stood there and held it until the boy had swung himself up to the cage with the other one. then he came back for the one he had entrusted to her care. the next morning, when the farm folk had gathered together for breakfast, it was impossible for the old woman to refrain from telling them of what she had seen the night before. they all laughed at her, of course, and said that she had been only dreaming. there were no baby squirrels this early in the year. but she was sure of her ground, and begged them to take a look into the squirrel cage and this they did. and there lay on the bed of leaves, four tiny half-naked, half blind baby squirrels, who were at least a couple of days old. when the farmer himself saw the young ones, he said: "be it as it may with this; but one thing is certain, we, on this farm, have behaved in such a manner that we are shamed before both animals and human beings." and, thereupon, he took the mother squirrel and all her young ones from the cage, and laid them in the old grandma's lap. "go thou out to the hazel-grove with them," said he, "and let them have their freedom back again!" it was this event that was so much talked about, and which even got into the newspapers, but which the majority would not credit because they were not able to explain how anything like that could have happened. vittskÖvle _saturday, march twenty-sixth_. two days later, another strange thing happened. a flock of wild geese came flying one morning, and lit on a meadow down in eastern skåne not very far from vittskövle manor. in the flock were thirteen wild geese, of the usual gray variety, and one white goosey-gander, who carried on his back a tiny lad dressed in yellow leather breeches, green vest, and a white woollen toboggan hood. they were now very near the eastern sea; and on the meadow where the geese had alighted the soil was sandy, as it usually is on the sea-coast. it looked as if, formerly, there had been flying sand in this vicinity which had to be held down; for in several directions large, planted pine-woods could be seen. when the wild geese had been feeding a while, several children came along, and walked on the edge of the meadow. the goose who was on guard at once raised herself into the air with noisy wing-strokes, so the whole flock should hear that there was danger on foot. all the wild geese flew upward; but the white one trotted along on the ground unconcerned. when he saw the others fly he raised his head and called after them: "you needn't fly away from these! they are only a couple of children!" the little creature who had been riding on his back, sat down upon a knoll on the outskirts of the wood and picked a pine-cone in pieces, that he might get at the seeds. the children were so close to him that he did not dare to run across the meadow to the white one. he concealed himself under a big, dry thistle-leaf, and at the same time gave a warning-cry. but the white one had evidently made up his mind not to let himself be scared. he walked along on the ground all the while; and not once did he look to see in what direction they were going. meanwhile, they turned from the path, walked across the field, getting nearer and nearer to the goosey-gander. when he finally did look up, they were right upon him. he was so dumfounded, and became so confused, he forgot that he could fly, and tried to get out of their reach by running. but the children followed, chasing him into a ditch, and there they caught him. the larger of the two stuck him under his arm and carried him off. when the boy, who lay under the thistle-leaf saw this, he sprang up as if he wanted to take the goosey-gander away from them; then he must have remembered how little and powerless he was, for he threw himself on the knoll and beat upon the ground with his clenched fists. the goosey-gander cried with all his might for help: "thumbietot, come and help me! oh, thumbietot, come and help me!" the boy began to laugh in the midst of his distress. "oh, yes! i'm just the right one to help anybody, i am!" said he. anyway he got up and followed the goosey-gander. "i can't help him," said he, "but i shall at least find out where they are taking him." the children had a good start; but the boy had no difficulty in keeping them within sight until they came to a hollow where a brook gushed forth. but here he was obliged to run alongside of it for some little time, before he could find a place narrow enough for him to jump over. when he came up from the hollow the children had disappeared. he could see their footprints on a narrow path which led to the woods, and these he continued to follow. soon he came to a cross-road. here the children must have separated, for there were footprints in two directions. the boy looked now as if all hope had fled. then he saw a little white down on a heather-knoll, and he understood that the goosey-gander had dropped this by the wayside to let him know in which direction he had been carried; and therefore he continued his search. he followed the children through the entire wood. the goosey-gander he did not see; but wherever he was likely to miss his way, lay a little white down to put him right. the boy continued faithfully to follow the bits of down. they led him out of the wood, across a couple of meadows, up on a road, and finally through the entrance of a broad _allée_. at the end of the _allée_ there were gables and towers of red tiling, decorated with bright borders and other ornamentations that glittered and shone. when the boy saw that this was some great manor, he thought he knew what had become of the goosey-gander. "no doubt the children have carried the goosey-gander to the manor and sold him there. by this time he's probably butchered," he said to himself. but he did not seem to be satisfied with anything less than proof positive, and with renewed courage he ran forward. he met no one in the _allée_--and that was well, for such as he are generally afraid of being seen by human beings. the mansion which he came to was a splendid, old-time structure with four great wings which inclosed a courtyard. on the east wing, there was a high arch leading into the courtyard. this far the boy ran without hesitation, but when he got there he stopped. he dared not venture farther, but stood still and pondered what he should do now. there he stood, with his finger on his nose, thinking, when he heard footsteps behind him; and as he turned around he saw a whole company march up the _allée_. in haste he stole behind a water-barrel which stood near the arch, and hid himself. those who came up were some twenty young men from a folk-high-school, out on a walking tour. they were accompanied by one of the instructors. when they were come as far as the arch, the teacher requested them to wait there a moment, while he went in and asked if they might see the old castle of vittskövle. the newcomers were warm and tired; as if they had been on a long tramp. one of them was so thirsty that he went over to the water-barrel and stooped down to drink. he had a tin box such as botanists use hanging about his neck. he evidently thought that this was in his way, for he threw it down on the ground. with this, the lid flew open, and one could see that there were a few spring flowers in it. the botanist's box dropped just in front of the boy; and he must have thought that here was his opportunity to get into the castle and find out what had become of the goosey-gander. he smuggled himself quickly into the box and concealed himself as well as he could under the anemones and colt's-foot. he was hardly hidden before the young man picked the box up, hung it around his neck, and slammed down the cover. then the teacher came back, and said that they had been given permission to enter the castle. at first he conducted them no farther than the courtyard. there he stopped and began to talk to them about this ancient structure. he called their attention to the first human beings who had inhabited this country, and who had been obliged to live in mountain-grottoes and earth-caves; in the dens of wild beasts, and in the brushwood; and that a very long period had elapsed before they learned to build themselves huts from the trunks of trees. and afterward how long had they not been forced to labour and struggle, before they had advanced from the log cabin, with its single room, to the building of a castle with a hundred rooms--like vittskövle! it was about three hundred and fifty years ago that the rich and powerful built such castles for themselves, he said. it was very evident that vittskövle had been erected at a time when wars and robbers made it unsafe in skåne. all around the castle was a deep trench filled with water; and across this there had been a bridge in bygone days that could be hoisted up. over the gate-arch there is, even to this day, a watch-tower; and all along the sides of the castle ran sentry-galleries, and in the corners stood towers with walls a metre thick. yet the castle had not been erected in the most savage war time; for jens brahe, who built it, had also studied to make of it a beautiful and decorative ornament. if they could see the big, solid stone structure at glimminge, which had been built only a generation earlier, they would readily see that jans holgersen ulfstand, the builder, hadn't figured upon anything else--only to build big and strong and secure, without bestowing a thought upon making it beautiful and comfortable. if they visited such castles as marsvinsholm, snogeholm and Övid's cloister--which were erected a hundred years or so later--they would find that the times had become less warlike. the gentlemen who built these places, had not furnished them with fortifications; but had only taken pains to provide themselves with great, splendid dwelling houses. the teacher talked at length--and in detail; and the boy who lay shut up in the box was pretty impatient; but he must have lain very still, for the owner of the box hadn't the least suspicion that he was carrying him along. finally the company went into the castle. but if the boy had hoped for a chance to crawl out of that box, he was deceived; for the student carried it upon him all the while, and the boy was obliged to accompany him through all the rooms. it was a tedious tramp. the teacher stopped every other minute to explain and instruct. in one room he found an old fireplace, and before this he stopped to talk about the different kinds of fireplaces that had been used in the course of time. the first indoors fireplace had been a big, flat stone on the floor of the hut, with an opening in the roof which let in both wind and rain. the next had been a big stone hearth with no opening in the roof. this must have made the hut very warm, but it also filled it with soot and smoke. when vittskövle was built, the people had advanced far enough to open the fireplace, which, at that time, had a wide chimney for the smoke; but it also took most of the warmth up in the air with it. if that boy had ever in his life been cross and impatient, he was given a good lesson in patience that day. it must have been a whole hour now that he had lain perfectly still. in the next room they came to, the teacher stopped before an old-time bed with its high canopy and rich curtains. immediately he began to talk about the beds and bed places of olden days. the teacher didn't hurry himself; but then he did not know, of course, that a poor little creature lay shut up in a botanist's box, and only waited for him to get through. when they came to a room with gilded leather hangings, he talked to them about how the people had dressed their walls and ceilings ever since the beginning of time. and when he came to an old family portrait, he told them all about the different changes in dress. and in the banquet halls he described ancient customs of celebrating weddings and funerals. thereupon, the teacher talked a little about the excellent men and women who had lived in the castle; about the old brahes, and the old barnekows; of christian barnekow, who had given his horse to the king to help him escape; of margareta ascheberg who had been married to kjell barnekow and who, when a widow, had managed the estates and the whole district for fifty-three years; of banker hageman, a farmer's son from vittskövle, who had grown so rich that he had bought the entire estate; about the stjernsvärds, who had given the people of skåne better ploughs, which enabled them to discard the ridiculous old wooden ploughs that three oxen were hardly able to drag. during all this, the boy lay still. if he had ever been mischievous and shut the cellar door on his father or mother, he understood now how they had felt; for it was hours and hours before that teacher got through. at last the teacher went out into the courtyard again. and there he discoursed upon the tireless labour of mankind to procure for themselves tools and weapons, clothes and houses and ornaments. he said that such an old castle as vittskövle was a mile-post on time's highway. here one could see how far the people had advanced three hundred and fifty years ago; and one could judge for oneself whether things had gone forward or backward since their time. but this dissertation the boy escaped hearing; for the student who carried him was thirsty again, and stole into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. when the boy was carried into the kitchen, he should have tried to look around for the goosey-gander. he had begun to move; and as he did this, he happened to press too hard against the lid--and it flew open. as botanists' box-lids are always flying open, the student thought no more about the matter but pressed it down again. then the cook asked him if he had a snake in the box. "no, i have only a few plants," the student replied. "it was certainly something that moved there," insisted the cook. the student threw back the lid to show her that she was mistaken. "see for yourself--if--" but he got no further, for now the boy dared not stay in the box any longer, but with one bound he stood on the floor, and out he rushed. the maids hardly had time to see what it was that ran, but they hurried after it, nevertheless. the teacher still stood and talked when he was interrupted by shrill cries. "catch him, catch him!" shrieked those who had come from the kitchen; and all the young men raced after the boy, who glided away faster than a rat. they tried to intercept him at the gate, but it was not so easy to get a hold on such a little creature, so, luckily, he got out in the open. the boy did not dare to run down toward the open _allée,_ but turned in another direction. he rushed through the garden into the back yard. all the while the people raced after him, shrieking and laughing. the poor little thing ran as hard as ever he could to get out of their way; but still it looked as though the people would catch up with him. as he rushed past a labourer's cottage, he heard a goose cackle, and saw a white down lying on the doorstep. there, at last, was the goosey-gander! he had been on the wrong track before. he thought no more of housemaids and men, who were hounding him, but climbed up the steps--and into the hallway. farther he couldn't come, for the door was locked. he heard how the goosey-gander cried and moaned inside, but he couldn't get the door open. the hunters that were pursuing him came nearer and nearer, and, in the room, the goosey-gander cried more and more pitifully. in this direst of needs the boy finally plucked up courage and pounded on the door with all his might. a child opened it, and the boy looked into the room. in the middle of the floor sat a woman who held the goosey-gander tight to clip his quill-feathers. it was her children who had found him, and she didn't want to do him any harm. it was her intention to let him in among her own geese, had she only succeeded in clipping his wings so he couldn't fly away. but a worse fate could hardly have happened to the goosey-gander, and he shrieked and moaned with all his might. and a lucky thing it was that the woman hadn't started the clipping sooner. now only two quills had fallen under the shears' when the door was opened--and the boy stood on the door-sill. but a creature like that the woman had never seen before. she couldn't believe anything else but that it was goa-nisse himself; and in her terror she dropped the shears, clasped her hands--and forgot to hold on to the goosey-gander. as soon as he felt himself freed, he ran toward the door. he didn't give himself time to stop; but, as he ran past him, he grabbed the boy by the neck-band and carried him along with him. on the stoop he spread his wings and flew up in the air; at the same time he made a graceful sweep with his neck and seated the boy on his smooth, downy back. and off they flew--while all vittskövle stood and stared after them. in Övid cloister park all that day, when the wild geese played with the fox, the boy lay and slept in a deserted squirrel nest. when he awoke, along toward evening, he felt very uneasy. "well, now i shall soon be sent home again! then i'll have to exhibit myself before father and mother," thought he. but when he looked up and saw the wild geese, who lay and bathed in vomb lake--not one of them said a word about his going. "they probably think the white one is too tired to travel home with me to-night," thought the boy. the next morning the geese were awake at daybreak, long before sunrise. now the boy felt sure that he'd have to go home; but, curiously enough, both he and the white goosey-gander were permitted to follow the wild ones on their morning tour. the boy couldn't comprehend the reason for the delay, but he figured it out in this way, that the wild geese did not care to send the goosey-gander on such a long journey until they had both eaten their fill. come what might, he was only glad for every moment that should pass before he must face his parents. the wild geese travelled over Övid's cloister estate which was situated in a beautiful park east of the lake, and looked very imposing with its great castle; its well planned court surrounded by low walls and pavilions; its fine old-time garden with covered arbours, streams and fountains; its wonderful trees, trimmed bushes, and its evenly mown lawns with their beds of beautiful spring flowers. when the wild geese rode over the estate in the early morning hour there was no human being about. when they had carefully assured themselves of this, they lowered themselves toward the dog kennel, and shouted: "what kind of a little hut is this? what kind of a little hut is this?" instantly the dog came out of his kennel--furiously angry--and barked at the air. "do you call this a hut, you tramps! can't you see that this is a great stone castle? can't you see what fine terraces, and what a lot of pretty walls and windows and great doors it has, bow, wow, wow, wow? don't you see the grounds, can't you see the garden, can't you see the conservatories, can't you see the marble statues? you call this a hut, do you? do huts have parks with beech-groves and hazel-bushes and trailing vines and oak trees and firs and hunting-grounds filled with game, wow, wow, wow? do you call this a hut? have you seen huts with so many outhouses around them that they look like a whole village? you must know of a lot of huts that have their own church and their own parsonage; and that rule over the district and the peasant homes and the neighbouring farms and barracks, wow, wow, wow? do you call this a hut? to this hut belong the richest possessions in skåne, you beggars! you can't see a bit of land, from where you hang in the clouds, that does not obey commands from this hut, wow, wow, wow!" all this the dog managed to cry out in one breath; and the wild geese flew back and forth over the estate, and listened to him until he was winded. but then they cried: "what are you so mad about? we didn't ask about the castle; we only wanted to know about your kennel, stupid!" when the boy heard this joke, he laughed; then a thought stole in on him which at once made him serious. "think how many of these amusing things you would hear, if you could go with the wild geese through the whole country, all the way up to lapland!" said he to himself. "and just now, when you are in such a bad fix, a trip like that would be the best thing you could hit upon." the wild geese travelled to one of the wide fields, east of the estate, to eat grass-roots, and they kept this up for hours. in the meantime, the boy wandered in the great park which bordered the field. he hunted up a beech-nut grove and began to look up at the bushes, to see if a nut from last fall still hung there. but again and again the thought of the trip came over him, as he walked in the park. he pictured to himself what a fine time he would have if he went with the wild geese. to freeze and starve: that he believed he should have to do often enough; but as a recompense, he would escape both work and study. as he walked there, the old gray leader-goose came up to him, and asked if he had found anything eatable. no, that he hadn't, he replied, and then she tried to help him. she couldn't find any nuts either, but she discovered a couple of dried blossoms that hung on a brier-bush. these the boy ate with a good relish. but he wondered what mother would say, if she knew that he had lived on raw fish and old winter-dried blossoms. when the wild geese had finally eaten themselves full, they bore off toward the lake again, where they amused themselves with games until almost dinner time. the wild geese challenged the white goosey-gander to take part in all kinds of sports. they had swimming races, running races, and flying races with him. the big tame one did his level best to hold his own, but the clever wild geese beat him every time. all the while, the boy sat on the goosey-gander's back and encouraged him, and had as much fun as the rest. they laughed and screamed and cackled, and it was remarkable that the people on the estate didn't hear them. when the wild geese were tired of play, they flew out on the ice and rested for a couple of hours. the afternoon they spent in pretty much the same way as the forenoon. first, a couple of hours feeding, then bathing and play in the water near the ice-edge until sunset, when they immediately arranged themselves for sleep. "this is just the life that suits me," thought the boy when he crept in under the gander's wing. "but to-morrow, i suppose i'll be sent home." before he fell asleep, he lay and thought that if he might go along with the wild geese, he would escape all scoldings because he was lazy. then he could cut loose every day, and his only worry would be to get something to eat. but he needed so little nowadays; and there would always be a way to get that. so he pictured the whole scene to himself; what he should see, and all the adventures that he would be in on. yes, it would be something different from the wear and tear at home. "if i could only go with the wild geese on their travels, i shouldn't grieve because i'd been transformed," thought the boy. he wasn't afraid of anything--except being sent home; but not even on wednesday did the geese say anything to him about going. that day passed in the same way as tuesday; and the boy grew more and more contented with the outdoor life. he thought that he had the lovely Övid cloister park--which was as large as a forest--all to himself; and he wasn't anxious to go back to the stuffy cabin and the little patch of ground there at home. on wednesday he believed that the wild geese thought of keeping him with them; but on thursday he lost hope again. thursday began just like the other days; the geese fed on the broad meadows, and the boy hunted for food in the park. after a while akka came to him, and asked if he had found anything to eat. no, he had not; and then she looked up a dry caraway herb, that had kept all its tiny seeds intact. when the boy had eaten, akka said that she thought he ran around in the park altogether too recklessly. she wondered if he knew how many enemies he had to guard against--he, who was so little. no, he didn't know anything at all about that. then akka began to enumerate them for him. whenever he walked in the park, she said, that he must look out for the fox and the marten; when he came to the shores of the lake, he must think of the otters; as he sat on the stone wall, he must not forget the weasels, who could creep through the smallest holes; and if he wished to lie down and sleep on a pile of leaves, he must first find out if the adders were not sleeping their winter sleep in the same pile. as soon as he came out in the open fields, he should keep an eye out for hawks and buzzards; for eagles and falcons that soared in the air. in the bramble-bush he could be captured by the sparrow-hawks; magpies and crows were found everywhere and in these he mustn't place any too much confidence. as soon as it was dusk, he must keep his ears open and listen for the big owls, who flew along with such soundless wing-strokes that they could come right up to him before he was aware of their presence. when the boy heard that there were so many who were after his life, he thought that it would be simply impossible for him to escape. he was not particularly afraid to die, but he didn't like the idea of being eaten up, so he asked akka what he should do to protect himself from the carnivorous animals. akka answered at once that the boy should try to get on good terms with all the small animals in the woods and fields: with the squirrel-folk, and the hare-family; with bullfinches and the titmice and woodpeckers and larks. if he made friends with them, they could warn him against dangers, find hiding places for him, and protect him. but later in the day, when the boy tried to profit by this counsel, and turned to sirle squirrel to ask for his protection, it was evident that he did not care to help him. "you surely can't expect anything from me, or the rest of the small animals!" said sirle. "don't you think we know that you are nils the goose boy, who tore down the swallow's nest last year, crushed the starling's eggs, threw baby crows in the marl-ditch, caught thrushes in snares, and put squirrels in cages? you just help yourself as well as you can; and you may be thankful that we do not form a league against you, and drive you back to your own kind!" this was just the sort of answer the boy would not have let go unpunished, in the days when he was nils the goose boy. but now he was only fearful lest the wild geese, too, had found out how wicked he could be. he had been so anxious for fear he wouldn't be permitted to stay with the wild geese, that he hadn't dared to get into the least little mischief since he joined their company. it was true that he didn't have the power to do much harm now, but, little as he was, he could have destroyed many birds' nests, and crushed many eggs, if he'd been in a mind to. now he had been good. he hadn't pulled a feather from a goose-wing, or given anyone a rude answer; and every morning when he called upon akka he had always removed his cap and bowed. all day thursday he thought it was surely on account of his wickedness that the wild geese did not care to take him along up to lapland. and in the evening, when he heard that sirle squirrel's wife had been stolen, and her children were starving to death, he made up his mind to help them. and we have already been told how well he succeeded. when the boy came into the park on friday, he heard the bulfinches sing in every bush, of how sirle squirrel's wife had been carried away from her children by cruel robbers, and how nils, the goose boy, had risked his life among human beings, and taken the little squirrel children to her. "and who is so honoured in Övid cloister park now, as thumbietot!" sang the bullfinch; "he, whom all feared when he was nils the goose boy? sirle squirrel will give him nuts; the poor hares are going to play with him; the small wild animals will carry him on their backs, and fly away with him when smirre fox approaches. the titmice are going to warn him against the hawk, and the finches and larks will sing of his valour." the boy was absolutely certain that both akka and the wild geese had heard all this. but still friday passed and not one word did they say about his remaining with them. until saturday the wild geese fed in the fields around Övid, undisturbed by smirre fox. but on saturday morning, when they came out in the meadows, he lay in wait for them, and chased them from one field to another, and they were not allowed to eat in peace. when akka understood that he didn't intend to leave them in peace, she came to a decision quickly, raised herself into the air and flew with her flock several miles away, over färs' plains and linderödsosen's hills. they did not stop before they had arrived in the district of vittskövle. but at vittskövle the goosey-gander was stolen, and how it happened has already been related. if the boy had not used all his powers to help him he would never again have been found. on saturday evening, as the boy came back to vomb lake with the goosey-gander, he thought that he had done a good day's work; and he speculated a good deal on what akka and the wild geese would say to him. the wild geese were not at all sparing in their praises, but they did not say the word he was longing to hear. then sunday came again. a whole week had gone by since the boy had been bewitched, and he was still just as little. but he didn't appear to be giving himself any extra worry on account of this thing. on sunday afternoon he sat huddled together in a big, fluffy osier-bush, down by the lake, and blew on a reed-pipe. all around him there sat as many finches and bullfinches and starlings as the bush could well hold--who sang songs which he tried to teach himself to play. but the boy was not at home in this art. he blew so false that the feathers raised themselves on the little music-masters and they shrieked and fluttered in their despair. the boy laughed so heartily at their excitement, that he dropped his pipe. he began once again, and that went just as badly. then all the little birds wailed: "to-day you play worse than usual, thumbietot! you don't take one true note! where are your thoughts, thumbietot?" "they are elsewhere," said the boy--and this was true. he sat there and pondered how long he would be allowed to remain with the wild geese; or if he should be sent home perhaps to-day. finally the boy threw down his pipe and jumped from the bush. he had seen akka, and all the wild geese, coming toward him in a long row. they walked so uncommonly slow and dignified-like, that the boy immediately understood that now he should learn what they intended to do with him. when they stopped at last, akka said: "you may well have reason to wonder at me, thumbietot, who have not said thanks to you for saving me from smirre fox. but i am one of those who would rather give thanks by deeds than words. i have sent word to the elf that bewitched you. at first he didn't want to hear anything about curing you; but i have sent message upon message to him, and told him how well you have conducted yourself among us. he greets you, and says, that as soon as you turn back home, you shall be human again." but think of it! just as happy as the boy had been when the wild geese began to speak, just that miserable was he when they had finished. he didn't say a word, but turned away and wept. "what in all the world is this?" said akka. "it looks as though you had expected more of me than i have offered you." but the boy was thinking of the care-free days and the banter; and of adventure and freedom and travel, high above the earth, that he should miss, and he actually bawled with grief. "i don't want to be human," said he. "i want to go with you to lapland." "i'll tell you something," said akka. "that elf is very touchy, and i'm afraid that if you do not accept his offer now, it will be difficult for you to coax him another time." it was a strange thing about that boy--as long as he had lived, he had never cared for anyone. he had not cared for his father or mother; not for the school teacher; not for his school-mates; nor for the boys in the neighbourhood. all that they had wished to have him do--whether it had been work or play--he had only thought tiresome. therefore there was no one whom he missed or longed for. the only ones that he had come anywhere near agreeing with, were osa, the goose girl, and little mats--a couple of children who had tended geese in the fields, like himself. but he didn't care particularly for them either. no, far from it! "i don't want to be human," bawled the boy. "i want to go with you to lapland. that's why i've been good for a whole week!" "i don't want to forbid you to come along with us as far as you like," said akka, "but think first if you wouldn't rather go home again. a day may come when you will regret this." "no," said the boy, "that's nothing to regret. i have never been as well off as here with you." "well then, let it be as you wish," said akka. "thanks!" said the boy, and he felt so happy that he had to cry for very joy--just as he had cried before from sorrow. glimminge castle black rats and gray rats in south-eastern skåne--not far from the sea there is an old castle called glimminge. it is a big and substantial stone house; and can be seen over the plain for miles around. it is not more than four stories high; but it is so ponderous that an ordinary farmhouse, which stands on the same estate, looks like a little children's playhouse in comparison. the big stone house has such thick ceilings and partitions that there is scarcely room in its interior for anything but the thick walls. the stairs are narrow, the entrances small; and the rooms few. that the walls might retain their strength, there are only the fewest number of windows in the upper stories, and none at all are found in the lower ones. in the old war times, the people were just as glad that they could shut themselves up in a strong and massive house like this, as one is nowadays to be able to creep into furs in a snapping cold winter. but when the time of peace came, they did not care to live in the dark and cold stone halls of the old castle any longer. they have long since deserted the big glimminge castle, and moved into dwelling places where the light and air can penetrate. at the time when nils holgersson wandered around with the wild geese, there were no human beings in glimminge castle; but for all that, it was not without inhabitants. every summer there lived a stork couple in a large nest on the roof. in a nest in the attic lived a pair of gray owls; in the secret passages hung bats; in the kitchen oven lived an old cat; and down in the cellar there were hundreds of old black rats. rats are not held in very high esteem by other animals; but the black rats at glimminge castle were an exception. they were always mentioned with respect, because they had shown great valour in battle with their enemies; and much endurance under the great misfortunes which had befallen their kind. they nominally belong to a rat-folk who, at one time, had been very numerous and powerful, but who were now dying out. during a long period of time, the black rats owned skåne and the whole country. they were found in every cellar; in every attic; in larders and cowhouses and barns; in breweries and flour-mills; in churches and castles; in every man-constructed building. but now they were banished from all this--and were almost exterminated. only in one and another old and secluded place could one run across a few of them; and nowhere were they to be found in such large numbers as in glimminge castle. when an animal folk die out, it is generally the human kind who are the cause of it; but that was not the case in this instance. the people had certainly struggled with the black rats, but they had not been able to do them any harm worth mentioning. those who had conquered them were an animal folk of their own kind, who were called gray rats. these gray rats had not lived in the land since time immemorial, like the black rats, but descended from a couple of poor immigrants who landed in malmö from a libyan sloop about a hundred years ago. they were homeless, starved-out wretches who stuck close to the harbour, swam among the piles under the bridges, and ate refuse that was thrown in the water. they never ventured into the city, which was owned by the black rats. but gradually, as the gray rats increased in number they grew bolder. at first they moved over to some waste places and condemned old houses which the black rats had abandoned. they hunted their food in gutters and dirt heaps, and made the most of all the rubbish that the black rats did not deign to take care of. they were hardy, contented and fearless; and within a few years they had become so powerful that they undertook to drive the black rats out of malmö. they took from them attics, cellars and storerooms, starved them out or bit them to death for they were not at all afraid of fighting. when malmö was captured, they marched forward in small and large companies to conquer the whole country. it is almost impossible to comprehend why the black rats did not muster themselves into a great, united war-expedition to exterminate the gray rats, while these were still few in numbers. but the black rats were so certain of their power that they could not believe it possible for them to lose it. they sat still on their estates, and in the meantime the gray rats took from them farm after farm, city after city. they were starved out, forced out, rooted out. in skåne they had not been able to maintain themselves in a single place except glimminge castle. the old castle had such secure walls and such few rat passages led through these, that the black rats had managed to protect themselves, and to prevent the gray rats from crowding in. night after night, year after year, the struggle had continued between the aggressors and the defenders; but the black rats had kept faithful watch, and had fought with the utmost contempt for death, and, thanks to the fine old house, they had always conquered. it will have to be acknowledged that as long as the black rats were in power they were as much shunned by all other living creatures as the gray rats are in our day--and for just cause; they had thrown themselves upon poor, fettered prisoners, and tortured them; they had ravished the dead; they had stolen the last turnip from the cellars of the poor; bitten off the feet of sleeping geese; robbed eggs and chicks from the hens; and committed a thousand depredations. but since they had come to grief, all this seemed to have been forgotten; and no one could help but marvel at the last of a race that had held out so long against its enemies. the gray rats that lived in the courtyard at glimminge and in the vicinity, kept up a continuous warfare and tried to watch out for every possible chance to capture the castle. one would fancy that they should have allowed the little company of black rats to occupy glimminge castle in peace, since they themselves had acquired all the rest of the country; but you may be sure this thought never occurred to them. they were wont to say that it was a point of honour with them to conquer the black rats at some time or other. but those who were acquainted with the gray rats must have known that it was because the human kind used glimminge castle as a grain store-house that the gray ones could not rest before they had taken possession of the place. the stork _monday, march twenty-eighth_. early one morning the wild geese who stood and slept on the ice in vomb lake were awakened by long calls from the air. "trirop, trirop!" it sounded, "trianut, the crane, sends greetings to akka, the wild goose, and her flock. to-morrow will be the day of the great crane dance on kullaberg." akka raised her head and answered at once: "greetings and thanks! greetings and thanks!" with that, the cranes flew farther; and the wild geese heard them for a long while--where they travelled and called out over every field, and every wooded hill: "trianut sends greetings. to-morrow will be the day of the great crane dance on kullaberg." the wild geese were very happy over this invitation. "you're in luck," they said to the white goosey-gander, "to be permitted to attend the great crane dance on kullaberg!" "is it then so remarkable to see cranes dance?" asked the goosey-gander. "it is something that you have never even dreamed about!" replied the wild geese. "now we must think out what we shall do with thumbietot to-morrow--so that no harm can come to him, while we run over to kullaberg," said akka. "thumbietot shall not be left alone!" said the goosey-gander. "if the cranes won't let him see their dance, then i'll stay with him." "no human being has ever been permitted to attend the animal's congress, at kullaberg," said akka, "and i shouldn't dare to take thumbietot along. but we'll discuss this more at length later in the day. now we must first and foremost think about getting something to eat." with that akka gave the signal to adjourn. on this day she also sought her feeding-place a good distance away, on smirre fox's account, and she didn't alight until she came to the swampy meadows a little south of glimminge castle. all that day the boy sat on the shores of a little pond, and blew on reed-pipes. he was out of sorts because he shouldn't see the crane dance, and he just couldn't say a word, either to the goosey-gander, or to any of the others. it was pretty hard that akka should still doubt him. when a boy had given up being human, just to travel around with a few wild geese, they surely ought to understand that he had no desire to betray them. then, too, they ought to understand that when he had renounced so much to follow them, it was their duty to let him see all the wonders they could show him. "i'll have to speak my mind right out to them," thought he. but hour after hour passed, still he hadn't come round to it. it may sound remarkable--but the boy had actually acquired a kind of respect for the old leader-goose. he felt that it was not easy to pit his will against hers. on one side of the swampy meadow, where the wild geese fed, there was a broad stone hedge. toward evening when the boy finally raised his head, to speak to akka, his glance happened to rest on this hedge. he uttered a little cry of surprise, and all the wild geese instantly looked up, and stared in the same direction. at first, both the geese and the boy thought that all the round, gray stones in the hedge had acquired legs, and were starting on a run; but soon they saw that it was a company of rats who ran over it. they moved very rapidly, and ran forward, tightly packed, line upon line, and were so numerous that, for some time, they covered the entire stone hedge. the boy had been afraid of rats, even when he was a big, strong human being. then what must his feelings be now, when he was so tiny that two or three of them could overpower him? one shudder after another travelled down his spinal column as he stood and stared at them. but strangely enough, the wild geese seemed to feel the same aversion toward the rats that he did. they did not speak to them; and when they were gone, they shook themselves as if their feathers had been mud-spattered. "such a lot of gray rats abroad!" said iksi from vassipaure. "that's not a good omen." the boy intended to take advantage of this opportunity to say to akka that he thought she ought to let him go with them to kullaberg, but he was prevented anew, for all of a sudden a big bird came down in the midst of the geese. one could believe, when one looked at this bird, that he had borrowed body, neck and head from a little white goose. but in addition to this, he had procured for himself large black wings, long red legs, and a thick bill, which was too large for the little head, and weighed it down until it gave him a sad and worried look. akka at once straightened out the folds of her wings, and curtsied many times as she approached the stork. she wasn't specially surprised to see him in skåne so early in the spring, because she knew that the male storks are in the habit of coming in good season to take a look at the nest, and see that it hasn't been damaged during the winter, before the female storks go to the trouble of flying over the east sea. but she wondered very much what it might signify that he sought her out, since storks prefer to associate with members of their own family. "i can hardly believe that there is anything wrong with your house, herr ermenrich," said akka. it was apparent now that it is true what they say: a stork can seldom open his bill without complaining. but what made the thing he said sound even more doleful was that it was difficult for him to speak out. he stood for a long time and only clattered with his bill; afterward he spoke in a hoarse and feeble voice. he complained about everything: the nest--which was situated at the very top of the roof-tree at glimminge castle--had been totally destroyed by winter storms; and no food could he get any more in skåne. the people of skåne were appropriating all his possessions. they dug out his marshes and laid waste his swamps. he intended to move away from this country, and never return to it again. while the stork grumbled, akka, the wild goose who had neither home nor protection, could not help thinking to herself: "if i had things as comfortable as you have, herr ermenrich, i should be above complaining. you have remained a free and wild bird; and still you stand so well with human beings that no one will fire a shot at you, or steal an egg from your nest." but all this she kept to herself. to the stork she only remarked, that she couldn't believe he would be willing to move from a house where storks had resided ever since it was built. then the stork suddenly asked the geese if they had seen the gray rats who were marching toward glimminge castle. when akka replied that she had seen the horrid creatures, he began to tell her about the brave black rats who, for years, had defended the castle. "but this night glimminge castle will fall into the gray rats' power," sighed the stork. "and why just this night, herr ermenrich?" asked akka. "well, because nearly all the black rats went over to kullaberg last night," said the stork, "since they had counted on all the rest of the animals also hurrying there. but you see that the gray rats have stayed at home; and now they are mustering to storm the castle to-night, when it will be defended by only a few old creatures who are too feeble to go over to kullaberg. they'll probably accomplish their purpose. but i have lived here in harmony with the black rats for so many years, that it does not please me to live in a place inhabited by their enemies." akka understood now that the stork had become so enraged over the gray rats' mode of action, that he had sought her out as an excuse to complain about them. but after the manner of storks, he certainly had done nothing to avert the disaster. "have you sent word to the black rats, herr ermenrich?" she asked. "no," replied the stork, "that wouldn't be of any use. before they can get back, the castle will be taken." "you mustn't be so sure of that, herr ermenrich," said akka. "i know an old wild goose, i do, who will gladly prevent outrages of this kind." when akka said this, the stork raised his head and stared at her. and it was not surprising, for akka had neither claws nor bill that were fit for fighting; and, in the bargain, she was a day bird, and as soon as it grew dark she fell helplessly asleep, while the rats did their fighting at night. but akka had evidently made up her mind to help the black rats. she called iksi from vassijaure, and ordered him to take the wild geese over to vonib lake; and when the geese made excuses, she said authoritatively: "i believe it will be best for us all that you obey me. i must fly over to the big stone house, and if you follow me, the people on the place will be sure to see us, and shoot us down. the only one that i want to take with me on this trip is thumbietot. he can be of great service to me because he has good eyes, and can keep awake at night." the boy was in his most contrary mood that day. and when he heard what akka said, he raised himself to his full height and stepped forward, his hands behind him and his nose in the air, and he intended to say that he, most assuredly, did not wish to take a hand in the fight with gray rats. she might look around for assistance elsewhere. but the instant the boy was seen, the stork began to move. he had stood before, as storks generally stand, with head bent downward and the bill pressed against the neck. but now a gurgle was heard deep down in his windpipe; as though he would have laughed. quick as a flash, he lowered the bill, grabbed the boy, and tossed him a couple of metres in the air. this feat he performed seven times, while the boy shrieked and the geese shouted: "what are you trying to do, herr ermenrich? that's not a frog. that's a human being, herr ermenrich." finally the stork put the boy down entirely unhurt. thereupon he said to akka, "i'll fly back to glimminge castle now, mother akka. all who live there were very much worried when i left. you may be sure they'll be very glad when i tell them that akka, the wild goose, and thumbietot, the human elf, are on their way to rescue them." with that the stork craned his neck, raised his wings, and darted off like an arrow when it leaves a well-drawn bow. akka understood that he was making fun of her, but she didn't let it bother her. she waited until the boy had found his wooden shoes, which the stork had shaken off; then she put him on her back and followed the stork. on his own account, the boy made no objection, and said not a word about not wanting to go along. he had become so furious with the stork, that he actually sat and puffed. that long, red-legged thing believed he was of no account just because he was little; but he would show him what kind of a man nils holgersson from west vemminghög was. a couple of moments later akka stood in the storks' nest. it had a wheel for foundation, and over this lay several grass-mats, and some twigs. the nest was so old that many shrubs and plants had taken root up there; and when the mother stork sat on her eggs in the round hole in the middle of the nest, she not only had the beautiful outlook over a goodly portion of skåne to enjoy, but she had also the wild brier-blossoms and house-leeks to look upon. both akka and the boy saw immediately that something was going on here which turned upside down the most regular order. on the edge of the stork-nest sat two gray owls, an old, gray-streaked cat, and a dozen old, decrepit rats with protruding teeth and watery eyes. they were not exactly the sort of animals one usually finds living peaceably together. not one of them turned around to look at akka, or to bid her welcome. they thought of nothing except to sit and stare at some long, gray lines, which came into sight here and there--on the winter-naked meadows. all the black rats were silent. one could see that they were in deep despair, and probably knew that they could neither defend their own lives nor the castle. the two owls sat and rolled their big eyes, and twisted their great, encircling eyebrows, and talked in hollow, ghost-like voices, about the awful cruelty of the gray rats, and that they would have to move away from their nest, because they had heard it said of them that they spared neither eggs nor baby birds. the old gray-streaked cat was positive that the gray rats would bite him to death, since they were coming into the castle in such great numbers, and he scolded the black rats incessantly. "how could you be so idiotic as to let your best fighters go away?" said he. "how could you trust the gray rats? it is absolutely unpardonable!" the twelve black rats did not say a word. but the stork, despite his misery, could not refrain from teasing the cat. "don't worry so, monsie house-cat!" said he. "can't you see that mother akka and thumbietot have come to save the castle? you can be certain that they'll succeed. now i must stand up to sleep--and i do so with the utmost calm. to-morrow, when i awaken, there won't be a single gray rat in glimminge castle." the boy winked at akka, and made a sign--as the stork stood upon the very edge of the nest, with one leg drawn up, to sleep--that he wanted to push him down to the ground; but akka restrained him. she did not seem to be the least bit angry. instead, she said in a confident tone of voice: "it would be pretty poor business if one who is as old as i am could not manage to get out of worse difficulties than this. if only mr. and mrs. owl, who can stay awake all night, will fly off with a couple of messages for me, i think that all will go well." both owls were willing. then akka bade the gentleman owl that he should go and seek the black rats who had gone off, and counsel them to hurry home immediately. the lady owl she sent to flammea, the steeple-owl, who lived in lund cathedral, with a commission which was so secret that akka only dared to confide it to her in a whisper. the rat charmer it was getting on toward midnight when the gray rats after a diligent search succeeded in finding an open air-hole in the cellar. this was pretty high upon the wall; but the rats got up on one another's shoulders, and it wasn't long before the most daring among them sat in the air-hole, ready to force its way into glimminge castle, outside whose walls so many of its forebears had fallen. the gray rat sat still for a moment in the hole, and waited for an attack from within. the leader of the defenders was certainly away, but she assumed that the black rats who were still in the castle wouldn't surrender without a struggle. with thumping heart she listened for the slightest sound, but everything remained quiet. then the leader of the gray rats plucked up courage and jumped down in the coal-black cellar. one after another of the gray rats followed the leader. they all kept very quiet; and all expected to be ambushed by the black rats. not until so many of them had crowded into the cellar that the floor couldn't hold any more, did they venture farther. although they had never before been inside the building, they had no difficulty in finding their way. they soon found the passages in the walls which the black rats had used to get to the upper floors. before they began to clamber up these narrow and steep steps, they listened again with great attention. they felt more frightened because the black rats held themselves aloof in this way, than if they had met them in open battle. they could hardly believe their luck when they reached the first story without any mishaps. immediately upon their entrance the gray rats caught the scent of the grain, which was stored in great bins on the floor. but it was not as yet time for them to begin to enjoy their conquest. they searched first, with the utmost caution, through the sombre, empty rooms. they ran up in the fireplace, which stood on the floor in the old castle kitchen, and they almost tumbled into the well, in the inner room. not one of the narrow peep-holes did they leave uninspected, but they found no black rats. when this floor was wholly in their possession, they began, with the same caution, to acquire the next. then they had to venture on a bold and dangerous climb through the walls, while, with breathless anxiety, they awaited an assault from the enemy. and although they were tempted by the most delicious odour from the grain bins, they forced themselves most systematically to inspect the old-time warriors' pillar-propped kitchen; their stone table, and fireplace; the deep window-niches, and the hole in the floor--which in olden time had been opened to pour down boiling pitch on the intruding enemy. all this time the black rats were invisible. the gray ones groped their way to the third story, and into the lord of the castle's great banquet hall--which stood there cold and empty, like all the other rooms in the old house. they even groped their way to the upper story, which had but one big, barren room. the only place they did not think of exploring was the big stork-nest on the roof--where, just at this time, the lady owl awakened akka, and informed her that flammea, the steeple owl, had granted her request, and had sent her the thing she wished for. since the gray rats had so conscientiously inspected the entire castle, they felt at ease. they took it for granted that the black rats had flown, and didn't intend to offer any resistance; and, with light hearts, they ran up into the grain bins. but the gray rats had hardly swallowed the first wheat-grains, before the sound of a little shrill pipe was heard from the yard. the gray rats raised their heads, listened anxiously, ran a few steps as if they intended to leave the bin, then they turned back and began to eat once more. again the pipe sounded a sharp and piercing note--and now something wonderful happened. one rat, two rats--yes, a whole lot of rats left the grain, jumped from the bins and hurried down cellar by the shortest cut, to get out of the house. still there were many gray rats left. these thought of all the toil and trouble it had cost them to win glimminge castle, and they did not want to leave it. but again they caught the tones from the pipe, and had to follow them. with wild excitement they rushed up from the bins, slid down through the narrow holes in the walls, and tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get out. in the middle of the courtyard stood a tiny creature, who blew upon a pipe. all round him he had a whole circle of rats who listened to him, astonished and fascinated; and every moment brought more. once he took the pipe from his lips--only for a second--put his thumb to his nose and wiggled his fingers at the gray rats; and then it looked as if they wanted to throw themselves on him and bite him to death; but as soon as he blew on his pipe they were in his power. when the tiny creature had played all the gray rats out of glimminge castle, he began to wander slowly from the courtyard out on the highway; and all the gray rats followed him, because the tones from that pipe sounded so sweet to their ears that they could not resist them. the tiny creature walked before them and charmed them along with him, on the road to vallby. he led them into all sorts of crooks and turns and bends--on through hedges and down into ditches--and wherever he went they had to follow. he blew continuously on his pipe, which appeared to be made from an animal's horn, although the horn was so small that, in our days, there were no animals from whose foreheads it could have been broken. no one knew, either, who had made it. flammea, the steeple-owl, had found it in a niche, in lund cathedral. she had shown it to bataki, the raven; and they had both figured out that this was the kind of horn that was used in former times by those who wished to gain power over rats and mice. but the raven was akka's friend; and it was from him she had learned that flammea owned a treasure like this. and it was true that the rats could not resist the pipe. the boy walked before them and played as long as the starlight lasted--and all the while they followed him. he played at daybreak; he played at sunrise; and the whole time the entire procession of gray rats followed him, and were enticed farther and farther away from the big grain loft at glimminge castle. the great crane dance on kullaberg _tuesday, march twenty-ninth_. although there are many magnificent buildings in skåne, it must be acknowledged that there's not one among them that has such pretty walls as old kullaberg. kullaberg is low and rather long. it is not by any means a big or imposing mountain. on its broad summit you'll find woods and grain fields, and one and another heather-heath. here and there, round heather-knolls and barren cliffs rise up. it is not especially pretty up there. it looks a good deal like all the other upland places in skåne. he who walks along the path which runs across the middle of the mountain, can't help feeling a little disappointed. then he happens, perhaps, to turn away from the path, and wanders off toward the mountain's sides and looks down over the bluffs; and then, all at once, he will discover so much that is worth seeing, he hardly knows how he'll find time to take in the whole of it. for it happens that kullaberg does not stand on the land, with plains and valleys around it, like other mountains; but it has plunged into the sea, as far out as it could get. not even the tiniest strip of land lies below the mountain to protect it against the breakers; but these reach all the way up to the mountain walls, and can polish and mould them to suit themselves. this is why the walls stand there as richly ornamented as the sea and its helpmeet, the wind, have been able to effect. you'll find steep ravines that are deeply chiselled in the mountain's sides; and black crags that have become smooth and shiny under the constant lashing of the winds. there are solitary rock-columns that spring right up out of the water, and dark grottoes with narrow entrances. there are barren, perpendicular precipices, and soft, leaf-clad inclines. there are small points, and small inlets, and small rolling stones that are rattlingly washed up and down with every dashing breaker. there are majestic cliff-arches that project over the water. there are sharp stones that are constantly sprayed by a white foam; and others that mirror themselves in unchangeable dark-green still water. there are giant troll-caverns shaped in the rock, and great crevices that lure the wanderer to venture into the mountain's depths--all the way to kullman's hollow. and over and around all these cliffs and rocks crawl entangled tendrils and weeds. trees grow there also, but the wind's power is so great that trees have to transform themselves into clinging vines, that they may get a firm hold on the steep precipices. the oaks creep along on the ground, while their foliage hangs over them like a low ceiling; and long-limbed beeches stand in the ravines like great leaf-tents. these remarkable mountain walls, with the blue sea beneath them, and the clear penetrating air above them, is what makes kullaberg so dear to the people that great crowds of them haunt the place every day as long as the summer lasts. but it is more difficult to tell what it is that makes it so attractive to animals, that every year they gather there for a big play-meeting. this is a custom that has been observed since time immemorial; and one should have been there when the first sea-wave was dashed into foam against the shore, to be able to explain just why kullaberg was chosen as a rendezvous, in preference to all other places. when the meeting is to take place, the stags and roebucks and hares and foxes and all the other four-footers make the journey to kullaberg the night before, so as not to be observed by the human beings. just before sunrise they all march up to the playground, which is a heather-heath on the left side of the road, and not very far from the mountain's most extreme point. the playground is inclosed on all sides by round knolls, which conceal it from any and all who do not happen to come right upon it. and in the month of march it is not at all likely that any pedestrians will stray off up there. all the strangers who usually stroll around on the rocks, and clamber up the mountain's sides the fall storms have driven away these many months past. and the lighthouse keeper out there on the point; the old fru on the mountain farm, and the mountain peasant and his house-folk go their accustomed ways, and do not run about on the desolate heather-fields. when the four-footers have arrived on the playground, they take their places on the round knolls. each animal family keeps to itself, although it is understood that, on a day like this, universal peace reigns, and no one need fear attack. on this day a little hare might wander over to the foxes' hill, without losing as much as one of his long ears. but still the animals arrange themselves into separate groups. this is an old custom. after they have all taken their places, they begin to look around for the birds. it is always beautiful weather on this day. the cranes are good weather prophets, and would not call the animals together if they expected rain. although the air is clear, and nothing obstructs the vision, the four-footers see no birds. this is strange. the sun stands high in the heavens, and the birds should already be on their way. but what the animals, on the other hand, observe, is one and another little dark cloud that comes slowly forward over the plain. and look! one of these clouds comes gradually along the coast of Öresund, and up toward kullaberg. when the cloud has come just over the playground it stops, and, simultaneously, the entire cloud begins to ring and chirp, as if it was made of nothing but tone. it rises and sinks, rises and sinks, but all the while it rings and chirps. at last the whole cloud falls down over a knoll--all at once--and the next instant the knoll is entirely covered with gray larks, pretty red-white-gray bulfinches, speckled starlings and greenish-yellow titmice. soon after that, another cloud comes over the plain. this stops over every bit of land; over peasant cottage and palace; over towns and cities; over farms and railway stations; over fishing hamlets and sugar refineries. every time it stops, it draws to itself a little whirling column of gray dust-grains from the ground. in this way it grows and grows. and at last, when it is all gathered up and heads for kullaberg, it is no longer a cloud but a whole mist, which is so big that it throws a shadow on the ground all the way from höganäs to mölle. when it stops over the playground it hides the sun; and for a long while it had to rain gray sparrows on one of the knolls, before those who had been flying in the innermost part of the mist could again catch a glimpse of the daylight. but still the biggest of these bird-clouds is the one which now appears. this has been formed of birds who have travelled from every direction to join it. it is dark bluish-gray, and no sun-ray can penetrate it. it is full of the ghastliest noises, the most frightful shrieks, the grimmest laughter, and most ill-luck-boding croaking! all on the playground are glad when it finally resolves itself into a storm of fluttering and croaking: of crows and jackdaws and rooks and ravens. thereupon not only clouds are seen in the heavens, but a variety of stripes and figures. then straight, dotted lines appear in the east and northeast. these are forest-birds from göinge districts: black grouse and wood grouse who come flying in long lines a couple of metres apart. swimming-birds that live around måkläppen, just out of falsterbo, now come floating over Öresund in many extraordinary figures: in triangular and long curves; in sharp hooks and semicircles. to the great reunion held the year that nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, came akka and her flock--later than all the others. and that was not to be wondered at, for akka had to fly over the whole of skåne to get to kullaberg. beside, as soon as she awoke, she had been obliged to go out and hunt for thumbietot, who, for many hours, had gone and played to the gray rats, and lured them far away from glimminge castle. mr. owl had returned with the news that the black rats would be at home immediately after sunrise; and there was no longer any danger in letting the steeple-owl's pipe be hushed, and to give the gray rats the liberty to go where they pleased. but it was not akka who discovered the boy where he walked with his long following, and quickly sank down over him and caught him with the bill and swung into the air with him, but it was herr ermenrich, the stork! for herr ermenrich had also gone out to look for him; and after he had borne him up to the stork-nest, he begged his forgiveness for having treated him with disrespect the evening before. this pleased the boy immensely, and the stork and he became good friends. akka, too, showed him that she felt very kindly toward him; she stroked her old head several times against his arms, and commended him because he had helped those who were in trouble. but this one must say to the boy's credit: that he did not want to accept praise which he had not earned. "no, mother akka," he said, "you mustn't think that i lured the gray rats away to help the black ones. i only wanted to show herr ermenrich that i was of some consequence." he had hardly said this before akka turned to the stork and asked if he thought it was advisable to take thumbietot along to kullaberg. "i mean, that we can rely on him as upon ourselves," said she. the stork at once advised, most enthusiastically, that thumbietot be permitted to come along. "certainly you shall take thumbietot along to kullaberg, mother akka," said he. "it is fortunate for us that we can repay him for all that he has endured this night for our sakes. and since it still grieves me to think that i did not conduct myself in a becoming manner toward him the other evening, it is i who will carry him on my back--all the way to the meeting place." there isn't much that tastes better than to receive praise from those who are themselves wise and capable; and the boy had certainly never felt so happy as he did when the wild goose and the stork talked about him in this way. thus the boy made the trip to kullaberg, riding stork-back. although he knew that this was a great honour, it caused him much anxiety, for herr ermenrich was a master flyer, and started off at a very different pace from the wild geese. while akka flew her straight way with even wing-strokes, the stork amused himself by performing a lot of flying tricks. now he lay still in an immeasurable height, and floated in the air without moving his wings, now he flung himself downward with such sudden haste that it seemed as though he would fall to the ground, helpless as a stone; now he had lots of fun flying all around akka, in great and small circles, like a whirlwind. the boy had never been on a ride of this sort before; and although he sat there all the while in terror, he had to acknowledge to himself that he had never before known what a good flight meant. only a single pause was made during the journey, and that was at vomb lake when akka joined her travelling companions, and called to them that the gray rats had been vanquished. after that, the travellers flew straight to kullaberg. there they descended to the knoll reserved for the wild geese; and as the boy let his glance wander from knoll to knoll, he saw on one of them the many-pointed antlers of the stags; and on another, the gray herons' neck-crests. one knoll was red with foxes, one was gray with rats; one was covered with black ravens who shrieked continually, one with larks who simply couldn't keep still, but kept on throwing themselves in the air and singing for very joy. just as it has ever been the custom on kullaberg, it was the crows who began the day's games and frolics with their flying-dance. they divided themselves into two flocks, that flew toward each other, met, turned, and began all over again. this dance had many repetitions, and appeared to the spectators who were not familiar with the dance as altogether too monotonous. the crows were very proud of their dance, but all the others were glad when it was over. it appeared to the animals about as gloomy and meaningless as the winter-storms' play with the snow-flakes. it depressed them to watch it, and they waited eagerly for something that should give them a little pleasure. they did not have to wait in vain, either; for as soon as the crows had finished, the hares came running. they dashed forward in a long row, without any apparent order. in some of the figures, one single hare came; in others, they ran three and four abreast. they had all raised themselves on two legs, and they rushed forward with such rapidity that their long ears swayed in all directions. as they ran, they spun round, made high leaps and beat their forepaws against their hind-paws so that they rattled. some performed a long succession of somersaults, others doubled themselves up and rolled over like wheels; one stood on one leg and swung round; one walked upon his forepaws. there was no regulation whatever, but there was much that was droll in the hares' play; and the many animals who stood and watched them began to breathe faster. now it was spring; joy and rapture were advancing. winter was over; summer was coming. soon it was only play to live. when the hares had romped themselves out, it was the great forest birds' turn to perform. hundreds of wood-grouse in shining dark-brown array, and with bright red eyebrows, flung themselves up into a great oak that stood in the centre of the playground. the one who sat upon the topmost branch fluffed up his feathers, lowered his wings, and lifted his tail so that the white covert-feathers were seen. thereupon he stretched his neck and sent forth a couple of deep notes from his thick throat. "tjack, tjack, tjack," it sounded. more than this he could not utter. it only gurgled a few times way down in the throat. then he closed his eyes and whispered: "sis, sis, sis. hear how pretty! sis, sis, sis." at the same time he fell into such an ecstasy that he no longer knew what was going on around him. while the first wood grouse was sissing, the three nearest--under him--began to sing; and before they had finished their song, the ten who sat lower down joined in; and thus it continued from branch to branch, until the entire hundred grouse sang and gurgled and sissed. they all fell into the same ecstasy during their song, and this affected the other animals like a contagious transport. lately the blood had flowed lightly and agreeably; now it began to grow heavy and hot. "yes, this is surely spring," thought all the animal folk. "winter chill has vanished. the fires of spring burn over the earth." when the black grouse saw that the brown grouse were having such success, they could no longer keep quiet. as there was no tree for them to light on, they rushed down on the playground, where the heather stood so high that only their beautifully turned tail-feathers and their thick bills were visible--and they began to sing: "orr, orr, orr." just as the black grouse began to compete with the brown grouse, something unprecedented happened. while all the animals thought of nothing but the grouse-game, a fox stole slowly over to the wild geese's knoll. he glided very cautiously, and came way up on the knoll before anyone noticed him. suddenly a goose caught sight of him; and as she could not believe that a fox had sneaked in among the geese for any good purpose, she began to cry: "have a care, wild geese! have a care!" the fox struck her across the throat--mostly, perhaps, because he wanted to make her keep quiet--but the wild geese had already heard the cry and they all raised themselves in the air. and when they had flown up, the animals saw smirre fox standing on the wild geese's knoll, with a dead goose in his mouth. but because he had in this way broken the play-day's peace, such a punishment was meted out to smirre fox that, for the rest of his days, he must regret he had not been able to control his thirst for revenge, but had attempted to approach akka and her flock in this manner. he was immediately surrounded by a crowd of foxes, and doomed in accordance with an old custom, which demands that whosoever disturbs the peace on the great play-day, must go into exile. not a fox wished to lighten the sentence, since they all knew that the instant they attempted anything of the sort, they would be driven from the playground, and would nevermore be permitted to enter it. banishment was pronounced upon smirre without opposition. he was forbidden to remain in skåne. he was banished from wife and kindred; from hunting grounds, home, resting places and retreats, which he had hitherto owned; and he must tempt fortune in foreign lands. so that all foxes in skåne should know that smirre was outlawed in the district, the oldest of the foxes bit off his right earlap. as soon as this was done, all the young foxes began to yowl from blood-thirst, and threw themselves on smirre. for him there was no alternative except to take flight; and with all the young foxes in hot pursuit, he rushed away from kullaberg. all this happened while black grouse and brown grouse were going on with their games. but these birds lose themselves so completely in their song, that they neither hear nor see. nor had they permitted themselves to be disturbed. the forest birds' contest was barely over, before the stags from häckeberga came forward to show their wrestling game. there were several pairs of stags who fought at the same time. they rushed at each other with tremendous force, struck their antlers dashingly together, so that their points were entangled; and tried to force each other backward. the heather-heaths were torn up beneath their hoofs; the breath came like smoke from their nostrils; out of their throats strained hideous bellowings, and the froth oozed down on their shoulders. on the knolls round about there was breathless silence while the skilled stag-wrestlers clinched. in all the animals new emotions were awakened. each and all felt courageous and, strong; enlivened by returning powers; born again with the spring; sprightly, and ready for all kinds of adventures. they felt no enmity toward each other, although, everywhere, wings were lifted, neck-feathers raised and claws sharpened. if the stags from häckeberga had continued another instant, a wild struggle would have arisen on the knolls, for all had been gripped with a burning desire to show that they too were full of life because the winter's impotence was over and strength surged through their bodies. but the stags stopped wrestling just at the right moment, and instantly a whisper went from knoll to knoll: "the cranes are coming!" and then came the gray, dusk-clad birds with plumes in their wings, and red feather-ornaments on their necks. the big birds with their tall legs, their slender throats, their small heads, came gliding down the knoll with an abandon that was full of mystery. as they glided forward they swung round--half flying, half dancing. with wings gracefully lifted, they moved with an inconceivable rapidity. there was something marvellous and strange about their dance. it was as though gray shadows had played a game which the eye could scarcely follow. it was as if they had learned it from the mists that hover over desolate morasses. there was witchcraft in it. all those who had never before been on kullaberg understood why the whole meeting took its name from the crane's dance. there was wildness in it; but yet the feeling which it awakened was a delicious longing. no one thought any more about struggling. instead, both the winged and those who had no wings, all wanted to raise themselves eternally, lift themselves above the clouds, seek that which was hidden beyond them, leave the oppressive body that dragged them down to earth and soar away toward the infinite. such longing after the unattainable, after the hidden mysteries back of this life, the animals felt only once a year; and this was on the day when they beheld the great crane dance. in rainy weather _wednesday, march thirtieth_. it was the first rainy day of the trip. as long as the wild geese had remained in the vicinity of vomb lake, they had had beautiful weather; but on the day when they set out to travel farther north, it began to rain, and for several hours the boy had to sit on the goose-back, soaking wet, and shivering with the cold. in the morning when they started, it had been clear and mild. the wild geese had flown high up in the air--evenly, and without haste--with akka at the head maintaining strict discipline, and the rest in two oblique lines back of her. they had not taken the time to shout any witty sarcasms to the animals on the ground; but, as it was simply impossible for them to keep perfectly silent, they sang out continually--in rhythm with the wing-strokes--their usual coaxing call: "where are you? here am i. where are you? here am i." they all took part in this persistent calling, and only stopped, now and then, to show the goosey-gander the landmarks they were travelling over. the places on this route included linderödsosen's dry hills, ovesholm's manor, christianstad's church steeple, bäckaskog's royal castle on the narrow isthmus between oppmann's lake and ivö's lake, ryss mountain's steep precipice. it had been a monotonous trip, and when the rain-clouds made their appearance the boy thought it was a real diversion. in the old days, when he had only seen a rain-cloud from below, he had imagined that they were gray and disagreeable; but it was a very different thing to be up amongst them. now he saw distinctly that the clouds were enormous carts, which drove through the heavens with sky-high loads. some of them were piled up with huge, gray sacks, some with barrels; some were so large that they could hold a whole lake; and a few were filled with big utensils and bottles which were piled up to an immense height. and when so many of them had driven forward that they filled the whole sky, it appeared as though someone had given a signal, for all at once, water commenced to pour down over the earth, from utensils, barrels, bottles and sacks. just as the first spring-showers pattered against the ground, there arose such shouts of joy from all the small birds in groves and pastures, that the whole air rang with them and the boy leaped high where he sat. "now we'll have rain. rain gives us spring; spring gives us flowers and green leaves; green leaves and flowers give us worms and insects; worms and insects give us food; and plentiful and good food is the best thing there is," sang the birds. the wild geese, too, were glad of the rain which came to awaken the growing things from their long sleep, and to drive holes in the ice-roofs on the lakes. they were not able to keep up that seriousness any longer, but began to send merry calls over the neighbourhood. when they flew over the big potato patches, which are so plentiful in the country around christianstad--and which still lay bare and black--they screamed: "wake up and be useful! here comes something that will awaken you. you have idled long enough now." when they saw people who hurried to get out of the rain, they reproved them saying: "what are you in such a hurry about? can't you see that it's raining rye-loaves and cookies?" it was a big, thick mist that moved northward briskly, and followed close upon the geese. they seemed to think that they dragged the mist along with them; and, just now, when they saw great orchards beneath them, they called out proudly: "here we come with anemones; here we come with roses; here we come with apple blossoms and cherry buds; here we come with peas and beans and turnips and cabbages. he who wills can take them. he who wills can take them." thus it had sounded while the first showers fell, and when all were still glad of the rain. but when it continued to fall the whole afternoon, the wild geese grew impatient, and cried to the thirsty forests around ivös lake: "haven't you got enough yet? haven't you got enough yet?" the heavens were growing grayer and grayer and the sun hid itself so well that one couldn't imagine where it was. the rain fell faster and faster, and beat harder and harder against the wings, as it tried to find its way between the oily outside feathers, into their skins. the earth was hidden by fogs; lakes, mountains, and woods floated together in an indistinct maze, and the landmarks could not be distinguished. the flight became slower and slower; the joyful cries were hushed; and the boy felt the cold more and more keenly. but still he had kept up his courage as long as he had ridden through the air. and in the afternoon, when they had lighted under a little stunted pine, in the middle of a large morass, where all was wet, and all was cold; where some knolls were covered with snow, and others stood up naked in a puddle of half-melted ice-water, even then, he had not felt discouraged, but ran about in fine spirits, and hunted for cranberries and frozen whortleberries. but then came evening, and darkness sank down on them so close, that not even such eyes as the boy's could see through it; and all the wilderness became so strangely grim and awful. the boy lay tucked in under the goosey-gander's wing, but could not sleep because he was cold and wet. he heard such a lot of rustling and rattling and stealthy steps and menacing voices, that he was terror-stricken and didn't know where he should go. he must go somewhere, where there was light and heat, if he wasn't going to be entirely scared to death. "if i should venture where there are human beings, just for this night?" thought the boy. "only so i could sit by a fire for a moment, and get a little food. i could go back to the wild geese before sunrise." he crept from under the wing and slid down to the ground. he didn't awaken either the goosey-gander or any of the other geese, but stole, silently and unobserved, through the morass. he didn't know exactly where on earth he was: if he was in skåne, in småland, or in blekinge. but just before he had gotten down in the morass, he had caught a glimpse of a large village, and thither he directed his steps. it wasn't long, either, before he discovered a road; and soon he was on the village street, which was long, and had planted trees on both sides, and was bordered with garden after garden. the boy had come to one of the big cathedral towns, which are so common on the uplands, but can hardly be seen at all down in the plain. the houses were of wood, and very prettily constructed. most of them had gables and fronts, edged with carved mouldings, and glass doors, with here and there a coloured pane, opening on verandas. the walls were painted in light oil-colours; the doors and window-frames shone in blues and greens, and even in reds. while the boy walked about and viewed the houses, he could hear, all the way out to the road, how the people who sat in the warm cottages chattered and laughed. the words he could not distinguish, but he thought it was just lovely to hear human voices. "i wonder what they would say if i knocked and begged to be let in," thought he. this was, of course, what he had intended to do all along, but now that he saw the lighted windows, his fear of the darkness was gone. instead, he felt again that shyness which always came over him now when he was near human beings. "i'll take a look around the town for a while longer," thought he, "before i ask anyone to take me in." on one house there was a balcony. and just as the boy walked by, the doors were thrown open, and a yellow light streamed through the fine, sheer curtains. then a pretty young fru came out on the balcony and leaned over the railing. "it's raining; now we shall soon have spring," said she. when the boy saw her he felt a strange anxiety. it was as though he wanted to weep. for the first time he was a bit uneasy because he had shut himself out from the human kind. shortly after that he walked by a shop. outside the shop stood a red corn-drill. he stopped and looked at it; and finally crawled up to the driver's place, and seated himself. when he had got there, he smacked with his lips and pretended that he sat and drove. he thought what fun it would be to be permitted to drive such a pretty machine over a grainfield. for a moment he forgot what he was like now; then he remembered it, and jumped down quickly from the machine. then a greater unrest came over him. after all, human beings were very wonderful and clever. he walked by the post-office, and then he thought of all the newspapers which came every day, with news from all the four corners of the earth. he saw the apothecary's shop and the doctor's home, and he thought about the power of human beings, which was so great that they were able to battle with sickness and death. he came to the church. then he thought how human beings had built it, that they might hear about another world than the one in which they lived, of god and the resurrection and eternal life. and the longer he walked there, the better he liked human beings. it is so with children that they never think any farther ahead than the length of their noses. that which lies nearest them, they want promptly, without caring what it may cost them. nils holgersson had not understood what he was losing when he chose to remain an elf; but now he began to be dreadfully afraid that, perhaps, he should never again get back to his right form. how in all the world should he go to work in order to become human? this he wanted, oh! so much, to know. he crawled up on a doorstep, and seated himself in the pouring rain and meditated. he sat there one whole hour--two whole hours, and he thought so hard that his forehead lay in furrows; but he was none the wiser. it seemed as though the thoughts only rolled round and round in his head. the longer he sat there, the more impossible it seemed to him to find any solution. "this thing is certainly much too difficult for one who has learned as little as i have," he thought at last. "it will probably wind up by my having to go back among human beings after all. i must ask the minister and the doctor and the schoolmaster and others who are learned, and may know a cure for such things." this he concluded that he would do at once, and shook himself--for he was as wet as a dog that has been in a water-pool. just about then he saw that a big owl came flying along, and alighted on one of the trees that bordered the village street. the next instant a lady owl, who sat under the cornice of the house, began to call out: "kivitt, kivitt! are you at home again, mr. gray owl? what kind of a time did you have abroad?" "thank you, lady brown owl. i had a very comfortable time," said the gray owl. "has anything out of the ordinary happened here at home during my absence?" "not here in blekinge, mr. gray owl; but in skåne a marvellous thing has happened! a boy has been transformed by an elf into a goblin no bigger than a squirrel; and since then he has gone to lapland with a tame goose." "that's a remarkable bit of news, a remarkable bit of news. can he never be human again, lady brown owl? can he never be human again?" "that's a secret, mr. gray owl; but you shall hear it just the same. the elf has said that if the boy watches over the goosey-gander, so that he comes home safe and sound, and--" "what more, lady brown owl? what more? what more?" "fly with me up to the church tower, mr. gray owl, and you shall hear the whole story! i fear there may be someone listening down here in the street." with that, the owls flew their way; but the boy flung his cap in the air, and shouted: "if i only watch over the goosey-gander, so that he gets back safe and sound, then i shall become a human being again. hurrah! hurrah! then i shall become a human being again!" he shouted "hurrah" until it was strange that they did not hear him in the houses--but they didn't, and he hurried back to the wild geese, out in the wet morass, as fast as his legs could carry him. the stairway with the three steps _thursday, march thirty-first_. the following day the wild geese intended to travel northward through allbo district, in småland. they sent iksi and kaksi to spy out the land. but when they returned, they said that all the water was frozen, and all the land was snow-covered. "we may as well remain where we are," said the wild geese. "we cannot travel over a country where there is neither water nor food." "if we remain where we are, we may have to wait here until the next moon," said akka. "it is better to go eastward, through blekinge, and see if we can't get to småland by way of möre, which lies near the coast, and has an early spring." thus the boy came to ride over blekinge the next day. now, that it was light again, he was in a merry mood once more, and could not comprehend what had come over him the night before. he certainly didn't want to give up the journey and the outdoor life now. there lay a thick fog over blekinge. the boy couldn't see how it looked out there. "i wonder if it is a good, or a poor country that i'm riding over," thought he, and tried to search his memory for the things which he had heard about the country at school. but at the same time he knew well enough that this was useless, as he had never been in the habit of studying his lessons. at once the boy saw the whole school before him. the children sat by the little desks and raised their hands; the teacher sat in the lectern and looked displeased; and he himself stood before the map and should answer some question about blekinge, but he hadn't a word to say. the schoolmaster's face grew darker and darker for every second that passed, and the boy thought the teacher was more particular that they should know their geography, than anything else. now he came down from the lectern, took the pointer from the boy, and sent him back to his seat. "this won't end well," the boy thought then. but the schoolmaster had gone over to a window, and had stood there for a moment and looked out, and then he had whistled to himself once. then he had gone up into the lectern and said that he would tell them something about blekinge. and that which he then talked about had been so amusing that the boy had listened. when he only stopped and thought for a moment, he remembered every word. "småland is a tall house with spruce trees on the roof," said the teacher, "and leading up to it is a broad stairway with three big steps; and this stairway is called blekinge. it is a stairway that is well constructed. it stretches forty-two miles along the frontage of småland house, and anyone who wishes to go all the way down to the east sea, by way of the stairs, has twenty-four miles to wander. "a good long time must have elapsed since the stairway was built. both days and years have gone by since the steps were hewn from gray stones and laid down--evenly and smoothly--for a convenient track between småland and the east sea. "since the stairway is so old, one can, of course, understand that it doesn't look just the same now, as it did when it was new. i don't know how much they troubled themselves about such matters at that time; but big as it was, no broom could have kept it clean. after a couple of years, moss and lichen began to grow on it. in the autumn dry leaves and dry grass blew down over it; and in the spring it was piled up with falling stones and gravel. and as all these things were left there to mould, they finally gathered so much soil on the steps that not only herbs and grass, but even bushes and trees could take root there. "but, at the same time, a great disparity has arisen between the three steps. the topmost step, which lies nearest småland, is mostly covered with poor soil and small stones, and no trees except birches and bird-cherry and spruce--which can stand the cold on the heights, and are satisfied with little--can thrive up there. one understands best how poor and dry it is there, when one sees how small the field-plots are, that are ploughed up from the forest lands; and how many little cabins the people build for themselves; and how far it is between the churches. but on the middle step there is better soil, and it does not lie bound down under such severe cold, either. this one can see at a glance, since the trees are both higher and of finer quality. there you'll find maple and oak and linden and weeping-birch and hazel trees growing, but no cone-trees to speak of. and it is still more noticeable because of the amount of cultivated land that you will find there; and also because the people have built themselves great and beautiful houses. on the middle step, there are many churches, with large towns around them; and in every way it makes a better and finer appearance than the top step. "but the very lowest step is the best of all. it is covered with good rich soil; and, where it lies and bathes in the sea, it hasn't the slightest feeling of the småland chill. beeches and chestnut and walnut trees thrive down here; and they grow so big that they tower above the church-roofs. here lie also the largest grain-fields; but the people have not only timber and farming to live upon, but they are also occupied with fishing and trading and seafaring. for this reason you will find the most costly residences and the prettiest churches here; and the parishes have developed into villages and cities. "but this is not all that is said of the three steps. for one must realise that when it rains on the roof of the big småland house, or when the snow melts up there, the water has to go somewhere; and then, naturally, a lot of it is spilled over the big stairway. in the beginning it probably oozed over the whole stairway, big as it was; then cracks appeared in it, and, gradually, the water has accustomed itself to flow alongside of it, in well dug-out grooves. and water is water, whatever one does with it. it never has any rest. in one place it cuts and files away, and in another it adds to. those grooves it has dug into vales, and the walls of the vales it has decked with soil; and bushes and trees and vines have clung to them ever since--so thick, and in such profusion, that they almost hide the stream of water that winds its way down there in the deep. but when the streams come to the landings between the steps, they throw themselves headlong over them; this is why the water comes with such a seething rush, that it gathers strength with which to move mill-wheels and machinery--these, too, have sprung up by every waterfall. "but this does not tell all that is said of the land with the three steps. it must also be told that up in the big house in småland there lived once upon a time a giant, who had grown very old. and it fatigued him in his extreme age, to be forced to walk down that long stairway in order to catch salmon from the sea. to him it seemed much more suitable that the salmon should come up to him, where he lived. "therefore, he went up on the roof of his great house; and there he stood and threw stones down into the east sea. he threw them with such force that they flew over the whole of blekinge and dropped into the sea. and when the stones came down, the salmon got so scared that they came up from the sea and fled toward the blekinge streams; ran through the rapids; flung themselves with high leaps over the waterfalls, and stopped. "how true this is, one can see by the number of islands and points that lie along the coast of blekinge, and which are nothing in the world but the big stones that the giant threw. "one can also tell because the salmon always go up in the blekinge streams and work their way up through rapids and still water, all the way to småland. "that giant is worthy of great thanks and much honour from the blekinge people; for salmon in the streams, and stone-cutting on the island--that means work which gives food to many of them even to this day." by ronneby river _friday, april first_. neither the wild geese nor smirre fox had believed that they should ever run across each other after they had left skåne. but now it turned out so that the wild geese happened to take the route over blekinge and thither smirre fox had also gone. so far he had kept himself in the northern parts of the province; and since he had not as yet seen any manor parks, or hunting grounds filled with game and dainty young deer, he was more disgruntled than he could say. one afternoon, when smirre tramped around in the desolate forest district of mellanbygden, not far from ronneby river, he saw a flock of wild geese fly through the air. instantly he observed that one of the geese was white and then he knew, of course, with whom he had to deal. smirre began immediately to hunt the geese--just as much for the pleasure of getting a good square meal, as for the desire to be avenged for all the humiliation that they had heaped upon him. he saw that they flew eastward until they came to ronneby river. then they changed their course, and followed the river toward the south. he understood that they intended to seek a sleeping-place along the river-banks, and he thought that he should be able to get hold of a pair of them without much trouble. but when smirre finally discovered the place where the wild geese had taken refuge, he observed they had chosen such a well-protected spot, that he couldn't get near. ronneby river isn't any big or important body of water; nevertheless, it is just as much talked of, for the sake of its pretty shores. at several points it forces its way forward between steep mountain-walls that stand upright out of the water, and are entirely overgrown with honeysuckle and bird-cherry, mountain-ash and osier; and there isn't much that can be more delightful than to row out on the little dark river on a pleasant summer day, and look upward on all the soft green that fastens itself to the rugged mountain-sides. but now, when the wild geese and smirre came to the river, it was cold and blustery spring-winter; all the trees were nude, and there was probably no one who thought the least little bit about whether the shore was ugly or pretty. the wild geese thanked their good fortune that they had found a sand-strip large enough for them to stand upon, on a steep mountain wall. in front of them rushed the river, which was strong and violent in the snow-melting time; behind them they had an impassable mountain rock wall, and overhanging branches screened them. they couldn't have it better. the geese were asleep instantly; but the boy couldn't get a wink of sleep. as soon as the sun had disappeared he was seized with a fear of the darkness, and a wilderness-terror, and he longed for human beings. where he lay--tucked in under the goose-wing--he could see nothing, and only hear a little; and he thought if any harm came to the goosey-gander, he couldn't save him. noises and rustlings were heard from all directions, and he grew so uneasy that he had to creep from under the wing and seat himself on the ground, beside the goose. long-sighted smirre stood on the mountain's summit and looked down upon the wild geese. "you may as well give this pursuit up first as last," he said to himself. "you can't climb such a steep mountain; you can't swim in such a wild torrent; and there isn't the tiniest strip of land below the mountain which leads to the sleeping-place. those geese are too wise for you. don't ever bother yourself again to hunt them!" but smirre, like all foxes, had found it hard to give up an undertaking already begun, and so he lay down on the extremest point of the mountain edge, and did not take his eyes off the wild geese. while he lay and watched them, he thought of all the harm they had done him. yes, it was their fault that he had been driven from skåne, and had been obliged to move to poverty-stricken blekinge. he worked himself up to such a pitch, as he lay there, that he wished the wild geese were dead, even if he, himself, should not have the satisfaction of eating them. when smirre's resentment had reached this height, he heard rasping in a large pine that grew close to him, and saw a squirrel come down from the tree, hotly pursued by a marten. neither of them noticed smirre; and he sat quietly and watched the chase, which went from tree to tree. he looked at the squirrel, who moved among the branches as lightly as though he'd been able to fly. he looked at the marten, who was not as skilled at climbing as the squirrel, but who still ran up and along the branches just as securely as if they had been even paths in the forest. "if i could only climb half as well as either of them," thought the fox, "those things down there wouldn't sleep in peace very long!" as soon as the squirrel had been captured, and the chase was ended, smirre walked over to the marten, but stopped two steps away from him, to signify that he did not wish to cheat him of his prey. he greeted the marten in a very friendly manner, and wished him good luck with his catch. smirre chose his words well--as foxes always do. the marten, on the contrary, who, with his long and slender body, his fine head, his soft skin, and his light brown neck-piece, looked like a little marvel of beauty--but in reality was nothing but a crude forest dweller--hardly answered him. "it surprises me," said smirre, "that such a fine hunter as you are should be satisfied with chasing squirrels when there is much better game within reach." here he paused; but when the marten only grinned impudently at him, he continued: "can it be possible that you haven't seen the wild geese that stand under the mountain wall? or are you not a good enough climber to get down to them?" this time he had no need to wait for an answer. the marten rushed up to him with back bent, and every separate hair on end. "have you seen wild geese?" he hissed. "where are they? tell me instantly, or i'll bite your neck off!" "no! you must remember that i'm twice your size--so be a little polite. i ask nothing better than to show you the wild geese." the next instant the marten was on his way down the steep; and while smirre sat and watched how he swung his snake-like body from branch to branch, he thought: "that pretty tree-hunter has the wickedest heart in all the forest. i believe that the wild geese will have me to thank for a bloody awakening." but just as smirre was waiting to hear the geese's death-rattle, he saw the marten tumble from branch to branch--and plump into the river so the water splashed high. soon thereafter, wings beat loudly and strongly and all the geese went up in a hurried flight. smirre intended to hurry after the geese, but he was so curious to know how they had been saved, that he sat there until the marten came clambering up. that poor thing was soaked in mud, and stopped every now and then to rub his head with his forepaws. "now wasn't that just what i thought--that you were a booby, and would go and tumble into the river?" said smirre, contemptuously. "i haven't acted boobyishly. you don't need to scold me," said the marten. "i sat--all ready--on one of the lowest branches and thought how i should manage to tear a whole lot of geese to pieces, when a little creature, no bigger than a squirrel, jumped up and threw a stone at my head with such force, that i fell into the water; and before i had time to pick myself up--" the marten didn't have to say any more. he had no audience. smirre was already a long way off in pursuit of the wild geese. in the meantime akka had flown southward in search of a new sleeping-place. there was still a little daylight; and, beside, the half-moon stood high in the heavens, so that she could see a little. luckily, she was well acquainted in these parts, because it had happened more than once that she had been wind-driven to blekinge when she travelled over the east sea in the spring. she followed the river as long as she saw it winding through the moon-lit landscape like a black, shining snake. in this way she came way down to djupafors--where the river first hides itself in an underground channel--and then clear and transparent, as though it were made of glass, rushes down in a narrow cleft, and breaks into bits against its bottom in glittering drops and flying foam. below the white falls lay a few stones, between which the water rushed away in a wild torrent cataract. here mother akka alighted. this was another good sleeping-place--especially this late in the evening, when no human beings moved about. at sunset the geese would hardly have been able to camp there, for djupafors does not lie in any wilderness. on one side of the falls is a paper factory; on the other--which is steep, and tree-grown--is djupadal's park, where people are always strolling about on the steep and slippery paths to enjoy the wild stream's rushing movement down in the ravine. it was about the same here as at the former place; none of the travellers thought the least little bit that they had come to a pretty and well-known place. they thought rather that it was ghastly and dangerous to stand and sleep on slippery, wet stones, in the middle of a rumbling waterfall. but they had to be content, if only they were protected from carnivorous animals. the geese fell asleep instantly, while the boy could find no rest in sleep, but sat beside them that he might watch over the goosey-gander. after a while, smirre came running along the river-shore. he spied the geese immediately where they stood out in the foaming whirlpools, and understood that he couldn't get at them here, either. still he couldn't make up his mind to abandon them, but seated himself on the shore and looked at them. he felt very much humbled, and thought that his entire reputation as a hunter was at stake. all of a sudden, he saw an otter come creeping up from the falls with a fish in his mouth. smirre approached him but stopped within two steps of him, to show him that he didn't wish to take his game from him. "you're a remarkable one, who can content yourself with catching a fish, while the stones are covered with geese!" said smirre. he was so eager, that he hadn't taken the time to arrange his words as carefully as he was wont to do. the otter didn't turn his head once in the direction of the river. he was a vagabond--like all otters--and had fished many times by vomb lake, and probably knew smirre fox. "i know very well how you act when you want to coax away a salmon-trout, smirre," said he. "oh! is it you, gripe?" said smirre, and was delighted; for he knew that this particular otter was a quick and accomplished swimmer. "i don't wonder that you do not care to look at the wild geese, since you can't manage to get out to them." but the otter, who had swimming-webs between his toes, and a stiff tail--which was as good as an oar--and a skin that was water-proof, didn't wish to have it said of him that there was a waterfall that he wasn't able to manage. he turned toward the stream; and as soon as he caught sight of the wild geese, he threw the fish away, and rushed down the steep shore and into the river. if it had been a little later in the spring, so that the nightingales in djupafors had been at home, they would have sung for many a day of gripe's struggle with the rapid. for the otter was thrust back by the waves many times, and carried down river; but he fought his way steadily up again. he swam forward in still water; he crawled over stones, and gradually came nearer the wild geese. it was a perilous trip, which might well have earned the right to be sung by the nightingales. smirre followed the otter's course with his eyes as well as he could. at last he saw that the otter was in the act of climbing up to the wild geese. but just then it shrieked shrill and wild. the otter tumbled backward into the water, and dashed away as if he had been a blind kitten. an instant later, there was a great crackling of geese's wings. they raised themselves and flew away to find another sleeping-place. the otter soon came on land. he said nothing, but commenced to lick one of his forepaws. when smirre sneered at him because he hadn't succeeded, he broke out: "it was not the fault of my swimming-art, smirre. i had raced all the way over to the geese, and was about to climb up to them, when a tiny creature came running, and jabbed me in the foot with some sharp iron. it hurt so, i lost my footing, and then the current took me." he didn't have to say any more. smirre was already far away on his way to the wild geese. once again akka and her flock had to take a night fly. fortunately, the moon had not gone down; and with the aid of its light, she succeeded in finding another of those sleeping-places which she knew in that neighbourhood. again she followed the shining river toward the south. over djupadal's manor, and over ronneby's dark roofs and white waterfalls she swayed forward without alighting. but a little south of the city and not far from the sea, lies ronneby health-spring, with its bath house and spring house; with its big hotel and summer cottages for the spring's guests. all these stand empty and desolate in winter--which the birds know perfectly well; and many are the bird-companies who seek shelter on the deserted buildings' balustrades and balconies during hard storm-times. here the wild geese lit on a balcony, and, as usual, they fell asleep at once. the boy, on the contrary, could not sleep because he hadn't cared to creep in under the goosey-gander's wing. the balcony faced south, so the boy had an outlook over the sea. and since he could not sleep, he sat there and saw how pretty it looked when sea and land meet, here in blekinge. you see that sea and land can meet in many different ways. in many places the land comes down toward the sea with flat, tufted meadows, and the sea meets the land with flying sand, which piles up in mounds and drifts. it appears as though they both disliked each other so much that they only wished to show the poorest they possessed. but it can also happen that, when the land comes toward the sea, it raises a wall of hills in front of it--as though the sea were something dangerous. when the land does this, the sea comes up to it with fiery wrath, and beats and roars and lashes against the rocks, and looks as if it would tear the land-hill to pieces. but in blekinge it is altogether different when sea and land meet. there the land breaks itself up into points and islands and islets; and the sea divides itself into fiords and bays and sounds; and it is, perhaps, this which makes it look as if they must meet in happiness and harmony. think now first and foremost of the sea! far out it lies desolate and empty and big, and has nothing else to do but to roll its gray billows. when it comes toward the land, it happens across the first obstacle. this it immediately overpowers; tears away everything green, and makes it as gray as itself. then it meets still another obstacle. with this it does the same thing. and still another. yes, the same thing happens to this also. it is stripped and plundered, as if it had fallen into robbers' hands. then the obstacles come nearer and nearer together, and then the sea must understand that the land sends toward it her littlest children, in order to move it to pity. it also becomes more friendly the farther in it comes; rolls its waves less high; moderates its storms; lets the green things stay in cracks and crevices; separates itself into small sounds and inlets, and becomes at last so harmless in the land, that little boats dare venture out on it. it certainly cannot recognise itself--so mild and friendly has it grown. and then think of the hillside! it lies uniform, and looks the same almost everywhere. it consists of flat grain-fields, with one and another birch-grove between them; or else of long stretches of forest ranges. it appears as if it had thought about nothing but grain and turnips and potatoes and spruce and pine. then comes a sea-fiord that cuts far into it. it doesn't mind that, but borders it with birch and alder, just as if it was an ordinary fresh-water lake. then still another wave comes driving in. nor does the hillside bother itself about cringing to this, but it, too, gets the same covering as the first one. then the fiords begin to broaden and separate, they break up fields and woods and then the hillside cannot help but notice them. "i believe it is the sea itself that is coming," says the hillside, and then it begins to adorn itself. it wreathes itself with blossoms, travels up and down in hills and throws islands into the sea. it no longer cares about pines and spruces, but casts them off like old every day clothes, and parades later with big oaks and lindens and chestnuts, and with blossoming leafy bowers, and becomes as gorgeous as a manor-park. and when it meets the sea, it is so changed that it doesn't know itself. all this one cannot see very well until summertime; but, at any rate, the boy observed how mild and friendly nature was; and he began to feel calmer than he had been before, that night. then, suddenly, he heard a sharp and ugly yowl from the bath-house park; and when he stood up he saw, in the white moonlight, a fox standing on the pavement under the balcony. for smirre had followed the wild geese once more. but when he had found the place where they were quartered, he had understood that it was impossible to get at them in any way; then he had not been able to keep from yowling with chagrin. when the fox yowled in this manner, old akka, the leader-goose, was awakened. although she could see nothing, she thought she recognised the voice. "is it you who are out to-night, smirre?" said she. "yes," said smirre, "it is i; and i want to ask what you geese think of the night that i have given you?" "do you mean to say that it is you who have sent the marten and otter against us?" asked akka. "a good turn shouldn't be denied," said smirre. "you once played the goose-game with me, now i have begun to play the fox-game with you; and i'm not inclined to let up on it so long as a single one of you still lives even if i have to follow you the world over!" "you, smirre, ought at least to think whether it is right for you, who are weaponed with both teeth and claws, to hound us in this way; we, who are without defence," said akka. smirre thought that akka sounded scared, and he said quickly: "if you, akka, will take that thumbietot--who has so often opposed me--and throw him down to me, i'll promise to make peace with you. then i'll never more pursue you or any of yours." "i'm not going to give you thumbietot," said akka. "from the youngest of us to the oldest, we would willingly give our lives for his sake!" "since you're so fond of him," said smirre, "i'll promise you that he shall be the first among you that i will wreak vengeance upon." akka said no more, and after smirre had sent up a few more yowls, all was still. the boy lay all the while awake. now it was akka's words to the fox that prevented him from sleeping. never had he dreamed that he should hear anything so great as that anyone was willing to risk life for his sake. from that moment, it could no longer be said of nils holgersson that he did not care for anyone. karlskrona _saturday, april second_. it was a moonlight evening in karlskrona--calm and beautiful. but earlier in the day, there had been rain and wind; and the people must have thought that the bad weather still continued, for hardly one of them had ventured out on the streets. while the city lay there so desolate, akka, the wild goose, and her flock, came flying toward it over vemmön and pantarholmen. they were out in the late evening to seek a sleeping place on the islands. they couldn't remain inland because they were disturbed by smirre fox wherever they lighted. when the boy rode along high up in the air, and looked at the sea and the islands which spread themselves before him, he thought that everything appeared so strange and spook-like. the heavens were no longer blue, but encased him like a globe of green glass. the sea was milk-white, and as far as he could see rolled small white waves tipped with silver ripples. in the midst of all this white lay numerous little islets, absolutely coal black. whether they were big or little, whether they were as even as meadows, or full of cliffs, they looked just as black. even dwelling houses and churches and windmills, which at other times are white or red, were outlined in black against the green sky. the boy thought it was as if the earth had been transformed, and he was come to another world. he thought that just for this one night he wanted to be brave, and not afraid--when he saw something that really frightened him. it was a high cliff island, which was covered with big, angular blocks; and between the blocks shone specks of bright, shining gold. he couldn't keep from thinking of maglestone, by trolle-ljungby, which the trolls sometimes raised upon high gold pillars; and he wondered if this was something like that. but with the stones and the gold it might have gone fairly well, if such a lot of horrid things had not been lying all around the island. it looked like whales and sharks and other big sea-monsters. but the boy understood that it was the sea-trolls, who had gathered around the island and intended to crawl up on it, to fight with the land-trolls who lived there. and those on the land were probably afraid, for he saw how a big giant stood on the highest point of the island and raised his arms--as if in despair over all the misfortune that should come to him and his island. the boy was not a little terrified when he noticed that akka began to descend right over that particular island! "no, for pity's sake! we must not light there," said he. but the geese continued to descend, and soon the boy was astonished that he could have seen things so awry. in the first place, the big stone blocks were nothing but houses. the whole island was a city; and the shining gold specks were street lamps and lighted window-panes. the giant, who stood highest up on the island, and raised his arms, was a church with two cross-towers; all the sea-trolls and monsters, which he thought he had seen, were boats and ships of every description, that lay anchored all around the island. on the side which lay toward the land were mostly row-boats and sailboats and small coast steamers; but on the side that faced the sea lay armour-clad battleships; some were broad, with very thick, slanting smokestacks; others were long and narrow, and so constructed that they could glide through the water like fishes. now what city might this be? that, the boy could figure out because he saw all the battleships. all his life he had loved ships, although he had had nothing to do with any, except the galleys which he had sailed in the road ditches. he knew very well that this city--where so many battleships lay--couldn't be any place but karlskrona. the boy's grandfather had been an old marine; and as long as he had lived, he had talked of karlskrona every day; of the great warship dock, and of all the other things to be seen in that city. the boy felt perfectly at home, and he was glad that he should see all this of which he had heard so much. but he only had a glimpse of the towers and fortifications which barred the entrance to the harbour, and the many buildings, and the shipyard--before akka came down on one of the flat church-towers. this was a pretty safe place for those who wanted to get away from a fox, and the boy began to wonder if he couldn't venture to crawl in under the goosey-gander's wing for this one night. yes, that he might safely do. it would do him good to get a little sleep. he should try to see a little more of the dock and the ships after it had grown light. the boy himself thought it was strange that he could keep still and wait until the next morning to see the ships. he certainly had not slept five minutes before he slipped out from under the wing and slid down the lightning-rod and the waterspout all the way down to the ground. soon he stood on a big square which spread itself in front of the church. it was covered with round stones, and was just as difficult for him to travel over, as it is for big people to walk on a tufted meadow. those who are accustomed to live in the open--or way out in the country--always feel uneasy when they come into a city, where the houses stand straight and forbidding, and the streets are open, so that everyone can see who goes there. and it happened in the same way with the boy. when he stood on the big karlskrona square, and looked at the german church, and town hall, and the cathedral from which he had just descended, he couldn't do anything but wish that he was back on the tower again with the geese. it was a lucky thing that the square was entirely deserted. there wasn't a human being about--unless he counted a statue that stood on a high pedestal. the boy gazed long at the statue, which represented a big, brawny man in a three-cornered hat, long waistcoat, knee-breeches and coarse shoes, and wondered what kind of a one he was. he held a long stick in his hand, and he looked as if he would know how to make use of it, too--for he had an awfully severe countenance, with a big, hooked nose and an ugly mouth. "what is that long-lipped thing doing here?" said the boy at last. he had never felt so small and insignificant as he did that night. he tried to jolly himself up a bit by saying something audacious. then he thought no more about the statue, but betook himself to a wide street which led down to the sea. but the boy hadn't gone far before he heard that someone was following him. someone was walking behind him, who stamped on the stone pavement with heavy footsteps, and pounded on the ground with a hard stick. it sounded as if the bronze man up in the square had gone out for a promenade. the boy listened after the steps, while he ran down the street, and he became more and more convinced that it was the bronze man. the ground trembled, and the houses shook. it couldn't be anyone but he, who walked so heavily, and the boy grew panic-stricken when he thought of what he had just said to him. he did not dare to turn his head to find out if it really was he. "perhaps he is only out walking for recreation," thought the boy. "surely he can't be offended with me for the words i spoke. they were not at all badly meant." instead of going straight on, and trying to get down to the dock, the boy turned into a side street which led east. first and foremost, he wanted to get away from the one who tramped after him. but the next instant he heard that the bronze man had switched off to the same street; and then the boy was so scared that he didn't know what he would do with himself. and how hard it was to find any hiding places in a city where all the gates were closed! then he saw on his right an old frame church, which lay a short distance away from the street in the centre of a large grove. not an instant did he pause to consider, but rushed on toward the church. "if i can only get there, then i'll surely be shielded from all harm," thought he. as he ran forward, he suddenly caught sight of a man who stood on a gravel path and beckoned to him. "there is certainly someone who will help me!" thought the boy; he became intensely happy, and hurried off in that direction. he was actually so frightened that the heart of him fairly thumped in his breast. but when he came up to the man who stood on the edge of the gravel path, upon a low pedestal, he was absolutely thunderstruck. "surely, it can't have been that one who beckoned to me!" thought he; for he saw that the entire man was made of wood. he stood there and stared at him. he was a thick-set man on short legs, with a broad, ruddy countenance, shiny, black hair and full black beard. on his head he wore a wooden hat; on his body, a brown wooden coat; around his waist, a black wooden belt; on his legs he had wide wooden knee-breeches and wooden stockings; and on his feet black wooden shoes. he was newly painted and newly varnished, so that he glistened and shone in the moonlight. this undoubtedly had a good deal to do with giving him such a good-natured appearance, that the boy at once placed confidence in him. in his left hand he held a wooden slate, and there the boy read: _most humbly i beg you, though voice i may lack: come drop a penny, do; but lift my hat!_ oh ho! the man was only a poor-box. the boy felt that he had been done. he had expected that this should be something really remarkable. and now he remembered that grandpa had also spoken of the wooden man, and said that all the children in karlskrona were so fond of him. and that must have been true, for he, too, found it hard to part with the wooden man. he had something so old-timy about him, that one could well take him to be many hundred years old; and at the same time, he looked so strong and bold, and animated--just as one might imagine that folks looked in olden times. the boy had so much fun looking at the wooden man, that he entirely forgot the one from whom he was fleeing. but now he heard him. he turned from the street and came into the churchyard. he followed him here too! where should the boy go? just then he saw the wooden man bend down to him and stretch forth his big, broad hand. it was impossible to believe anything but good of him; and with one jump, the boy stood in his hand. the wooden man lifted him to his hat--and stuck him under it. the boy was just hidden, and the wooden man had just gotten his arm in its right place again, when the bronze man stopped in front of him and banged the stick on the ground, so that the wooden man shook on his pedestal. thereupon the bronze man said in a strong and resonant voice: "who might this one be?" the wooden man's arm went up, so that it creaked in the old woodwork, and he touched his hat brim as he replied: "rosenbom, by your majesty's leave. once upon a time boatswain on the man-of-war, _dristigheten_; after completed service, sexton at the admiral's church--and, lately, carved in wood and exhibited in the churchyard as a poor-box." the boy gave a start when he heard that the wooden man said "your majesty." for now, when he thought about it, he knew that the statue on the square represented the one who had founded the city. it was probably no less an one than charles the eleventh himself, whom he had encountered. "he gives a good account of himself," said the bronze man. "can he also tell me if he has seen a little brat who runs around in the city to-night? he's an impudent rascal, if i get hold of him, i'll teach him manners!" with that, he again pounded on the ground with his stick, and looked fearfully angry. "by your majesty's leave, i have seen him," said the wooden man; and the boy was so scared that he commenced to shake where he sat under the hat and looked at the bronze man through a crack in the wood. but he calmed down when the wooden man continued: "your majesty is on the wrong track. that youngster certainly intended to run into the shipyard, and conceal himself there." "does he say so, rosenbom? well then, don't stand still on the pedestal any longer but come with me and help me find him. four eyes are better than two, rosenbom." but the wooden man answered in a doleful voice: "i would most humbly beg to be permitted to stay where i am. i look well and sleek because of the paint, but i'm old and mouldy, and cannot stand moving about." the bronze man was not one of those who liked to be contradicted. "what sort of notions are these? come along, rosenbom!" then he raised his stick and gave the other one a resounding whack on the shoulder. "does rosenbom not see that he holds together?" with that they broke off and walked forward on the streets of karlskrona--large and mighty--until they came to a high gate, which led to the shipyard. just outside and on guard walked one of the navy's jack-tars, but the bronze man strutted past him and kicked the gate open without the jack-tar's pretending to notice it. as soon as they had gotten into the shipyard, they saw before them a wide, expansive harbor separated by pile-bridges. in the different harbour basins, lay the warships, which looked bigger, and more awe-inspiring close to, like this, than lately, when the boy had seen them from up above. "then it wasn't so crazy after all, to imagine that they were sea-trolls," thought he. "where does rosenbom think it most advisable for us to begin the search?" said the bronze man. "such an one as he could most easily conceal himself in the hall of models," replied the wooden man. on a narrow land-strip which stretched to the right from the gate, all along the harbour, lay ancient structures. the bronze man walked over to a building with low walls, small windows, and a conspicuous roof. he pounded on the door with his stick until it burst open; and tramped up a pair of worn-out steps. soon they came into a large hall, which was filled with tackled and full-rigged little ships. the boy understood without being told, that these were models for the ships which had been built for the swedish navy. there were ships of many different varieties. there were old men-of-war, whose sides bristled with cannon, and which had high structures fore and aft, and their masts weighed down with a network of sails and ropes. there were small island-boats with rowing-benches along the sides; there were undecked cannon sloops and richly gilded frigates, which were models of the ones the kings had used on their travels. finally, there were also the heavy, broad armour-plated ships with towers and cannon on deck--such as are in use nowadays; and narrow, shining torpedo boats which resembled long, slender fishes. when the boy was carried around among all this, he was awed. "fancy that such big, splendid ships have been built here in sweden!" he thought to himself. he had plenty of time to see all that was to be seen in there; for when the bronze man saw the models, he forgot everything else. he examined them all, from the first to the last, and asked about them. and rosenbom, the boatswain on the _dristigheten_, told as much as he knew of the ships' builders, and of those who had manned them; and of the fates they had met. he told them about chapman and puke and trolle; of hoagland and svensksund--all the way along until --after that he had not been there. both he and the bronze man had the most to say about the fine old wooden ships. the new battleships they didn't exactly appear to understand. "i can hear that rosenbom doesn't know anything about these new-fangled things," said the bronze man. "therefore, let us go and look at something else; for this amuses me, rosenbom." by this time he had entirely given up his search for the boy, who felt calm and secure where he sat in the wooden hat. thereupon both men wandered through the big establishment: sail-making shops, anchor smithy, machine and carpenter shops. they saw the mast sheers and the docks; the large magazines, the arsenal, the rope-bridge and the big discarded dock, which had been blasted in the rock. they went out upon the pile-bridges, where the naval vessels lay moored, stepped on board and examined them like two old sea-dogs; wondered; disapproved; approved; and became indignant. the boy sat in safety under the wooden hat, and heard all about how they had laboured and struggled in this place, to equip the navies which had gone out from here. he heard how life and blood had been risked; how the last penny had been sacrificed to build the warships; how skilled men had strained all their powers, in order to perfect these ships which had been their fatherland's safeguard. a couple of times the tears came to the boy's eyes, as he heard all this. and the very last, they went into an open court, where the galley models of old men-of-war were grouped; and a more remarkable sight the boy had never beheld; for these models had inconceivably powerful and terror-striking faces. they were big, fearless and savage: filled with the same proud spirit that had fitted out the great ships. they were from another time than his. he thought that he shrivelled up before them. but when they came in here, the bronze man said to the wooden man: "take off thy hat, rosenbom, for those that stand here! they have all fought for the fatherland." and rosenbom--like the bronze man--had forgotten why they had begun this tramp. without thinking, he lifted the wooden hat from his head and shouted: "i take off my hat to the one who chose the harbour and founded the shipyard and recreated the navy; to the monarch who has awakened all this into life!" "thanks, rosenbom! that was well spoken. rosenbom is a fine man. but what is this, rosenbom?" for there stood nils holgersson, right on the top of rosenbom's bald pate. he wasn't afraid any longer; but raised his white toboggan hood, and shouted: "hurrah for you, longlip!" the bronze man struck the ground hard with his stick; but the boy never learned what he had intended to do for now the sun ran up, and, at the same time, both the bronze man and the wooden man vanished--as if they had been made of mists. while he still stood and stared after them, the wild geese flew up from the church tower, and swayed back and forth over the city. instantly they caught sight of nils holgersson; and then the big white one darted down from the sky and fetched him. the trip to Öland _sunday, april third_. the wild geese went out on a wooded island to feed. there they happened to run across a few gray geese, who were surprised to see them--since they knew very well that their kinsmen, the wild geese, usually travel over the interior of the country. they were curious and inquisitive, and wouldn't be satisfied with less than that the wild geese should tell them all about the persecution which they had to endure from smirre fox. when they had finished, a gray goose, who appeared to be as old and as wise as akka herself, said: "it was a great misfortune for you that smirre fox was declared an outlaw in his own land. he'll be sure to keep his word, and follow you all the way up to lapland. if i were in your place, i shouldn't travel north over småland, but would take the outside route over Öland instead, so that he'll be thrown off the track entirely. to really mislead him, you must remain for a couple of days on Öland's southern point. there you'll find lots of food and lots of company. i don't believe you'll regret it, if you go over there." it was certainly very sensible advice, and the wild geese concluded to follow it. as soon as they had eaten all they could hold, they started on the trip to Öland. none of them had ever been there before, but the gray goose had given them excellent directions. they only had to travel direct south until they came to a large bird-track, which extended all along the blekinge coast. all the birds who had winter residences by the west sea, and who now intended to travel to finland and russia, flew forward there--and, in passing, they were always in the habit of stopping at Öland to rest. the wild geese would have no trouble in finding guides. that day it was perfectly still and warm--like a summer's day--the best weather in the world for a sea trip. the only grave thing about it was that it was not quite clear, for the sky was gray and veiled. here and there were enormous mist-clouds which hung way down to the sea's outer edge, and obstructed the view. when the travellers had gotten away from the wooded island, the sea spread itself so smooth and mirror-like, that the boy as he looked down thought the water had disappeared. there was no longer any earth under him. he had nothing but mist and sky around him. he grew very dizzy, and held himself tight on the goose-back, more frightened than when he sat there for the first time. it seemed as though he couldn't possibly hold on; he must fall in some direction. it was even worse when they reached the big bird-track, of which the gray goose had spoken. actually, there came flock after flock flying in exactly the same direction. they seemed to follow a fixed route. there were ducks and gray geese, surf-scoters and guillemots, loons and pin-tail ducks and mergansers and grebes and oyster-catchers and sea-grouse. but now, when the boy leaned forward, and looked in the direction where the sea ought to lie, he saw the whole bird procession reflected in the water. but he was so dizzy that he didn't understand how this had come about: he thought that the whole bird procession flew with their bellies upside down. still he didn't wonder at this so much, for he did not himself know which was up, and which was down. the birds were tired out and impatient to get on. none of them shrieked or said a funny thing, and this made everything seem peculiarly unreal. "think, if we have travelled away from the earth!" he said to himself. "think, if we are on our way up to heaven!" he saw nothing but mists and birds around him, and began to look upon it as reasonable that they were travelling heaven-ward. he was glad, and wondered what he should see up there. the dizziness passed all at once. he was so exceedingly happy at the thought that he was on his way to heaven and was leaving this earth. just about then he heard a couple of loud shots, and saw two white smoke-columns ascend. there was a sudden awakening, and an unrest among the birds. "hunters! hunters!" they cried. "fly high! fly away!" then the boy saw, finally, that they were travelling all the while over the sea-coast, and that they certainly were not in heaven. in a long row lay small boats filled with hunters, who fired shot upon shot. the nearest bird-flocks hadn't noticed them in time. they had flown too low. several dark bodies sank down toward the sea; and for every one that fell, there arose cries of anguish from the living. it was strange for one who had but lately believed himself in heaven, to wake up suddenly to such fear and lamentation. akka shot toward the heights as fast as she could, and the flock followed with the greatest possible speed. the wild geese got safely out of the way, but the boy couldn't get over his amazement. "to think that anyone could wish to shoot upon such as akka and yksi and kaksi and the goosey-gander and the others! human beings had no conception of what they did." so it bore on again, in the still air, and everything was as quiet as heretofore--with the exception that some of the tired birds called out every now and then: "are we not there soon? are you sure we're on the right track?" hereupon, those who flew in the centre answered: "we are flying straight to Öland; straight to Öland." the gray geese were tired out, and the loons flew around them. "don't be in such a rush!" cried the ducks. "you'll eat up all the food before we get there." "oh! there'll be enough for both you and us," answered the loons. before they had gotten so far that they saw Öland, there came a light wind against them. it brought with it something that resembled immense clouds of white smoke--just as if there was a big fire somewhere. when the birds saw the first white spiral haze, they became uneasy and increased their speed. but that which resembled smoke blew thicker and thicker, and at last it enveloped them altogether. they smelled no smoke; and the smoke was not dark and dry, but white and damp. suddenly the boy understood that it was nothing but a mist. when the mist became so thick that one couldn't see a goose-length ahead, the birds began to carry on like real lunatics. all these, who before had travelled forward in such perfect order, began to play in the mist. they flew hither and thither, to entice one another astray. "be careful!" they cried. "you're only travelling round and round. turn back, for pity's sake! you'll never get to Öland in this way." they all knew perfectly well where the island was, but they did their best to lead each other astray. "look at those wagtails!" rang out in the mist. "they are going back toward the north sea!" "have a care, wild geese!" shrieked someone from another direction. "if you continue like this, you'll get clear up to rügen." there was, of course, no danger that the birds who were accustomed to travel here would permit themselves to be lured in a wrong direction. but the ones who had a hard time of it were the wild geese. the jesters observed that they were uncertain as to the way, and did all they could to confuse them. "where do you intend to go, good people?" called a swan. he came right up to akka, and looked sympathetic and serious. "we shall travel to Öland; but we have never been there before," said akka. she thought that this was a bird to be trusted. "it's too bad," said the swan. "they have lured you in the wrong direction. you're on the road to blekinge. now come with me, and i'll put you right!" and so he flew off with them; and when he had taken them so far away from the track that they heard no calls, he disappeared in the mist. they flew around for a while at random. they had barely succeeded in finding the birds again, when a duck approached them. "it's best that you lie down on the water until the mist clears," said the duck. "it is evident that you are not accustomed to look out for yourselves on journeys." those rogues succeeded in making akka's head swim. as near as the boy could make out, the wild geese flew round and round for a long time. "be careful! can't you see that you are flying up and down?" shouted a loon as he rushed by. the boy positively clutched the goosey-gander around the neck. this was something which he had feared for a long time. no one can tell when they would have arrived, if they hadn't heard a rolling and muffled sound in the distance. then akka craned her neck, snapped hard with her wings, and rushed on at full speed. now she had something to go by. the gray goose had told her not to light on Öland's southern point, because there was a cannon there, which the people used to shoot the mist with. now she knew the way, and now no one in the world should lead her astray again. Öland's southern point _april third to sixth_. on the most southerly part of Öland lies a royal demesne, which is called ottenby. it is a rather large estate which extends from shore to shore, straight across the island; and it is remarkable because it has always been a haunt for large bird-companies. in the seventeenth century, when the kings used to go over to Öland to hunt, the entire estate was nothing but a deer park. in the eighteenth century there was a stud there, where blooded race-horses were bred; and a sheep farm, where several hundred sheep were maintained. in our days you'll find neither blooded horses nor sheep at ottenby. in place of them live great herds of young horses, which are to be used by the cavalry. in all the land there is certainly no place that could be a better abode for animals. along the extreme eastern shore lies the old sheep meadow, which is a mile and a half long, and the largest meadow in all Öland, where animals can graze and play and run about, as free as if they were in a wilderness. and there you will find the celebrated ottenby grove with the hundred-year-old oaks, which give shade from the sun, and shelter from the severe Öland winds. and we must not forget the long ottenby wall, which stretches from shore to shore, and separates ottenby from the rest of the island, so that the animals may know how far the old royal demesne extends, and be careful about getting in on other ground, where they are not so well protected. you'll find plenty of tame animals at ottenby, but that isn't all. one could almost believe that the wild ones also felt that on an old crown property both the wild and the tame ones can count upon shelter and protection--since they venture there in such great numbers. besides, there are still a few stags of the old descent left; and burrow-ducks and partridges love to live there, and it offers a resting place, in the spring and late summer, for thousands of migratory birds. above all, it is the swampy eastern shore below the sheep meadow, where the migratory birds alight, to rest and feed. when the wild geese and nils holgersson had finally found their way to Öland, they came down, like all the rest, on the shore near the sheep meadow. the mist lay thick over the island, just as it had over the sea. but still the boy was amazed at all the birds which he discerned, only on the little narrow stretch of shore which he could see. it was a low sand-shore with stones and pools, and a lot of cast-up sea-weed. if the boy had been permitted to choose, it isn't likely that he would have thought of alighting there; but the birds probably looked upon this as a veritable paradise. ducks and geese walked about and fed on the meadow; nearer the water, ran snipe, and other coast-birds. the loons lay in the sea and fished, but the life and movement was upon the long sea-weed banks along the coast. there the birds stood side by side close together and picked grub-worms--which must have been found there in limitless quantities for it was very evident that there was never any complaint over a lack of food. the great majority were going to travel farther, and had only alighted to take a short rest; and as soon as the leader of a flock thought that his comrades had recovered themselves sufficiently he said, "if you are ready now, we may as well move on." "no, wait, wait! we haven't had anything like enough," said the followers. "you surely don't believe that i intend to let you eat so much that you will not be able to move?" said the leader, and flapped his wings and started off. along the outermost sea-weed banks lay a flock of swans. they didn't bother about going on land, but rested themselves by lying and rocking on the water. now and then they dived down with their necks and brought up food from the sea-bottom. when they had gotten hold of anything very good, they indulged in loud shouts that sounded like trumpet calls. when the boy heard that there were swans on the shoals, he hurried out to the sea-weed banks. he had never before seen wild swans at close range. he had luck on his side, so that he got close up to them. the boy was not the only one who had heard the swans. both the wild geese and the gray geese and the loons swam out between the banks, laid themselves in a ring around the swans and stared at them. the swans ruffled their feathers, raised their wings like sails, and lifted their necks high in the air. occasionally one and another of them swam up to a goose, or a great loon, or a diving-duck, and said a few words. and then it appeared as though the one addressed hardly dared raise his bill to reply. but then there was a little loon--a tiny mischievous baggage--who couldn't stand all this ceremony. he dived suddenly, and disappeared under the water's edge. soon after that, one of the swans let out a scream, and swam off so quickly that the water foamed. then he stopped and began to look majestic once more. but soon, another one shrieked in the same way as the first one, and then a third. the little loon wasn't able to stay under water any longer, but appeared on the water's edge, little and black and venomous. the swans rushed toward him; but when they saw what a poor little thing it was, they turned abruptly--as if they considered themselves too good to quarrel with him. then the little loon dived again, and pinched their feet. it certainly must have hurt; and the worst of it was, that they could not maintain their dignity. at once they took a decided stand. they began to beat the air with their wings so that it thundered; came forward a bit--as though they were running on the water--got wind under their wings, and raised themselves. when the swans were gone they were greatly missed; and those who had lately been amused by the little loon's antics scolded him for his thoughtlessness. the boy walked toward land again. there he stationed himself to see how the pool-snipe played. they resembled small storks; like these, they had little bodies, long legs and necks, and light, swaying movements; only they were not gray, but brown. they stood in a long row on the shore where it was washed by waves. as soon as a wave rolled in, the whole row ran backward; as soon as it receded, they followed it. and they kept this up for hours. the showiest of all the birds were the burrow-ducks. they were undoubtedly related to the ordinary ducks; for, like these, they too had a thick-set body, broad bill, and webbed feet; but they were much more elaborately gotten up. the feather dress, itself, was white; around their necks they wore a broad gold band; the wing-mirror shone in green, red, and black; and the wing-edges were black, and the head was dark green and shimmered like satin. as soon as any of these appeared on the shore, the others said: "now, just look at those things! they know how to tog themselves out." "if they were not so conspicuous, they wouldn't have to dig their nests in the earth, but could lay above ground, like anyone else," said a brown mallard-duck. "they may try as much as they please, still they'll never get anywhere with such noses," said a gray goose. and this was actually true. the burrow-ducks had a big knob on the base of the bill, which spoiled their appearance. close to the shore, sea-gulls and sea-swallows moved forward on the water and fished. "what kind of fish are you catching?" asked a wild goose. "it's a stickleback. it's Öland stickleback. it's the best stickleback in the world," said a gull. "won't you taste of it?" and he flew up to the goose, with his mouth full of the little fishes, and wanted to give her some. "ugh! do you think that i eat such filth?" said the wild goose. the next morning it was just as cloudy. the wild geese walked about on the meadow and fed; but the boy had gone to the seashore to gather mussels. there were plenty of them; and when he thought that the next day, perhaps, they would be in some place where they couldn't get any food at all, he concluded that he would try to make himself a little bag, which he could fill with mussels. he found an old sedge on the meadow, which was strong and tough; and out of this he began to braid a knapsack. he worked at this for several hours, but he was well satisfied with it when it was finished. at dinner time all the wild geese came running and asked him if he had seen anything of the white goosey-gander. "no, he has not been with me," said the boy. "we had him with us all along until just lately," said akka, "but now we no longer know where he's to be found." the boy jumped up, and was terribly frightened. he asked if any fox or eagle had put in an appearance, or if any human being had been seen in the neighbourhood. but no one had noticed anything dangerous. the goosey-gander had probably lost his way in the mist. but it was just as great a misfortune for the boy, in whatever way the white one had been lost, and he started off immediately to hunt for him. the mist shielded him, so that he could run wherever he wished without being seen, but it also prevented him from seeing. he ran southward along the shore--all the way down to the lighthouse and the mist cannon on the island's extreme point. it was the same bird confusion everywhere, but no goosey-gander. he ventured over to ottenby estate, and he searched every one of the old, hollow oaks in ottenby grove, but he saw no trace of the goosey-gander. he searched until it began to grow dark. then he had to turn back again to the eastern shore. he walked with heavy steps, and was fearfully blue. he didn't know what would become of him if he couldn't find the goosey-gander. there was no one whom he could spare less. but when he wandered over the sheep meadow, what was that big, white thing that came toward him in the mist if it wasn't the goosey-gander? he was all right, and very glad that, at last, he had been able to find his way back to the others. the mist had made him so dizzy, he said, that he had wandered around on the big meadow all day long. the boy threw his arms around his neck, for very joy, and begged him to take care of himself, and not wander away from the others. and he promised, positively, that he never would do this again. no, never again. but the next morning, when the boy went down to the beach and hunted for mussels, the geese came running and asked if he had seen the goosey-gander. no, of course he hadn't. "well, then the goosey-gander was lost again. he had gone astray in the mist, just as he had done the day before." the boy ran off in great terror and began to search. he found one place where the ottenby wall was so tumble-down that he could climb over it. later, he went about, first on the shore which gradually widened and became so large that there was room for fields and meadows and farms--then up on the flat highland, which lay in the middle of the island, and where there were no buildings except windmills, and where the turf was so thin that the white cement shone under it. meanwhile, he could not find the goosey-gander; and as it drew on toward evening, and the boy must return to the beach, he couldn't believe anything but that his travelling companion was lost. he was so depressed, he did not know what to do with himself. he had just climbed over the wall again when he heard a stone crash down close beside him. as he turned to see what it was, he thought that he could distinguish something that moved on a stone pile which lay close to the wall. he stole nearer, and saw the goosey-gander come trudging wearily over the stone pile, with several long fibres in his mouth. the goosey-gander didn't see the boy, and the boy did not call to him, but thought it advisable to find out first why the goosey-gander time and again disappeared in this manner. and he soon learned the reason for it. up in the stone pile lay a young gray goose, who cried with joy when the goosey-gander came. the boy crept near, so that he heard what they said; then he found out that the gray goose had been wounded in one wing, so that she could not fly, and that her flock had travelled away from her, and left her alone. she had been near death's door with hunger, when the white goosey-gander had heard her call, the other day, and had sought her out. ever since, he had been carrying food to her. they had both hoped that she would be well before they left the island, but, as yet, she could neither fly nor walk. she was very much worried over this, but he comforted her with the thought that he shouldn't travel for a long time. at last he bade her good-night, and promised to come the next day. the boy let the goosey-gander go; and as soon as he was gone, he stole, in turn, up to the stone heap. he was angry because he had been deceived, and now he wanted to say to that gray goose that the goosey-gander was his property. he was going to take the boy up to lapland, and there would be no talk of his staying here on her account. but now, when he saw the young gray goose close to, he understood, not only why the goosey-gander had gone and carried food to her for two days, but also why he had not wished to mention that he had helped her. she had the prettiest little head; her feather-dress was like soft satin, and the eyes were mild and pleading. when she saw the boy, she wanted to run away; but the left wing was out of joint and dragged on the ground, so that it interfered with her movements. "you mustn't be afraid of me," said the boy, and didn't look nearly so angry as he had intended to appear. "i'm thumbietot, morten goosey-gander's comrade," he continued. then he stood there, and didn't know what he wanted to say. occasionally one finds something among animals which makes one wonder what sort of creatures they really are. one is almost afraid that they may be transformed human beings. it was something like this with the gray goose. as soon as thumbietot said who he was, she lowered her neck and head very charmingly before him, and said in a voice that was so pretty that he couldn't believe it was a goose who spoke: "i am very glad that you have come here to help me. the white goosey-gander has told me that no one is as wise and as good as you." she said this with such dignity, that the boy grew really embarrassed. "this surely can't be any bird," thought he. "it is certainly some bewitched princess." he was filled with a desire to help her, and ran his hand under the feathers, and felt along the wing-bone. the bone was not broken, but there was something wrong with the joint. he got his finger down into the empty cavity. "be careful, now!" he said; and got a firm grip on the bone-pipe and fitted it into the place where it ought to be. he did it very quickly and well, considering it was the first time that he had attempted anything of the sort. but it must have hurt very much, for the poor young goose uttered a single shrill cry, and then sank down among the stones without showing a sign of life. the boy was terribly frightened. he had only wished to help her, and now she was dead. he made a big jump from the stone pile, and ran away. he thought it was as though he had murdered a human being. the next morning it was clear and free from mist, and akka said that now they should continue their travels. all the others were willing to go, but the white goosey-gander made excuses. the boy understood well enough that he didn't care to leave the gray goose. akka did not listen to him, but started off. the boy jumped up on the goosey-gander's back, and the white one followed the flock--albeit slowly and unwillingly. the boy was mighty glad that they could fly away from the island. he was conscience-stricken on account of the gray goose, and had not cared to tell the goosey-gander how it had turned out when he had tried to cure her. it would probably be best if morten goosey-gander never found out about this, he thought, though he wondered, at the same time, how the white one had the heart to leave the gray goose. but suddenly the goosey-gander turned. the thought of the young gray goose had overpowered him. it could go as it would with the lapland trip: he couldn't go with the others when he knew that she lay alone and ill, and would starve to death. with a few wing-strokes he was over the stone pile; but then, there lay no young gray goose between the stones. "dunfin! dunfin! where art thou?" called the goosey-gander. "the fox has probably been here and taken her," thought the boy. but at that moment he heard a pretty voice answer the goosey-gander. "here am i, goosey-gander; here am i! i have only been taking a morning bath." and up from the water came the little gray goose--fresh and in good trim--and told how thumbietot had pulled her wing into place, and that she was entirely well, and ready to follow them on the journey. the drops of water lay like pearl-dew on her shimmery satin-like feathers, and thumbietot thought once again that she was a real little princess. the big butterfly _wednesday, april sixth_. the geese travelled alongside the coast of the long island, which lay distinctly visible under them. the boy felt happy and light of heart during the trip. he was just as pleased and well satisfied as he had been glum and depressed the day before, when he roamed around down on the island, and hunted for the goosey-gander. he saw now that the interior of the island consisted of a barren high plain, with a wreath of fertile land along the coast; and he began to comprehend the meaning of something which he had heard the other evening. he had just seated himself to rest a bit by one of the many windmills on the highland, when a couple of shepherds came along with the dogs beside them, and a large herd of sheep in their train. the boy had not been afraid because he was well concealed under the windmill stairs. but as it turned out, the shepherds came and seated themselves on the same stairway, and then there was nothing for him to do but to keep perfectly still. one of the shepherds was young, and looked about as folks do mostly; the other was an old queer one. his body was large and knotty, but the head was small, and the face had sensitive and delicate features. it appeared as though the body and head didn't want to fit together at all. one moment he sat silent and gazed into the mist, with an unutterably weary expression. then he began to talk to his companion. then the other one took out some bread and cheese from his knapsack, to eat his evening meal. he answered scarcely anything, but listened very patiently, just as if he were thinking: "i might as well give you the pleasure of letting you chatter a while." "now i shall tell you something, eric," said the old shepherd. "i have figured out that in former days, when both human beings and animals were much larger than they are now, that the butterflies, too, must have been uncommonly large. and once there was a butterfly that was many miles long, and had wings as wide as seas. those wings were blue, and shone like silver, and so gorgeous that, when the butterfly was out flying, all the other animals stood still and stared at it. it had this drawback, however, that it was too large. the wings had hard work to carry it. but probably all would have gone very well, if the butterfly had been wise enough to remain on the hillside. but it wasn't; it ventured out over the east sea. and it hadn't gotten very far before the storm came along and began to tear at its wings. well, it's easy to understand, eric, how things would go when the east sea storm commenced to wrestle with frail butterfly-wings. it wasn't long before they were torn away and scattered; and then, of course, the poor butterfly fell into the sea. at first it was tossed backward and forward on the billows, and then it was stranded upon a few cliff-foundations outside of småland. and there it lay--as large and long as it was. "now i think, eric, that if the butterfly had dropped on land, it would soon have rotted and fallen apart. but since it fell into the sea, it was soaked through and through with lime, and became as hard as a stone. you know, of course, that we have found stones on the shore which were nothing but petrified worms. now i believe that it went the same way with the big butterfly-body. i believe that it turned where it lay into a long, narrow mountain out in the east sea. don't you?" he paused for a reply, and the other one nodded to him. "go on, so i may hear what you are driving at," said he. "and mark you, eric, that this very Öland, upon which you and i live, is nothing else than the old butterfly-body. if one only thinks about it, one can observe that the island is a butterfly. toward the north, the slender fore-body and the round head can be seen, and toward the south, one sees the back-body--which first broadens out, and then narrows to a sharp point." here he paused once more and looked at his companion rather anxiously to see how he would take this assertion. but the young man kept on eating with the utmost calm, and nodded to him to continue. "as soon as the butterfly had been changed into a limestone rock, many different kinds of seeds of herbs and trees came travelling with the winds, and wanted to take root on it. it was a long time before anything but sedge could grow there. then came sheep sorrel, and the rock-rose and thorn-brush. but even to-day there is not so much growth on alvaret, that the mountain is well covered, but it shines through here and there. and no one can think of ploughing and sowing up here, where the earth-crust is so thin. but if you will admit that alvaret and the strongholds around it, are made of the butterfly-body, then you may well have the right to question where that land which lies beneath the strongholds came from." "yes, it is just that," said he who was eating. "that i should indeed like to know." "well, you must remember that Öland has lain in the sea for a good many years, and in the course of time all the things which tumble around with the waves--sea-weed and sand and clams--have gathered around it, and remained lying there. and then, stone and gravel have fallen down from both the eastern and western strongholds. in this way the island has acquired broad shores, where grain and flowers and trees can grow. "up here, on the hard butterfly-back, only sheep and cows and little horses go about. only lapwings and plover live here, and there are no buildings except windmills and a few stone huts, where we shepherds crawl in. but down on the coast lie big villages and churches and parishes and fishing hamlets and a whole city." he looked questioningly at the other one. this one had finished his meal, and was tying the food-sack together. "i wonder where you will end with all this," said he. "it is only this that i want to know," said the shepherd, as he lowered his voice so that he almost whispered the words, and looked into the mist with his small eyes, which appeared to be worn out from spying after all that which does not exist. "only this i want to know: if the peasants who live on the built-up farms beneath the strongholds, or the fishermen who take the small herring from the sea, or the merchants in borgholm, or the bathing guests who come here every summer, or the tourists who wander around in borgholm's old castle ruin, or the sportsmen who come here in the fall to hunt partridges, or the painters who sit here on alvaret and paint the sheep and windmills--i should like to know if any of them understand that this island has been a butterfly which flew about with great shimmery wings." "ah!" said the young shepherd, suddenly. "it should have occurred to some of them, as they sat on the edge of the stronghold of an evening, and heard the nightingales trill in the groves below them, and looked over kalmar sound, that this island could not have come into existence in the same way as the others." "i want to ask," said the old one, "if no one has had the desire to give wings to the windmills--so large that they could reach to heaven, so large that they could lift the whole island out of the sea and let it fly like a butterfly among butterflies." "it may be possible that there is something in what you say," said the young one; "for on summer nights, when the heavens widen and open over the island, i have sometimes thought that it was as if it wanted to raise itself from the sea, and fly away." but when the old one had finally gotten the young one to talk, he didn't listen to him very much. "i would like to know," the old one said in a low tone, "if anyone can explain why one feels such a longing up here on alvaret. i have felt it every day of my life; and i think it preys upon each and every one who must go about here. i want to know if no one else has understood that all this wistfulness is caused by the fact that the whole island is a butterfly that longs for its wings." little karl's island the storm _friday, april eighth_. the wild geese had spent the night on Öland's northern point, and were now on their way to the continent. a strong south wind blew over kalmar sound, and they had been thrown northward. still they worked their way toward land with good speed. but when they were nearing the first islands a powerful rumbling was heard, as if a lot of strong-winged birds had come flying; and the water under them, all at once, became perfectly black. akka drew in her wings so suddenly that she almost stood still in the air. thereupon, she lowered herself to light on the edge of the sea. but before the geese had reached the water, the west storm caught up with them. already, it drove before it fogs, salt scum and small birds; it also snatched with it the wild geese, threw them on end, and cast them toward the sea. it was a rough storm. the wild geese tried to turn back, time and again, but they couldn't do it and were driven out toward the east sea. the storm had already blown them past Öland, and the sea lay before them--empty and desolate. there was nothing for them to do but to keep out of the water. when akka observed that they were unable to turn back she thought that it was needless to let the storm drive them over the entire east sea. therefore she sank down to the water. now the sea was raging, and increased in violence with every second. the sea-green billows rolled forward, with seething foam on their crests. each one surged higher than the other. it was as though they raced with each other, to see which could foam the wildest. but the wild geese were not afraid of the swells. on the contrary, this seemed to afford them much pleasure. they did not strain themselves with swimming, but lay and let themselves be washed up with the wave-crests, and down in the water-dales, and had just as much fun as children in a swing. their only anxiety was that the flock should be separated. the few land-birds who drove by, up in the storm, cried with envy: "there is no danger for you who can swim." but the wild geese were certainly not out of all danger. in the first place, the rocking made them helplessly sleepy. they wished continually to turn their heads backward, poke their bills under their wings, and go to sleep. nothing can be more dangerous than to fall asleep in this way; and akka called out all the while: "don't go to sleep, wild geese! he that falls asleep will get away from the flock. he that gets away from the flock is lost." despite all attempts at resistance one after another fell asleep; and akka herself came pretty near dozing off, when she suddenly saw something round and dark rise on the top of a wave. "seals! seals! seals!" cried akka in a high, shrill voice, and raised herself up in the air with resounding wing-strokes. it was just at the crucial moment. before the last wild goose had time to come up from the water, the seals were so close to her that they made a grab for her feet. then the wild geese were once more up in the storm which drove them before it out to sea. no rest did it allow either itself or the wild geese; and no land did they see--only desolate sea. they lit on the water again, as soon as they dared venture. but when they had rocked upon the waves for a while, they became sleepy again. and when they fell asleep, the seals came swimming. if old akka had not been so wakeful, not one of them would have escaped. all day the storm raged; and it caused fearful havoc among the crowds of little birds, which at this time of year were migrating. some were driven from their course to foreign lands, where they died of starvation; others became so exhausted that they sank down in the sea and were drowned. many were crushed against the cliff-walls, and many became a prey for the seals. the storm continued all day, and, at last, akka began to wonder if she and her flock would perish. they were now dead tired, and nowhere did they see any place where they might rest. toward evening she no longer dared to lie down on the sea, because now it filled up all of a sudden with large ice-cakes, which struck against each other, and she feared they should be crushed between these. a couple of times the wild geese tried to stand on the ice-crust; but one time the wild storm swept them into the water; another time, the merciless seals came creeping up on the ice. at sundown the wild geese were once more up in the air. they flew on--fearful for the night. the darkness seemed to come upon them much too quickly this night--which was so full of dangers. it was terrible that they, as yet, saw no land. how would it go with them if they were forced to stay out on the sea all night? they would either be crushed between the ice-cakes or devoured by seals or separated by the storm. the heavens were cloud-bedecked, the moon hid itself, and the darkness came quickly. at the same time all nature was filled with a horror which caused the most courageous hearts to quail. distressed bird-travellers' cries had sounded over the sea all day long, without anyone having paid the slightest attention to them; but now, when one no longer saw who it was that uttered them, they seemed mournful and terrifying. down on the sea, the ice-drifts crashed against each other with a loud rumbling noise. the seals tuned up their wild hunting songs. it was as though heaven and earth were, about to clash. the sheep the boy sat for a moment and looked down into the sea. suddenly he thought that it began to roar louder than ever. he looked up. right in front of him--only a couple of metres away--stood a rugged and bare mountain-wall. at its base the waves dashed into a foaming spray. the wild geese flew straight toward the cliff, and the boy did not see how they could avoid being dashed to pieces against it. hardly had he wondered that akka hadn't seen the danger in time, when they were over by the mountain. then he also noticed that in front of them was the half-round entrance to a grotto. into this the geese steered; and the next moment they were safe. the first thing the wild geese thought of--before they gave themselves time to rejoice over their safety--was to see if all their comrades were also harboured. yes, there were akka, iksi, kolmi, nelja, viisi, knusi, all the six goslings, the goosey-gander, dunfin and thumbietot; but kaksi from nuolja, the first left-hand goose, was missing--and no one knew anything about her fate. when the wild geese discovered that no one but kaksi had been separated from the flock, they took the matter lightly. kaksi was old and wise. she knew all their byways and their habits, and she, of course, would know how to find her way back to them. then the wild geese began to look around in the cave. enough daylight came in through the opening, so that they could see the grotto was both deep and wide. they were delighted to think they had found such a fine night harbour, when one of them caught sight of some shining, green dots, which glittered in a dark corner. "these are eyes!" cried akka. "there are big animals in here." they rushed toward the opening, but thumbietot called to them: "there is nothing to run away from! it's only a few sheep who are lying alongside the grotto wall." when the wild geese had accustomed themselves to the dim daylight in the grotto, they saw the sheep very distinctly. the grown-up ones might be about as many as there were geese; but beside these there were a few little lambs. an old ram with long, twisted horns appeared to be the most lordly one of the flock. the wild geese went up to him with much bowing and scraping. "well met in the wilderness!" they greeted, but the big ram lay still, and did not speak a word of welcome. then the wild geese thought that the sheep were displeased because they had taken shelter in their grotto. "it is perhaps not permissible that we have come in here?" said akka. "but we cannot help it, for we are wind-driven. we have wandered about in the storm all day, and it would be very good to be allowed to stop here to-night." after that a long time passed before any of the sheep answered with words; but, on the other hand, it could be heard distinctly that a pair of them heaved deep sighs. akka knew, to be sure, that sheep are always shy and peculiar; but these seemed to have no idea of how they should conduct themselves. finally an old ewe, who had a long and pathetic face and a doleful voice, said: "there isn't one among us that refuses to let you stay; but this is a house of mourning, and we cannot receive guests as we did in former days." "you needn't worry about anything of that sort," said akka. "if you knew what we have endured this day, you would surely understand that we are satisfied if we only get a safe spot to sleep on." when akka said this, the old ewe raised herself. "i believe that it would be better for you to fly about in the worst storm than to stop here. but, at least, you shall not go from here before we have had the privilege of offering you the best hospitality which the house affords." she conducted them to a hollow in the ground, which was filled with water. beside it lay a pile of bait and husks and chaff; and she bade them make the most of these. "we have had a severe snow-winter this year, on the island," she said. "the peasants who own us came out to us with hay and oaten straw, so we shouldn't starve to death. and this trash is all there is left of the good cheer." the geese rushed to the food instantly. they thought that they had fared well, and were in their best humour. they must have observed, of course, that the sheep were anxious; but they knew how easily scared sheep generally are, and didn't believe there was any actual danger on foot. as soon as they had eaten, they intended to stand up to sleep as usual. but then the big ram got up, and walked over to them. the geese thought that they had never seen a sheep with such big and coarse horns. in other respects, also, he was noticeable. he had a high, rolling forehead, intelligent eyes, and a good bearing--as though he were a proud and courageous animal. "i cannot assume the responsibility of letting you geese remain, without telling you that it is unsafe here," said he. "we cannot receive night guests just now." at last akka began to comprehend that this was serious. "we shall go away, since you really wish it," said she. "but won't you tell us first, what it is that troubles you? we know nothing about it. we do not even know where we are." "this is little karl's island!" said the ram. "it lies outside of gottland, and only sheep and seabirds live here." "perhaps you are wild sheep?" said akka. "we're not far removed from it," replied the ram. "we have nothing to do with human beings. it's an old agreement between us and some peasants on a farm in gottland, that they shall supply us with fodder in case we have snow-winter; and as a recompense they are permitted to take away those of us who become superfluous. the island is small, so it cannot feed very many of us. but otherwise we take care of ourselves all the year round, and we do not live in houses with doors and locks, but we reside in grottoes like these." "do you stay out here in the winter as well?" asked akka, surprised. "we do," answered the ram. "we have good fodder up here on the mountain, all the year around." "i think it sounds as if you might have it better than other sheep," said akka. "but what is the misfortune that has befallen you?" "it was bitter cold last winter. the sea froze, and then three foxes came over here on the ice, and here they have been ever since. otherwise, there are no dangerous animals here on the island." "oh, oh! do foxes dare to attack such as you?" "oh, no! not during the day; then i can protect myself and mine," said the ram, shaking his horns. "but they sneak upon us at night when we sleep in the grottoes. we try to keep awake, but one must sleep some of the time; and then they come upon us. they have already killed every sheep in the other grottoes, and there were herds that were just as large as mine." "it isn't pleasant to tell that we are so helpless," said the old ewe. "we cannot help ourselves any better than if we were tame sheep." "do you think that they will come here to-night?" asked akka. "there is nothing else in store for us," answered the old ewe. "they were here last night, and stole a lamb from us. they'll be sure to come again, as long as there are any of us alive. this is what they have done in the other places." "but if they are allowed to keep this up, you'll become entirely exterminated," said akka. "oh! it won't be long before it is all over with the sheep on little karl's island," said the ewe. akka stood there hesitatingly. it was not pleasant, by any means, to venture out in the storm again, and it wasn't good to remain in a house where such guests were expected. when she had pondered a while, she turned to thumbietot. "i wonder if you will help us, as you have done so many times before," said she. yes, that he would like to do, he replied. "it is a pity for you not to get any sleep!" said the wild goose, "but i wonder if you are able to keep awake until the foxes come, and then to awaken us, so we may fly away." the boy was so very glad of this--for anything was better than to go out in the storm again--so he promised to keep awake. he went down to the grotto opening, crawled in behind a stone, that he might be shielded from the storm, and sat down to watch. when the boy had been sitting there a while, the storm seemed to abate. the sky grew clear, and the moonlight began to play on the waves. the boy stepped to the opening to look out. the grotto was rather high up on the mountain. a narrow path led to it. it was probably here that he must await the foxes. as yet he saw no foxes; but, on the other hand, there was something which, for the moment, terrified him much more. on the land-strip below the mountain stood some giants, or other stone-trolls--or perhaps they were actual human beings. at first he thought that he was dreaming, but now he was positive that he had not fallen asleep. he saw the big men so distinctly that it couldn't be an illusion. some of them stood on the land-strip, and others right on the mountain just as if they intended to climb it. some had big, thick heads; others had no heads at all. some were one-armed, and some had humps both before and behind. he had never seen anything so extraordinary. the boy stood and worked himself into a state of panic because of those trolls, so that he almost forgot to keep his eye peeled for the foxes. but now he heard a claw scrape against a stone. he saw three foxes coming up the steep; and as soon as he knew that he had something real to deal with, he was calm again, and not the least bit scared. it struck him that it was a pity to awaken only the geese, and to leave the sheep to their fate. he thought he would like to arrange things some other way. he ran quickly to the other end of the grotto, shook the big ram's horns until he awoke, and, at the same time, swung himself upon his back. "get up, sheep, and well try to frighten the foxes a bit!" said the boy. he had tried to be as quiet as possible, but the foxes must have heard some noise; for when they came up to the mouth of the grotto they stopped and deliberated. "it was certainly someone in there that moved," said one. "i wonder if they are awake." "oh, go ahead, you!" said another. "at all events, they can't do anything to us." when they came farther in, in the grotto, they stopped and sniffed. "who shall we take to-night?" whispered the one who went first. "to-night we will take the big ram," said the last. "after that, we'll have easy work with the rest." the boy sat on the old ram's back and saw how they sneaked along. "now butt straight forward!" whispered the boy. the ram butted, and the first fox was thrust--top over tail--back to the opening. "now butt to the left!" said the boy, and turned the big ram's head in that direction. the ram measured a terrific assault that caught the second fox in the side. he rolled around several times before he got to his feet again and made his escape. the boy had wished that the third one, too, might have gotten a bump, but this one had already gone. "now i think that they've had enough for to-night," said the boy. "i think so too," said the big ram. "now lie down on my back, and creep into the wool! you deserve to have it warm and comfortable, after all the wind and storm that you have been out in." hell's hole the next day the big ram went around with the boy on his back, and showed him the island. it consisted of a single massive mountain. it was like a large house with perpendicular walls and a flat roof. first the ram walked up on the mountain-roof and showed the boy the good grazing lands there, and he had to admit that the island seemed to be especially created for sheep. there wasn't much else than sheep-sorrel and such little spicy growths as sheep are fond of that grew on the mountain. but indeed there was something beside sheep fodder to look at, for one who had gotten well up on the steep. to begin with, the largest part of the sea--which now lay blue and sunlit, and rolled forward in glittering swells--was visible. only upon one and another point, did the foam spray up. to the east lay gottland, with even and long-stretched coast; and to the southwest lay great karl's island, which was built on the same plan as the little island. when the ram walked to the very edge of the mountain roof, so the boy could look down the mountain walls, he noticed that they were simply filled with birds' nests; and in the blue sea beneath him, lay surf-scoters and eider-ducks and kittiwakes and guillemots and razor-bills--so pretty and peaceful--busying themselves with fishing for small herring. "this is really a favoured land," said the boy. "you live in a pretty place, you sheep." "oh, yes! it's pretty enough here," said the big ram. it was as if he wished to add something; but he did not, only sighed. "if you go about here alone you must look out for the crevices which run all around the mountain," he continued after a little. and this was a good warning, for there were deep and broad crevices in several places. the largest of them was called hell's hole. that crevice was many fathoms deep and nearly one fathom wide. "if anyone fell down there, it would certainly be the last of him," said the big ram. the boy thought it sounded as if he had a special meaning in what he said. then he conducted the boy down to the narrow strip of shore. now he could see those giants which had frightened him the night before, at close range. they were nothing but tall rock-pillars. the big ram called them "cliffs." the boy couldn't see enough of them. he thought that if there had ever been any trolls who had turned into stone they ought to look just like that. although it was pretty down on the shore, the boy liked it still better on the mountain height. it was ghastly down here; for everywhere they came across dead sheep. it was here that the foxes had held their orgies. he saw skeletons whose flesh had been eaten, and bodies that were half-eaten, and others which they had scarcely tasted, but had allowed to lie untouched. it was heart-rending to see how the wild beasts had thrown themselves upon the sheep just for sport--just to hunt them and tear them to death. the big ram did not pause in front of the dead, but walked by them in silence. but the boy, meanwhile, could not help seeing all the horror. then the big ram went up on the mountain height again; but when he was there he stopped and said: "if someone who is capable and wise could see all the misery which prevails here, he surely would not be able to rest until these foxes had been punished." "the foxes must live, too," said the boy. "yes," said the big ram, "those who do not tear in pieces more animals than they need for their sustenance, they may as well live. but these are felons." "the peasants who own the island ought to come here and help you," insisted the boy. "they have rowed over a number of times," replied the ram, "but the foxes always hid themselves in the grottoes and crevices, so they could not get near them, to shoot them." "you surely cannot mean, father, that a poor little creature like me should be able to get at them, when neither you nor the peasants have succeeded in getting the better of them." "he that is little and spry can put many things to rights," said the big ram. they talked no more about this, and the boy went over and seated himself among the wild geese who fed on the highland. although he had not cared to show his feelings before the ram, he was very sad on the sheep's account, and he would have been glad to help them. "i can at least talk with akka and morten goosey-gander about the matter," thought he. "perhaps they can help me with a good suggestion." a little later the white goosey-gander took the boy on his back and went over the mountain plain, and in the direction of hell's hole at that. he wandered, care-free, on the open mountain roof--apparently unconscious of how large and white he was. he didn't seek protection behind tufts, or any other protuberances, but went straight ahead. it was strange that he was not more careful, for it was apparent that he had fared badly in yesterday's storm. he limped on his right leg, and the left wing hung and dragged as if it might be broken. he acted as if there were no danger, pecked at a grass-blade here and another there, and did not look about him in any direction. the boy lay stretched out full length on the goose-back, and looked up toward the blue sky. he was so accustomed to riding now, that he could both stand and lie down on the goose-back. when the goosey-gander and the boy were so care-free, they did not observe, of course, that the three foxes had come up on the mountain plain. and the foxes, who knew that it was well-nigh impossible to take the life of a goose on an open plain, thought at first that they wouldn't chase after the goosey-gander. but as they had nothing else to do, they finally sneaked down on one of the long passes, and tried to steal up to him. they went about it so cautiously that the goosey-gander couldn't see a shadow of them. they were not far off when the goosey-gander made an attempt to raise himself into the air. he spread his wings, but he did not succeed in lifting himself. when the foxes seemed to grasp the fact that he couldn't fly, they hurried forward with greater eagerness than before. they no longer concealed themselves in the cleft, but came up on the highland. they hurried as fast as they could, behind tufts and hollows, and came nearer and nearer the goosey-gander--without his seeming to notice that he was being hunted. at last the foxes were so near that they could make the final leap. simultaneously, all three threw themselves with one long jump at the goosey-gander. but still at the last moment he must have noticed something, for he ran out of the way, so the foxes missed him. this, at any rate, didn't mean very much, for the goosey-gander only had a couple of metres headway, and, in the bargain, he limped. anyway, the poor thing ran ahead as fast as he could. the boy sat upon the goose-back--backward--and shrieked and called to the foxes. "you have eaten yourselves too fat on mutton, foxes. you can't catch up with a goose even." he teased them so that they became crazed with rage and thought only of rushing forward. the white one ran right straight to the big cleft. when he was there, he made one stroke with his wings, and got over. just then the foxes were almost upon him. the goosey-gander hurried on with the same haste as before, even after he had gotten across hell's hole. but he had hardly been running two metres before the boy patted him on the neck, and said: "now you can stop, goosey-gander." at that instant they heard a number of wild howls behind them, and a scraping of claws, and heavy falls. but of the foxes they saw nothing more. the next morning the lighthouse keeper on great karl's island found a bit of bark poked under the entrance-door, and on it had been cut, in slanting, angular letters: "the foxes on the little island have fallen down into hell's hole. take care of them!" and this the lighthouse keeper did, too. two cities the city at the bottom of the sea _saturday, april ninth_. it was a calm and clear night. the wild geese did not trouble themselves to seek shelter in any of the grottoes, but stood and slept upon the mountain top; and the boy had lain down in the short, dry grass beside the geese. it was bright moonlight that night; so bright that it was difficult for the boy to go to sleep. he lay there and thought about just how long he had been away from home; and he figured out that it was three weeks since he had started on the trip. at the same time he remembered that this was easter-eve. "it is to-night that all the witches come home from blakulla," thought he, and laughed to himself. for he was just a little afraid of both the sea-nymph and the elf, but he didn't believe in witches the least little bit. if there had been any witches out that night, he should have seen them, to be sure. it was so light in the heavens that not the tiniest black speck could move in the air without his seeing it. while the boy lay there with his nose in the air and thought about this, his eye rested on something lovely! the moon's disc was whole and round, and rather high, and over it a big bird came flying. he did not fly past the moon, but he moved just as though he might have flown out from it. the bird looked black against the light background, and the wings extended from one rim of the disc to the other. he flew on, evenly, in the same direction, and the boy thought that he was painted on the moon's disc. the body was small, the neck long and slender, the legs hung down, long and thin. it couldn't be anything but a stork. a couple of seconds later herr ermenrich, the stork, lit beside the boy. he bent down and poked him with his bill to awaken him. instantly the boy sat up. "i'm not asleep, herr ermenrich," he said. "how does it happen that you are out in the middle of the night, and how is everything at glimminge castle? do you want to speak with mother akka?" "it's too light to sleep to-night," answered herr ermenrich. "therefore i concluded to travel over here to karl's island and hunt you up, friend thumbietot. i learned from the seamew that you were spending the night here. i have not as yet moved over to glimminge castle, but am still living at pommern." the boy was simply overjoyed to think that herr ermenrich had sought him out. they chatted about all sorts of things, like old friends. at last the stork asked the boy if he wouldn't like to go out riding for a while on this beautiful night. oh, yes! that the boy wanted to do, if the stork would manage it so that he got back to the wild geese before sunrise. this he promised, so off they went. again herr ermenrich flew straight toward the moon. they rose and rose; the sea sank deep down, but the flight went so light and easy that it seemed almost as if the boy lay still in the air. when herr ermenrich began to descend, the boy thought that the flight had lasted an unreasonably short time. they landed on a desolate bit of seashore, which was covered with fine, even sand. all along the coast ran a row of flying-sand drifts, with lyme-grass on their tops. they were not very high, but they prevented the boy from seeing any of the island. herr ermenrich stood on a sand-hill, drew up one leg and bent his head backward, so he could stick his bill under the wing. "you can roam around on the shore for a while," he said to thumbietot, "while i rest myself. but don't go so far away but what you can find your way back to me again!" to start with, the boy intended to climb a sand-hill and see how the land behind it looked. but when he had walked a couple of paces, he stubbed the toe of his wooden shoe against something hard. he stooped down, and saw that a small copper coin lay on the sand, and was so worn with verdigris that it was almost transparent. it was so poor that he didn't even bother to pick it up, but only kicked it out of the way. but when he straightened himself up once more he was perfectly astounded, for two paces away from him stood a high, dark wall with a big, turreted gate. the moment before, when the boy bent down, the sea lay there--shimmering and smooth, while now it was hidden by a long wall with towers and battlements. directly in front of him, where before there had been only a few sea-weed banks, the big gate of the wall opened. the boy probably understood that it was a spectre-play of some sort; but this was nothing to be afraid of, thought he. it wasn't any dangerous trolls, or any other evil--such as he always dreaded to encounter at night. both the wall and the gate were so beautifully constructed that he only desired to see what there might be back of them. "i must find out what this can be," thought he, and went in through the gate. in the deep archway there were guards, dressed in brocaded and purred suits, with long-handled spears beside them, who sat and threw dice. they thought only of the game, and took no notice of the boy who hurried past them quickly. just within the gate he found an open space, paved with large, even stone blocks. all around this were high and magnificent buildings; and between these opened long, narrow streets. on the square--facing the gate--it fairly swarmed with human beings. the men wore long, fur-trimmed capes over satin suits; plume-bedecked hats sat obliquely on their heads; on their chests hung superb chains. they were all so regally gotten up that the whole lot of them might have been kings. the women went about in high head-dresses and long robes with tight-fitting sleeves. they, too, were beautifully dressed, but their splendour was not to be compared with that of the men. this was exactly like the old story-book which mother took from the chest--only once--and showed to him. the boy simply couldn't believe his eyes. but that which was even more wonderful to look upon than either the men or the women, was the city itself. every house was built in such a way that a gable faced the street. and the gables were so highly ornamented, that one could believe they wished to compete with each other as to which one could show the most beautiful decorations. when one suddenly sees so much that is new, he cannot manage to treasure it all in his memory. but at least the boy could recall that he had seen stairway gables on the various landings, which bore images of the christ and his apostles; gables, where there were images in niche after niche all along the wall; gables that were inlaid with multi-coloured bits of glass, and gables that were striped and checked with white and black marble. as the boy admired all this, a sudden sense of haste came over him. "anything like this my eyes have never seen before. anything like this, they would never see again," he said to himself. and he began to run in toward the city--up one street, and down another. the streets were straight and narrow, but not empty and gloomy, as they were in the cities with which he was familiar. there were people everywhere. old women sat by their open doors and spun without a spinning-wheel--only with the help of a shuttle. the merchants' shops were like market-stalls--opening on the street. all the hand-workers did their work out of doors. in one place they were boiling crude oil; in another tanning hides; in a third there was a long rope-walk. if only the boy had had time enough he could have learned how to make all sorts of things. here he saw how armourers hammered out thin breast-plates; how turners tended their irons; how the shoemakers soled soft, red shoes; how the gold-wire drawers twisted gold thread, and how the weavers inserted silver and gold into their weaving. but the boy did not have the time to stay. he just rushed on, so that he could manage to see as much as possible before it would all vanish again. the high wall ran all around the city and shut it in, as a hedge shuts in a field. he saw it at the end of every street--gable-ornamented and crenelated. on the top of the wall walked warriors in shining armour; and when he had run from one end of the city to the other, he came to still another gate in the wall. outside of this lay the sea and harbour. the boy saw olden-time ships, with rowing-benches straight across, and high structures fore and aft. some lay and took on cargo, others were just casting anchor. carriers and merchants hurried around each other. all over, it was life and bustle. but not even here did he seem to have the time to linger. he rushed into the city again; and now he came up to the big square. there stood the cathedral with its three high towers and deep vaulted arches filled with images. the walls had been so highly decorated by sculptors that there was not a stone without its own special ornamentation. and what a magnificent display of gilded crosses and gold-trimmed altars and priests in golden vestments, shimmered through the open gate! directly opposite the church there was a house with a notched roof and a single slender, sky-high tower. that was probably the courthouse. and between the courthouse and the cathedral, all around the square, stood the beautiful gabled houses with their multiplicity of adornments. the boy had run himself both warm and tired. he thought that now he had seen the most remarkable things, and therefore he began to walk more leisurely. the street which he had turned into now was surely the one where the inhabitants purchased their fine clothing. he saw crowds of people standing before the little stalls where the merchants spread brocades, stiff satins, heavy gold cloth, shimmery velvet, delicate veiling, and laces as sheer as a spider's web. before, when the boy ran so fast, no one had paid any attention to him. the people must have thought that it was only a little gray rat that darted by them. but now, when he walked down the street, very slowly, one of the salesmen caught sight of him, and began to beckon to him. at first the boy was uneasy and wanted to hurry out of the way, but the salesman only beckoned and smiled, and spread out on the counter a lovely piece of satin damask as if he wanted to tempt him. the boy shook his head. "i will never be so rich that i can buy even a metre of that cloth," thought he. but now they had caught sight of him in every stall, all along the street. wherever he looked stood a salesman and beckoned to him. they left their costly wares, and thought only of him. he saw how they hurried into the most hidden corner of the stall to fetch the best that they had to sell, and how their hands trembled with eagerness and haste as they laid it upon the counter. when the boy continued to go on, one of the merchants jumped over the counter, caught hold of him, and spread before him silver cloth and woven tapestries, which shone with brilliant colours. the boy couldn't do anything but laugh at him. the salesman certainly must understand that a poor little creature like him couldn't buy such things. he stood still and held out his two empty hands, so they would understand that he had nothing and let him go in peace. but the merchant raised a finger and nodded and pushed the whole pile of beautiful things over to him. "can he mean that he will sell all this for a gold piece?" wondered the boy. the merchant brought out a tiny worn and poor coin--the smallest that one could see--and showed it to him. and he was so eager to sell that he increased his pile with a pair of large, heavy, silver goblets. then the boy began to dig down in his pockets. he knew, of course, that he didn't possess a single coin, but he couldn't help feeling for it. all the other merchants stood still and tried to see how the sale would come off, and when they observed that the boy began to search in his pockets, they flung themselves over the counters, filled their hands full of gold and silver ornaments, and offered them to him. and they all showed him that what they asked in payment was just one little penny. but the boy turned both vest and breeches pockets inside out, so they should see that he owned nothing. then tears filled the eyes of all these regal merchants, who were so much richer than he. at last he was moved because they looked so distressed, and he pondered if he could not in some way help them. and then he happened to think of the rusty coin, which he had but lately seen on the strand. he started to run down the street, and luck was with him so that he came to the self-same gate which he had happened upon first. he dashed through it, and commenced to search for the little green copper penny which lay on the strand a while ago. he found it too, very promptly; but when he had picked it up, and wanted to run back to the city with it--he saw only the sea before him. no city wall, no gate, no sentinels, no streets, no houses could now be seen--only the sea. the boy couldn't help that the tears came to his eyes. he had believed in the beginning, that that which he saw was nothing but an hallucination, but this he had already forgotten. he only thought about how pretty everything was. he felt a genuine, deep sorrow because the city had vanished. that moment herr ermenrich awoke, and came up to him. but he didn't hear him, and the stork had to poke the boy with his bill to attract attention to himself. "i believe that you stand here and sleep just as i do," said herr ermenrich. "oh, herr ermenrich!" said the boy. "what was that city which stood here just now?" "have you seen a city?" said the stork. "you have slept and dreamt, as i say." "no! i have not dreamt," said thumbietot, and he told the stork all that he had experienced. then herr ermenrich said: "for my part, thumbietot, i believe that you fell asleep here on the strand and dreamed all this. "but i will not conceal from you that bataki, the raven, who is the most learned of all birds, once told me that in former times there was a city on this shore, called vineta. it was so rich and so fortunate, that no city has ever been more glorious; but its inhabitants, unluckily, gave themselves up to arrogance and love of display. as a punishment for this, says bataki, the city of vineta was overtaken by a flood, and sank into the sea. but its inhabitants cannot die, neither is their city destroyed. and one night in every hundred years, it rises in all its splendour up from the sea, and remains on the surface just one hour." "yes, it must be so," said thumbietot, "for this i have seen." "but when the hour is up, it sinks again into the sea, if, during that time, no merchant in vineta has sold anything to a single living creature. if you, thumbietot, only had had an ever so tiny coin, to pay the merchants, vineta might have remained up here on the shore; and its people could have lived and died like other human beings." "herr ermenrich," said the boy, "now i understand why you came and fetched me in the middle of the night. it was because you believed that i should be able to save the old city. i am so sorry it didn't turn out as you wished, herr ermenrich." he covered his face with his hands and wept. it wasn't easy to say which one looked the more disconsolate--the boy, or herr ermenrich. the living city _monday, april eleventh_. on the afternoon of easter monday, the wild geese and thumbietot were on the wing. they travelled over gottland. the large island lay smooth and even beneath them. the ground was checked just as it was in skåne and there were many churches and farms. but there was this difference, however, that there were more leafy meadows between the fields here, and then the farms were not built up with small houses. and there were no large manors with ancient tower-ornamented castles. the wild geese had taken the route over gottland on account of thumbietot. he had been altogether unlike himself for two days, and hadn't spoken a cheerful word. this was because he had thought of nothing but that city which had appeared to him in such a strange way. he had never seen anything so magnificent and royal, and he could not be reconciled with himself for having failed to save it. usually he was not chicken-hearted, but now he actually grieved for the beautiful buildings and the stately people. both akka and the goosey-gander tried to convince thumbietot that he had been the victim of a dream, or an hallucination, but the boy wouldn't listen to anything of that sort. he was so positive that he had really seen what he had seen, that no one could move him from this conviction. he went about so disconsolate that his travelling companions became uneasy for him. just as the boy was the most depressed, old kaksi came back to the flock. she had been blown toward gottland, and had been compelled to travel over the whole island before she had learned through some crows that her comrades were on little karl's island. when kaksi found out what was wrong with thumbietot, she said impulsively: "if thumbietot is grieving over an old city, we'll soon be able to comfort him. just come along, and i'll take you to a place that i saw yesterday! you will not need to be distressed very long." thereupon the geese had taken farewell of the sheep, and were on their way to the place which kaksi wished to show thumbietot. as blue as he was, he couldn't keep from looking at the land over which he travelled, as usual. he thought it looked as though the whole island had in the beginning been just such a high, steep cliff as karl's island--though much bigger of course. but afterward, it had in some way been flattened out. someone had taken a big rolling-pin and rolled over it, as if it had been a lump of dough. not that the island had become altogether flat and even, like a bread-cake, for it wasn't like that. while they had travelled along the coast, he had seen white lime walls with grottoes and crags, in several directions; but in most of the places they were levelled, and sank inconspicuously down toward the sea. in gottland they had a pleasant and peaceful holiday afternoon. it turned out to be mild spring weather; the trees had large buds; spring blossoms dressed the ground in the leafy meadows; the poplars' long, thin pendants swayed; and in the little gardens, which one finds around every cottage, the gooseberry bushes were green. the warmth and the spring-budding had tempted the people out into the gardens and roads, and wherever a number of them were gathered together they were playing. it was not the children alone who played, but the grown-ups also. they were throwing stones at a given point, and they threw balls in the air with such exact aim that they almost touched the wild geese. it looked cheerful and pleasant to see big folks at play; and the boy certainly would have enjoyed it, if he had been able to forget his grief because he had failed to save the city. anyway, he had to admit that this was a lovely trip. there was so much singing and sound in the air. little children played ring games, and sang as they played. the salvation army was out. he saw a lot of people dressed in black and red--sitting upon a wooded hill, playing on guitars and brass instruments. on one road came a great crowd of people. they were good templars who had been on a pleasure trip. he recognized them by the big banners with the gold inscriptions which waved above them. they sang song after song as long as he could hear them. after that the boy could never think of gottland without thinking of the games and songs at the same time. he had been sitting and looking down for a long while; but now he happened to raise his eyes. no one can describe his amazement. before he was aware of it, the wild geese had left the interior of the island and gone westward--toward the sea-coast. now the wide, blue sea lay before him. however, it was not the sea that was remarkable, but a city which appeared on the sea-shore. the boy came from the east, and the sun had just begun to go down in the west. when he came nearer the city, its walls and towers and high, gabled houses and churches stood there, perfectly black, against the light evening sky. he couldn't see therefore what it really looked like, and for a couple of moments he believed that this city was just as beautiful as the one he had seen on easter night. when he got right up to it, he saw that it was both like and unlike that city from the bottom of the sea. there was the same contrast between them, as there is between a man whom one sees arrayed in purple and jewels one day, and on another day one sees him dressed in rags. yes, this city had probably, once upon a time, been like the one which he sat and thought about. this one, also, was enclosed by a wall with towers and gates. but the towers in this city, which had been allowed to remain on land, were roofless, hollow and empty. the gates were without doors; sentinels and warriors had disappeared. all the glittering splendour was gone. there was nothing left but the naked, gray stone skeleton. when the boy came farther into the city, he saw that the larger part of it was made up of small, low houses; but here and there were still a few high gabled houses and a few cathedrals, which were from the olden time. the walls of the gabled houses were whitewashed, and entirely without ornamentation; but because the boy had so lately seen the buried city, he seemed to understand how they had been decorated: some with statues, and others with black and white marble. and it was the same with the old cathedrals; the majority of them were roofless with bare interiors. the window openings were empty, the floors were grass-grown, and ivy clambered along the walls. but now he knew how they had looked at one time; that they had been covered with images and paintings; that the chancel had had trimmed altars and gilded crosses, and that their priests had moved about, arrayed in gold vestments. the boy saw also the narrow streets, which were almost deserted on holiday afternoons. he knew, he did, what a stream of stately people had once upon a time sauntered about on them. he knew that they had been like large workshops--filled with all sorts of workmen. but that which nils holgersson did not see was, that the city--even to-day--was both beautiful and remarkable. he saw neither the cheery cottages on the side streets, with their black walls, and white bows and red pelargoniums behind the shining window-panes, nor the many pretty gardens and avenues, nor the beauty in the weed-clad ruins. his eyes were so filled with the preceding glory, that he could not see anything good in the present. the wild geese flew back and forth over the city a couple of times, so that thumbietot might see everything. finally they sank down on the grass-grown floor of a cathedral ruin to spend the night. when they had arranged themselves for sleep, thumbietot was still awake and looked up through the open arches, to the pale pink evening sky. when he had been sitting there a while, he thought he didn't want to grieve any more because he couldn't save the buried city. no, that he didn't want to do, now that he had seen this one. if that city, which he had seen, had not sunk into the sea again, then it would perhaps become as dilapidated as this one in a little while. perhaps it could not have withstood time and decay, but would have stood there with roofless churches and bare houses and desolate, empty streets--just like this one. then it was better that it should remain in all its glory down in the deep. "it was best that it happened as it happened," thought he. "if i had the power to save the city, i don't believe that i should care to do it." then he no longer grieved over that matter. and there are probably many among the young who think in the same way. but when people are old, and have become accustomed to being satisfied with little, then they are more happy over the visby that exists, than over a magnificent vineta at the bottom of the sea. the legend of smÅland _tuesday, april twelfth_. the wild geese had made a good trip over the sea, and had lighted in tjust township, in northern småland. that township didn't seem able to make up its mind whether it wanted to be land or sea. fiords ran in everywhere, and cut the land up into islands and peninsulas and points and capes. the sea was so forceful that the only things which could hold themselves above it were hills and mountains. all the lowlands were hidden away under the water exterior. it was evening when the wild geese came in from the sea; and the land with the little hills lay prettily between the shimmering fiords. here and there, on the islands, the boy saw cabins and cottages; and the farther inland he came, the bigger and better became the dwelling houses. finally, they grew into large, white manors. along the shores there was generally a border of trees; and within this lay field-plots, and on the tops of the little hills there were trees again. he could not help but think of blekinge. here again was a place where land and sea met, in such a pretty and peaceful sort of way, just as if they tried to show each other the best and loveliest which they possessed. the wild geese alighted upon a limestone island a good way in on goose-fiord. with the first glance at the shore they observed that spring had made rapid strides while they had been away on the islands. the big, fine trees were not as yet leaf-clad, but the ground under them was brocaded with white anemones, gagea, and blue anemones. when the wild geese saw the flower-carpet they feared that they had lingered too long in the southern part of the country. akka said instantly that there was no time in which to hunt up any of the stopping places in småland. by the next morning they must travel northward, over Östergötland. the boy should then see nothing of småland, and this grieved him. he had heard more about småland than he had about any other province, and he had longed to see it with his own eyes. the summer before, when he had served as goose-boy with a farmer in the neighbourhood of jordberga, he had met a pair of småland children, almost every day, who also tended geese. these children had irritated him terribly with their småland. it wasn't fair to say that osa, the goose-girl, had annoyed him. she was much too wise for that. but the one who could be aggravating with a vengeance was her brother, little mats. "have you heard, nils goose-boy, how it went when småland and skåne were created?" he would ask, and if nils holgersson said no, he began immediately to relate the old joke-legend. "well, it was at that time when our lord was creating the world. while he was doing his best work, saint peter came walking by. he stopped and looked on, and then he asked if it was hard to do. 'well, it isn't exactly easy,' said our lord. saint peter stood there a little longer, and when he noticed how easy it was to lay out one landscape after another, he too wanted to try his hand at it. 'perhaps you need to rest yourself a little,' said saint peter, 'i could attend to the work in the meantime for you.' but this our lord did not wish. 'i do not know if you are so much at home in this art that i can trust you to take hold where i leave off,' he answered. then saint peter was angry, and said that he believed he could create just as fine countries as our lord himself. "it happened that our lord was just then creating småland. it wasn't even half-ready but it looked as though it would be an indescribably pretty and fertile land. it was difficult for our lord to say no to saint peter, and aside from this, he thought very likely that a thing so well begun no one could spoil. therefore he said: if you like, we will prove which one of us two understands this sort of work the better. you, who are only a novice, shall go on with this which i have begun, and i will create a new land.' to this saint peter agreed at once; and so they went to work--each one in his place. "our lord moved southward a bit, and there he undertook to create skåne. it wasn't long before he was through with it, and soon he asked if saint peter had finished, and would come and look at his work. 'i had mine ready long ago,' said saint peter; and from the sound of his voice it could be heard how pleased he was with what he had accomplished. "when saint peter saw skåne, he had to acknowledge that there was nothing but good to be said of that land. it was a fertile land and easy to cultivate, with wide plains wherever one looked, and hardly a sign of hills. it was evident that our lord had really contemplated making it such that people should feel at home there. 'yes, this is a good country,' said saint peter, 'but i think that mine is better.' 'then we'll take a look at it,' said our lord. "the land was already finished in the north and east when saint peter began the work, but the southern and western parts; and the whole interior, he had created all by himself. now when our lord came up there, where saint peter had been at work, he was so horrified that he stopped short and exclaimed: 'what on earth have you been doing with this land, saint peter?' "saint peter, too, stood and looked around--perfectly astonished. he had had the idea that nothing could be so good for a land as a great deal of warmth. therefore he had gathered together an enormous mass of stones and mountains, and erected a highland, and this he had done so that it should be near the sun, and receive much help from the sun's heat. over the stone-heaps he had spread a thin layer of soil, and then he had thought that everything was well arranged. "but while he was down in skåne, a couple of heavy showers had come up, and more was not needed to show what his work amounted to. when our lord came to inspect the land, all the soil had been washed away, and the naked mountain foundation shone forth all over. where it was about the best, lay clay and heavy gravel over the rocks, but it looked so poor that it was easy to understand that hardly anything except spruce and juniper and moss and heather could grow there. but what there was plenty of was water. it had filled up all the clefts in the mountain; and lakes and rivers and brooks; these one saw everywhere, to say nothing of swamps and morasses, which spread over large tracts. and the most exasperating thing of all was, that while some tracts had too much water, it was so scarce in others, that whole fields lay like dry moors, where sand and earth whirled up in clouds with the least little breeze. "'what can have been your meaning in creating such a land as this?' said our lord. saint peter made excuses, and declared he had wished to build up a land so high that it should have plenty of warmth from the sun. 'but then you will also get much of the night chill,' said our lord, 'for that too comes from heaven. i am very much afraid the little that can grow here will freeze.' "this, to be sure, saint peter hadn't thought about. "'yes, here it will be a poor and frost-bound land,' said our lord, 'it can't be helped.'" when little mats had gotten this far in his story, osa, the goose-girl, protested: "i cannot bear, little mats, to hear you say that it is so miserable in småland," said she. "you forget entirely how much good soil there is there. only think of möre district, by kalmar sound! i wonder where you'll find a richer grain region. there are fields upon fields, just like here in skåne. the soil is so good that i cannot imagine anything that couldn't grow there." "i can't help that," said little mats. "i'm only relating what others have said before." "and i have heard many say that there is not a more beautiful coast land than tjust. think of the bays and islets, and the manors, and the groves!" said osa. "yes, that's true enough," little mats admitted. "and don't you remember," continued osa, "the school teacher said that such a lively and picturesque district as that bit of småland which lies south of lake vettern is not to be found in all sweden? think of the beautiful sea and the yellow coast-mountains, and of grenna and jönköping, with its match factory, and think of huskvarna, and all the big establishments there!" "yes, that's true enough," said little mats once again. "and think of visingsö, little mats, with the ruins and the oak forests and the legends! think of the valley through which emån flows, with all the villages and flour-mills and sawmills, and the carpenter shops!" "yes, that is true enough," said little mats, and looked troubled. all of a sudden he had looked up. "now we are pretty stupid," said he. "all this, of course, lies in our lord's småland, in that part of the land which was already finished when saint peter undertook the job. it's only natural that it should be pretty and fine there. but in saint peter's småland it looks as it says in the legend. and it wasn't surprising that our lord was distressed when he saw it," continued little mats, as he took up the thread of his story again. "saint peter didn't lose his courage, at all events, but tried to comfort our lord. 'don't be so grieved over this!' said he. 'only wait until i have created people who can till the swamps and break up fields from the stone hills.' "that was the end of our lord's patience--and he said: 'no! you can go down to skåne and make the skåninge, but the smålander i will create myself.' and so our lord created the smålander, and made him quick-witted and contented and happy and thrifty and enterprising and capable, that he might be able to get his livelihood in his poor country." then little mats was silent; and if nils holgersson had also kept still, all would have gone well; but he couldn't possibly refrain from asking how saint peter had succeeded in creating the skåninge. "well, what do you think yourself?" said little mats, and looked so scornful that nils holgersson threw himself upon him, to thrash him. but mats was only a little tot, and osa, the goose-girl, who was a year older than he, ran forward instantly to help him. good-natured though she was, she sprang like a lion as soon as anyone touched her brother. and nils holgersson did not care to fight a girl, but turned his back, and didn't look at those småland children for the rest of the day. the crows the earthen crock in the southwest corner of småland lies a township called sonnerbo. it is a rather smooth and even country. and one who sees it in winter, when it is covered with snow, cannot imagine that there is anything under the snow but garden-plots, rye-fields and clover-meadows as is generally the case in flat countries. but, in the beginning of april when the snow finally melts away in sonnerbo, it is apparent that that which lies hidden under it is only dry, sandy heaths, bare rocks, and big, marshy swamps. there are fields here and there, to be sure, but they are so small that they are scarcely worth mentioning; and one also finds a few little red or gray farmhouses hidden away in some beech-coppice--almost as if they were afraid to show themselves. where sonnerbo township touches the boundaries of halland, there is a sandy heath which is so far-reaching that he who stands upon one edge of it cannot look across to the other. nothing except heather grows on the heath, and it wouldn't be easy either to coax other growths to thrive there. to start with one would have to uproot the heather; for it is thus with heather: although it has only a little shrunken root, small shrunken branches, and dry, shrunken leaves it fancies that it's a tree. therefore it acts just like real trees--spreads itself out in forest fashion over wide areas; holds together faithfully, and causes all foreign growths that wish to crowd in upon its territory to die out. the only place on the heath where the heather is not all-powerful, is a low, stony ridge which passes over it. there you'll find juniper bushes, mountain ash, and a few large, fine oaks. at the time when nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, a little cabin stood there, with a bit of cleared ground around it. but the people who had lived there at one time, had, for some reason or other, moved away. the little cabin was empty, and the ground lay unused. when the tenants left the cabin they closed the damper, fastened the window-hooks, and locked the door. but no one had thought of the broken window-pane which was only stuffed with a rag. after the showers of a couple of summers, the rag had moulded and shrunk, and, finally, a crow had succeeded in poking it out. the ridge on the heather-heath was really not as desolate as one might think, for it was inhabited by a large crow-folk. naturally, the crows did not live there all the year round. they moved to foreign lands in the winter; in the autumn they travelled from one grain-field to another all over götaland, and picked grain; during the summer, they spread themselves over the farms in sonnerbo township, and lived upon eggs and berries and birdlings; but every spring, when nesting time came, they came back to the heather-heath. the one who had poked the rag from the window was a crow-cock named garm whitefeather; but he was never called anything but fumle or drumle, or out and out fumle-drumle, because he always acted awkwardly and stupidly, and wasn't good for anything except to make fun of. fumle-drumle was bigger and stronger than any of the other crows, but that didn't help him in the least; he was--and remained--a butt for ridicule. and it didn't profit him, either, that he came from very good stock. if everything had gone smoothly, he should have been leader for the whole flock, because this honour had, from time immemorial, belonged to the oldest whitefeather. but long before fumle-drumle was born, the power had gone from his family, and was now wielded by a cruel wild crow, named wind-rush. this transference of power was due to the fact that the crows on crow-ridge desired to change their manner of living. possibly there are many who think that everything in the shape of crow lives in the same way; but this is not so. there are entire crow-folk who lead honourable lives--that is to say, they only eat grain, worms, caterpillars, and dead animals; and there are others who lead a regular bandit's life, who throw themselves upon baby-hares and small birds, and plunder every single bird's nest they set eyes on. the ancient whitefeathers had been strict and temperate; and as long as they had led the flock, the crows had been compelled to conduct themselves in such a way that other birds could speak no ill of them. but the crows were numerous, and poverty was great among them. they didn't care to go the whole length of living a strictly moral life, so they rebelled against the whitefeathers, and gave the power to wind-rush, who was the worst nest-plunderer and robber that could be imagined--if his wife, wind-air, wasn't worse still. under their government the crows had begun to lead such a life that now they were more feared than pigeon-hawks and leech-owls. naturally, fumle-drumle had nothing to say in the flock. the crows were all of the opinion that he did not in the least take after his forefathers, and that he wouldn't suit as a leader. no one would have mentioned him, if he hadn't constantly committed fresh blunders. a few, who were quite sensible, sometimes said perhaps it was lucky for fumle-drumle that he was such a bungling idiot, otherwise wind-rush and wind-air would hardly have allowed him--who was of the old chieftain stock--to remain with the flock. now, on the other hand, they were rather friendly toward him, and willingly took him along with them on their hunting expeditions. there all could observe how much more skilful and daring they were than he. none of the crows knew that it was fumle-drumle who had pecked the rag out of the window; and had they known of this, they would have been very much astonished. such a thing as daring to approach a human being's dwelling, they had never believed of him. he kept the thing to himself very carefully; and he had his own good reasons for it. wind-rush always treated him well in the daytime, and when the others were around; but one very dark night, when the comrades sat on the night branch, he was attacked by a couple of crows and nearly murdered. after that he moved every night, after dark, from his usual sleeping quarters into the empty cabin. now one afternoon, when the crows had put their nests in order on crow-ridge, they happened upon a remarkable find. wind-rush, fumle-drumle, and a couple of others had flown down into a big hollow in one corner of the heath. the hollow was nothing but a gravel-pit, but the crows could not be satisfied with such a simple explanation; they flew down in it continually, and turned every single sand-grain to get at the reason why human beings had digged it. while the crows were pottering around down there, a mass of gravel fell from one side. they rushed up to it, and had the good fortune to find amongst the fallen stones and stubble--a large earthen crock, which was locked with a wooden clasp! naturally they wanted to know if there was anything in it, and they tried both to peck holes in the crock, and to bend up the clasp, but they had no success. they stood perfectly helpless and examined the crock, when they heard someone say: "shall i come down and assist you crows?" they glanced up quickly. on the edge of the hollow sat a fox and blinked down at them. he was one of the prettiest foxes--both in colour and form--that they had ever seen. the only fault with him was that he had lost an ear. "if you desire to do us a service," said wind-rush, "we shall not say nay." at the same time, both he and the others flew up from the hollow. then the fox jumped down in their place, bit at the jar, and pulled at the lock--but he couldn't open it either. "can you make out what there is in it?" said wind-rush. the fox rolled the jar back and forth, and listened attentively. "it must be silver money," said he. this was more than the crows had expected. "do you think it can be silver?" said they, and their eyes were ready to pop out of their heads with greed; for remarkable as it may sound, there is nothing in the world which crows love as much as silver money. "hear how it rattles!" said the fox and rolled the crock around once more. "only i can't understand how we shall get at it." "that will surely be impossible," said the crows. the fox stood and rubbed his head against his left leg, and pondered. now perhaps he might succeed, with the help of the crows, in becoming master of that little imp who always eluded him. "oh! i know someone who could open the crock for you," said the fox. "then tell us! tell us!" cried the crows; and they were so excited that they tumbled down into the pit. "that i will do, if you'll first promise me that you will agree to my terms," said he. then the fox told the crows about thumbietot, and said that if they could bring him to the heath he would open the crock for them. but in payment for this counsel, he demanded that they should deliver thumbietot to him, as soon as he had gotten the silver money for them. the crows had no reason to spare thumbietot, so agreed to the compact at once. it was easy enough to agree to this; but it was harder to find out where thumbietot and the wild geese were stopping. wind-rush himself travelled away with fifty crows, and said that he should soon return. but one day after another passed without the crows on crow-ridge seeing a shadow of him. kidnapped by crows _wednesday, april thirteenth_. the wild geese were up at daybreak, so they should have time to get themselves a bite of food before starting out on the journey toward Östergötland. the island in goosefiord, where they had slept, was small and barren, but in the water all around it were growths which they could eat their fill upon. it was worse for the boy, however. he couldn't manage to find anything eatable. as he stood there hungry and drowsy, and looked around in all directions, his glance fell upon a pair of squirrels, who played upon the wooded point, directly opposite the rock island. he wondered if the squirrels still had any of their winter supplies left, and asked the white goosey-gander to take him over to the point, that he might beg them for a couple of hazelnuts. instantly the white one swam across the sound with him; but as luck would have it the squirrels had so much fun chasing each other from tree to tree, that they didn't bother about listening to the boy. they drew farther into the grove. he hurried after them, and was soon out of the goosey-gander's sight--who stayed behind and waited on the shore. the boy waded forward between some white anemone-stems--which were so high they reached to his chin--when he felt that someone caught hold of him from behind, and tried to lift him up. he turned round and saw that a crow had grabbed him by the shirt-band. he tried to break loose, but before this was possible, another crow ran up, gripped him by the stocking, and knocked him over. if nils holgersson had immediately cried for help, the white goosey-gander certainly would have been able to save him; but the boy probably thought that he could protect himself, unaided, against a couple of crows. he kicked and struck out, but the crows didn't let go their hold, and they soon succeeded in raising themselves into the air with him. to make matters worse, they flew so recklessly that his head struck against a branch. he received a hard knock over the head, it grew black before his eyes, and he lost consciousness. when he opened his eyes once more, he found himself high above the ground. he regained his senses slowly; at first he knew neither where he was, nor what he saw. when he glanced down, he saw that under him was spread a tremendously big woolly carpet, which was woven in greens and reds, and in large irregular patterns. the carpet was very thick and fine, but he thought it was a pity that it had been so badly used. it was actually ragged; long tears ran through it; in some places large pieces were torn away. and the strangest of all was that it appeared to be spread over a mirror floor; for under the holes and tears in the carpet shone bright and glittering glass. the next thing the boy observed was that the sun unrolled itself in the heavens. instantly, the mirror-glass under the holes and tears in the carpet began to shimmer in red and gold. it looked very gorgeous, and the boy was delighted with the pretty colour-scheme, although he didn't exactly understand what it was that he saw. but now the crows descended, and he saw at once that the big carpet under him was the earth, which was dressed in green and brown cone-trees and naked leaf-trees, and that the holes and tears were shining fiords and little lakes. he remembered that the first time he had travelled up in the air, he had thought that the earth in skåne looked like a piece of checked cloth. but this country which resembled a torn carpet--what might this be? he began to ask himself a lot of questions. why wasn't he sitting on the goosey-gander's back? why did a great swarm of crows fly around him? and why was he being pulled and knocked hither and thither so that he was about to break to pieces? then, all at once, the whole thing dawned on him. he had been kidnapped by a couple of crows. the white goosey-gander was still on the shore, waiting, and to-day the wild geese were going to travel to Östergötland. he was being carried southwest; this he understood because the sun's disc was behind him. the big forest-carpet which lay beneath him was surely småland. "what will become of the goosey-gander now, when i cannot look after him?" thought the boy, and began to call to the crows to take him back to the wild geese instantly. he wasn't at all uneasy on his own account. he believed that they were carrying him off simply in a spirit of mischief. the crows didn't pay the slightest attention to his exhortations, but flew on as fast as they could. after a bit, one of them flapped his wings in a manner which meant: "look out! danger!" soon thereafter they came down in a spruce forest, pushed their way between prickly branches to the ground, and put the boy down under a thick spruce, where he was so well concealed that not even a falcon could have sighted him. fifty crows surrounded him, with bills pointed toward him to guard him. "now perhaps i may hear, crows, what your purpose is in carrying me off", said he. but he was hardly permitted to finish the sentence before a big crow hissed at him: "keep still! or i'll bore your eyes out." it was evident that the crow meant what she said; and there was nothing for the boy to do but obey. so he sat there and stared at the crows, and the crows stared at him. the longer he looked at them, the less he liked them. it was dreadful how dusty and unkempt their feather dresses were--as though they knew neither baths nor oiling. their toes and claws were grimy with dried-in mud, and the corners of their mouths were covered with food drippings. these were very different birds from the wild geese--that he observed. he thought they had a cruel, sneaky, watchful and bold appearance, just like cut-throats and vagabonds. "it is certainly a real robber-band that i've fallen in with," thought he. just then he heard the wild geese's call above him. "where are you? here am i. where are you? here am i." he understood that akka and the others had gone out to search for him; but before he could answer them the big crow who appeared to be the leader of the band hissed in his ear: "think of your eyes!" and there was nothing else for him to do but to keep still. the wild geese may not have known that he was so near them, but had just happened, incidentally, to travel over this forest. he heard their call a couple of times more, then it died away. "well, now you'll have to get along by yourself, nils holgersson," he said to himself. "now you must prove whether you have learned anything during these weeks in the open." a moment later the crows gave the signal to break up; and since it was still their intention, apparently, to carry him along in such a way that one held on to his shirt-band, and one to a stocking, the boy said: "is there not one among you so strong that he can carry me on his back? you have already travelled so badly with me that i feel as if i were in pieces. only let me ride! i'll not jump from the crow's back, that i promise you." "oh! you needn't think that we care how you have it," said the leader. but now the largest of the crows--a dishevelled and uncouth one, who had a white feather in his wing--came forward and said: "it would certainly be best for all of us, wind-rush, if thumbietot got there whole, rather than half, and therefore, i shall carry him on my back." "if you can do it, fumle-drumle, i have no objection," said wind-rush. "but don't lose him!" with this, much was already gained, and the boy actually felt pleased again. "there is nothing to be gained by losing my grit because i have been kidnapped by the crows," thought he. "i'll surely be able to manage those poor little things." the crows continued to fly southwest, over småland. it was a glorious morning--sunny and calm; and the birds down on the earth were singing their best love songs. in a high, dark forest sat the thrush himself with drooping wings and swelling throat, and struck up tune after tune. "how pretty you are! how pretty you are! how pretty you are!" sang he. "no one is so pretty. no one is so pretty. no one is so pretty." as soon as he had finished this song, he began it all over again. but just then the boy rode over the forest; and when he had heard the song a couple of times, and marked that the thrush knew no other, he put both hands up to his mouth as a speaking trumpet, and called down: "we've heard all this before. we've heard all this before." "who is it? who is it? who is it? who makes fun of me?" asked the thrush, and tried to catch a glimpse of the one who called. "it is kidnapped-by-crows who makes fun of your song," answered the boy. at that, the crow-chief turned his head and said: "be careful of your eyes, thumbietot!" but the boy thought, "oh! i don't care about that. i want to show you that i'm not afraid of you!" farther and farther inland they travelled; and there were woods and lakes everywhere. in a birch-grove sat the wood-dove on a naked branch, and before him stood the lady-dove. he blew up his feathers, cocked his head, raised and lowered his body, until the breast-feathers rattled against the branch. all the while he cooed: "thou, thou, thou art the loveliest in all the forest. no one in the forest is so lovely as thou, thou, thou!" but up in the air the boy rode past, and when he heard mr. dove he couldn't keep still. "don't you believe him! don't you believe him!" cried he. "who, who, who is it that lies about me?" cooed mr. dove, and tried to get a sight of the one who shrieked at him. "it is caught-by-crows that lies about you," replied the boy. again wind-rush turned his head toward the boy and commanded him to shut up, but fumle-drumle, who was carrying him, said: "let him chatter, then all the little birds will think that we crows have become quick-witted and funny birds." "oh! they're not such fools, either," said wind-rush; but he liked the idea just the same, for after that he let the boy call out as much as he liked. they flew mostly over forests and woodlands, but there were churches and parishes and little cabins in the outskirts of the forest. in one place they saw a pretty old manor. it lay with the forest back of it, and the sea in front of it; had red walls and a turreted roof; great sycamores about the grounds, and big, thick gooseberry-bushes in the orchard. on the top of the weathercock sat the starling, and sang so loud that every note was heard by the wife, who sat on an egg in the heart of a pear tree. "we have four pretty little eggs," sang the starling. "we have four pretty little round eggs. we have the whole nest filled with fine eggs." when the starling sang the song for the thousandth time, the boy rode over the place. he put his hands up to his mouth, as a pipe, and called: "the magpie will get them. the magpie will get them." "who is it that wants to frighten me?" asked the starling, and flapped his wings uneasily. "it is captured-by-crows that frightens you," said the boy. this time the crow-chief didn't attempt to hush him up. instead, both he and his flock were having so much fun that they cawed with satisfaction. the farther inland they came, the larger were the lakes, and the more plentiful were the islands and points. and on a lake-shore stood a drake and kowtowed before the duck. "i'll be true to you all the days of my life. i'll be true to you all the days of my life," said the drake. "it won't last until the summer's end," shrieked the boy. "who are you?" called the drake. "my name's stolen-by-crows," shrieked the boy. at dinner time the crows lighted in a food-grove. they walked about and procured food for themselves, but none of them thought about giving the boy anything. then fumle-drumle came riding up to the chief with a dog-rose branch, with a few dried buds on it. "here's something for you, wind-rush," said he. "this is pretty food, and suitable for you." wind-rush sniffed contemptuously. "do you think that i want to eat old, dry buds?" said he. "and i who thought that you would be pleased with them!" said fumle-drumle; and threw away the dog-rose branch as if in despair. but it fell right in front of the boy, and he wasn't slow about grabbing it and eating until he was satisfied. when the crows had eaten, they began to chatter. "what are you thinking about, wind-rush? you are so quiet to-day," said one of them to the leader. "i'm thinking that in this district there lived, once upon a time, a hen, who was very fond of her mistress; and in order to really please her, she went and laid a nest full of eggs, which she hid under the store-house floor. the mistress of the house wondered, of course, where the hen was keeping herself such a long time. she searched for her, but did not find her. can you guess, longbill, who it was that found her and the eggs?" "i think i can guess it, wind-rush, but when you have told about this, i will tell you something like it. do you remember the big, black cat in hinneryd's parish house? she was dissatisfied because they always took the new-born kittens from her, and drowned them. just once did she succeed in keeping them concealed, and that was when she had laid them in a haystack, out doors. she was pretty well pleased with those young kittens, but i believe that i got more pleasure out of them than she did." now they became so excited that they all talked at once. "what kind of an accomplishment is that--to steal little kittens?" said one. "i once chased a young hare who was almost full-grown. that meant to follow him from covert to covert." he got no further before another took the words from him. "it may be fun, perhaps, to annoy hens and cats, but i find it still more remarkable that a crow can worry a human being. i once stole a silver spoon--" but now the boy thought he was too good to sit and listen to such gabble. "now listen to me, you crows!" said he. "i think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves to talk about all your wickedness. i have lived amongst wild geese for three weeks, and of them i have never heard or seen anything but good. you must have a bad chief, since he permits you to rob and murder in this way. you ought to begin to lead new lives, for i can tell you that human beings have grown so tired of your wickedness they are trying with all their might to root you out. and then there will soon be an end of you." when wind-rush and the crows heard this, they were so furious that they intended to throw themselves upon him and tear him in pieces. but fumle-drumle laughed and cawed, and stood in front of him. "oh, no, no!" said he, and seemed absolutely terrified. "what think you that wind-air will say if you tear thumbietot in pieces before he has gotten that silver money for us?" "it has to be you, fumle-drumle, that's afraid of women-folk," said rush. but, at any rate, both he and the others left thumbietot in peace. shortly after that the crows went further. until now the boy thought that småland wasn't such a poor country as he had heard. of course it was woody and full of mountain-ridges, but alongside the islands and lakes lay cultivated grounds, and any real desolation he hadn't come upon. but the farther inland they came, the fewer were the villages and cottages. toward the last, he thought that he was riding over a veritable wilderness where he saw nothing but swamps and heaths and juniper-hills. the sun had gone down, but it was still perfect daylight when the crows reached the large heather-heath. wind-rush sent a crow on ahead, to say that he had met with success; and when it was known, wind-air, with several hundred crows from crow-ridge, flew to meet the arrivals. in the midst of the deafening cawing which the crows emitted, fumle-drumle said to the boy: "you have been so comical and so jolly during the trip that i am really fond of you. therefore i want to give you some good advice. as soon as we light, you'll be requested to do a bit of work which may seem very easy to you; but beware of doing it!" soon thereafter fumle-drumle put nils holgersson down in the bottom of a sandpit. the boy flung himself down, rolled over, and lay there as though he was simply done up with fatigue. such a lot of crows fluttered about him that the air rustled like a wind-storm, but he didn't look up. "thumbietot," said wind-rush, "get up now! you shall help us with a matter which will be very easy for you." the boy didn't move, but pretended to be asleep. then wind-rush took him by the arm, and dragged him over the sand to an earthen crock of old-time make, that was standing in the pit. "get up, thumbietot," said he, "and open this crock!" "why can't you let me sleep?" said the boy. "i'm too tired to do anything to-night. wait until to-morrow!" "open the crock!" said wind-rush, shaking him. "how shall a poor little child be able to open such a crock? why, it's quite as large as i am myself." "open it!" commanded wind-rush once more, "or it will be a sorry thing for you." the boy got up, tottered over to the crock, fumbled the clasp, and let his arms fall. "i'm not usually so weak," said he. "if you will only let me sleep until morning, i think that i'll be able to manage with that clasp." but wind-rush was impatient, and he rushed forward and pinched the boy in the leg. that sort of treatment the boy didn't care to suffer from a crow. he jerked himself loose quickly, ran a couple of paces backward, drew his knife from the sheath, and held it extended in front of him. "you'd better be careful!" he cried to wind-rush. this one too was so enraged that he didn't dodge the danger. he rushed at the boy, just as though he'd been blind, and ran so straight against the knife, that it entered through his eye into the head. the boy drew the knife back quickly, but wind-rush only struck out with his wings, then he fell down--dead. "wind-rush is dead! the stranger has killed our chieftain, wind-rush!" cried the nearest crows, and then there was a terrible uproar. some wailed, others cried for vengeance. they all ran or fluttered up to the boy, with fumle-drumle in the lead. but he acted badly as usual. he only fluttered and spread his wings over the boy, and prevented the others from coming forward and running their bills into him. the boy thought that things looked very bad for him now. he couldn't run away from the crows, and there was no place where he could hide. then he happened to think of the earthen crock. he took a firm hold on the clasp, and pulled it off. then he hopped into the crock to hide in it. but the crock was a poor hiding place, for it was nearly filled to the brim with little, thin silver coins. the boy couldn't get far enough down, so he stooped and began to throw out the coins. until now the crows had fluttered around him in a thick swarm and pecked at him, but when he threw out the coins they immediately forgot their thirst for vengeance, and hurried to gather the money. the boy threw out handfuls of it, and all the crows--yes, even wind-air herself--picked them up. and everyone who succeeded in picking up a coin ran off to the nest with the utmost speed to conceal it. when the boy had thrown out all the silver pennies from the crock he glanced up. not more than a single crow was left in the sandpit. that was fumle-drumle, with the white feather in his wing; he who had carried thumbietot. "you have rendered me a greater service than you understand," said the crow--with a very different voice, and a different intonation than the one he had used heretofore--"and i want to save your life. sit down on my back, and i'll take you to a hiding place where you can be secure for to-night. to-morrow, i'll arrange it so that you will get back to the wild geese." the cabin _thursday, april fourteenth_. the following morning when the boy awoke, he lay in a bed. when he saw that he was in a house with four walls around him, and a roof over him, he thought that he was at home. "i wonder if mother will come soon with some coffee," he muttered to himself where he lay half-awake. then he remembered that he was in a deserted cabin on the crow-ridge, and that fumle-drumle with the white feather had borne him there the night before. the boy was sore all over after the journey he had made the day before, and he thought it was lovely to lie still while he waited for fumle-drumle who had promised to come and fetch him. curtains of checked cotton hung before the bed, and he drew them aside to look out into the cabin. it dawned upon him instantly that he had never seen the mate to a cabin like this. the walls consisted of nothing but a couple of rows of logs; then the roof began. there was no interior ceiling, so he could look clear up to the roof-tree. the cabin was so small that it appeared to have been built rather for such as he than for real people. however, the fireplace and chimney were so large, he thought that he had never seen larger. the entrance door was in a gable-wall at the side of the fireplace, and was so narrow that it was more like a wicket than a door. in the other gable-wall he saw a low and broad window with many panes. there was scarcely any movable furniture in the cabin. the bench on one side, and the table under the window, were also stationary--also the big bed where he lay, and the many-coloured cupboard. the boy could not help wondering who owned the cabin, and why it was deserted. it certainly looked as though the people who had lived there expected to return. the coffee-urn and the gruel-pot stood on the hearth, and there was some wood in the fireplace; the oven-rake and baker's peel stood in a corner; the spinning wheel was raised on a bench; on the shelf over the window lay oakum and flax, a couple of skeins of yarn, a candle, and a bunch of matches. yes, it surely looked as if those who had lived there had intended to come back. there were bed-clothes on the bed; and on the walls there still hung long strips of cloth, upon which three riders named kasper, melchior, and baltasar were painted. the same horses and riders were pictured many times. they rode around the whole cabin, and continued their ride even up toward the joists. but in the roof the boy saw something which brought him to his senses in a jiffy. it was a couple of loaves of big bread-cakes that hung there upon a spit. they looked old and mouldy, but it was bread all the same. he gave them a knock with the oven-rake and one piece fell to the floor. he ate, and stuffed his bag full. it was incredible how good bread was, anyway. he looked around the cabin once more, to try and discover if there was anything else which he might find useful to take along. "i may as well take what i need, since no one else cares about it," thought he. but most of the things were too big and heavy. the only things that he could carry might be a few matches perhaps. he clambered up on the table, and swung with the help of the curtains up to the window-shelf. while he stood there and stuffed the matches into his bag, the crow with the white feather came in through the window. "well here i am at last," said fumle-drumle as he lit on the table. "i couldn't get here any sooner because we crows have elected a new chieftain in wind-rush's place." "whom have you chosen?" said the boy. "well, we have chosen one who will not permit robbery and injustice. we have elected garm whitefeather, lately called fumle-drumle," answered he, drawing himself up until he looked absolutely regal. "that was a good choice," said the boy and congratulated him. "you may well wish me luck," said garm; then he told the boy about the time they had had with wind-rush and wind-air. during this recital the boy heard a voice outside the window which he thought sounded familiar. "is he here?"--inquired the fox. "yes, he's hidden in there," answered a crow-voice. "be careful, thumbietot!" cried garm. "wind-air stands without with that fox who wants to eat you." more he didn't have time to say, for smirre dashed against the window. the old, rotten window-frame gave way, and the next second smirre stood upon the window-table. garm whitefeather, who didn't have time to fly away, he killed instantly. thereupon he jumped down to the floor, and looked around for the boy. he tried to hide behind a big oakum-spiral, but smirre had already spied him, and was crouched for the final spring. the cabin was so small, and so low, the boy understood that the fox could reach him without the least difficulty. but just at that moment the boy was not without weapons of defence. he struck a match quickly, touched the curtains, and when they were in flames, he threw them down upon smirre fox. when the fire enveloped the fox, he was seized with a mad terror. he thought no more about the boy, but rushed wildly out of the cabin. but it looked as if the boy had escaped one danger to throw himself into a greater one. from the tuft of oakum which he had flung at smirre the fire had spread to the bed-hangings. he jumped down and tried to smother it, but it blazed too quickly now. the cabin was soon filled with smoke, and smirre fox, who had remained just outside the window, began to grasp the state of affairs within. "well, thumbietot," he called out, "which do you choose now: to be broiled alive in there, or to come out here to me? of course, i should prefer to have the pleasure of eating you; but in whichever way death meets you it will be dear to me." the boy could not think but what the fox was right, for the fire was making rapid headway. the whole bed was now in a blaze, and smoke rose from the floor; and along the painted wall-strips the fire crept from rider to rider. the boy jumped up in the fireplace, and tried to open the oven door, when he heard a key which turned around slowly in the lock. it must be human beings coming. and in the dire extremity in which he found himself, he was not afraid, but only glad. he was already on the threshold when the door opened. he saw a couple of children facing him; but how they looked when they saw the cabin in flames, he took no time to find out; but rushed past them into the open. he didn't dare run far. he knew, of course, that smirre fox lay in wait for him, and he understood that he must remain near the children. he turned round to see what sort of folk they were, but he hadn't looked at them a second before he ran up to them and cried: "oh, good-day, osa goose-girl! oh, good-day, little mats!" for when the boy saw those children he forgot entirely where he was. crows and burning cabin and talking animals had vanished from his memory. he was walking on a stubble-field, in west vemminghög, tending a goose-flock; and beside him, on the field, walked those same småland children, with their geese. as soon as he saw them, he ran up on the stone-hedge and shouted: "oh, good-day, osa goose-girl! oh, good-day, little mats!" but when the children saw such a little creature coming up to them with outstretched hands, they grabbed hold of each other, took a couple of steps backward, and looked scared to death. when the boy noticed their terror he woke up and remembered who he was. and then it seemed to him that nothing worse could happen to him than that those children should see how he had been bewitched. shame and grief because he was no longer a human being overpowered him. he turned and fled. he knew not whither. but a glad meeting awaited the boy when he came down to the heath. for there, in the heather, he spied something white, and toward him came the white goosey-gander, accompanied by dunfin. when the white one saw the boy running with such speed, he thought that dreadful fiends were pursuing him. he flung him in all haste upon his back and flew off with him. the old peasant woman _thursday, april fourteenth_. three tired wanderers were out in the late evening in search of a night harbour. they travelled over a poor and desolate portion of northern småland. but the sort of resting place which they wanted, they should have been able to find; for they were no weaklings who asked for soft beds or comfortable rooms. "if one of these long mountain-ridges had a peak so high and steep that a fox couldn't in any way climb up to it, then we should have a good sleeping-place," said one of them. "if a single one of the big swamps was thawed out, and was so marshy and wet that a fox wouldn't dare venture out on it, this, too, would be a right good night harbour," said the second. "if the ice on one of the large lakes we travel past were loose, so that a fox could not come out on it, then we should have found just what we are seeking," said the third. the worst of it was that when the sun had gone down, two of the travellers became so sleepy that every second they were ready to fall to the ground. the third one, who could keep himself awake, grew more and more uneasy as night approached. "then it was a misfortune that we came to a land where lakes and swamps are frozen, so that a fox can get around everywhere. in other places the ice has melted away; but now we're well up in the very coldest småland, where spring has not as yet arrived. i don't know how i shall ever manage to find a good sleeping-place! unless i find some spot that is well protected, smirre fox will be upon us before morning." he gazed in all directions, but he saw no shelter where he could lodge. it was a dark and chilly night, with wind and drizzle. it grew more terrible and disagreeable around him every second. this may sound strange, perhaps, but the travellers didn't seem to have the least desire to ask for house-room on any farm. they had already passed many parishes without knocking at a single door. little hillside cabins on the outskirts of the forests, which all poor wanderers are glad to run across, they took no notice of either. one might almost be tempted to say they deserved to have a hard time of it, since they did not seek help where it was to be had for the asking. but finally, when it was so dark that there was scarcely a glimmer of light left under the skies and the two who needed sleep journeyed on in a kind of half-sleep, they happened into a farmyard which was a long way off from all neighbours. and not only did it lie there desolate, but it appeared to be uninhabited as well. no smoke rose from the chimney; no light shone through the windows; no human being moved on the place. when the one among the three who could keep awake, saw the place, he thought: "now come what may, we must try to get in here. anything better we are not likely to find." soon after that, all three stood in the house-yard. two of them fell asleep the instant they stood still, but the third looked about him eagerly, to find where they could get under cover. it was not a small farm. beside the dwelling house and stable and smoke-house, there were long ranges with granaries and storehouses and cattlesheds. but it all looked awfully poor and dilapidated. the houses had gray, moss-grown, leaning walls, which seemed ready to topple over. in the roofs were yawning holes, and the doors hung aslant on broken hinges. it was apparent that no one had taken the trouble to drive a nail into a wall on this place for a long time. meanwhile, he who was awake had figured out which house was the cowshed. he roused his travelling companions from their sleep, and conducted them to the cowshed door. luckily, this was not fastened with anything but a hook, which he could easily push up with a rod. he heaved a sigh of relief at the thought that they should soon be in safety. but when the cowshed door swung open with a sharp creaking, he heard a cow begin to bellow. "are you coming at last, mistress?" said she. "i thought that you didn't propose to give me any supper to-night." the one who was awake stopped in the doorway, absolutely terrified when he discovered that the cowshed was not empty. but he soon saw that there was not more than one cow, and three or four chickens; and then he took courage again. "we are three poor travellers who want to come in somewhere, where no fox can assail us, and no human being capture us," said he. "we wonder if this can be a good place for us." "i cannot believe but what it is," answered the cow. "to be sure the walls are poor, but the fox does not walk through them as yet; and no one lives here except an old peasant woman, who isn't at all likely to make a captive of anyone. but who are you?" she continued, as she twisted in her stall to get a sight of the newcomers. "i am nils holgersson from vemminghög, who has been transformed into an elf," replied the first of the incomers, "and i have with me a tame goose, whom i generally ride, and a gray goose." "such rare guests have never before been within my four walls," said the cow, "and you shall be welcome, although i would have preferred that it had been my mistress, come to give me my supper." the boy led the geese into the cowshed, which was rather large, and placed them in an empty manger, where they fell asleep instantly. for himself, he made a little bed of straw and expected that he, too, should go to sleep at once. but this was impossible, for the poor cow, who hadn't had her supper, wasn't still an instant. she shook her flanks, moved around in the stall, and complained of how hungry she was. the boy couldn't get a wink of sleep, but lay there and lived over all the things that had happened to him during these last days. he thought of osa, the goose-girl, and little mats, whom he had encountered so unexpectedly; and he fancied that the little cabin which he had set on fire must have been their old home in småland. now he recalled that he had heard them speak of just such a cabin, and of the big heather-heath which lay below it. now osa and mats had wandered back there to see their old home again, and then, when they had reached it, it was in flames. it was indeed a great sorrow which he had brought upon them, and it hurt him very much. if he ever again became a human being, he would try to compensate them for the damage and miscalculation. then his thoughts wandered to the crows. and when he thought of fumle-drumle who had saved his life, and had met his own death so soon after he had been elected chieftain, he was so distressed that tears filled his eyes. he had had a pretty rough time of it these last few days. but, anyway, it was a rare stroke of luck that the goosey-gander and dunfin had found him. the goosey-gander had said that as soon as the geese discovered that thumbietot had disappeared, they had asked all the small animals in the forest about him. they soon learned that a flock of småland crows had carried him off. but the crows were already out of sight, and whither they had directed their course no one had been able to say. that they might find the boy as soon as possible, akka had commanded the wild geese to start out--two and two--in different directions, to search for him. but after a two days' hunt, whether or not they had found him, they were to meet in northwestern småland on a high mountain-top, which resembled an abrupt, chopped-off tower, and was called taberg. after akka had given them the best directions, and described carefully how they should find taberg, they had separated. the white goosey-gander had chosen dunfin as travelling companion, and they had flown about hither and thither with the greatest anxiety for thumbietot. during this ramble they had heard a thrush, who sat in a tree-top, cry and wail that someone, who called himself kidnapped-by-crows, had made fun of him. they had talked with the thrush, and he had shown them in which direction that kidnapped-by-crows had travelled. afterward, they had met a dove-cock, a starling and a drake; they had all wailed about a little culprit who had disturbed their song, and who was named caught-by-crows, captured-by-crows, and stolen-by-crows. in this way, they were enabled to trace thumbietot all the way to the heather-heath in sonnerbo township. as soon as the goosey-gander and dunfin had found thumbietot, they had started toward the north, in order to reach taberg. but it had been a long road to travel, and the darkness was upon them before they had sighted the mountain top. "if we only get there by to-morrow, surely all our troubles will be over," thought the boy, and dug down into the straw to have it warmer. all the while the cow fussed and fumed in the stall. then, all of a sudden, she began to talk to the boy. "everything is wrong with me," said the cow. "i am neither milked nor tended. i have no night fodder in my manger, and no bed has been made under me. my mistress came here at dusk, to put things in order for me, but she felt so ill, that she had to go in soon again, and she has not returned." "it's distressing that i should be little and powerless," said the boy. "i don't believe that i am able to help you." "you can't make me believe that you are powerless because you are little," said the cow. "all the elves that i've ever heard of, were so strong that they could pull a whole load of hay and strike a cow dead with one fist." the boy couldn't help laughing at the cow. "they were a very different kind of elf from me," said he. "but i'll loosen your halter and open the door for you, so that you can go out and drink in one of the pools on the place, and then i'll try to climb up to the hayloft and throw down some hay in your manger." "yes, that would be some help," said the cow. the boy did as he had said; and when the cow stood with a full manger in front of her, he thought that at last he should get some sleep. but he had hardly crept down in the bed before she began, anew, to talk to him. "you'll be clean put out with me if i ask you for one thing more," said the cow. "oh, no i won't, if it's only something that i'm able to do," said the boy. "then i will ask you to go into the cabin, directly opposite, and find out how my mistress is getting along. i fear some misfortune has come to her." "no! i can't do that," said the boy. "i dare not show myself before human beings." "'surely you're not afraid of an old and sick woman," said the cow. "but you do not need to go into the cabin. just stand outside the door and peep in through the crack!" "oh! if that is all you ask of me, i'll do it of course," said the boy. with that he opened the cowshed door and went out in the yard. it was a fearful night! neither moon nor stars shone; the wind blew a gale, and the rain came down in torrents. and the worst of all was that seven great owls sat in a row on the eaves of the cabin. it was awful just to hear them, where they sat and grumbled at the weather; but it was even worse to think what would happen to him if one of them should set eyes on him. that would be the last of him. "pity him who is little!" said the boy as he ventured out in the yard. and he had a right to say this, for he was blown down twice before he got to the house: once the wind swept him into a pool, which was so deep that he came near drowning. but he got there nevertheless. he clambered up a pair of steps, scrambled over a threshold, and came into the hallway. the cabin door was closed, but down in one corner a large piece had been cut away, that the cat might go in and out. it was no difficulty whatever for the boy to see how things were in the cabin. he had hardly cast a glance in there before he staggered back and turned his head away. an old, gray-haired woman lay stretched out on the floor within. she neither moved nor moaned; and her face shone strangely white. it was as if an invisible moon had thrown a feeble light over it. the boy remembered that when his grandfather had died, his face had also become so strangely white-like. and he understood that the old woman who lay on the cabin floor must be dead. death had probably come to her so suddenly that she didn't even have time to lie down on her bed. as he thought of being alone with the dead in the middle of the dark night, he was terribly afraid. he threw himself headlong down the steps, and rushed back to the cowshed. when he told the cow what he had seen in the cabin, she stopped eating. "so my mistress is dead," said she. "then it will soon be over for me as well." "there will always be someone to look out for you," said the boy comfortingly. "ah! you don't know," said the cow, "that i am already twice as old as a cow usually is before she is laid upon the slaughter-bench. but then i do not care to live any longer, since she, in there, can come no more to care for me." she said nothing more for a while, but the boy observed, no doubt, that she neither slept nor ate. it was not long before she began to speak again. "is she lying on the bare floor?" she asked. "she is," said the boy. "she had a habit of coming out to the cowshed," she continued, "and talking about everything that troubled her. i understood what she said, although i could not answer her. these last few days she talked of how afraid she was lest there would be no one with her when she died. she was anxious for fear no one should close her eyes and fold her hands across her breast, after she was dead. perhaps you'll go in and do this?" the boy hesitated. he remembered that when his grandfather had died, mother had been very careful about putting everything to rights. he knew this was something which had to be done. but, on the other hand, he felt that he didn't care go to the dead, in the ghastly night. he didn't say no; neither did he take a step toward the cowshed door. for a couple of seconds the old cow was silent--just as if she had expected an answer. but when the boy said nothing, she did not repeat her request. instead, she began to talk with him of her mistress. there was much to tell, first and foremost, about all the children which she had brought up. they had been in the cowshed every day, and in the summer they had taken the cattle to pasture on the swamp and in the groves, so the old cow knew all about them. they had been splendid, all of them, and happy and industrious. a cow knew well enough what her caretakers were good for. there was also much to be said about the farm. it had not always been as poor as it was now. it was very large--although the greater part of it consisted of swamps and stony groves. there was not much room for fields, but there was plenty of good fodder everywhere. at one time there had been a cow for every stall in the cowshed; and the oxshed, which was now empty, had at one time been filled with oxen. and then there was life and gayety, both in cabin and cowhouse. when the mistress opened the cowshed door she would hum and sing, and all the cows lowed with gladness when they heard her coming. but the good man had died when the children were so small that they could not be of any assistance, and the mistress had to take charge of the farm, and all the work and responsibility. she had been as strong as a man, and had both ploughed and reaped. in the evenings, when she came into the cowshed to milk, sometimes she was so tired that she wept. then she dashed away her tears, and was cheerful again. "it doesn't matter. good times are coming again for me too, if only my children grow up. yes, if they only grow up." but as soon as the children were grown, a strange longing came over them. they didn't want to stay at home, but went away to a strange country. their mother never got any help from them. a couple of her children were married before they went away, and they had left their children behind, in the old home. and now these children followed the mistress in the cowshed, just as her own had done. they tended the cows, and were fine, good folk. and, in the evenings, when the mistress was so tired out that she could fall asleep in the middle of the milking, she would rouse herself again to renewed courage by thinking of them. "good times are coming for me, too," said she--and shook off sleep--"when once they are grown." but when these children grew up, they went away to their parents in the strange land. no one came back--no one stayed at home--the old mistress was left alone on the farm. probably she had never asked them to remain with her. "think you, rödlinna, that i would ask them to stay here with me, when they can go out in the world and have things comfortable?" she would say as she stood in the stall with the old cow. "here in småland they have only poverty to look forward to." but when the last grandchild was gone, it was all up with the mistress. all at once she became bent and gray, and tottered as she walked; as if she no longer had the strength to move about. she stopped working. she did not care to look after the farm, but let everything go to rack and ruin. she didn't repair the houses; and she sold both the cows and the oxen. the only one that she kept was the old cow who now talked with thumbietot. her she let live because all the children had tended her. she could have taken maids and farm-hands into her service, who would have helped her with the work, but she couldn't bear to see strangers around her, since her own had deserted her. perhaps she was better satisfied to let the farm go to ruin, since none of her children were coming back to take it after she was gone. she did not mind that she herself became poor, because she didn't value that which was only hers. but she was troubled lest the children should find out how hard she had it. "if only the children do not hear of this! if only the children do not hear of this!" she sighed as she tottered through the cowhouse. the children wrote constantly, and begged her to come out to them; but this she did not wish. she didn't want to see the land that had taken them from her. she was angry with it. "it's foolish of me, perhaps, that i do not like that land which has been so good for them," said she. "but i don't want to see it." she never thought of anything but the children, and of this--that they must needs have gone. when summer came, she led the cow out to graze in the big swamp. all day she would sit on the edge of the swamp, her hands in her lap; and on the way home she would say: "you see, rödlinna, if there had been large, rich fields here, in place of these barren swamps, then there would have been no need for them to leave." she could become furious with the swamp which spread out so big, and did no good. she could sit and talk about how it was the swamp's fault that the children had left her. this last evening she had been more trembly and feeble than ever before. she could not even do the milking. she had leaned against the manger and talked about two strangers who had been to see her, and had asked if they might buy the swamp. they wanted to drain it, and sow and raise grain on it. this had made her both anxious and glad. "do you hear, rödlinna," she had said, "do you hear they said that grain can grow on the swamp? now i shall write to the children to come home. now they'll not have to stay away any longer; for now they can get their bread here at home." it was this that she had gone into the cabin to do-- the boy heard no more of what the old cow said. he had opened the cowhouse door and gone across the yard, and in to the dead whom he had but lately been so afraid of. it was not so poor in the cabin as he had expected. it was well supplied with the sort of things one generally finds among those who have relatives in america. in a corner there was an american rocking chair; on the table before the window lay a brocaded plush cover; there was a pretty spread on the bed; on the walls, in carved-wood frames, hung the photographs of the children and grandchildren who had gone away; on the bureau stood high vases and a couple of candlesticks, with thick, spiral candles in them. the boy searched for a matchbox and lighted these candles, not because he needed more light than he already had; but because he thought that this was one way to honour the dead. then he went up to her, closed her eyes, folded her hands across her breast, and stroked back the thin gray hair from her face. he thought no more about being afraid of her. he was so deeply grieved because she had been forced to live out her old age in loneliness and longing. he, at least, would watch over her dead body this night. he hunted up the psalm book, and seated himself to read a couple of psalms in an undertone. but in the middle of the reading he paused--because he had begun to think about his mother and father. think, that parents can long so for their children! this he had never known. think, that life can be as though it was over for them when the children are away! think, if those at home longed for him in the same way that this old peasant woman had longed! this thought made him happy, but he dared not believe in it. he had not been such a one that anybody could long for him. but what he had not been, perhaps he could become. round about him he saw the portraits of those who were away. they were big, strong men and women with earnest faces. there were brides in long veils, and gentlemen in fine clothes; and there were children with waved hair and pretty white dresses. and he thought that they all stared blindly into vacancy--and did not want to see. "poor you!" said the boy to the portraits. "your mother is dead. you cannot make reparation now, because you went away from her. but my mother is living!" here he paused, and nodded and smiled to himself. "my mother is living," said he. "both father and mother are living." from taberg to huskvarna _friday, april fifteenth_. the boy sat awake nearly all night, but toward morning he fell asleep and then he dreamed of his father and mother. he could hardly recognise them. they had both grown gray, and had old and wrinkled faces. he asked how this had come about, and they answered that they had aged so because they had longed for him. he was both touched and astonished, for he had never believed but what they were glad to be rid of him. when the boy awoke the morning was come, with fine, clear weather. first, he himself ate a bit of bread which he found in the cabin; then he gave morning feed to both geese and cow, and opened the cowhouse door so that the cow could go over to the nearest farm. when the cow came along all by herself the neighbours would no doubt understand that something was wrong with her mistress. they would hurry over to the desolate farm to see how the old woman was getting along, and then they would find her dead body and bury it. the boy and the geese had barely raised themselves into the air, when they caught a glimpse of a high mountain, with almost perpendicular walls, and an abrupt, broken-off top; and they understood that this must be taberg. on the summit stood akka, with yksi and kaksi, kolmi and neljä, viisi and knusi, and all six goslings and waited for them. there was a rejoicing, and a cackling, and a fluttering, and a calling which no one can describe, when they saw that the goosey-gander and dunfin had succeeded in finding thumbietot. the woods grew pretty high up on taberg's sides, but her highest peak was barren; and from there one could look out in all directions. if one gazed toward the east, or south, or west, then there was hardly anything to be seen but a poor highland with dark spruce-trees, brown morasses, ice-clad lakes, and bluish mountain-ridges. the boy couldn't keep from thinking it was true that the one who had created this hadn't taken very great pains with his work, but had thrown it together in a hurry. but if one glanced to the north, it was altogether different. here it looked as if it had been worked out with the utmost care and affection. in this direction one saw only beautiful mountains, soft valleys, and winding rivers, all the way to the big lake vettern, which lay ice-free and transparently clear, and shone as if it wasn't filled with water but with blue light. it was vettern that made it so pretty to look toward the north, because it looked as though a blue stream had risen up from the lake, and spread itself over land also. groves and hills and roofs, and the spires of jönköping city--which shimmered along vettern's shores--lay enveloped in pale blue which caressed the eye. if there were countries in heaven, they, too, must be blue like this, thought the boy, and imagined that he had gotten a faint idea of how it must look in paradise. later in the day, when the geese continued their journey, they flew up toward the blue valley. they were in holiday humour; shrieked and made such a racket that no one who had ears could help hearing them. this happened to be the first really fine spring day they had had in this section. until now, the spring had done its work under rain and bluster; and now, when it had all of a sudden become fine weather, the people were filled with such a longing after summer warmth and green woods that they could hardly perform their tasks. and when the wild geese rode by, high above the ground, cheerful and free, there wasn't one who did not drop what he had in hand, and glance at them. the first ones who saw the wild geese that day were miners on taberg, who were digging ore at the mouth of the mine. when they heard them cackle, they paused in their drilling for ore, and one of them called to the birds: "where are you going? where are you going?" the geese didn't understand what he said, but the boy leaned forward over the goose-back, and answered for them: "where there is neither pick nor hammer." when the miners heard the words, they thought it was their own longing that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "take us along with you! take us along with you!" they cried. "not this year," shrieked the boy. "not this year." the wild geese followed taberg river down toward monk lake, and all the while they made the same racket. here, on the narrow land-strip between monk and vettern lakes, lay jönköping with its great factories. the wild geese rode first over monksjö paper mills. the noon rest hour was just over, and the big workmen were streaming down to the mill-gate. when they heard the wild geese, they stopped a moment to listen to them. "where are you going? where are you going?" called the workmen. the wild geese understood nothing of what they said, but the boy answered for them: "there, where there are neither machines nor steam-boxes." when the workmen heard the answer, they believed it was their own longing that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "take us along with you!" "not this year," answered the boy. "not this year." next, the geese rode over the well-known match factory, which lies on the shores of vettern--large as a fortress--and lifts its high chimneys toward the sky. not a soul moved out in the yards; but in a large hall young working-women sat and filled match-boxes. they had opened a window on account of the beautiful weather, and through it came the wild geese's call. the one who sat nearest the window, leaned out with a match-box in her hand, and cried: "where are you going? where are you going?" "to that land where there is no need of either light or matches," said the boy. the girl thought that what she had heard was only goose-cackle; but since she thought she had distinguished a couple of words, she called out in answer: "take me along with you!" "not this year," replied the boy. "not this year." east of the factories rises jönköping, on the most glorious spot that any city can occupy. the narrow vettern has high, steep sand-shores, both on the eastern and western sides; but straight south, the sand-walls are broken down, just as if to make room for a large gate, through which one reaches the lake. and in the middle of the gate--with mountains to the left, and mountains to the right, with monk lake behind it, and vettern in front of it--lies jönköping. the wild geese travelled forward over the long, narrow city, and behaved themselves here just as they had done in the country. but in the city there was no one who answered them. it was not to be expected that city folks should stop out in the streets, and call to the wild geese. the trip extended further along vettern's shores; and after a little they came to sanna sanitarium. some of the patients had gone out on the veranda to enjoy the spring air, and in this way they heard the goose-cackle. "where are you going?" asked one of them with such a feeble voice that he was scarcely heard. "to that land where there is neither sorrow nor sickness," answered the boy. "take us along with you!" said the sick ones. "not this year," answered the boy. "not this year." when they had travelled still farther on, they came to huskvarna. it lay in a valley. the mountains around it were steep and beautifully formed. a river rushed along the heights in long and narrow falls. big workshops and factories lay below the mountain walls; and scattered over the valley-bottom were the workingmens' homes, encircled by little gardens; and in the centre of the valley lay the schoolhouse. just as the wild geese came along, a bell rang, and a crowd of school children marched out in line. they were so numerous that the whole schoolyard was filled with them. "where are you going? where are you going?" the children shouted when they heard the wild geese. "where there are neither books nor lessons to be found," answered the boy. "take us along!" shrieked the children. "not this year, but next," cried the boy. "not this year, but next." the big bird lake jarro, the wild duck on the eastern shore of vettern lies mount omberg; east of omberg lies dagmosse; east of dagmosse lies lake takern. around the whole of takern spreads the big, even Östergöta plain. takern is a pretty large lake and in olden times it must have been still larger. but then the people thought it covered entirely too much of the fertile plain, so they attempted to drain the water from it, that they might sow and reap on the lake-bottom. but they did not succeed in laying waste the entire lake--which had evidently been their intention--therefore it still hides a lot of land. since the draining the lake has become so shallow that hardly at any point is it more than a couple of metres deep. the shores have become marshy and muddy; and out in the lake, little mud-islets stick up above the water's surface. now, there is one who loves to stand with his feet in the water, if he can just keep his body and head in the air, and that is the reed. and it cannot find a better place to grow upon, than the long, shallow takern shores, and around the little mud-islets. it thrives so well that it grows taller than a man's height, and so thick that it is almost impossible to push a boat through it. it forms a broad green enclosure around the whole lake, so that it is only accessible in a few places where the people have taken away the reeds. but if the reeds shut the people out, they give, in return, shelter and protection to many other things. in the reeds there are a lot of little dams and canals with green, still water, where duckweed and pondweed run to seed; and where gnat-eggs and blackfish and worms are hatched out in uncountable masses. and all along the shores of these little dams and canals, there are many well-concealed places, where seabirds hatch their eggs, and bring up their young without being disturbed, either by enemies or food worries. an incredible number of birds live in the takern reeds; and more and more gather there every year, as it becomes known what a splendid abode it is. the first who settled there were the wild ducks; and they still live there by thousands. but they no longer own the entire lake, for they have been obliged to share it with swans, grebes, coots, loons, fen-ducks, and a lot of others. takern is certainly the largest and choicest bird lake in the whole country; and the birds may count themselves lucky as long as they own such a retreat. but it is uncertain just how long they will be in control of reeds and mud-banks, for human beings cannot forget that the lake extends over a considerable portion of good and fertile soil; and every now and then the proposition to drain it comes up among them. and if these propositions were carried out, the many thousands of water-birds would be forced to move from this quarter. at the time when nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, there lived at takern a wild duck named jarro. he was a young bird, who had only lived one summer, one fall, and a winter; now, it was his first spring. he had just returned from south africa, and had reached takern in such good season that the ice was still on the lake. one evening, when he and the other young wild ducks played at racing backward and forward over the lake, a hunter fired a couple of shots at them, and jarro was wounded in the breast. he thought he should die; but in order that the one who had shot him shouldn't get him into his power, he continued to fly as long as he possibly could. he didn't think whither he was directing his course, but only struggled to get far away. when his strength failed him, so that he could not fly any farther, he was no longer on the lake. he had flown a bit inland, and now he sank down before the entrance to one of the big farms which lie along the shores of takern. a moment later a young farm-hand happened along. he saw jarro, and came and lifted him up. but jarro, who asked for nothing but to be let die in peace, gathered his last powers and nipped the farm-hand in the finger, so he should let go of him. jarro didn't succeed in freeing himself. the encounter had this good in it at any rate: the farm-hand noticed that the bird was alive. he carried him very gently into the cottage, and showed him to the mistress of the house--a young woman with a kindly face. at once she took jarro from the farm-hand, stroked him on the back and wiped away the blood which trickled down through the neck-feathers. she looked him over very carefully; and when she saw how pretty he was, with his dark-green, shining head, his white neck-band, his brownish-red back, and his blue wing-mirror, she must have thought that it was a pity for him to die. she promptly put a basket in order, and tucked the bird into it. all the while jarro fluttered and struggled to get loose; but when he understood that the people didn't intend to kill him, he settled down in the basket with a sense of pleasure. now it was evident how exhausted he was from pain and loss of blood. the mistress carried the basket across the floor to place it in the corner by the fireplace; but before she put it down jarro was already fast asleep. in a little while jarro was awakened by someone who nudged him gently. when he opened his eyes he experienced such an awful shock that he almost lost his senses. now he was lost; for there stood _the_ one who was more dangerous than either human beings or birds of prey. it was no less a thing than caesar himself--the long-haired dog--who nosed around him inquisitively. how pitifully scared had he not been last summer, when he was still a little yellow-down duckling, every time it had sounded over the reed-stems: "caesar is coming! caesar is coming!" when he had seen the brown and white spotted dog with the teeth-filled jowls come wading through the reeds, he had believed that he beheld death itself. he had always hoped that he would never have to live through that moment when he should meet caesar face to face. but, to his sorrow, he must have fallen down in the very yard where caesar lived, for there he stood right over him. "who are you?" he growled. "how did you get into the house? don't you belong down among the reed banks?" it was with great difficulty that he gained the courage to answer. "don't be angry with me, caesar, because i came into the house!" said he. "it isn't my fault. i have been wounded by a gunshot. it was the people themselves who laid me in this basket." "oho! so it's the folks themselves that have placed you here," said caesar. "then it is surely their intention to cure you; although, for my part, i think it would be wiser for them to eat you up, since you are in their power. but, at any rate, you are tabooed in the house. you needn't look so scared. now, we're not down on takern." with that caesar laid himself to sleep in front of the blazing log-fire. as soon as jarro understood that this terrible danger was past, extreme lassitude came over him, and he fell asleep anew. the next time jarro awoke, he saw that a dish with grain and water stood before him. he was still quite ill, but he felt hungry nevertheless, and began to eat. when the mistress saw that he ate, she came up and petted him, and looked pleased. after that, jarro fell asleep again. for several days he did nothing but eat and sleep. one morning jarro felt so well that he stepped from the basket and wandered along the floor. but he hadn't gone very far before he keeled over, and lay there. then came caesar, opened his big jaws and grabbed him. jarro believed, of course, that the dog was going to bite him to death; but caesar carried him back to the basket without harming him. because of this, jarro acquired such a confidence in the dog caesar, that on his next walk in the cottage, he went over to the dog and lay down beside him. thereafter caesar and he became good friends, and every day, for several hours, jarro lay and slept between caesar's paws. but an even greater affection than he felt for caesar, did jarro feel toward his mistress. of her he had not the least fear; but rubbed his head against her hand when she came and fed him. whenever she went out of the cottage he sighed with regret; and when she came back he cried welcome to her in his own language. jarro forgot entirely how afraid he had been of both dogs and humans in other days. he thought now that they were gentle and kind, and he loved them. he wished that he were well, so he could fly down to takern and tell the wild ducks that their enemies were not dangerous, and that they need not fear them. he had observed that the human beings, as well as caesar, had calm eyes, which it did one good to look into. the only one in the cottage whose glance he did not care to meet, was clawina, the house cat. she did him no harm, either, but he couldn't place any confidence in her. then, too, she quarrelled with him constantly, because he loved human beings. "you think they protect you because they are fond of you," said clawina. "you just wait until you are fat enough! then they'll wring the neck off you. i know them, i do." jarro, like all birds, had a tender and affectionate heart; and he was unutterably distressed when he heard this. he couldn't imagine that his mistress would wish to wring the neck off him, nor could he believe any such thing of her son, the little boy who sat for hours beside his basket, and babbled and chattered. he seemed to think that both of them had the same love for him that he had for them. one day, when jarro and caesar lay on the usual spot before the fire, clawina sat on the hearth and began to tease the wild duck. "i wonder, jarro, what you wild ducks will do next year, when takern is drained and turned into grain fields?" said clawina. "what's that you say, clawina?" cried jarro, and jumped up--scared through and through. "i always forget, jarro, that you do not understand human speech, like caesar and myself," answered the cat. "or else you surely would have heard how the men, who were here in the cottage yesterday, said that all the water was going to be drained from takern, and that next year the lake-bottom would be as dry as a house-floor. and now i wonder where you wild ducks will go." when jarro heard this talk he was so furious that he hissed like a snake. "you are just as mean as a common coot!" he screamed at clawina. "you only want to incite me against human beings. i don't believe they want to do anything of the sort. they must know that takern is the wild ducks' property. why should they make so many birds homeless and unhappy? you have certainly hit upon all this to scare me. i hope that you may be torn in pieces by gorgo, the eagle! i hope that my mistress will chop off your whiskers!" but jarro couldn't shut clawina up with this outburst. "so you think i'm lying," said she. "ask caesar, then! he was also in the house last night. caesar never lies." "caesar," said jarro, "you understand human speech much better than clawina. say that she hasn't heard aright! think how it would be if the people drained takern, and changed the lake-bottom into fields! then there would be no more pondweed or duck-food for the grown wild ducks, and no blackfish or worms or gnat-eggs for the ducklings. then the reed-banks would disappear--where now the ducklings conceal themselves until they are able to fly. all ducks would be compelled to move away from here and seek another home. but where shall they find a retreat like takern? caesar, say that clawina has not heard aright!" it was extraordinary to watch caesar's behaviour during this conversation. he had been wide-awake the whole time before, but now, when jarro turned to him, he panted, laid his long nose on his forepaws, and was sound asleep within the wink of an eyelid. the cat looked down at caesar with a knowing smile. "i believe that caesar doesn't care to answer you," she said to jarro. "it is with him as with all dogs; they will never acknowledge that humans can do any wrong. but you can rely upon my word, at any rate. i shall tell you why they wish to drain the lake just now. as long as you wild ducks still had the power on takern, they did not wish to drain it, for, at least, they got some good out of you; but now, grebes and coots and other birds who are no good as food, have infested nearly all the reed-banks, and the people don't think they need let the lake remain on their account." jarro didn't trouble himself to answer clawina, but raised his head, and shouted in caesar's ear: "caesar! you know that on takern there are still so many ducks left that they fill the air like clouds. say it isn't true that human beings intend to make all of these homeless!" then caesar sprang up with such a sudden outburst at clawina that she had to save herself by jumping up on a shelf. "i'll teach you to keep quiet when i want to sleep," bawled caesar. "of course i know that there is some talk about draining the lake this year. but there's been talk of this many times before without anything coming of it. and that draining business is a matter in which i take no stock whatever. for how would it go with the game if takern were laid waste. you're a donkey to gloat over a thing like that. what will you and i have to amuse ourselves with, when there are no more birds on takern?" the decoy-duck _sunday, april seventeenth_. a couple of days later jarro was so well that he could fly all about the house. then he was petted a good deal by the mistress, and the little boy ran out in the yard and plucked the first grass-blades for him which had sprung up. when the mistress caressed him, jarro thought that, although he was now so strong that he could fly down to takern at any time, he shouldn't care to be separated from the human beings. he had no objection to remaining with them all his life. but early one morning the mistress placed a halter, or noose, over jarro, which prevented him from using his wings, and then she turned him over to the farm-hand who had found him in the yard. the farm-hand poked him under his arm, and went down to takern with him. the ice had melted away while jarro had been ill. the old, dry fall leaves still stood along the shores and islets, but all the water-growths had begun to take root down in the deep; and the green stems had already reached the surface. and now nearly all the migratory birds were at home. the curlews' hooked bills peeped out from the reeds. the grebes glided about with new feather-collars around the neck; and the jack-snipes were gathering straws for their nests. the farm-hand got into a scow, laid jarro in the bottom of the boat, and began to pole himself out on the lake. jarro, who had now accustomed himself to expect only good of human beings, said to caesar, who was also in the party, that he was very grateful toward the farm-hand for taking him out on the lake. but there was no need to keep him so closely guarded, for he did not intend to fly away. to this caesar made no reply. he was very close-mouthed that morning. the only thing which struck jarro as being a bit peculiar was that the farm-hand had taken his gun along. he couldn't believe that any of the good folk in the cottage would want to shoot birds. and, beside, caesar had told him that the people didn't hunt at this time of the year. "it is a prohibited time," he had said, "although this doesn't concern me, of course." the farm-hand went over to one of the little reed-enclosed mud-islets. there he stepped from the boat, gathered some old reeds into a pile, and lay down behind it. jarro was permitted to wander around on the ground, with the halter over his wings, and tethered to the boat, with a long string. suddenly jarro caught sight of some young ducks and drakes, in whose company he had formerly raced backward and forward over the lake. they were a long way off, but jarro called them to him with a couple of loud shouts. they responded, and a large and beautiful flock approached. before they got there, jarro began to tell them about his marvellous rescue, and of the kindness of human beings. just then, two shots sounded behind him. three ducks sank down in the reeds--lifeless--and caesar bounced out and captured them. then jarro understood. the human beings had only saved him that they might use him as a decoy-duck. and they had also succeeded. three ducks had died on his account. he thought he should die of shame. he thought that even his friend caesar looked contemptuously at him; and when they came home to the cottage, he didn't dare lie down and sleep beside the dog. the next morning jarro was again taken out on the shallows. this time, too, he saw some ducks. but when he observed that they flew toward him, he called to them: "away! away! be careful! fly in another direction! there's a hunter hidden behind the reed-pile. i'm only a decoy-bird!" and he actually succeeded in preventing them from coming within shooting distance. jarro had scarcely had time to taste of a grass-blade, so busy was he in keeping watch. he called out his warning as soon as a bird drew nigh. he even warned the grebes, although he detested them because they crowded the ducks out of their best hiding-places. but he did not wish that any bird should meet with misfortune on his account. and, thanks to jarro's vigilance, the farm-hand had to go home without firing off a single shot. despite this fact, caesar looked less displeased than on the previous day; and when evening came he took jarro in his mouth, carried him over to the fireplace, and let him sleep between his forepaws. nevertheless jarro was no longer contented in the cottage, but was grievously unhappy. his heart suffered at the thought that humans never had loved him. when the mistress, or the little boy, came forward to caress him, he stuck his bill under his wing and pretended that he slept. for several days jarro continued his distressful watch-service; and already he was known all over takern. then it happened one morning, while he called as usual: "have a care, birds! don't come near me! i'm only a decoy-duck," that a grebe-nest came floating toward the shallows where he was tied. this was nothing especially remarkable. it was a nest from the year before; and since grebe-nests are built in such a way that they can move on water like boats, it often happens that they drift out toward the lake. still jarro stood there and stared at the nest, because it came so straight toward the islet that it looked as though someone had steered its course over the water. as the nest came nearer, jarro saw that a little human being--the tiniest he had ever seen--sat in the nest and rowed it forward with a pair of sticks. and this little human called to him: "go as near the water as you can, jarro, and be ready to fly. you shall soon be freed." a few seconds later the grebe-nest lay near land, but the little oarsman did not leave it, but sat huddled up between branches and straw. jarro too held himself almost immovable. he was actually paralysed with fear lest the rescuer should be discovered. the next thing which occurred was that a flock of wild geese came along. then jarro woke up to business, and warned them with loud shrieks; but in spite of this they flew backward and forward over the shallows several times. they held themselves so high that they were beyond shooting distance; still the farm-hand let himself be tempted to fire a couple of shots at them. these shots were hardly fired before the little creature ran up on land, drew a tiny knife from its sheath, and, with a couple of quick strokes, cut loose jarro's halter. "now fly away, jarro, before the man has time to load again!" cried he, while he himself ran down to the grebe-nest and poled away from the shore. the hunter had had his gaze fixed upon the geese, and hadn't observed that jarro had been freed; but caesar had followed more carefully that which happened; and just as jarro raised his wings, he dashed forward and grabbed him by the neck. jarro cried pitifully; and the boy who had freed him said quietly to caesar: "if you are just as honourable as you look, surely you cannot wish to force a good bird to sit here and entice others into trouble." when caesar heard these words, he grinned viciously with his upper lip, but the next second he dropped jarro. "fly, jarro!" said he. "you are certainly too good to be a decoy-duck. it wasn't for this that i wanted to keep you here; but because it will be lonely in the cottage without you." the lowering of the lake _wednesday, april twentieth_. it was indeed very lonely in the cottage without jarro. the dog and the cat found the time long, when they didn't have him to wrangle over; and the housewife missed the glad quacking which he had indulged in every time she entered the house. but the one who longed most for jarro, was the little boy, per ola. he was but three years old, and the only child; and in all his life he had never had a playmate like jarro. when he heard that jarro had gone back to takern and the wild ducks, he couldn't be satisfied with this, but thought constantly of how he should get him back again. per ola had talked a good deal with jarro while he lay still in his basket, and he was certain that the duck understood him. he begged his mother to take him down to the lake that he might find jarro, and persuade him to come back to them. mother wouldn't listen to this; but the little one didn't give up his plan on that account. the day after jarro had disappeared, per ola was running about in the yard. he played by himself as usual, but caesar lay on the stoop; and when mother let the boy out, she said: "take care of per ola, caesar!" now if all had been as usual, caesar would also have obeyed the command, and the boy would have been so well guarded that he couldn't have run the least risk. but caesar was not like himself these days. he knew that the farmers who lived along takern had held frequent conferences about the lowering of the lake; and that they had almost settled the matter. the ducks must leave, and caesar should nevermore behold a glorious chase. he was so preoccupied with thoughts of this misfortune, that he did not remember to watch over per ola. and the little one had scarcely been alone in the yard a minute, before he realised that now the right moment was come to go down to takern and talk with jarro. he opened a gate, and wandered down toward the lake on the narrow path which ran along the banks. as long as he could be seen from the house, he walked slowly; but afterward he increased his pace. he was very much afraid that mother, or someone else, should call to him that he couldn't go. he didn't wish to do anything naughty, only to persuade jarro to come home; but he felt that those at home would not have approved of the undertaking. when per ola came down to the lake-shore, he called jarro several times. thereupon he stood for a long time and waited, but no jarro appeared. he saw several birds that resembled the wild duck, but they flew by without noticing him, and he could understand that none among them was the right one. when jarro didn't come to him, the little boy thought that it would be easier to find him if he went out on the lake. there were several good craft lying along the shore, but they were tied. the only one that lay loose, and at liberty, was an old leaky scow which was so unfit that no one thought of using it. but per ola scrambled up in it without caring that the whole bottom was filled with water. he had not strength enough to use the oars, but instead, he seated himself to swing and rock in the scow. certainly no grown person would have succeeded in moving a scow out on takern in that manner; but when the tide is high--and ill-luck to the fore--little children have a marvellous faculty for getting out to sea. per ola was soon riding around on takern, and calling for jarro. when the old scow was rocked like this--out to sea--its cracks opened wider and wider, and the water actually streamed into it. per ola didn't pay the slightest attention to this. he sat upon the little bench in front and called to every bird he saw, and wondered why jarro didn't appear. at last jarro caught sight of per ola. he heard that someone called him by the name which he had borne among human beings, and he understood that the boy had gone out on takern to search for him. jarro was unspeakably happy to find that one of the humans really loved him. he shot down toward per ola, like an arrow, seated himself beside him, and let him caress him. they were both very happy to see each other again. but suddenly jarro noticed the condition of the scow. it was half-filled with water, and was almost ready to sink. jarro tried to tell per ola that he, who could neither fly nor swim, must try to get upon land; but per ola didn't understand him. then jarro did not wait an instant, but hurried away to get help. jarro came back in a little while, and carried on his back a tiny thing, who was much smaller than per ola himself. if he hadn't been able to talk and move, the boy would have believed that it was a doll. instantly, the little one ordered per ola to pick up a long, slender pole that lay in the bottom of the scow, and try to pole it toward one of the reed-islands. per ola obeyed him, and he and the tiny creature, together, steered the scow. with a couple of strokes they were on a little reed-encircled island, and now per ola was told that he must step on land. and just the very moment that per ola set foot on land, the scow was filled with water, and sank to the bottom. when per ola saw this he was sure that father and mother would be very angry with him. he would have started in to cry if he hadn't found something else to think about soon; namely, a flock of big, gray birds, who lighted on the island. the little midget took him up to them, and told him their names, and what they said. and this was so funny that per ola forgot everything else. meanwhile the folks on the farm had discovered that the boy had disappeared, and had started to search for him. they searched the outhouses, looked in the well, and hunted through the cellar. then they went out into the highways and by-paths; wandered to the neighbouring farm to find out if he had strayed over there, and searched for him also down by takern. but no matter how much they sought they did not find him. caesar, the dog, understood very well that the farmer-folk were looking for per ola, but he did nothing to lead them on the right track; instead, he lay still as though the matter didn't concern him. later in the day, per ola's footprints were discovered down by the boat-landing. and then came the thought that the old, leaky scow was no longer on the strand. then one began to understand how the whole affair had come about. the farmer and his helpers immediately took out the boats and went in search of the boy. they rowed around on takern until way late in the evening, without seeing the least shadow of him. they couldn't help believing that the old scow had gone down, and that the little one lay dead on the lake-bottom. in the evening, per ola's mother hunted around on the strand. everyone else was convinced that the boy was drowned, but she could not bring herself to believe this. she searched all the while. she searched between reeds and bulrushes; tramped and tramped on the muddy shore, never thinking of how deep her foot sank, and how wet she had become. she was unspeakably desperate. her heart ached in her breast. she did not weep, but wrung her hands and called for her child in loud piercing tones. round about her she heard swans' and ducks' and curlews' shrieks. she thought that they followed her, and moaned and wailed--they too. "surely, they, too, must be in trouble, since they moan so," thought she. then she remembered: these were only birds that she heard complain. they surely had no worries. it was strange that they did not quiet down after sunset. but she heard all these uncountable bird-throngs, which lived along takern, send forth cry upon cry. several of them followed her wherever she went; others came rustling past on light wings. all the air was filled with moans and lamentations. but the anguish which she herself was suffering, opened her heart. she thought that she was not as far removed from all other living creatures as people usually think. she understood much better than ever before, how birds fared. they had their constant worries for home and children; they, as she. there was surely not such a great difference between them and her as she had heretofore believed. then she happened to think that it was as good as settled that these thousands of swans and ducks and loons would lose their homes here by takern. "it will be very hard for them," she thought. "where shall they bring up their children now?" she stood still and mused on this. it appeared to be an excellent and agreeable accomplishment to change a lake into fields and meadows, but let it be some other lake than takern; some other lake, which was not the home of so many thousand creatures. she remembered how on the following day the proposition to lower the lake was to be decided, and she wondered if this was why her little son had been lost--just to-day. was it god's meaning that sorrow should come and open her heart--just to-day--before it was too late to avert the cruel act? she walked rapidly up to the house, and began to talk with her husband about this. she spoke of the lake, and of the birds, and said that she believed it was god's judgment on them both. and she soon found that he was of the same opinion. they already owned a large place, but if the lake-draining was carried into effect, such a goodly portion of the lake-bottom would fall to their share that their property would be nearly doubled. for this reason they had been more eager for the undertaking than any of the other shore owners. the others had been worried about expenses, and anxious lest the draining should not prove any more successful this time than it was the last. per ola's father knew in his heart that it was he who had influenced them to undertake the work. he had exercised all his eloquence, so that he might leave to his son a farm as large again as his father had left to him. he stood and pondered if god's hand was back of the fact that takern had taken his son from him on the day before he was to draw up the contract to lay it waste. the wife didn't have to say many words to him, before he answered: "it may be that god does not want us to interfere with his order. i'll talk with the others about this to-morrow, and i think we'll conclude that all may remain as it is." while the farmer-folk were talking this over, caesar lay before the fire. he raised his head and listened very attentively. when he thought that he was sure of the outcome, he walked up to the mistress, took her by the skirt, and led her to the door. "but caesar!" said she, and wanted to break loose. "do you know where per ola is?" she exclaimed. caesar barked joyfully, and threw himself against the door. she opened it, and caesar dashed down toward takern. the mistress was so positive he knew where per ola was, that she rushed after him. and no sooner had they reached the shore than they heard a child's cry out on the lake. per ola had had the best day of his life, in company with thumbietot and the birds; but now he had begun to cry because he was hungry and afraid of the darkness. and he was glad when father and mother and caesar came for him. ulvÅsa-lady the prophecy _friday, april twenty-second_. one night when the boy lay and slept on an island in takern, he was awakened by oar-strokes. he had hardly gotten his eyes open before there fell such a dazzling light on them that he began to blink. at first he couldn't make out what it was that shone so brightly out here on the lake; but he soon saw that a scow with a big burning torch stuck up on a spike, aft, lay near the edge of the reeds. the red flame from the torch was clearly reflected in the night-dark lake; and the brilliant light must have lured the fish, for round about the flame in the deep a mass of dark specks were seen, that moved continually, and changed places. there were two old men in the scow. one sat at the oars, and the other stood on a bench in the stern and held in his hand a short spear which was coarsely barbed. the one who rowed was apparently a poor fisherman. he was small, dried-up and weather-beaten, and wore a thin, threadbare coat. one could see that he was so used to being out in all sorts of weather that he didn't mind the cold. the other was well fed and well dressed, and looked like a prosperous and self-complacent farmer. "now, stop!" said the farmer, when they were opposite the island where the boy lay. at the same time he plunged the spear into the water. when he drew it out again, a long, fine eel came with it. "look at that!" said he as he released the eel from the spear. "that was one who was worth while. now i think we have so many that we can turn back." his comrade did not lift the oars, but sat and looked around. "it is lovely out here on the lake to-night," said he. and so it was. it was absolutely still, so that the entire water-surface lay in undisturbed rest with the exception of the streak where the boat had gone forward. this lay like a path of gold, and shimmered in the firelight. the sky was clear and dark blue and thickly studded with stars. the shores were hidden by the reed islands except toward the west. there mount omberg loomed up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and, cut away a big, three-cornered piece of the vaulted heavens. the other one turned his head to get the light out of his eyes, and looked about him. "yes, it is lovely here in Östergylln," said he. "still the best thing about the province is not its beauty." "then what is it that's best?" asked the oarsman. "that it has always been a respected and honoured province." "that may be true enough." "and then this, that one knows it will always continue to be so." "but how in the world can one know this?" said the one who sat at the oars. the farmer straightened up where he stood and braced himself with the spear. "there is an old story which has been handed down from father to son in my family; and in it one learns what will happen to Östergötland." "then you may as well tell it to me," said the oarsman. "we do not tell it to anyone and everyone, but i do not wish to keep it a secret from an old comrade. "at ulvåsa, here in Östergötland," he continued (and one could tell by the tone of his voice that he talked of something which he had heard from others, and knew by heart), "many, many years ago, there lived a lady who had the gift of looking into the future, and telling people what was going to happen to them--just as certainly and accurately as though it had already occurred. for this she became widely noted; and it is easy to understand that people would come to her, both from far and near, to find out what they were going to pass through of good or evil. "one day, when ulvåsa-lady sat in her hall and spun, as was customary in former days, a poor peasant came into the room and seated himself on the bench near the door. "'i wonder what you are sitting and thinking about, dear lady,' said the peasant after a little. "'i am sitting and thinking about high and holy things,' answered she. 'then it is not fitting, perhaps, that i ask you about something which weighs on my heart,' said the peasant. "'it is probably nothing else that weighs on your heart than that you may reap much grain on your field. but i am accustomed to receive communications from the emperor about how it will go with his crown; and from the pope, about how it will go with his keys.' 'such things cannot be easy to answer,' said the peasant. 'i have also heard that no one seems to go from here without being dissatisfied with what he has heard.' "when the peasant said this, he saw that ulvåsa-lady bit her lip, and moved higher up on the bench. 'so this is what you have heard about me,' said she. 'then you may as well tempt fortune by asking me about the thing you wish to know; and you shall see if i can answer so that you will be satisfied.' "after this the peasant did not hesitate to state his errand. he said that he had come to ask how it would go with Östergötland in the future. there was nothing which was so dear to him as his native province, and he felt that he should be happy until his dying day if he could get a satisfactory reply to his query. "'oh! is that all you wish to know,' said the wise lady; 'then i think that you will be content. for here where i now sit, i can tell you that it will be like this with Östergötland: it will always have something to boast of ahead of other provinces.' "'yes, that was a good answer, dear lady,' said the peasant, 'and now i would be entirely at peace if i could only comprehend how such a thing should be possible.' "'why should it not be possible?' said ulvåsa-lady. 'don't you know that Östergötland is already renowned? or think you there is any place in sweden that can boast of owning, at the same time, two such cloisters as the ones in alvastra and vreta, and such a beautiful cathedral as the one in linköping?' "'that may be so,' said the peasant. 'but i'm an old man, and i know that people's minds are changeable. i fear that there will come a time when they won't want to give us any glory, either for alvastra or vreta or for the cathedral.' "'herein you may be right,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but you need not doubt prophecy on that account. i shall now build up a new cloister on vadstena, and that will become the most celebrated in the north. thither both the high and the lowly shall make pilgrimages, and all shall sing the praises of the province because it has such a holy place within its confines.' "the peasant replied that he was right glad to know this. but he also knew, of course, that everything was perishable; and he wondered much what would give distinction to the province, if vadstena cloister should once fall into disrepute. "'you are not easy to satisfy,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but surely i can see so far ahead that i can tell you, before vadstena cloister shall have lost its splendour, there will be a castle erected close by, which will be the most magnificent of its period. kings and dukes will be guests there, and it shall be accounted an honour to the whole province, that it owns such an ornament.' "'this i am also glad to hear,' said the peasant. 'but i'm an old man, and i know how it generally turns out with this world's glories. and if the castle goes to ruin, i wonder much what there will be that can attract the people's attention to this province.' "'it's not a little that you want to know,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but, certainly, i can look far enough into the future to see that there will be life and movement in the forests around finspång. i see how cabins and smithies arise there, and i believe that the whole province shall be renowned because iron will be moulded within its confines.' "the peasant didn't deny that he was delighted to hear this. 'but if it should go so badly that even finspång's foundry went down in importance, then it would hardly be possible that any new thing could arise of which Östergötland might boast.' "'you are not easy to please,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but i can see so far into the future that i mark how, along the lake-shores, great manors--large as castles--are built by gentlemen who have carried on wars in foreign lands. i believe that the manors will bring the province just as much honour as anything else that i have mentioned.' "'but if there comes a time when no one lauds the great manors?' insisted the peasant. "'you need not be uneasy at all events,' said ulvåsa-lady. i see how health-springs bubble on medevi meadows, by vätter's shores. i believe that the wells at medevi will bring the land as much praise as you can desire.' "'that is a mighty good thing to know,' said the peasant. 'but if there comes a time when people will seek their health at other springs?' "'you must not give yourself any anxiety on that account,' answered ulvåsa-lady. i see how people dig and labour, from motala to mem. they dig a canal right through the country, and then Östergötland's praise is again on everyone's lips.' "but, nevertheless, the peasant looked distraught. "'i see that the rapids in motala stream begin to draw wheels,' said ulvåsa-lady--and now two bright red spots came to her cheeks, for she began to be impatient--'i hear hammers resound in motala, and looms clatter in norrköping.' "'yes, that's good to know,' said the peasant, 'but everything is perishable, and i'm afraid that even this can be forgotten, and go into oblivion.' "when the peasant was not satisfied even now, there was an end to the lady's patience. 'you say that everything is perishable,' said she, 'but now i shall still name something which will always be like itself; and that is that such arrogant and pig-headed peasants as you will always be found in this province--until the end of time.' "hardly had ulvåsa-lady said this before the peasant rose--happy and satisfied--and thanked her for a good answer. now, at last, he was satisfied, he said. "'verily, i understand now how you look at it,' then said ulvåsa-lady. "'well, i look at it in this way, dear lady,' said the peasant, 'that everything which kings and priests and noblemen and merchants build and accomplish, can only endure for a few years. but when you tell me that in Östergötland there will always be peasants who are honour-loving and persevering, then i know also that it will be able to keep its ancient glory. for it is only those who go bent under the eternal labour with the soil, who can hold this land in good repute and honour--from one time to another.'" the homespun cloth _saturday, april twenty-third_. the boy rode forward--way up in the air. he had the great Östergötland plain under him, and sat and counted the many white churches which towered above the small leafy groves around them. it wasn't long before he had counted fifty. after that he became confused and couldn't keep track of the counting. nearly all the farms were built up with large, whitewashed two-story houses, which looked so imposing that the boy couldn't help admiring them. "there can't be any peasants in this land," he said to himself, "since i do not see any peasant farms." immediately all the wild geese shrieked: "here the peasants live like gentlemen. here the peasants live like gentlemen." on the plains the ice and snow had disappeared, and the spring work had begun. "what kind of long crabs are those that creep over the fields?" asked the boy after a bit. "ploughs and oxen. ploughs and oxen," answered the wild geese. the oxen moved so slowly down on the fields, that one could scarcely perceive they were in motion, and the geese shouted to them: "you won't get there before next year. you won't get there before next year." but the oxen were equal to the occasion. they raised their muzzles in the air and bellowed: "we do more good in an hour than such as you do in a whole lifetime." in a few places the ploughs were drawn by horses. they went along with much more eagerness and haste than the oxen; but the geese couldn't keep from teasing these either. "ar'n't you ashamed to be doing ox-duty?" cried the wild geese. "ar'n't you ashamed yourselves to be doing lazy man's duty?" the horses neighed back at them. but while horses and oxen were at work in the fields, the stable ram walked about in the barnyard. he was newly clipped and touchy, knocked over the small boys, chased the shepherd dog into his kennel, and then strutted about as though he alone were lord of the whole place. "rammie, rammie, what have you done with your wool?" asked the wild geese, who rode by up in the air. "that i have sent to drag's woollen mills in norrköping," replied the ram with a long, drawn-out bleat. "rammie, rammie, what have you done with your horns?" asked the geese. but any horns the rammie had never possessed, to his sorrow, and one couldn't offer him a greater insult than to ask after them. he ran around a long time, and butted at the air, so furious was he. on the country road came a man who drove a flock of skåne pigs that were not more than a few weeks old, and were going to be sold up country. they trotted along bravely, as little as they were, and kept close together--as if they sought protection. "nuff, nuff, nuff, we came away too soon from father and mother. nuff, nuff, nuff, how will it go with us poor children?" said the little pigs. the wild geese didn't have the heart to tease such poor little creatures. "it will be better for you than you can ever believe," they cried as they flew past them. the wild geese were never so merry as when they flew over a flat country. then they did not hurry themselves, but flew from farm to farm, and joked with the tame animals. as the boy rode over the plain, he happened to think of a legend which he had heard a long time ago. he didn't remember it exactly, but it was something about a petticoat--half of which was made of gold-woven velvet, and half of gray homespun cloth. but the one who owned the petticoat adorned the homespun cloth with such a lot of pearls and precious stones that it looked richer and more gorgeous than the gold-cloth. he remembered this about the homespun cloth, as he looked down on Östergötland, because it was made up of a large plain, which lay wedged in between two mountainous forest-tracts--one to the north, the other to the south. the two forest-heights lay there, a lovely blue, and shimmered in the morning light, as if they were decked with golden veils; and the plain, which simply spread out one winter-naked field after another, was, in and of itself, prettier to look upon than gray homespun. but the people must have been contented on the plain, because it was generous and kind, and they had tried to decorate it in the best way possible. high up--where the boy rode by--he thought that cities and farms, churches and factories, castles and railway stations were scattered over it, like large and small trinkets. it shone on the roofs, and the window-panes glittered like jewels. yellow country roads, shining railway-tracks and blue canals ran along between the districts like embroidered loops. linköping lay around its cathedral like a pearl-setting around a precious stone; and the gardens in the country were like little brooches and buttons. there was not much regulation in the pattern, but it was a display of grandeur which one could never tire of looking at. the geese had left Öberg district, and travelled toward the east along göta canal. this was also getting itself ready for the summer. workmen laid canal-banks, and tarred the huge lock-gates. they were working everywhere to receive spring fittingly, even in the cities. there, masons and painters stood on scaffoldings and made fine the exteriors of the houses while maids were cleaning the windows. down at the harbour, sailboats and steamers were being washed and dressed up. at norrköping the wild geese left the plain, and flew up toward kolmården. for a time they had followed an old, hilly country road, which wound around cliffs, and ran forward under wild mountain-walls--when the boy suddenly let out a shriek. he had been sitting and swinging his foot back and forth, and one of his wooden shoes had slipped off. "goosey-gander, goosey-gander, i have dropped my shoe!" cried the boy. the goosey-gander turned about and sank toward the ground; then the boy saw that two children, who were walking along the road, had picked up his shoe. "goosey-gander, goosey-gander," screamed the boy excitedly, "fly upward again! it is too late. i cannot get my shoe back again." down on the road stood osa, the goose-girl, and her brother, little mats, looking at a tiny wooden shoe that had fallen from the skies. osa, the goose-girl, stood silent a long while, and pondered over the find. at last she said, slowly and thoughtfully: "do you remember, little mats, that when we went past Övid cloister, we heard that the folks in a farmyard had seen an elf who was dressed in leather breeches, and had wooden shoes on his feet, like any other working man? and do you recollect when we came to vittskövle, a girl told us that she had seen a goa-nisse with wooden shoes, who flew away on the back of a goose? and when we ourselves came home to our cabin, little mats, we saw a goblin who was dressed in the same way, and who also straddled the back of a goose--and flew away. maybe it was the same one who rode along on his goose up here in the air and dropped his wooden shoe." "yes, it must have been," said little mats. they turned the wooden shoe about and examined it carefully--for it isn't every day that one happens across a goa-nisse's wooden shoe on the highway. "wait, wait, little mats!" said osa, the goose-girl. "there is something written on one side of it." "why, so there is! but they are such tiny letters." "let me see! it says--it says: 'nils holgersson from w. vemminghög.' that's the most wonderful thing i've ever heard!" said little mats. the story of karr and grayskin karr about twelve years before nils holgersson started on his travels with the wild geese there was a manufacturer at kolmården who wanted to be rid of one of his dogs. he sent for his game-keeper and said to him that it was impossible to keep the dog because he could not be broken of the habit of chasing all the sheep and fowl he set eyes on, and he asked the man to take the dog into the forest and shoot him. the game-keeper slipped the leash on the dog to lead him to a spot in the forest where all the superannuated dogs from the manor were shot and buried. he was not a cruel man, but he was very glad to shoot that dog, for he knew that sheep and chickens were not the only creatures he hunted. times without number he had gone into the forest and helped himself to a hare or a grouse-chick. the dog was a little black-and-tan setter. his name was karr, and he was so wise he understood all that was said. as the game-keeper was leading him through the thickets, karr knew only too well what was in store for him. but this no one could have guessed by his behaviour, for he neither hung his head nor dragged his tail, but seemed as unconcerned as ever. it was because they were in the forest that the dog was so careful not to appear the least bit anxious. there were great stretches of woodland on every side of the factory, and this forest was famed both among animals and human beings because for many, many years the owners had been so careful of it that they had begrudged themselves even the trees needed for firewood. nor had they had the heart to thin or train them. the trees had been allowed to grow as they pleased. naturally a forest thus protected was a beloved refuge for wild animals, which were to be found there in great numbers. among themselves they called it liberty forest, and regarded it as the best retreat in the whole country. as the dog was being led through the woods he thought of what a bugaboo he had been to all the small animals and birds that lived there. "now, karr, wouldn't they be happy in their lairs if they only knew what was awaiting you?" he thought, but at the same time he wagged his tail and barked cheerfully, so that no one should think that he was worried or depressed. "what fun would there have been in living had i not hunted occasionally?" he reasoned. "let him who will, regret; it's not going to be karr!" but the instant the dog said this, a singular change came over him. he stretched his neck as though he had a mind to howl. he no longer trotted alongside the game-keeper, but walked behind him. it was plain that he had begun to think of something unpleasant. it was early summer; the elk cows had just given birth to their young, and, the night before, the dog had succeeded in parting from its mother an elk calf not more than five days old, and had driven it down into the marsh. there he had chased it back and forth over the knolls--not with the idea of capturing it, but merely for the sport of seeing how he could scare it. the elk cow knew that the marsh was bottomless so soon after the thaw, and that it could not as yet hold up so large an animal as herself, so she stood on the solid earth for the longest time, watching! but when karr kept chasing the calf farther and farther away, she rushed out on the marsh, drove the dog off, took the calf with her, and turned back toward firm land. elk are more skilled than other animals in traversing dangerous, marshy ground, and it seemed as if she would reach solid land in safety; but when she was almost there a knoll which she had stepped upon sank into the mire, and she went down with it. she tried to rise, but could get no secure foothold, so she sank and sank. karr stood and looked on, not daring to move. when he saw that the elk could not save herself, he ran away as fast as he could, for he had begun to think of the beating he would get if it were discovered that he had brought a mother elk to grief. he was so terrified that he dared not pause for breath until he reached home. it was this that the dog recalled; and it troubled him in a way very different from the recollection of all his other misdeeds. this was doubtless because he had not really meant to kill either the elk cow or her calf, but had deprived them of life without wishing to do so. "but maybe they are alive yet!" thought the dog. "they were not dead when i ran away; perhaps they saved themselves." he was seized with an irresistible longing to know for a certainty while yet there was time for him to find out. he noticed that the game-keeper did not have a firm hold on the leash; so he made a sudden spring, broke loose, and dashed through the woods down to the marsh with such speed that he was out of sight before the game-keeper had time to level his gun. there was nothing for the game-keeper to do but to rush after him. when he got to the marsh he found the dog standing upon a knoll, howling with all his might. the man thought he had better find out the meaning of this, so he dropped his gun and crawled out over the marsh on hands and knees. he had not gone far when he saw an elk cow lying dead in the quagmire. close beside her lay a little calf. it was still alive, but so much exhausted that it could not move. karr was standing beside the calf, now bending down and licking it, now howling shrilly for help. the game-keeper raised the calf and began to drag it toward land. when the dog understood that the calf would be saved he was wild with joy. he jumped round and round the game-keeper, licking his hands and barking with delight. the man carried the baby elk home and shut it up in a calf stall in the cow shed. then he got help to drag the mother elk from the marsh. only after this had been done did he remember that he was to shoot karr. he called the dog to him, and again took him into the forest. the game-keeper walked straight on toward the dog's grave; but all the while he seemed to be thinking deeply. suddenly he turned and walked toward the manor. karr had been trotting along quietly; but when the game-keeper turned and started for home, he became anxious. the man must have discovered that it was he that had caused the death of the elk, and now he was going back to the manor to be thrashed before he was shot! to be beaten was worse than all else! with that prospect karr could no longer keep up his spirits, but hung his head. when he came to the manor he did not look up, but pretended that he knew no one there. the master was standing on the stairs leading to the hall when the game-keeper came forward. "where on earth did that dog come from?" he exclaimed. "surely it can't be karr? he must be dead this long time!" then the man began to tell his master all about the mother elk, while karr made himself as little as he could, and crouched behind the game-keeper's legs. much to his surprise the man had only praise for him. he said it was plain the dog knew that the elk were in distress, and wished to save them. "you may do as you like, but i can't shoot that dog!" declared the game-keeper. karr raised himself and pricked up his ears. he could hardly believe that he heard aright. although he did not want to show how anxious he had been, he couldn't help whining a little. could it be possible that his life was to be spared simply because he had felt uneasy about the elk? the master thought that karr had conducted himself well, but as he did not want the dog, he could not decide at once what should be done with him. "if you will take charge of him and answer for his good behaviour in the future, he may as well live," he said, finally. this the game-keeper was only too glad to do, and that was how karr came to move to the game-keeper's lodge. grayskin's flight from the day that karr went to live with the game-keeper he abandoned entirely his forbidden chase in the forest. this was due not only to his having been thoroughly frightened, but also to the fact that he did not wish to make the game-keeper angry at him. ever since his new master saved his life the dog loved him above everything else. he thought only of following him and watching over him. if he left the house, karr would run ahead to make sure that the way was clear, and if he sat at home, karr would lie before the door and keep a close watch on every one who came and went. when all was quiet at the lodge, when no footsteps were heard on the road, and the game-keeper was working in his garden, karr would amuse himself playing with the baby elk. at first the dog had no desire to leave his master even for a moment. since he accompanied him everywhere, he went with him to the cow shed. when he gave the elk calf its milk, the dog would sit outside the stall and gaze at it. the game-keeper called the calf grayskin because he thought it did not merit a prettier name, and karr agreed with him on that point. every time the dog looked at it he thought that he had never seen anything so ugly and misshapen as the baby elk, with its long, shambly legs, which hung down from the body like loose stilts. the head was large, old, and wrinkled, and it always drooped to one side. the skin lay in tucks and folds, as if the animal had put on a coat that had not been made for him. always doleful and discontented, curiously enough he jumped up every time karr appeared as if glad to see him. the elk calf became less hopeful from day to day, did not grow any, and at last he could not even rise when he saw karr. then the dog jumped up into the crib to greet him, and thereupon a light kindled in the eyes of the poor creature--as if a cherished longing were fulfilled. after that karr visited the elk calf every day, and spent many hours with him, licking his coat, playing and racing with him, till he taught him a little of everything a forest animal should know. it was remarkable that, from the time karr began to visit the elk calf in his stall, the latter seemed more contented, and began to grow. after he was fairly started, he grew so rapidly that in a couple of weeks the stall could no longer hold him, and he had to be moved into a grove. when he had been in the grove two months his legs were so long that he could step over the fence whenever he wished. then the lord of the manor gave the game-keeper permission to put up a higher fence and to allow him more space. here the elk lived for several years, and grew up into a strong and handsome animal. karr kept him company as often as he could; but now it was no longer through pity, for a great friendship had sprung up between the two. the elk was always inclined to be melancholy, listless, and, indifferent, but karr knew how to make him playful and happy. grayskin had lived for five summers on the game-keeper's place, when his owner received a letter from a zoölogical garden abroad asking if the elk might be purchased. the master was pleased with the proposal, the game-keeper was distressed, but had not the power to say no; so it was decided that the elk should be sold. karr soon discovered what was in the air and ran over to the elk to have a chat with him. the dog was very much distressed at the thought of losing his friend, but the elk took the matter calmly, and seemed neither glad nor sorry. "do you think of letting them send you away without offering resistance?" asked karr. "what good would it do to resist?" asked grayskin. "i should prefer to remain where i am, naturally, but if i've been sold, i shall have to go, of course." karr looked at grayskin and measured him with his eyes. it was apparent that the elk was not yet full grown. he did not have the broad antlers, high hump, and long mane of the mature elk; but he certainly had strength enough to fight for his freedom. "one can see that he has been in captivity all his life," thought karr, but said nothing. karr left and did not return to the grove till long past midnight. by that time he knew grayskin would be awake and eating his breakfast. "of course you are doing right, grayskin, in letting them take you away," remarked karr, who appeared now to be calm and satisfied. "you will be a prisoner in a large park and will have no responsibilities. it seems a pity that you must leave here without having seen the forest. you know your ancestors have a saying that 'the elk are one with the forest.' but you haven't even been in a forest!" grayskin glanced up from the clover which he stood munching. "indeed, i should love to see the forest, but how am i to get over the fence?" he said with his usual apathy. "oh, that is difficult for one who has such short legs!" said karr. the elk glanced slyly at the dog, who jumped the fence many times a day--little as he was. he walked over to the fence, and with one spring he was on the other side, without knowing how it happened. then karr and grayskin went into the forest. it was a beautiful moonlight night in late summer; but in among the trees it was dark, and the elk walked along slowly. "perhaps we had better turn back," said karr. "you, who have never before tramped the wild forest, might easily break your legs." grayskin moved more rapidly and with more courage. karr conducted the elk to a part of the forest where the pines grew so thickly that no wind could penetrate them. "it is here that your kind are in the habit of seeking shelter from cold and storm," said karr. "here they stand under the open skies all winter. but you will fare much better where you are going, for you will stand in a shed, with a roof over your head, like an ox." grayskin made no comment, but stood quietly and drank in the strong, piney air. "have you anything more to show me, or have i now seen the whole forest?" he asked. then karr went with him to a big marsh, and showed him clods and quagmire. "over this marsh the elk take flight when they are in peril," said karr. "i don't know how they manage it, but, large and heavy as they are, they can walk here without sinking. of course you couldn't hold yourself up on such dangerous ground, but then there is no occasion for you to do so, for you will never be hounded by hunters." grayskin made no retort, but with a leap he was out on the marsh, and happy when he felt how the clods rocked under him. he dashed across the marsh, and came back again to karr, without having stepped into a mudhole. "have we seen the whole forest now?" he asked. "no, not yet," said karr. he next conducted the elk to the skirt of the forest, where fine oaks, lindens, and aspens grew. "here your kind eat leaves and bark, which they consider the choicest of food; but you will probably get better fare abroad." grayskin was astonished when he saw the enormous leaf-trees spreading like a great canopy above him. he ate both oak leaves and aspen bark. "these taste deliciously bitter and good!" he remarked. "better than clover!" "then wasn't it well that you should taste them once?" said the dog. thereupon he took the elk down to a little forest lake. the water was as smooth as a mirror, and reflected the shores, which were veiled in thin, light mists. when grayskin saw the lake he stood entranced. "what is this, karr?" he asked. it was the first time that he had seen a lake. "it's a large body of water--a lake," said karr. "your people swim across it from shore to shore. one could hardly expect you to be familiar with this; but at least you should go in and take a swim!" karr, himself, plunged into the water for a swim. grayskin stayed back on the shore for some little time, but finally followed. he grew breathless with delight as the cool water stole soothingly around his body. he wanted it over his back, too, so went farther out. then he felt that the water could hold him up, and began to swim. he swam all around karr, ducking and snorting, perfectly at home in the water. when they were on shore again, the dog asked if they had not better go home now. "it's a long time until morning," observed grayskin, "so we can tramp around in the forest a little longer." they went again into the pine wood. presently they came to an open glade illuminated by the moonlight, where grass and flowers shimmered beneath the dew. some large animals were grazing on this forest meadow--an elk bull, several elk cows and a number of elk calves. when grayskin caught sight of them he stopped short. he hardly glanced at the cows or the young ones, but stared at the old bull, which had broad antlers with many taglets, a high hump, and a long-haired fur piece hanging down from his throat. "what kind of an animal is that?" asked grayskin in wonderment. "he is called antler-crown," said karr, "and he is your kinsman. one of these days you, too, will have broad antlers, like those, and just such a mane; and if you were to remain in the forest, very likely you, also, would have a herd to lead." "if he is my kinsman, i must go closer and have a look at him," said grayskin. "i never dreamed that an animal could be so stately!" grayskin walked over to the elk, but almost immediately he came back to karr, who had remained at the edge of the clearing. "you were not very well received, were you?" said karr. "i told him that this was the first time i had run across any of my kinsmen, and asked if i might walk with them on their meadow. but they drove me back, threatening me with their antlers." "you did right to retreat," said karr. "a young elk bull with only a taglet crown must be careful about fighting with an old elk. another would have disgraced his name in the whole forest by retreating without resistance, but such things needn't worry you who are going to move to a foreign land." karr had barely finished speaking when grayskin turned and walked down to the meadow. the old elk came toward him, and instantly they began to fight. their antlers met and clashed, and grayskin was driven backward over the whole meadow. apparently he did not know how to make use of his strength; but when he came to the edge of the forest, he planted his feet on the ground, pushed hard with his antlers, and began to force antler-crown back. grayskin fought quietly, while antler-crown puffed and snorted. the old elk, in his turn, was now being forced backward over the meadow. suddenly a loud crash was heard! a taglet in the old elk's antlers had snapped. he tore himself loose, and dashed into the forest. karr was still standing at the forest border when grayskin came along. "now that you have seen what there is in the forest," said karr, "will you come home with me?" "yes, it's about time," observed the elk. both were silent on the way home. karr sighed several times, as if he was disappointed about something; but grayskin stepped along--his head in the air--and seemed delighted over the adventure. he walked ahead unhesitatingly until they came to the enclosure. there he paused. he looked in at the narrow pen where he had lived up till now; saw the beaten ground, the stale fodder, the little trough where he had drunk water, and the dark shed in which he had slept. "the elk are one with the forest!" he cried. then he threw back his head, so that his neck rested against his back, and rushed wildly into the woods. helpless, the water-snake in a pine thicket in the heart of liberty forest, every year, in the month of august, there appeared a few grayish-white moths of the kind which are called nun moths. they were small and few in number, and scarcely any one noticed them. when they had fluttered about in the depth of the forest a couple of nights, they laid a few thousand eggs on the branches of trees; and shortly afterward dropped lifeless to the ground. when spring came, little prickly caterpillars crawled out from the eggs and began to eat the pine needles. they had good appetites, but they never seemed to do the trees any serious harm, because they were hotly pursued by birds. it was seldom that more than a few hundred caterpillars escaped the pursuers. the poor things that lived to be full grown crawled up on the branches, spun white webs around themselves, and sat for a couple of weeks as motionless pupae. during this period, as a rule, more than half of them were abducted. if a hundred nun moths came forth in august, winged and perfect, it was reckoned a good year for them. this sort of uncertain and obscure existence did the moths lead for many years in liberty forest. there were no insect folk in the whole country that were so scarce, and they would have remained quite harmless and powerless had they not, most unexpectedly, received a helper. this fact has some connection with grayskin's flight from the game-keeper's paddock. grayskin roamed the forest that he might become more familiar with the place. late in the afternoon he happened to squeeze through some thickets behind a clearing where the soil was muddy and slimy, and in the centre of it was a murky pool. this open space was encircled by tall pines almost bare from age and miasmic air. grayskin was displeased with the place and would have left it at once had he not caught sight of some bright green calla leaves which grew near the pool. as he bent his head toward the calla stalks, he happened to disturb a big black snake, which lay sleeping under them. grayskin had heard karr speak of the poisonous adders that were to be found in the forest. so, when the snake raised its head, shot out its tongue and hissed at him, he thought he had encountered an awfully dangerous reptile. he was terrified and, raising his foot, he struck so hard with his hoof that he crushed the snake's head. then, away he ran in hot haste! as soon as grayskin had gone, another snake, just as long and as black as the first, came up from the pool. it crawled over to the dead one, and licked the poor, crushed-in head. "can it be true that you are dead, old harmless?" hissed the snake. "we two have lived together so many years; we two have been so happy with each other, and have fared so well here in the swamp, that we have lived to be older than all the other water-snakes in the forest! this is the worst sorrow that could have befallen me!" the snake was so broken-hearted that his long body writhed as if it had been wounded. even the frogs, who lived in constant fear of him, were sorry for him. "what a wicked creature he must be to murder a poor water-snake that cannot defend itself!" hissed the snake. "he certainly deserves a severe punishment. as sure as my name is helpless and i'm the oldest water-snake in the whole forest, i'll be avenged! i shall not rest until that elk lies as dead on the ground as my poor old snake-wife." when the snake had made this vow he curled up into a hoop and began to ponder. one can hardly imagine anything that would be more difficult for a poor water-snake than to wreak vengeance upon a big, strong elk; and old helpless pondered day and night without finding any solution. one night, as he lay there with his vengeance-thoughts, he heard a slight rustle over his head. he glanced up and saw a few light nun moths playing in among the trees. he followed them with his eyes a long while; then began to hiss loudly to himself, apparently pleased with the thought that had occurred to him--then he fell asleep. the next morning the water-snake went over to see crawlie, the adder, who lived in a stony and hilly part of liberty forest. he told him all about the death of the old water-snake, and begged that he who could deal such deadly thrusts would undertake the work of vengeance. but crawlie was not exactly disposed to go to war with an elk. "if i were to attack an elk," said the adder, "he would instantly kill me. old harmless is dead and gone, and we can't bring her back to life, so why should i rush into danger on her account?" when the water-snake got this reply he raised his head a whole foot from the ground, and hissed furiously: "vish vash! vish vash!" he said. "it's a pity that you, who have been blessed with such weapons of defence, should be so cowardly that you don't dare use them!" when the adder heard this, he, too, got angry. "crawl away, old helpless!" he hissed. "the poison is in my fangs, but i would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman." but the water-snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other. when crawlie was so angry that he couldn't hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water-snake changed the subject, and began to talk in a very different tone. "i had still another errand, crawlie," he said, lowering his voice to a mild whisper. "but now i suppose you are so angry that you wouldn't care to help me?" "if you don't ask anything foolish of me, i shall certainly be at your service." "in the pine trees down by the swamp live a moth folk that fly around all night." "i know all about them," remarked crawlie. "what's up with them now?" "they are the smallest insect family in the forest," said helpless, "and the most harmless, since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles." "yes, i know," said crawlie. "i'm afraid those moths will soon be exterminated," sighed the water-snake. "there are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring." now crawlie began to understand that the water-snake wanted the caterpillars for his own purpose, and he answered pleasantly: "do you wish me to say to the owls that they are to leave those pine tree worms in peace?" "yes, it would be well if you who have some authority in the forest should do this," said helpless. "i might also drop a good word for the pine needle pickers among the thrushes?" volunteered the adder. "i will gladly serve you when you do not demand anything unreasonable." "now you have given me a good promise, crawlie," said helpless, "and i'm glad that i came to you." the nun moths one morning--several years later--karr lay asleep on the porch. it was in the early summer, the season of light nights, and it was as bright as day, although the sun was not yet up. karr was awakened by some one calling his name. "is it you, grayskin?" he asked, for he was accustomed to the elk's nightly visits. again he heard the call; then he recognized grayskin's voice, and hastened in the direction of the sound. karr heard the elk's footfalls in the distance, as he dashed into the thickest pine wood, and straight through the brush, following no trodden path. karr could not catch up with him, and he had great difficulty in even following the trail. "karr, karri" came the cry, and the voice was certainly grayskin's, although it had a ring now which the dog had never heard before. "i'm coming, i'm coming!" the dog responded. "where are you?" "karr, karr! don't you see how it falls and falls?" said grayskin. then karr noticed that the pine needles kept dropping and dropping from the trees, like a steady fall of rain. "yes, i see how it falls," he cried, and ran far into the forest in search of the elk. grayskin kept running through the thickets, while karr was about to lose the trail again. "karr, karr!" roared grayskin; "can't you scent that peculiar odour in the forest?" karr stopped and sniffed. he had not thought of it before, but now he remarked that the pines sent forth a much stronger odour than usual. "yes, i catch the scent," he said. he did not stop long enough to find out the cause of it, but hurried on after grayskin. the elk ran ahead with such speed that the dog could not catch up with him. "karr, karr!" he called; "can't you hear the crunching on the pines?" now his tone was so plaintive it would have melted a stone. karr paused to listen. he heard a faint but distinct "tap, tap," on the trees. it sounded like the ticking of a watch. "yes, i hear how it ticks," cried karr, and ran no farther. he understood that the elk did not want him to follow, but to take notice of something that was happening in the forest. karr was standing beneath the drooping branches of a great pine. he looked carefully at it; the needles moved. he went closer and saw a mass of grayish-white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off the needles. every branch was covered with them. the crunch, crunch in the trees came from the working of their busy little jaws. gnawed-off needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor pines there came such a strong odour that the dog suffered from it. "what can be the meaning of this?" wondered karr. "it's too bad about the pretty trees! soon they'll have no beauty left." he walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all was well with them. "there's a pine they haven't touched," he thought. but they had taken possession of it, too. "and here's a birch--no, this also! the game-keeper will not be pleased with this," observed karr. he ran deeper into the thickets, to learn how far the destruction had spread. wherever he went, he heard the same ticking; scented the same odour; saw the same needle rain. there was no need of his pausing to investigate. he understood it all by these signs. the little caterpillars were everywhere. the whole forest was being ravaged by them! all of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where all was still. "here's the end of their domain," thought the dog, as he paused and glanced about. but here it was even worse; for the caterpillars had already done their work, and the trees were needleless. they were like the dead. the only thing that covered them was a network of ragged threads, which the caterpillars had spun to use as roads and bridges. in there, among the dying trees, grayskin stood waiting for karr. he was not alone. with him were four old elk--the most respected in the forest. karr knew them: they were crooked-back, who was a small elk, but had a larger hump than the others; antler-crown, who was the most dignified of the elk; rough-mane, with the thick coat; and an old long-legged one, who, up till the autumn before, when he got a bullet in his thigh, had been terribly hot-tempered and quarrelsome. "what in the world is happening to the forest?" karr asked when he came up to the elk. they stood with lowered heads, far protruding upper lips, and looked puzzled. "no one can tell," answered grayskin. "this insect family used to be the least hurtful of any in the forest, and never before have they done any damage. but these last few years they have been multiplying so fast that now it appears as if the entire forest would be destroyed." "yes, it looks bad," karr agreed, "but i see that the wisest animals in the forest have come together to hold a consultation. perhaps you have already found some remedy?" when the dog said this, crooked-back solemnly raised his heavy head, pricked up his long ears, and spoke: "we have summoned you hither, karr, that we may learn if the humans know of this desolation." "no," said karr, "no human being ever comes thus far into the forest when it's not hunting time. they know nothing of this misfortune." then antler-crown said: "we who have lived long in the forest do not think that we can fight this insect pest all by ourselves." "after this there will be no peace in the forest!" put in rough-mane. "but we can't let the whole liberty forest go to rack and ruin!" protested big-and-strong. "we'll have to consult the humans; there is no alternative." karr understood that the elk had difficulty in expressing what they wished to say, and he tried to help them. "perhaps you want me to let the people know the conditions here?" he suggested. all the old elk nodded their heads. "it's most unfortunate that we are obliged to ask help of human beings, but we have no choice." a moment later karr was on his way home. as he ran ahead, deeply distressed over all that he had heard and seen, a big black water-snake approached them. "well met in the forest!" hissed the water-snake. "well met again!" snarled karr, and rushed by without stopping. the snake turned and tried to catch up to him. "perhaps that creature also, is worried about the forest," thought karr, and waited. immediately the snake began to talk about the great disaster. "there will be an end of peace and quiet in the forest when human beings are called hither," said the snake. "i'm afraid there will," the dog agreed; "but the oldest forest dwellers know what they're about!" he added. "i think i know a better plan," said the snake, "if i can get the reward i wish." "are you not the one whom every one around here calls old helpless?" said the dog, sneeringly. "i'm an old inhabitant of the forest," said the snake, "and i know how to get rid of such plagues." "if you clear the forest of that pest, i feel sure you can have anything you ask for," said karr. the snake did not respond to this until he had crawled under a tree stump, where he was well protected. then he said: "tell grayskin that if he will leave liberty forest forever, and go far north, where no oak tree grows, i will send sickness and death to all the creeping things that gnaw the pines and spruces!" "what's that you say?" asked karr, bristling up. "what harm has grayskin ever done you?" "he has slain the one whom i loved best," the snake declared, "and i want to be avenged." before the snake had finished speaking, karr made a dash for him; but the reptile lay safely hidden under the tree stump. "stay where you are!" karr concluded. "we'll manage to drive out the caterpillars without your help." the big war of the moths the following spring, as karr was dashing through the forest one morning, he heard some one behind him calling: "karr! karr!" he turned and saw an old fox standing outside his lair. "you must tell me if the humans are doing anything for the forest," said the fox. "yes, you may be sure they are!" said karr. "they are working as hard as they can." "they have killed off all my kinsfolk, and they'll be killing me next," protested the fox. "but they shall be pardoned for that if only they save the forest." that year karr never ran into the woods without some animal's asking if the humans could save the forest. it was not easy for the dog to answer; the people themselves were not certain that they could conquer the moths. but considering how feared and hated old kolmården had always been, it was remarkable that every day more than a hundred men went there, to work. they cleared away the underbrush. they felled dead trees, lopped off branches from the live ones so that the caterpillars could not easily crawl from tree to tree; they also dug wide trenches around the ravaged parts and put up lime-washed fences to keep them out of new territory. then they painted rings of lime around the trunks of trees to prevent the caterpillars leaving those they had already stripped. the idea was to force them to remain where they were until they starved to death. the people worked with the forest until far into the spring. they were hopeful, and could hardly wait for the caterpillars to come out from their eggs, feeling certain that they had shut them in so effectually that most of them would die of starvation. but in the early summer the caterpillars came out, more numerous than ever. they were everywhere! they crawled on the country roads, on fences, on the walls of the cabins. they wandered outside the confines of liberty forest to other parts of kolmården. "they won't stop till all our forests are destroyed!" sighed the people, who were in great despair, and could not enter the forest without weeping. karr was so sick of the sight of all these creeping, gnawing things that he could hardly bear to step outside the door. but one day he felt that he must go and find out how grayskin was getting on. he took the shortest cut to the elk's haunts, and hurried along--his nose close to the earth. when he came to the tree stump where he had met helpless the year before, the snake was still there, and called to him: "have you told grayskin what i said to you when last we met?" asked the water-snake. karr only growled and tried to get at him. "if you haven't told him, by all means do so!" insisted the snake. "you must see that the humans know of no cure for this plague." "neither do you!" retorted the dog, and ran on. karr found grayskin, but the elk was so low-spirited that he scarcely greeted the dog. he began at once to talk of the forest. "i don't know what i wouldn't give if this misery were only at an end!" he said. "now i shall tell you that 'tis said you could save the forest." then karr delivered the water-snake's message. "if any one but helpless had promised this, i should immediately go into exile," declared the elk. "but how can a poor water-snake have the power to work such a miracle?" "of course it's only a bluff," said karr. "water-snakes always like to pretend that they know more than other creatures." when karr was ready to go home, grayskin accompanied him part of the way. presently karr heard a thrush, perched on a pine top, cry: "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest! there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" karr thought that he had not heard correctly, but the next moment a hare came darting across the path. when the hare saw them, he stopped, flapped his ears, and screamed: "here comes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" then he ran as fast as he could. "what do they mean by that?" asked karr. "i really don't know," said grayskin. "i think that the small forest animals are displeased with me because i was the one who proposed that we should ask help of human beings. when the underbrush was cut down, all their lairs and hiding places were destroyed." they walked on together a while longer, and karr heard the same cry coming from all directions: "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" grayskin pretended not to hear it; but karr understood why the elk was so downhearted. "i say, grayskin, what does the water-snake mean by saying you killed the one he loved best?" "how can i tell?" said grayskin. "you know very well that i never kill anything." shortly after that they met the four old elk--crooked-back, antler-crown, rough-mane, and big-and-strong, who were coming along slowly, one after the other. "well met in the forest!" called grayskin. "well met in turn!" answered the elk. "we were just looking for you, grayskin, to consult with you about the forest." "the fact is," began crooked-back, "we have been informed that a crime has been committed here, and that the whole forest is being destroyed because the criminal has not been punished." "what kind of a crime was it?" "some one killed a harmless creature that he couldn't eat. such an act is accounted a crime in liberty forest." "who could have done such a cowardly thing?" wondered grayskin. "they say that an elk did it, and we were just going to ask if you knew who it was." "no," said grayskin, "i have never heard of an elk killing a harmless creature." grayskin parted from the four old elk, and went on with karr. he was silent and walked with lowered head. they happened to pass crawlie, the adder, who lay on his shelf of rock. "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the whole forest!" hissed crawlie, like all the rest. by that time grayskin's patience was exhausted. he walked up to the snake, and raised a forefoot. "do you think of crushing me as you crushed the old water-snake?" hissed crawlie. "did i kill a water-snake?" asked grayskin, astonished. "the first day you were in the forest you killed the wife of poor old helpless," said crawlie. grayskin turned quickly from the adder, and continued his walk with karr. suddenly he stopped. "karr, it was i who committed that crime! i killed a harmless creature; therefore it is on my account that the forest is being destroyed." "what are you saying?" karr interrupted. "you may tell the water-snake, helpless, that grayskin goes into exile to-night!" "that i shall never tell him!" protested karr. "the far north is a dangerous country for elk." "do you think that i wish to remain here, when i have caused a disaster like this?" protested grayskin. "don't be rash! sleep over it before you do anything!" "it was you who taught me that the elk are one with the forest," said grayskin, and so saying he parted from karr. the dog went home alone; but this talk with grayskin troubled him, and the next morning he returned to the forest to seek him, but grayskin was not to be found, and the dog did not search long for him. he realized that the elk had taken the snake at his word, and had gone into exile. on his walk home karr was too unhappy for words! he could not understand why grayskin should allow that wretch of a water-snake to trick him away. he had never heard of such folly! "what power can that old helpless have?" as karr walked along, his mind full of these thoughts, he happened to see the game-keeper, who stood pointing up at a tree. "what are you looking at?" asked a man who stood beside him. "sickness has come among the caterpillars," observed the game-keeper. karr was astonished, but he was even more angered at the snake's having the power to keep his word. grayskin would have to stay away a long long time, for, of course, that water-snake would never die. at the very height of his grief a thought came to karr which comforted him a little. "perhaps the water-snake won't live so long, after all!" he thought. "surely he cannot always lie protected under a tree root. as soon as he has cleaned out the caterpillars, i know some one who is going to bite his head off!" it was true that an illness had made its appearance among the caterpillars. the first summer it did not spread much. it had only just broken out when it was time for the larvae to turn into pupae. from the latter came millions of moths. they flew around in the trees like a blinding snowstorm, and laid countless numbers of eggs. an even greater destruction was prophesied for the following year. the destruction came not only to the forest, but also to the caterpillars. the sickness spread quickly from forest to forest. the sick caterpillars stopped eating, crawled up to the branches of the trees, and died there. there was great rejoicing among the people when they saw them die, but there was even greater rejoicing among the forest animals. from day to day the dog karr went about with savage glee, thinking of the hour when he might venture to kill helpless. but the caterpillars, meanwhile, had spread over miles of pine woods. not in one summer did the disease reach them all. many lived to become pupas and moths. grayskin sent messages to his friend karr by the birds of passage, to say that he was alive and faring well. but the birds told karr confidentially that on several occasions grayskin had been pursued by poachers, and that only with the greatest difficulty had he escaped. karr lived in a state of continual grief, yearning, and anxiety. yet he had to wait two whole summers more before there was an end of the caterpillars! karr no sooner heard the game-keeper say that the forest was out of danger than he started on a hunt for helpless. but when he was in the thick of the forest he made a frightful discovery: he could not hunt any more, he could not run, he could not track his enemy, and he could not see at all! during the long years of waiting, old age had overtaken karr. he had grown old without having noticed it. he had not the strength even to kill a water-snake. he was not able to save his friend grayskin from his enemy. retribution one afternoon akka from kebnekaise and her flock alighted on the shore of a forest lake. spring was backward--as it always is in the mountain districts. ice covered all the lake save a narrow strip next the land. the geese at once plunged into the water to bathe and hunt for food. in the morning nils holgersson had dropped one of his wooden shoes, so he went down by the elms and birches that grew along the shore, to look for something to bind around his foot. the boy walked quite a distance before he found anything that he could use. he glanced about nervously, for he did not fancy being in the forest. "give me the plains and the lakes!" he thought. "there you can see what you are likely to meet. now, if this were a grove of little birches, it would be well enough, for then the ground would be almost bare; but how people can like these wild, pathless forests is incomprehensible to me. if i owned this land i would chop down every tree." at last he caught sight of a piece of birch bark, and just as he was fitting it to his foot he heard a rustle behind him. he turned quickly. a snake darted from the brush straight toward him! the snake was uncommonly long and thick, but the boy soon saw that it had a white spot on each cheek. "why, it's only a water-snake," he laughed; "it can't harm me." but the next instant the snake gave him a powerful blow on the chest that knocked him down. the boy was on his feet in a second and running away, but the snake was after him! the ground was stony and scrubby; the boy could not proceed very fast; and the snake was close at his heels. then the boy saw a big rock in front of him, and began to scale it. "i do hope the snake can't follow me here!" he thought, but he had no sooner reached the top of the rock than he saw that the snake was following him. quite close to the boy, on a narrow ledge at the top of the rock, lay a round stone as large as a man's head. as the snake came closer, the boy ran behind the stone, and gave it a push. it rolled right down on the snake, drawing it along to the ground, where it landed on its head. "that stone did its work well!" thought the boy with a sigh of relief, as he saw the snake squirm a little, and then lie perfectly still. "i don't think i've been in greater peril on the whole journey," he said. he had hardly recovered from the shock when he heard a rustle above him, and saw a bird circling through the air to light on the ground right beside the snake. the bird was like a crow in size and form, but was dressed in a pretty coat of shiny black feathers. the boy cautiously retreated into a crevice of the rock. his adventure in being kidnapped by crows was still fresh in his memory, and he did not care to show himself when there was no need of it. the bird strode back and forth beside the snake's body, and turned it over with his beak. finally he spread his wings and began to shriek in ear-splitting tones: "it is certainly helpless, the water-snake, that lies dead here!" once more he walked the length of the snake; then he stood in a deep study, and scratched his neck with his foot. "it isn't possible that there can be two such big snakes in the forest," he pondered. "it must surely be helpless!" he was just going to thrust his beak into the snake, but suddenly checked himself. "you mustn't be a numbskull, bataki!" he remarked to himself. "surely you cannot be thinking of eating the snake until you have called karr! he wouldn't believe that helpless was dead unless he could see it with his own eyes." the boy tried to keep quiet, but the bird was so ludicrously solemn, as he stalked back and forth chattering to himself, that he had to laugh. the bird heard him, and, with a flap of his wings, he was up on the rock. the boy rose quickly and walked toward him. "are you not the one who is called bataki, the raven? and are you not a friend of akka from kebnekaise?" asked the boy. the bird regarded him intently; then nodded three times. "surely, you're not the little chap who flies around with the wild geese, and whom they call thumbietot?" "oh, you're not so far out of the way," said the boy. "what luck that i should have run across you! perhaps you can tell me who killed this water-snake?" "the stone which i rolled down on him killed him," replied the boy, and related how the whole thing happened. "that was cleverly done for one who is as tiny as you are!" said the raven. "i have a friend in these parts who will be glad to know that this snake has been killed, and i should like to render you a service in return." "then tell me why you are glad the water-snake is dead," responded the boy. "it's a long story," said the raven; "you wouldn't have the patience to listen to it." but the boy insisted that he had, and then the raven told him the whole story about karr and grayskin and helpless, the water-snake. when he had finished, the boy sat quietly for a moment, looking straight ahead. then he spoke: "i seem to like the forest better since hearing this. i wonder if there is anything left of the old liberty forest." "most of it has been destroyed," said bataki. "the trees look as if they had passed through a fire. they'll have to be cleared away, and it will take many years before the forest will be what it once was." "that snake deserved his death!" declared the boy. "but i wonder if it could be possible that he was so wise he could send sickness to the caterpillars?" "perhaps he knew that they frequently became sick in that way," intimated bataki. "yes, that may be; but all the same, i must say that he was a very wily snake." the boy stopped talking because he saw the raven was not listening to him, but sitting with gaze averted. "hark!" he said. "karr is in the vicinity. won't he be happy when he sees that helpless is dead!" the boy turned his head in the direction of the sound. "he's talking with the wild geese," he said. "oh, you may be sure that he has dragged himself down to the strand to get the latest news about grayskin!" both the boy and the raven jumped to the ground, and hastened down to the shore. all the geese had come out of the lake, and stood talking with an old dog, who was so weak and decrepit that it seemed as if he might drop dead at any moment. "there's karr," said bataki to the boy. "let him hear first what the wild geese have to say to him; later we shall tell him that the water-snake is dead." presently they heard akka talking to karr. "it happened last year while we were making our usual spring trip," remarked the leader-goose. "we started out one morning--yksi, kaksi, and i, and we flew over the great boundary forests between dalecarlia and hälsingland. under us we, saw only thick pine forests. the snow was still deep among the trees, and the creeks were mostly frozen. "suddenly we noticed three poachers down in the forest! they were on skis, had dogs in leash, carried knives in their belts, but had no guns. "as there was a hard crust on the snow, they did not bother to take the winding forest paths, but skied straight ahead. apparently they knew very well where they must go to find what they were seeking. "we wild geese flew on, high up in the air, so that the whole forest under us was visible. when we sighted the poachers we wanted to find out where the game was, so we circled up and down, peering through the trees. then, in a dense thicket, we saw something that looked like big, moss-covered rocks, but couldn't be rocks, for there was no snow on them. "we shot down, suddenly, and lit in the centre of the thicket. the three rocks moved. they were three elk--a bull and two cows--resting in the bleak forest. "when we alighted, the elk bull rose and came toward us. he was the most superb animal we had ever seen. when he saw that it was only some poor wild geese that had awakened him, he lay down again. "'no, old granddaddy, you mustn't go back to sleep!' i cried. 'flee as fast as you can! there are poachers in the forest, and they are bound for this very deer fold.' "'thank you, goose mother!' said the elk. he seemed to be dropping to sleep while he was speaking. 'but surely you must know that we elk are under the protection of the law at this time of the year. those poachers are probably out for fox,' he yawned. "'there are plenty of fox trails in the forest, but the poachers are not looking for them. believe me, old granddaddy! they know that you are lying here, and are coming to attack you. they have no guns with them--only spears and knives--for they dare not fire a shot at this season.' "the elk bull lay there calmly, but the elk cows seemed to feel uneasy. "'it may be as the geese say,' they remarked, beginning to bestir themselves. "'you just lie down!' said the elk bull. 'there are no poachers coming here; of that you may be certain.' "there was nothing more to be done, so we wild geese rose again into the air. but we continued to circle over the place, to see how it would turn out for the elk. "we had hardly reached our regular flying altitude, when we saw the elk bull come out from the thicket. he sniffed the air a little, then walked straight toward the poachers. as he strode along he stepped upon dry twigs that crackled noisily. a big barren marsh lay just beyond him. thither he went and took his stand in the middle, where there was nothing to hide him from view. "there he stood until the poachers emerged from the woods. then he turned and fled in the opposite direction. the poachers let loose the dogs, and they themselves skied after him at full speed. "the elk threw back his head and loped as fast as he could. he kicked up snow until it flew like a blizzard about him. both dogs and men were left far behind. then the elk stopped, as if to await their approach. when they were within sight he dashed ahead again. we understood that he was purposely tempting the hunters away from the place where the cows were. we thought it brave of him to face danger himself, in order that those who were dear to him might be left in safety. none of us wanted to leave the place until we had seen how all this was to end. "thus the chase continued for two hours or more. we wondered that the poachers went to the trouble of pursuing the elk when they were not armed with rifles. they couldn't have thought that they could succeed in tiring out a runner like him! "then we noticed that the elk no longer ran so rapidly. he stepped on the snow more carefully, and every time he lifted his feet, blood could be seen in his tracks. "we understood why the poachers had been so persistent! they had counted on help from the snow. the elk was heavy, and with every step he sank to the bottom of the drift. the hard crust on the snow was scraping his legs. it scraped away the fur, and tore out pieces of flesh, so that he was in torture every time he put his foot down. "the poachers and the dogs, who were so light that the ice crust could hold their weight, pursued him all the while. he ran on and on--his steps becoming more and more uncertain and faltering. he gasped for breath. not only did he suffer intense pain, but he was also exhausted from wading through the deep snowdrifts. "at last he lost all patience. he paused to let poachers and dogs come upon him, and was ready to fight them. as he stood there waiting, he glanced upward. when he saw us wild geese circling above him, he cried out: "'stay here, wild geese, until all is over! and the next time you fly over kolmården, look up karr, and ask him if he doesn't think that his friend grayskin has met with a happy end?'" when akka had gone so far in her story the old dog rose and walked nearer to her. "grayskin led a good life," he said. "he understands me. he knows that i'm a brave dog, and that i shall be glad to hear that he had a happy end. now tell me how--" he raised his tail and threw back his head, as if to give himself a bold and proud bearing--then he collapsed. "karr! karr!" called a man's voice from the forest. the old dog rose obediently. "my master is calling me," he said, "and i must not tarry longer. i just saw him load his gun. now we two are going into the forest for the last time. "many thanks, wild goose! i know everything that i need know to die content!" the wind witch in nÄrke in bygone days there was something in närke the like of which was not to be found elsewhere: it was a witch, named ysätter-kaisa. the name kaisa had been given her because she had a good deal to do with wind and storm--and these wind witches are always so called. the surname was added because she was supposed to have come from ysätter swamp in asker parish. it seemed as though her real abode must have been at asker; but she used also to appear at other places. nowhere in all närke could one be sure of not meeting her. she was no dark, mournful witch, but gay and frolicsome; and what she loved most of all was a gale of wind. as soon as there was wind enough, off she would fly to the närke plain for a good dance. on days when a whirlwind swept the plain, ysätter-kaisa had fun! she would stand right in the wind and spin round, her long hair flying up among the clouds and the long trail of her robe sweeping the ground, like a dust cloud, while the whole plain lay spread out under her, like a ballroom floor. of a morning ysätter-kaisa would sit up in some tall pine at the top of a precipice, and look across the plain. if it happened to be winter and she saw many teams on the roads she hurriedly blew up a blizzard, piling the drifts so high that people could barely get back to their homes by evening. if it chanced to be summer and good harvest weather, ysätter-kaisa would sit quietly until the first hayricks had been loaded, then down she would come with a couple of heavy showers, which put an end to the work for that day. it was only too true that she seldom thought of anything else than raising mischief. the charcoal burners up in the kil mountains hardly dared take a cat-nap, for as soon as she saw an unwatched kiln, she stole up and blew on it until it began to burn in a great flame. if the metal drivers from laxå and svartå were out late of an evening, ysätter-kaisa would veil the roads and the country round about in such dark clouds that both men and horses lost their way and drove the heavy trucks down into swamps and morasses. if, on a summer's day, the dean's wife at glanshammar had spread the tea table in the garden and along would come a gust of wind that lifted the cloth from the table and turned over cups and saucers, they knew who had raised the mischief! if the mayor of Örebro's hat blew off, so that he had to run across the whole square after it; if the wash on the line blew away and got covered with dirt, or if the smoke poured into the cabins and seemed unable to find its way out through the chimney, it was easy enough to guess who was out making merry! although ysätter-kaisa was fond of all sorts of tantalizing games, there was nothing really bad about her. one could see that she was hardest on those who were quarrelsome, stingy, or wicked; while honest folk and poor little children she would take under her wing. old people say of her that, once, when asker church was burning, ysätter-kaisa swept through the air, lit amid fire and smoke on the church roof, and averted the disaster. all the same the närke folk were often rather tired of ysätter-kaisa, but she never tired of playing her tricks on them. as she sat on the edge of a cloud and looked down upon närke, which rested so peacefully and comfortably beneath her, she must have thought: "the inhabitants would fare much too well if i were not in existence. they would grow sleepy and dull. there must be some one like myself to rouse them and keep them in good spirits." then she would laugh wildly and, chattering like a magpie, would rush off, dancing and spinning from one end of the plain to the other. when a närke man saw her come dragging her dust trail over the plain, he could not help smiling. provoking and tiresome she certainly was, but she had a merry spirit. it was just as refreshing for the peasants to meet ysätter-kaisa as it was for the plain to be lashed by the windstorm. nowadays 'tis said that ysätter-kaisa is dead and gone, like all other witches, but this one can hardly believe. it is as if some one were to come and tell you that henceforth the air would always be still on the plain, and the wind would never more dance across it with blustering breezes and drenching showers. he who fancies that ysätter-kaisa is dead and gone may as well hear what occurred in närke the year that nils holgersson travelled over that part of the country. then let him tell what he thinks about it. market eve _wednesday, april twenty-seventh_. it was the day before the big cattle fair at Örebro; it rained in torrents and people thought: "this is exactly as in ysätter-kaisa's time! at fairs she used to be more prankish than usual. it was quite in her line to arrange a downpour like this on a market eve." as the day wore on, the rain increased, and toward evening came regular cloud-bursts. the roads were like bottomless swamps. the farmers who had started from home with their cattle early in the morning, that they might arrive at a seasonable hour, fared badly. cows and oxen were so tired they could hardly move, and many of the poor beasts dropped down in the middle of the road, to show that they were too exhausted to go any farther. all who lived along the roadside had to open their doors to the market-bound travellers, and harbour them as best they could. farm houses, barns, and sheds were soon crowded to their limit. meanwhile, those who could struggle along toward the inn did so; but when they arrived they wished they had stopped at some cabin along the road. all the cribs in the barn and all the stalls in the stable were already occupied. there was no other choice than to let horses and cattle stand out in the rain. their masters could barely manage to get under cover. the crush and mud and slush in the barn yard were frightful! some of the animals were standing in puddles and could not even lie down. there were thoughtful masters, of course, who procured straw for their animals to lie on, and spread blankets over them; but there were those, also, who sat in the inn, drinking and gambling, entirely forgetful of the dumb creatures which they should have protected. the boy and the wild geese had come to a little wooded island in hjälmar lake that evening. the island was separated from the main land by a narrow and shallow stream, and at low tide one could pass over it dry-shod. it rained just as hard on the island as it did everywhere else. the boy could not sleep for the water that kept dripping down on him. finally he got up and began to walk. he fancied that he felt the rain less when he moved about. he had hardly circled the island, when he heard a splashing in the stream. presently he saw a solitary horse tramping among the trees. never in all his life had he seen such a wreck of a horse! he was broken-winded and stiff-kneed and so thin that every rib could be seen under the hide. he bore neither harness nor saddle--only an old bridle, from which dangled a half-rotted rope-end. obviously he had had no difficulty in breaking loose. the horse walked straight toward the spot where the wild geese were sleeping. the boy was afraid that he would step on them. "where are you going? feel your ground!" shouted the boy. "oh, there you are!" exclaimed the horse. "i've walked miles to meet you!" "have you heard of me?" asked the boy, astonished. "i've got ears, even if i am old! there are many who talk of you nowadays." as he spoke, the horse bent his head that he might see better, and the boy noticed that he had a small head, beautiful eyes, and a soft, sensitive nose. "he must have been a good horse at the start, though he has come to grief in his old age," he thought. "i wish you would come with me and help me with something," pleaded the horse. the boy thought it would be embarrassing to accompany a creature who looked so wretched, and excused himself on account of the bad weather. "you'll be no worse off on my back than you are lying here," said the horse. "but perhaps you don't dare to go with an old tramp of a horse like me." "certainly i dare!" said the boy. "then wake the geese, so that we can arrange with them where they shall come for you to-morrow," said the horse. the boy was soon seated on the animal's back. the old nag trotted along better than he had thought possible. it was a long ride in the rain and darkness before they halted near a large inn, where everything looked terribly uninviting! the wheel tracks were so deep in the road that the boy feared he might drown should he fall down into them. alongside the fence, which enclosed the yard, some thirty or forty horses and cattle were tied, with no protection against the rain, and in the yard were wagons piled with packing cases, where sheep, calves, hogs, and chickens were shut in. the horse walked over to the fence and stationed himself. the boy remained seated upon his back, and, with his good night eyes, plainly saw how badly the animals fared. "how do you happen to be standing out here in the rain?" he asked. "we're on our way to a fair at Örebro, but we were obliged to put up here on account of the rain. this is an inn; but so many travellers have already arrived that there's no room for us in the barns." the boy made no reply, but sat quietly looking about him. not many of the animals were asleep, and on all sides he heard complaints and indignant protests. they had reason enough for grumbling, for the weather was even worse than it had been earlier in the day. a freezing wind had begun to blow, and the rain which came beating down on them was turning to snow. it was easy enough to understand what the horse wanted the boy to help him with. "do you see that fine farm yard directly opposite the inn?" remarked the horse. "yes, i see it," answered the boy, "and i can't comprehend why they haven't tried to find shelter for all of you in there. they are already full, perhaps?" "no, there are no strangers in that place," said the horse. "the people who live on that farm are so stingy and selfish that it would be useless for any one to ask them for harbour." "if that's the case, i suppose you'll have to stand where you are." "i was born and raised on that farm," said the horse; "i know that there is a large barn and a big cow shed, with many empty stalls and mangers, and i was wondering if you couldn't manage in some way or other to get us in over there." "i don't think i could venture--" hesitated the boy. but he felt so sorry for the poor beasts that he wanted at least to try. he ran into the strange barn yard and saw at once that all the outhouses were locked and the keys gone. he stood there, puzzled and helpless, when aid came to him from an unexpected source. a gust of wind came sweeping along with terrific force and flung open a shed door right in front of him. the boy was not long in getting back to the horse. "it isn't possible to get into the barn or the cow house," he said, "but there's a big, empty hay shed that they have forgotten to bolt. i can lead you into that." "thank you!" said the horse. "it will seem good to sleep once more on familiar ground. it's the only happiness i can expect in this life." meanwhile, at the flourishing farm opposite the inn, the family sat up much later than usual that evening. the master of the place was a man of thirty-five, tall and dignified, with a handsome but melancholy face. during the day he had been out in the rain and had got wet, like every one else, and at supper he asked his old mother, who was still mistress of the place, to light a fire on the hearth that he might dry his clothes. the mother kindled a feeble blaze--for in that house they were not wasteful with wood--and the master hung his coat on the back of a chair, and placed it before the fire. with one foot on top of the andiron and a hand resting on his knee, he stood gazing into the embers. thus he stood for two whole hours, making no move other than to cast a log on the fire now and then. the mistress removed the supper things and turned down his bed for the night before she went to her own room and seated herself. at intervals she came to the door and looked wonderingly at her son. "it's nothing, mother. i'm only thinking," he said. his thoughts were on something that had occurred shortly before: when he passed the inn a horse dealer had asked him if he would not like to purchase a horse, and had shown him an old nag so weather-beaten that he asked the dealer if he took him for a fool, since he wished to palm off such a played-out beast on him. "oh, no!" said the horse dealer. "i only thought that, inasmuch as the horse once belonged to you, you might wish to give him a comfortable home in his old age; he has need of it." then he looked at the horse and recognized it as one which he himself had raised and broken in; but it did not occur to him to purchase such an old and useless creature on that account. no, indeed! he was not one who squandered his money. all the same, the sight of the horse had awakened many, memories--and it was the memories that kept him awake. that horse had been a fine animal. his father had let him tend it from the start. he had broken it in and had loved it above everything else. his father had complained that he used to feed it too well, and often he had been obliged to steal out and smuggle oats to it. once, when he ventured to talk with his father about letting him buy a broadcloth suit, or having the cart painted, his father stood as if petrified, and he thought the old man would have a stroke. he tried to make his father understand that, when he had a fine horse to drive, he should look presentable himself. the father made no reply, but two days later he took the horse to Örebro and sold it. it was cruel of him. but it was plain that his father had feared that this horse might lead him into vanity and extravagance. and now, so long afterward, he had to admit that his father was right. a horse like that surely would have been a temptation. at first he had grieved terribly over his loss. many a time he had gone down to Örebro, just to stand on a street corner and see the horse pass by, or to steal into the stable and give him a lump of sugar. he thought: "if i ever get the farm, the first thing i do will be to buy back my horse." now his father was gone and he himself had been master for two years, but he had not made a move toward buying the horse. he had not thought of him for ever so long, until to-night. it was strange that he should have forgotten the beast so entirely! his father had been a very headstrong, domineering man. when his son was grown and the two had worked together, the father had gained absolute power over him. the boy had come to think that everything his father did was right, and, after he became the master, he only tried to do exactly as his father would have done. he knew, of course, that folk said his father was stingy; but it was well to keep a tight hold on one's purse and not throw away money needlessly. the goods one has received should not be wasted. it was better to live on a debt-free place and be called stingy, than to carry heavy mortgages, like other farm owners. he had gone so far in his mind when he was called back by a strange sound. it was as if a shrill, mocking voice were repeating his thoughts: "it's better to keep a firm hold on one's purse and be called stingy, than to be in debt, like other farm owners." it sounded as if some one was trying to make sport of his wisdom and he was about to lose his temper, when he realized that it was all a mistake. the wind was beginning to rage, and he had been standing there getting so sleepy that he mistook the howling of the wind in the chimney for human speech. he glanced up at the wall clock, which just then struck eleven. "it's time that you were in bed," he remarked to himself. then he remembered that he had not yet gone the rounds of the farm yard, as it was his custom to do every night, to make sure that all doors were closed and all lights extinguished. this was something he had never neglected since he became master. he drew on his coat and went out in the storm. he found everything as it should be, save that the door to the empty hay shed had been blown open by the wind. he stepped inside for the key, locked the shed door and put the key into his coat pocket. then he went back to the house, removed his coat, and hung it before the fire. even now he did not retire, but began pacing the floor. the storm without, with its biting wind and snow-blended rain, was terrible, and his old horse was standing in this storm without so much as a blanket to protect him! he should at least have given his old friend a roof over his head, since he had come such a long distance. at the inn across the way the boy heard an old wall clock strike eleven times. just then he was untying the animals to lead them to the shed in the farm yard opposite. it took some time to rouse them and get them into line. when all were ready, they marched in a long procession into the stingy farmer's yard, with the boy as their guide. while the boy had been assembling them, the farmer had gone the rounds of the farm yard and locked the hay shed, so that when the animals came along the door was closed. the boy stood there dismayed. he could not let the creatures stand out there! he must go into the house and find the key. "keep them quiet out here while i go in and fetch the key!" he said to the old horse, and off he ran. on the path right in front of the house he paused to think out how he should get inside. as he stood there he noticed two little wanderers coming down the road, who stopped before the inn. the boy saw at once that they were two little girls, and ran toward them. "come now, britta maja!" said one, "you mustn't cry any more. now we are at the inn. here they will surely take us in." the girl had but just said this when the boy called to her: "no, you mustn't try to get in there. it is simply impossible. but at the farm house opposite there are no guests. go there instead." the little girls heard the words distinctly, though they could not see the one who spoke to them. they did not wonder much at that, however, for the night was as black as pitch. the larger of the girls promptly answered: "we don't care to enter that place, because those who live there are stingy and cruel. it is their fault that we two must go out on the highways and beg." "that may be so," said the boy, "but all the same you should go there. you shall see that it will be well for you." "we can try, but it is doubtful that they will even let us enter," observed the two little girls as they walked up to the house and knocked. the master was standing by the fire thinking of the horse when he heard the knocking. he stepped to the door to see what was up, thinking all the while that he would not let himself be tempted into admitting any wayfarer. as he fumbled the lock, a gust of wind came along, wrenched the door from his hand and swung it open. to close it, he had to step out on the porch, and, when he stepped back into the house, the two little girls were standing within. they were two poor beggar girls, ragged, dirty, and starving--two little tots bent under the burden of their beggar's packs, which were as large as themselves. "who are you that go prowling about at this hour of the night?" said the master gruffly. the two children did not answer immediately, but first removed their packs. then they walked up to the man and stretched forth their tiny hands in greeting. "we are anna and britta maja from the engärd," said the elder, "and we were going to ask for a night's lodging." he did not take the outstretched hands and was just about to drive out the beggar children, when a fresh recollection faced him. engärd--was not that a little cabin where a poor widow with five children had lived? the widow had owed his father a few hundred kroner and in order to get back his money he had sold her cabin. after that the widow, with her three eldest children, went to norrland to seek employment, and the two youngest became a charge on the parish. as he called this to mind he grew bitter. he knew that his father had been severely censured for squeezing out that money, which by right belonged to him. "what are you doing nowadays?" he asked in a cross tone. "didn't the board of charities take charge of you? why do you roam around and beg?" "it's not our fault," replied the larger girl. "the people with whom we are living have sent us out to beg." "well, your packs are filled," the farmer observed, "so you can't complain. now you'd better take out some of the food you have with you and eat your fill, for here you'll get no food, as all the women folk are in bed. later you may lie down in the corner by the hearth, so you won't have to freeze." he waved his hand, as if to ward them off, and his eyes took on a hard look. he was thankful that he had had a father who had been careful of his property. otherwise, he might perhaps have been forced in childhood to run about and beg, as these children now did. no sooner had he thought this out to the end than the shrill, mocking voice he had heard once before that evening repeated it, word for word. he listened, and at once understood that it was nothing--only the wind roaring in the chimney. but the queer thing about it was, when the wind repeated his thoughts, they seemed so strangely stupid and hard and false! the children meanwhile had stretched themselves, side by side, on the floor. they were not quiet, but lay there muttering. "do be still, won't you?" he growled, for he was in such an irritable mood that he could have beaten them. but the mumbling continued, and again he called for silence. "when mother went away," piped a clear little voice, "she made me promise that every night i would say my evening prayer. i must do this, and britta maja too. as soon as we have said 'god who cares for little children--' we'll be quiet." the master sat quite still while the little ones said their prayers, then he rose and began pacing back and forth, back and forth, wringing his hands all the while, as though he had met with some great sorrow. "the horse driven out and wrecked, these two children turned into road beggars--both father's doings! perhaps father did not do right after all?" he thought. he sat down again and buried his head in his hands. suddenly his lips began to quiver and into his eyes came tears, which he hastily wiped away. fresh tears came, and he was just as prompt to brush these away; but it was useless, for more followed. when his mother stepped into the room, he swung his chair quickly and turned his back to her. she must have noticed something unusual, for she stood quietly behind him a long while, as if waiting for him to speak. she realized how difficult it always is for men to talk of the things they feel most deeply. she must help him of course. from her bedroom she had observed all that had taken place in the living room, so that she did not have to ask questions. she walked very softly over to the two sleeping children, lifted them, and bore them to her own bed. then she went back to her son. "lars," she said, as if she did not see that he was weeping, "you had better let me keep these children." "what, mother?" he gasped, trying to smother the sobs. "i have been suffering for years--ever since father took the cabin from their mother, and so have you." "yes, but--" "i want to keep them here and make something of them; they are too good to beg." he could not speak, for now the tears were beyond his control; but he took his old mother's withered hand and patted it. then he jumped up, as if something had frightened him. "what would father have said of this?" "father had his day at ruling," retorted the mother. "now it is your day. as long as father lived we had to obey him. now is the time to show what you are." her son was so astonished that he ceased crying. "but i have just shown what i am!" he returned. "no, you haven't," protested the mother. "you only try to be like him. father experienced hard times, which made him fear poverty. he believed that he had to think of himself first. but you have never had any difficulties that should make you hard. you have more than you need, and it would be unnatural of you not to think of others." when the two little girls entered the house the boy slipped in behind them and secreted himself in a dark corner. he had not been there long before he caught a glimpse of the shed key, which the farmer had thrust into his coat pocket. "when the master of the house drives the children out, i'll take the key and ran," he thought. but the children were not driven out and the boy crouched in the corner, not knowing what he should do next. the mother talked long with her son, and while she was speaking he stopped weeping. gradually his features softened; he looked like another person. all the while he was stroking the wasted old hand. "now we may as well retire," said the old lady when she saw that he was calm again. "no," he said, suddenly rising, "i cannot retire yet. there's a stranger without whom i must shelter to-night!" he said nothing further, but quickly drew on his coat, lit the lantern and went out. there were the same wind and chill without, but as he stepped to the porch he began to sing softly. he wondered if the horse would know him, and if he would be glad to come back to his old stable. as he crossed the house yard he heard a door slam. "that shed door has blown open again," he thought, and went over to close it. a moment later he stood by the shed and was just going to shut the door, when he heard a rustling within. the boy, who had watched his opportunity, had run directly to the shed, where he left the animals, but they were no longer out in the rain: a strong wind had long since thrown open the door and helped them to get a roof over their heads. the patter which the master heard was occasioned by the boy running into the shed. by the light of the lantern the man could see into the shed. the whole floor was covered with sleeping cattle. there was no human being to be seen; the animals were not bound, but were lying, here and there, in the straw. he was enraged at the intrusion and began storming and shrieking to rouse the sleepers and drive them out. but the creatures lay still and would not let themselves be disturbed. the only one that rose was an old horse that came slowly toward him. all of a sudden the man became silent. he recognized the beast by its gait. he raised the lantern, and the horse came over and laid its head on his shoulder. the master patted and stroked it. "my old horsy, my old horsy!" he said. "what have they done to you? yes, dear, i'll buy you back. you'll never again have to leave this place. you shall do whatever you like, horsy mine! those whom you have brought with you may remain here, but you shall come with me to the stable. now i can give you all the oats you are able to eat, without having to smuggle them. and you're not all used up, either! the handsomest horse on the church knoll--that's what you shall be once more! there, there! there, there!" the breaking up of the ice _thursday, april twenty-eighth_. the following day the weather was clear and beautiful. there was a strong west wind; people were glad of that, for it dried up the roads, which had been soaked by the heavy rains of the day before. early in the morning the two småland children, osa, the goose girl, and little mats, were out on the highway leading from sörmland to närke. the road ran alongside the southern shore of hjälmar lake and the children were walking along looking at the ice, which covered the greater part of it. the morning sun darted its clear rays upon the ice, which did not look dark and forbidding, like most spring ice, but sparkled temptingly. as far as they could see, the ice was firm and dry. the rain had run down into cracks and hollows, or been absorbed by the ice itself. the children saw only the sound ice. osa, the goose girl, and little mats were on their way north, and they could not help thinking of all the steps they would be saved if they could cut straight across the lake instead of going around it. they knew, to be sure, that spring ice is treacherous, but this looked perfectly secure. they could see that it was several inches thick near the shore. they saw a path which they might follow, and the opposite shore appeared to be so near that they ought to be able to get there in an hour. "come, let's try!" said little mats. "if we only look before us, so that we don't go down into some hole, we can do it." so they went out on the lake. the ice was not very slippery, but rather easy to walk upon. there was more water on it than they expected to see, and here and there were cracks, where the water purled up. one had to watch out for such places; but that was easy to do in broad daylight, with the sun shining. the children advanced rapidly, and talked only of how sensible they were to have gone out on the ice instead of tramping the slushy road. when they had been walking a while they came to vin island, where an old woman had sighted them from her window. she rushed from her cabin, waved them back, and shouted something which they could not hear. they understood perfectly well that she was warning them not to come any farther; but they thought there was no immediate danger. it would be stupid for them to leave the ice when all was going so well! therefore they went on past vin island and had a stretch of seven miles of ice ahead of them. out there was so much water that the children were obliged to take roundabout ways; but that was sport to them. they vied with each other as to which could find the soundest ice. they were neither tired nor hungry. the whole day was before them, and they laughed at each obstacle they met. now and then they cast a glance ahead at the farther shore. it still appeared far away, although they had been walking a good hour. they were rather surprised that the lake was so broad. "the shore seems to be moving farther away from us," little mats observed. out there the children were not protected against the wind, which was becoming stronger and stronger every minute, and was pressing their clothing so close to their bodies that they could hardly go on. the cold wind was the first disagreeable thing they had met with on the journey. but the amazing part of it was that the wind came sweeping along with a loud roar--as if it brought with it the noise of a large mill or factory, though nothing of the kind was to be found out there on the ice. they had walked to the west of the big island, valen; now they thought they were nearing the north shore. suddenly the wind began to blow more and more, while the loud roaring increased so rapidly that they began to feel uneasy. all at once it occurred to them that the roar was caused by the foaming and rushing of the waves breaking against a shore. even this seemed improbable, since the lake was still covered with ice. at all events, they paused and looked about. they noticed far in the west a white bank which stretched clear across the lake. at first they thought it was a snowbank alongside a road. later they realized it was the foam-capped waves dashing against the ice! they took hold of hands and ran without saying a word. open sea lay beyond in the west, and suddenly the streak of foam appeared to be moving eastward. they wondered if the ice was going to break all over. what was going to happen? they felt now that they were in great danger. all at once it seemed as if the ice under their feet rose--rose and sank, as if some one from below were pushing it. presently they heard a hollow boom, and then there were cracks in the ice all around them. the children could see how they crept along under the ice-covering. the next moment all was still, then the rising and sinking began again. thereupon the cracks began to widen into crevices through which the water bubbled up. by and by the crevices became gaps. soon after that the ice was divided into large floes. "osa," said little mats, "this must be the breaking up of the ice!" "why, so it is, little mats," said osa, "but as yet we can get to land. run for your life!" as a matter of fact, the wind and waves had a good deal of work to do yet to clear the ice from the lake. the hardest part was done when the ice-cake burst into pieces, but all these pieces must be broken and hurled against each other, to be crushed, worn down, and dissolved. there was still a great deal of hard and sound ice left, which formed large, unbroken surfaces. the greatest danger for the children lay in the fact that they had no general view of the ice. they did not see the places where the gaps were so wide that they could not possibly jump over them, nor did they know where to find any floes that would hold them, so they wandered aimlessly back and forth, going farther out on the lake instead of nearer land. at last, confused and terrified, they stood still and wept. then a flock of wild geese in rapid flight came rushing by. they shrieked loudly and sharply; but the strange thing was that above the geese-cackle the little children heard these words: "you must go to the right, the right, the right!" they began at once to follow the advice; but before long they were again standing irresolute, facing another broad gap. again they heard the geese shrieking above them, and again, amid the geese-cackle, they distinguished a few words: "stand where you are! stand where you are!" the children did not say a word to each other, but obeyed and stood still. soon after that the ice-floes floated together, so that they could cross the gap. then they took hold of hands again and ran. they were afraid not only of the peril, but of the mysterious help that had come to them. soon they had to stop again, and immediately the sound of the voice reached them. "straight ahead, straight ahead!" it said. this leading continued for about half an hour; by that time they had reached ljunger point, where they left the ice and waded to shore. they were still terribly frightened, even though they were on firm land. they did not stop to look back at the lake--where the waves were pitching the ice-floes faster and faster--but ran on. when they had gone a short distance along the point, osa paused suddenly. "wait here, little mats," she said; "i have forgotten something." osa, the goose girl, went down to the strand again, where she stopped to rummage in her bag. finally she fished out a little wooden shoe, which she placed on a stone where it could be plainly seen. then she ran to little mats without once looking back. but the instant her back was turned, a big white goose shot down from the sky, like a streak of lightning, snatched the wooden shoe, and flew away with it. thumbietot and the bears the ironworks _thursday, april twenty-eighth_. when the wild geese and thumbietot had helped osa, the goose girl, and little mats across the ice, they flew into westmanland, where they alighted in a grain field to feed and rest. a strong west wind blew almost the entire day on which the wild geese travelled over the mining districts, and as soon as they attempted to direct their course northward they were buffeted toward the east. now, akka thought that smirre fox was at large in the eastern part of the province; therefore she would not fly in that direction, but turned back, time and again, struggling westward with great difficulty. at this rate the wild geese advanced very slowly, and late in the afternoon they were still in the westmanland mining districts. toward evening the wind abated suddenly, and the tired travellers hoped that they would have an interval of easy flight before sundown. then along came a violent gust of wind, which tossed the geese before it, like balls, and the boy, who was sitting comfortably, with no thought of peril, was lifted from the goose's back and hurled into space. little and light as he was, he could not fall straight to the ground in such a wind; so at first he was carried along with it, drifting down slowly and spasmodically, as a leaf falls from a tree. "why, this isn't so bad!" thought the boy as he fell. "i'm tumbling as easily as if i were only a scrap of paper. morten goosey-gander will doubtless hurry along and pick me up." the first thing the boy did when he landed was to tear off his cap and wave it, so that the big white gander should see where he was. "here am i, where are you? here am i, where are you?" he called, and was rather surprised that morten goosey-gander was not already at his side. but the big white gander was not to be seen, nor was the wild goose flock outlined against the sky. it had entirely disappeared. he thought this rather singular, but he was neither worried nor frightened. not for a second did it occur to him that folk like akka and morten goosey-gander would abandon him. the unexpected gust of wind had probably borne them along with it. as soon as they could manage to turn, they would surely come back and fetch him. but what was this? where on earth was he anyway? he had been standing gazing toward the sky for some sign of the geese, but now he happened to glance about him. he had not come down on even ground, but had dropped into a deep, wide mountain cave--or whatever it might be. it was as large as a church, with almost perpendicular walls on all four sides, and with no roof at all. on the ground were some huge rocks, between which moss and lignon-brush and dwarfed birches grew. here and there in the wall were projections, from which swung rickety ladders. at one side there was a dark passage, which apparently led far into the mountain. the boy had not been travelling over the mining districts a whole day for nothing. he comprehended at once that the big cleft had been made by the men who had mined ore in this place. "i must try and climb back to earth again," he thought, "otherwise i fear that my companions won't find me!" he was about to go over to the wall when some one seized him from behind, and he heard a gruff voice growl in his ear: "who are you?" the boy turned quickly, and, in the confusion of the moment, he thought he was facing a huge rock, covered with brownish moss. then he noticed that the rock had broad paws to walk with, a head, two eyes, and a growling mouth. he could not pull himself together to answer, nor did the big beast appear to expect it of him, for it knocked him down, rolled him back and forth with its paws, and nosed him. it seemed just about ready to swallow him, when it changed its mind and called: "brumme and mulle, come here, you cubs, and you shall have something good to eat!" a pair of frowzy cubs, as uncertain on their feet and as woolly as puppies, came tumbling along. "what have you got, mamma bear? may we see, oh, may we see?" shrieked the cubs excitedly. "oho! so i've fallen in with bears," thought the boy to himself. "now smirre fox won't have to trouble himself further to chase after me!" the mother bear pushed the boy along to the cubs. one of them nabbed him quickly and ran off with him; but he did not bite hard. he was playful and wanted to amuse himself awhile with thumbietot before eating him. the other cub was after the first one to snatch the boy for himself, and as he lumbered along he managed to tumble straight down on the head of the one that carried the boy. so the two cubs rolled over each other, biting, clawing, and snarling. during the tussle the boy got loose, ran over to the wall, and started to scale it. then both cubs scurried after him, and, nimbly scaling the cliff, they caught up with him and tossed him down on the moss, like a ball. "now i know how a poor little mousie fares when it falls into the cat's claws," thought the boy. he made several attempts to get away. he ran deep down into the old tunnel and hid behind the rocks and climbed the birches, but the cubs hunted him out, go where he would. the instant they caught him they let him go, so that he could run away again and they should have the fun of recapturing him. at last the boy got so sick and tired of it all that he threw himself down on the ground. "run away," growled the cubs, "or we'll eat you up!" "you'll have to eat me then," said the boy, "for i can't run any more." immediately both cubs rushed over to the mother bear and complained: "mamma bear, oh, mamma bear, he won't play any more." "then you must divide him evenly between you," said mother bear. when the boy heard this he was so scared that he jumped up instantly and began playing again. as it was bedtime, mother bear called to the cubs that they must come now and cuddle up to her and go to sleep. they had been having such a good time that they wished to continue their play next day; so they took the boy between them and laid their paws over him. they did not want him to move without waking them. they went to sleep immediately. the boy thought that after a while he would try to steal away. but never in all his life had he been so tumbled and tossed and hunted and rolled! and he was so tired out that he too fell asleep. by and by father bear came clambering down the mountain wall. the boy was wakened by his tearing away stone and gravel as he swung himself into the old mine. the boy was afraid to move much; but he managed to stretch himself and turn over, so that he could see the big bear. he was a frightfully coarse, huge old beast, with great paws, large, glistening tusks, and wicked little eyes! the boy could not help shuddering as he looked at this old monarch of the forest. "it smells like a human being around here," said father bear the instant he came up to mother bear, and his growl was as the rolling of thunder. "how can you imagine anything so absurd?" said mother bear without disturbing herself. "it has been settled for good and all that we are not to harm mankind any more; but if one of them were to put in an appearance here, where the cubs and i have our quarters, there wouldn't be enough left of him for you to catch even a scent of him!" father bear lay down beside mother bear. "you ought to know me well enough to understand that i don't allow anything dangerous to come near the cubs. talk, instead, of what you have been doing. i haven't seen you for a whole week!" "i've been looking about for a new residence," said father bear. "first i went over to vermland, to learn from our kinsmen at ekshärad how they fared in that country; but i had my trouble for nothing. there wasn't a bear's den left in the whole forest." "i believe the humans want the whole earth to themselves," said mother bear. "even if we leave people and cattle in peace and live solely upon lignon and insects and green things, we cannot remain unmolested in the forest! i wonder where we could move to in order to live in peace?" "we've lived comfortably for many years in this pit," observed father bear. "but i can't be content here now since the big noise-shop has been built right in our neighbourhood. lately i have been taking a look at the land east of dal river, over by garpen mountain. old mine pits are plentiful there, too, and other fine retreats. i thought it looked as if one might be fairly protected against men--" the instant father bear said this he sat up and began to sniff. "it's extraordinary that whenever i speak of human beings i catch that queer scent again," he remarked. "go and see for yourself if you don't believe me!" challenged mother bear. "i should just like to know where a human being could manage to hide down here?" the bear walked all around the cave, and nosed. finally he went back and lay down without a word. "what did i tell you?" said mother bear. "but of course you think that no one but yourself has any nose or ears!" "one can't be too careful, with such neighbours as we have," said father bear gently. then he leaped up with a roar. as luck would have it, one of the cubs had moved a paw over to nils holgersson's face and the poor little wretch could not breathe, but began to sneeze. it was impossible for mother bear to keep father bear back any longer. he pushed the young ones to right and left and caught sight of the boy before he had time to sit up. he would have swallowed him instantly if mother bear had not cast herself between them. "don't touch him! he belongs to the cubs," she said. "they have had such fun with him the whole evening that they couldn't bear to eat him up, but wanted to save him until morning." father bear pushed mother bear aside. "don't meddle with what you don't understand!" he roared. "can't you scent that human odour about him from afar? i shall eat him at once, or he will play us some mean trick." he opened his jaws again; but meanwhile the boy had had time to think, and, quick as a flash, he dug into his knapsack and brought forth some matches--his sole weapon of defence--struck one on his leather breeches, and stuck the burning match into the bear's open mouth. father bear snorted when he smelled the sulphur, and with that the flame went out. the boy was ready with another match, but, curiously enough, father bear did not repeat his attack. "can you light many of those little blue roses?" asked father bear. "i can light enough to put an end to the whole forest," replied the boy, for he thought that in this way he might be able to scare father bear. "oh, that would be no trick for me!" boasted the boy, hoping that this would make the bear respect him. "good!" exclaimed the bear. "you shall render me a service. now i'm very glad that i did not eat you!" father bear carefully took the boy between his tusks and climbed up from the pit. he did this with remarkable ease and agility, considering that he was so big and heavy. as soon as he was up, he speedily made for the woods. it was evident that father bear was created to squeeze through dense forests. the heavy body pushed through the brushwood as a boat does through the water. father bear ran along till he came to a hill at the skirt of the forest, where he could see the big noise-shop. here he lay down and placed the boy in front of him, holding him securely between his forepaws. "now look down at that big noise-shop!" he commanded. the great ironworks, with many tall buildings, stood at the edge of a waterfall. high chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, blasting furnaces were in full blaze, and light shone from all the windows and apertures. within hammers and rolling mills were going with such force that the air rang with their clatter and boom. all around the workshops proper were immense coal sheds, great slag heaps, warehouses, wood piles, and tool sheds. just beyond were long rows of workingmen's homes, pretty villas, schoolhouses, assembly halls, and shops. but there all was quiet and apparently everybody was asleep. the boy did not glance in that direction, but gazed intently at the ironworks. the earth around them was black; the sky above them was like a great fiery dome; the rapids, white with foam, rushed by; while the buildings themselves were sending out light and smoke, fire and sparks. it was the grandest sight the boy had ever seen! "surely you don't mean to say you can set fire to a place like that?" remarked the bear doubtingly. the boy stood wedged between the beast's paws thinking the only thing that might save him would be that the bear should have a high opinion of his capability and power. "it's all the same to me," he answered with a superior air. "big or little, i can burn it down." "then i'll tell you something," said father bear. "my forefathers lived in this region from the time that the forests first sprang up. from them i inherited hunting grounds and pastures, lairs and retreats, and have lived here in peace all my life. in the beginning i wasn't troubled much by the human kind. they dug in the mountains and picked up a little ore down here, by the rapids; they had a forge and a furnace, but the hammers sounded only a few hours during the day, and the furnace was not fired more than two moons at a stretch. it wasn't so bad but that i could stand it; but these last years, since they have built this noise-shop, which keeps up the same racket both day and night, life here has become intolerable. formerly only a manager and a couple of blacksmiths lived here, but now there are so many people that i can never feel safe from them. i thought that i should have to move away, but i have discovered something better!" the boy wondered what father bear had hit upon, but no opportunity was afforded him to ask, as the bear took him between his tusks again and lumbered down the hill. the boy could see nothing, but knew by the increasing noise that they were approaching the rolling mills. father bear was well informed regarding the ironworks. he had prowled around there on many a dark night, had observed what went on within, and had wondered if there would never be any cessation of the work. he had tested the walls with his paws and wished that he were only strong enough to knock down the whole structure with a single blow. he was not easily distinguishable against the dark ground, and when, in addition, he remained in the shadow of the walls, there was not much danger of his being discovered. now he walked fearlessly between the workshops and climbed to the top of a slag heap. there he sat up on his haunches, took the boy between his forepaws and held him up. "try to look into the house!" he commanded. a strong current of air was forced into a big cylinder which was suspended from the ceiling and filled with molten iron. as this current rushed into the mess of iron with an awful roar, showers of sparks of all colours spurted up in bunches, in sprays, in long clusters! they struck against the wall and came splashing down over the whole big room. father bear let the boy watch the gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was over and the flowing and sparkling red steel had been poured into ingot moulds. the boy was completely charmed by the marvellous display and almost forgot that he was imprisoned between a bear's two paws. father bear let him look into the rolling mill. he saw a workman take a short, thick bar of iron at white heat from a furnace opening and place it under a roller. when the iron came out from under the roller, it was flattened and extended. immediately another workman seized it and placed it beneath a heavier roller, which made it still longer and thinner. thus it was passed from roller to roller, squeezed and drawn out until, finally, it curled along the floor, like a long red thread. but while the first bar of iron was being pressed, a second was taken from the furnace and placed under the rollers, and when this was a little along, a third was brought. continuously fresh threads came crawling over the floor, like hissing snakes. the boy was dazzled by the iron. but he found it more splendid to watch the workmen who, dexterously and delicately, seized the glowing snakes with their tongs and forced them under the rollers. it seemed like play for them to handle the hissing iron. "i call that real man's work!" the boy remarked to himself. the bear then let the boy have a peep at the furnace and the forge, and he became more and more astonished as he saw how the blacksmiths handled iron and fire. "those men have no fear of heat and flames," he thought. the workmen were sooty and grimy. he fancied they were some sort of firefolk--that was why they could bend and mould the iron as they wished. he could not believe that they were just ordinary men, since they had such power! "they keep this up day after day, night after night," said father bear, as he dropped wearily down on the ground. "you can understand that one gets rather tired of that kind of thing. i'm mighty glad that at last i can put an end to it!" "indeed!" said the boy. "how will you go about it?" "oh, i thought that you were going to set fire to the buildings!" said father bear. "that would put an end to all this work, and i could remain in my old home." the boy was all of a shiver. so it was for this that father bear had brought him here! "if you will set fire to the noise-works, i'll promise to spare your life," said father bear. "but if you don't do it, i'll make short work of you!" the huge workshops were built of brick, and the boy was thinking to himself that father bear could command as much as he liked, it was impossible to obey him. presently he saw that it might not be impossible after all. just beyond them lay a pile of chips and shavings to which he could easily set fire, and beside it was a wood pile that almost reached the coal shed. the coal shed extended over to the workshops, and if that once caught fire, the flames would soon fly over to the roof of the iron foundry. everything combustible would burn, the walls would fall from the heat, and the machinery would be destroyed. "will you or won't you?" demanded father bear. the boy knew that he ought to answer promptly that he would not, but he also knew that then the bear's paws would squeeze him to death; therefore he replied: "i shall have to think it over." "very well, do so," assented father bear. "let me say to you that iron is the thing that has given men the advantage over us bears, which is another reason for my wishing to put an end to the work here." the boy thought he would use the delay to figure out some plan of escape, but he was so worried he could not direct his thoughts where he would; instead he began to think of the great help that iron had been to mankind. they needed iron for everything. there was iron in the plough that broke up the field, in the axe that felled the tree for building houses, in the scythe that mowed the grain, and in the knife, which could be turned to all sorts of uses. there was iron in the horse's bit, in the lock on the door, in the nails that held furniture together, in the sheathing that covered the roof. the rifle which drove away wild beasts was made of iron, also the pick that had broken up the mine. iron covered the men-of-war he had seen at karlskrona; the locomotives steamed through the country on iron rails; the needle that had stitched his coat was of iron; the shears that clipped the sheep and the kettle that cooked the food. big and little alike--much that was indispensable was made from iron. father bear was perfectly right in saying that it was the iron that had given men their mastery over the bears. "now will you or won't you?" father bear repeated. the boy was startled from his musing. here he stood thinking of matters that were entirely unnecessary, and had not yet found a way to save himself! "you mustn't be so impatient," he said. "this is a serious matter for me, and i've got to have time to consider." "well, then, consider another moment," said father bear. "but let me tell you that it's because of the iron that men have become so much wiser than we bears. for this alone, if for nothing else, i should like to put a stop to the work here." again the boy endeavoured to think out a plan of escape, but his thoughts wandered, willy nilly. they were taken up with the iron. and gradually he began to comprehend how much thinking and calculating men must have done before they discovered how to produce iron from ore, and he seemed to see sooty blacksmiths of old bending over the forge, pondering how they should properly handle it. perhaps it was because they had thought so much about the iron that intelligence had been developed in mankind, until finally they became so advanced that they were able to build great works like these. the fact was that men owed more to the iron than they themselves knew. "well, what say you? will you or won't you?" insisted father bear. the boy shrank back. here he stood thinking needless thoughts, and had no idea as to what he should do to save himself. "it's not such an easy matter to decide as you think," he answered. "you must give me time for reflection." "i can wait for you a little longer," said father bear. "but after that you'll get no more grace. you must know that it's the fault of the iron that the human kind can live here on the property of the bears. and now you understand why i would be rid of the work." the boy meant to use the last moment to think out some way to save himself, but, anxious and distraught as he was, his thoughts wandered again. now he began thinking of all that he had seen when he flew over the mining districts. it was strange that there should be so much life and activity and so much work back there in the wilderness. "just think how poor and desolate this place would be had there been no iron here! "this very foundry gave employment to many, and had gathered around it many homes filled with people, who, in turn, had attracted hither railways and telegraph wires and--" "come, come!" growled the bear. "will you or won't you?" the boy swept his hand across his forehead. no plan of escape had as yet come to his mind, but this much he knew--he did not wish to do any harm to the iron, which was so useful to rich and poor alike, and which gave bread to so many people in this land. "i won't!" he said. father bear squeezed him a little harder, but said nothing. "you'll not get me to destroy the ironworks!" defied the boy. "the iron is so great a blessing that it will never do to harm it." "then of course you don't expect to be allowed to live very long?" said the bear. "no, i don't expect it," returned the boy, looking the bear straight in the eye. father bear gripped him still harder. it hurt so that the boy could not keep the tears back, but he did not cry out or say a word. "very well, then," said father bear, raising his paw very slowly, hoping that the boy would give in at the last moment. but just then the boy heard something click very close to them, and saw the muzzle of a rifle two paces away. both he and father bear had been so engrossed in their own affairs they had not observed that a man had stolen right upon them. "father bear! don't you hear the clicking of a trigger?" cried the boy. "run, or you'll be shot!" father bear grew terribly hurried. however, he allowed himself time enough to pick up the boy and carry him along. as he ran, a couple of shots sounded, and the bullets grazed his ears, but, luckily, he escaped. the boy thought, as he was dangling from the bear's mouth, that never had he been so stupid as he was to-night. if he had only kept still, the bear would have been shot, and he himself would have been freed. but he had become so accustomed to helping the animals that he did it naturally, and as a matter of course. when father bear had run some distance into the woods, he paused and set the boy down on the ground. "thank you, little one!" he said. "i dare say those bullets would have caught me if you hadn't been there. and now i want to do you a service in return. if you should ever meet with another bear, just say to him this--which i shall whisper to you--and he won't touch you." father bear whispered a word or two into the boy's ear and hurried away, for he thought he heard hounds and hunters pursuing him. the boy stood in the forest, free and unharmed, and could hardly understand how it was possible. the wild geese had been flying back and forth the whole evening, peering and calling, but they had been unable to find thumbietot. they searched long after the sun had set, and, finally, when it had grown so dark that they were forced to alight somewhere for the night, they were very downhearted. there was not one among them but thought the boy had been killed by the fall and was lying dead in the forest, where they could not see him. but the next morning, when the sun peeped over the hills and awakened the wild geese, the boy lay sleeping, as usual, in their midst. when he woke and heard them shrieking and cackling their astonishment, he could not help laughing. they were so eager to know what had happened to him that they did not care to go to breakfast until he had told them the whole story. the boy soon narrated his entire adventure with the bears, but after that he seemed reluctant to continue. "how i got back to you perhaps you already know?" he said. "no, we know nothing. we thought you were killed." "that's curious!" remarked the boy. "oh, yes!--when father bear left me i climbed up into a pine and fell asleep. at daybreak i was awakened by an eagle hovering over me. he picked me up with his talons and carried me away. he didn't hurt me, but flew straight here to you and dropped me down among you." "didn't he tell you who he was?" asked the big white gander. "he was gone before i had time even to thank him. i thought that mother akka had sent him after me." "how extraordinary!" exclaimed the white goosey-gander. "but are you certain that it was an eagle?" "i had never before seen an eagle," said the boy, "but he was so big and splendid that i can't give him a lowlier name!" morten goosey-gander turned to the wild geese to hear what they thought of this; but they stood gazing into the air, as though they were thinking of something else. "we must not forget entirely to eat breakfast today," said akka, quickly spreading her wings. the flood the swans _may first to fourth_. there was a terrible storm raging in the district north of lake mälar, which lasted several days. the sky was a dull gray, the wind whistled, and the rain beat. both people and animals knew the spring could not be ushered in with anything short of this; nevertheless they thought it unbearable. after it had been raining for a whole day, the snowdrifts in the pine forests began to melt in earnest, and the spring brooks grew lively. all the pools on the farms, the standing water in the ditches, the water that oozed between the tufts in marshes and swamps--all were in motion and tried to find their way to creeks, that they might be borne along to the sea. the creeks rushed as fast as possible down to the rivers, and the rivers did their utmost to carry the water to lake mälar. all the lakes and rivers in uppland and the mining district quickly threw off their ice covers on one and the same day, so that the creeks filled with ice-floes which rose clear up to their banks. swollen as they were, they emptied into lake mälar, and it was not long before the lake had taken in as much water as it could well hold. down by the outlet was a raging torrent. norrström is a narrow channel, and it could not let out the water quickly enough. besides, there was a strong easterly wind that lashed against the land, obstructing the stream when it tried to carry the fresh water into the east sea. since the rivers kept running to mälaren with more water than it could dispose of, there was nothing for the big lake to do but overflow its banks. it rose very slowly, as if reluctant to injure its beautiful shores; but as they were mostly low and gradually sloping, it was not long before the water had flooded several acres of land, and that was enough to create the greatest alarm. lake mälar is unique in its way, being made up of a succession of narrow fiords, bays, and inlets. in no place does it spread into a storm centre, but seems to have been created only for pleasure trips, yachting tours, and fishing. nowhere does it present barren, desolate, wind-swept shores. it looks as if it never thought that its shores could hold anything but country seats, summer villas, manors, and amusement resorts. but, because it usually presents a very agreeable and friendly appearance, there is all the more havoc whenever it happens to drop its smiling expression in the spring, and show that it can be serious. at that critical time smirre fox happened to come sneaking through a birch grove just north of lake mälar. as usual, he was thinking of thumbietot and the wild geese, and wondering how he should ever find them again. he had lost all track of them. as he stole cautiously along, more discouraged than usual, he caught sight of agar, the carrier-pigeon, who had perched herself on a birch branch. "my, but i'm in luck to run across you, agar!" exclaimed smirre. "maybe you can tell me where akka from kebnekaise and her flock hold forth nowadays?" "it's quite possible that i know where they are," agar hinted, "but i'm not likely to tell you!" "please yourself!" retorted smirre. "nevertheless, you can take a message that i have for them. you probably know the present condition of lake mälar? there's a great overflow down there and all the swans who live in hjälsta bay are about to see their nests, with all their eggs, destroyed. daylight, the swan-king, has heard of the midget who travels with the wild geese and knows a remedy for every ill. he has sent me to ask akka if she will bring thumbietot down to hjälsta bay." "i dare say i can convey your message," agar replied, "but i can't understand how the little boy will be able to help the swans." "nor do i," said smirre, "but he can do almost everything, it seems." "it's surprising to me that daylight should send his messages by a fox," agar remarked. "well, we're not exactly what you'd call good friends," said smirre smoothly, "but in an emergency like this we must help each other. perhaps it would be just as well not to tell akka that you got the message from a fox. between you and me, she's inclined to be a little suspicious." the safest refuge for water-fowl in the whole mälar district is hjälsta bay. it has low shores, shallow water and is also covered with reeds. it is by no means as large as lake tåkern, but nevertheless hjälsta is a good retreat for birds, since it has long been forbidden territory to hunters. it is the home of a great many swans, and the owner of the old castle nearby has prohibited all shooting on the bay, so that they might be unmolested. as soon as akka received word that the swans needed her help, she hastened down to hjälsta bay. she arrived with her flock one evening and saw at a glance that there had been a great disaster. the big swans' nests had been torn away, and the strong wind was driving them down the bay. some had already fallen apart, two or three had capsized, and the eggs lay at the bottom of the lake. when akka alighted on the bay, all the swans living there were gathered near the eastern shore, where they were protected from the wind. although they had suffered much by the flood, they were too proud to let any one see it. "it is useless to cry," they said. "there are plenty of root-fibres and stems here; we can soon build new nests." none had thought of asking a stranger to help them, and the swans had no idea that smirre fox had sent for the wild geese! there were several hundred swans resting on the water. they had placed themselves according to rank and station. the young and inexperienced were farthest out, the old and wise nearer the middle of the group, and right in the centre sat daylight, the swan-king, and snow-white, the swan-queen, who were older than any of the others and regarded the rest of the swans as their children. the geese alighted on the west shore of the bay; but when akka saw where the swans were, she swam toward them at once. she was very much surprised at their having sent for her, but she regarded it as an honour and did not wish to lose a moment in coming to their aid. as akka approached the swans she paused to see if the geese who followed her swam in a straight line, and at even distances apart. "now, swim along quickly!" she ordered. "don't stare at the swans as if you had never before seen anything beautiful, and don't mind what they may say to you!" this was not the first time that akka had called on the aristocratic swans. they had always received her in a manner befitting a great traveller like herself. but still she did not like the idea of swimming in among them. she never felt so gray and insignificant as when she happened upon swans. one or another of them was sure to drop a remark about "common gray-feathers" and "poor folk." but it is always best to take no notice of such things. this time everything passed off uncommonly well. the swans politely made way for the wild geese, who swam forward through a kind of passageway, which formed an avenue bordered by shimmering, white birds. it was a beautiful sight to watch them as they spread their wings, like sails, to appear well before the strangers. they refrained from making comments, which rather surprised akka. evidently daylight had noted their misbehaviour in the past and had told the swans that they must conduct themselves in a proper manner--so thought the leader-goose. but just as the swans were making an effort to observe the rules of etiquette, they caught sight of the goosey-gander, who swam last in the long goose-line. then there was a murmur of disapproval, even of threats, among the swans, and at once there was an end to their good deportment! "what's this?" shrieked one. "do the wild geese intend to dress up in white feathers?" "they needn't think that will make swans of them," cried another. they began shrieking--one louder than another--in their strong, resonant voices. it was impossible to explain that a tame goosey-gander had come with the wild geese. "that must be the goose-king himself coming along," they said tauntingly. "there's no limit to their audacity!" "that's no goose, it's only a tame duck." the big white gander remembered akka's admonition to pay no attention, no matter what he might hear. he kept quiet and swam ahead as fast he could, but it did no good. the swans became more and more impertinent. "what kind of a frog does he carry on his back?" asked one. "they must think we don't see it's a frog because it is dressed like a human being." the swans, who but a moment before had been resting in such perfect order, now swam up and down excitedly. all tried to crowd forward to get a glimpse of the white wild goose. "that white goosey-gander ought to be ashamed to come here and parade before swans!" "he's probably as gray as the rest of them. he has only been in a flour barrel at some farm house!" akka had just come up to daylight and was about to ask him what kind of help he wanted of her, when the swan-king noticed the uproar among the swans. "what do i see? haven't i taught you to be polite to strangers?" he said with a frown. snow-white, the swan-queen, swam out to restore order among her subjects, and again daylight turned to akka. presently snow-white came back, appearing greatly agitated. "can't you keep them quiet?" shouted daylight. "there's a white wild goose over there," answered snow-white. "is it not shameful? i don't wonder they are furious!" "a white wild goose?" scoffed daylight. "that's too ridiculous! there can't be such a thing. you must be mistaken." the crowds around morten goosey-gander grew larger and larger. akka and the other wild geese tried to swim over to him, but were jostled hither and thither and could not get to him. the old swan-king, who was the strongest among them, swam off quickly, pushed all the others aside, and made his way over to the big white gander. but when he saw that there really was a white goose on the water, he was just as indignant as the rest. he hissed with rage, flew straight at morten goosey-gander and tore out a few feathers. "i'll teach you a lesson, wild goose," he shrieked, "so that you'll not come again to the swans, togged out in this way!" "fly, morten goosey-gander! fly, fly!" cried akka, for she knew that otherwise the swans would pull out every feather the goosey-gander had. "fly, fly!" screamed thumbietot, too. but the goosey-gander was so hedged in by the swans that he had not room enough to spread his wings. all around him the swans stretched their long necks, opened their strong bills, and plucked his feathers. morten goosey-gander defended himself as best he could, by striking and biting. the wild geese also began to fight the swans. it was obvious how this would have ended had the geese not received help quite unexpectedly. a red-tail noticed that they were being roughly treated by the swans. instantly he cried out the shrill call that little birds use when they need help to drive off a hawk or a falcon. three calls had barely sounded when all the little birds in the vicinity came shooting down to hjälsta bay, as if on wings of lightning. these delicate little creatures swooped down upon the swans, screeched in their ears, and obstructed their view with the flutter of their tiny wings. they made them dizzy with their fluttering and drove them to distraction with their cries of "shame, shame, swans!" the attack of the small birds lasted but a moment. when they were gone and the swans came to their senses, they saw that the geese had risen and flown over to the other end of the bay. the new watch-dog there was this at least to be said in the swans' favour--when they saw that the wild geese had escaped, they were too proud to chase them. moreover, the geese could stand on a clump of reeds with perfect composure, and sleep. nils holgersson was too hungry to sleep. "it is necessary for me to get something to eat," he said. at that time, when all kinds of things were floating on the water, it was not difficult for a little boy like nils holgersson to find a craft. he did not stop to deliberate, but hopped down on a stump that had drifted in amongst the reeds. then he picked up a little stick and began to pole toward shore. just as he was landing, he heard a splash in the water. he stopped short. first he saw a lady swan asleep in her big nest quite close to him, then he noticed that a fox had taken a few steps into the water and was sneaking up to the swan's nest. "hi, hi, hi! get up, get up!" cried the boy, beating the water with his stick. the lady swan rose, but not so quickly but that the fox could have pounced upon her had he cared to. however, he refrained and instead hurried straight toward the boy. thumbietot saw the fox coming and ran for his life. wide stretches of meadow land spread before him. he saw no tree that he could climb, no hole where he might hide; he just had to keep running. the boy was a good runner, but it stands to reason that he could not race with a fox! not far from the bay there were a number of little cabins, with candle lights shining through the windows. naturally the boy ran in that direction, but he realized that long before he could reach the nearest cabin the fox would catch up to him. once the fox was so close that it looked as if the boy would surely be his prey, but nils quickly sprang aside and turned back toward the bay. by that move the fox lost time, and before he could reach the boy the latter had run up to two men who were on their way home from work. the men were tired and sleepy; they had noticed neither boy nor fox, although both had been running right in front of them. nor did the boy ask help of the men; he was content to walk close beside them. "surely the fox won't venture to come up to the men," he thought. but presently the fox came pattering along. he probably counted on the men taking him for a dog, for he went straight up to them. "whose dog can that be sneaking around here?" queried one. "he looks as though he were ready to bite." the other paused and glanced back. "go along with you!" he said, and gave the fox a kick that sent it to the opposite side of the road. "what are you doing here?" after that the fox kept at a safe distance, but followed all the while. presently the men reached a cabin and entered it. the boy intended to go in with them; but when he got to the stoop he saw a big, shaggy watch-dog rush out from his kennel to greet his master. suddenly the boy changed his mind and remained out in the open. "listen, watch-dog!" whispered the boy as soon as the men had shut the door. "i wonder if you would like to help me catch a fox to-night?" the dog had poor eyesight and had become irritable and cranky from being chained. "what, i catch a fox?" he barked angrily. "who are you that makes fun of me? you just come within my reach and i'll teach you not to fool with me!" "you needn't think that i'm afraid to come near you!" said the boy, running up to the dog. when the dog saw him he was so astonished that he could not speak. "i'm the one they call thumbietot, who travels with the wild geese," said the boy, introducing himself. "haven't you heard of me?" "i believe the sparrows have twittered a little about you," the dog returned. "they say that you have done wonderful things for one of your size." "i've been rather lucky up to the present," admitted the boy. "but now it's all up with me unless you help me! there's a fox at my heels. he's lying in wait for me around the corner." "don't you suppose i can smell him?" retorted the dog. "but we'll soon be rid of him!" with that the dog sprang as far as the chain would allow, barking and growling for ever so long. "now i don't think he will show his face again to-night!" said the dog. "it will take something besides a fine bark to scare that fox!" the boy remarked. "he'll soon be here again, and that is precisely what i wish, for i have set my heart on your catching him." "are you poking fun at me now?" asked the dog. "only come with me into your kennel, and i'll tell you what to do." the boy and the watch-dog crept into the kennel and crouched there, whispering. by and by the fox stuck his nose out from his hiding place. when all was quiet he crept along cautiously. he scented the boy all the way to the kennel, but halted at a safe distance and sat down to think of some way to coax him out. suddenly the watch-dog poked his head out and growled at him: "go away, or i'll catch you!" "i'll sit here as long as i please for all of you!" defied the fox. "go away!" repeated the dog threateningly, "or there will be no more hunting for you after to-night." but the fox only grinned and did not move an inch. "i know how far your chain can reach," he said. "i have warned you twice," said the dog, coming out from his kennel. "now blame yourself!" with that the dog sprang at the fox and caught him without the least effort, for he was loose. the boy had unbuckled his collar. there was a hot struggle, but it was soon over. the dog was the victor. the fox lay on the ground and dared not move. "don't stir or i'll kill you!" snarled the dog. then he took the fox by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the kennel. there the boy was ready with the chain. he placed the dog collar around the neck of the fox, tightening it so that he was securely chained. during all this the fox had to lie still, for he was afraid to move. "now, smirre fox, i hope you'll make a good watch-dog," laughed the boy when he had finished. dunfin the city that floats on the water _friday, may sixth_. no one could be more gentle and kind than the little gray goose dunfin. all the wild geese loved her, and the tame white goosey-gander would have died for her. when dunfin asked for anything not even akka could say no. as soon as dunfin came to lake mälar the landscape looked familiar to her. just beyond the lake lay the sea, with many wooded islands, and there, on a little islet, lived her parents and her brothers and sisters. she begged the wild geese to fly to her home before travelling farther north, that she might let her family see that she was still alive. it would be such a joy to them. akka frankly declared that she thought dunfin's parents and brothers and sisters had shown no great love for her when they abandoned her at Öland, but dunfin would not admit that akka was in the right. "what else was there to do, when they saw that i could not fly?" she protested. "surely they couldn't remain at Öland on my account!" dunfin began telling the wild geese all about her home in the archipelago, to try to induce them to make the trip. her family lived on a rock island. seen from a distance, there appeared to be nothing but stone there; but when one came closer, there were to be found the choicest goose tidbits in clefts and hollows, and one might search long for better nesting places than those that were hidden in the mountain crevices or among the osier bushes. but the best of all was the old fisherman who lived there. dunfin had heard that in his youth he had been a great shot and had always lain in the offing and hunted birds. but now, in his old age--since his wife had died and the children had gone from home, so that he was alone in the hut--he had begun to care for the birds on his island. he never fired a shot at them, nor would he permit others to do so. he walked around amongst the birds' nests, and when the mother birds were sitting he brought them food. not one was afraid of him. they all loved him. dunfin had been in his hut many times, and he had fed her with bread crumbs. because he was kind to the birds, they flocked to his island in such great numbers that it was becoming overcrowded. if one happened to arrive a little late in the spring, all the nesting places were occupied. that was why dunfin's family had been obliged to leave her. dunfin begged so hard that she finally had her way, although the wild geese felt that they were losing time and really should be going straight north. but a little trip like this to the cliff island would not delay them more than a day. so they started off one morning, after fortifying themselves with a good breakfast, and flew eastward over lake mälar. the boy did not know for certain where they were going; but he noticed that the farther east they flew, the livelier it was on the lake and the more built up were the shores. heavily freighted barges and sloops, boats and fishing smacks were on their way east, and these were met and passed by many pretty white steamers. along the shores ran country roads and railway tracks--all in the same direction. there was some place beyond in the east where all wished to go to in the morning. on one of the islands the boy saw a big, white castle, and to the east of it the shores were dotted with villas. at the start these lay far apart, then they became closer and closer, and, presently, the whole shore was lined with them. they were of every variety--here a castle, there a cottage; then a low manor house appeared, or a mansion, with many small towers. some stood in gardens, but most of them were in the wild woods which bordered the shores. despite their dissimilarity, they had one point of resemblance--they were not plain and sombre-looking, like other buildings, but were gaudily painted in striking greens and blues, reds and white, like children's playhouses. as the boy sat on the goose's back and glanced down at the curious shore mansions, dunfin cried out with delight: "now i know where i am! over there lies the city that floats on the water." the boy looked ahead. at first he saw nothing but some light clouds and mists rolling forward over the water, but soon he caught sight of some tall spires, and then one and another house with many rows of windows. they appeared and disappeared--rolling hither and thither--but not a strip of shore did he see! everything over there appeared to be resting on the water. nearer to the city he saw no more pretty playhouses along the shores--only dingy factories. great heaps of coal and wood were stacked behind tall planks, and alongside black, sooty docks lay bulky freight steamers; but over all was spread a shimmering, transparent mist, which made everything appear so big and strong and wonderful that it was almost beautiful. the wild geese flew past factories and freight steamers and were nearing the cloud-enveloped spires. suddenly all the mists sank to the water, save the thin, fleecy ones that circled above their heads, beautifully tinted in blues and pinks. the other clouds rolled over water and land. they entirely obscured the lower portions of the houses: only the upper stories and the roofs and gables were visible. some of the buildings appeared to be as high as the tower of babel. the boy no doubt knew that they were built upon hills and mountains, but these he did not see--only the houses that seemed to float among the white, drifting clouds. in reality the buildings were dark and dingy, for the sun in the east was not shining on them. the boy knew that he was riding above a large city, for he saw spires and house roofs rising from the clouds in every direction. sometimes an opening was made in the circling mists, and he looked down into a running, tortuous stream; but no land could he see. all this was beautiful to look upon, but he felt quite distraught--as one does when happening upon something one cannot understand. when he had gone beyond the city, he found that the ground was no longer hidden by clouds, but that shores, streams, and islands were again plainly visible. he turned to see the city better, but could not, for now it looked quite enchanted. the mists had taken on colour from the sunshine and were rolling forward in the most brilliant reds, blues, and yellows. the houses were white, as if built of light, and the windows and spires sparkled like fire. all things floated on the water as before. the geese were travelling straight east. they flew over factories and workshops; then over mansions edging the shores. steamboats and tugs swarmed on the water; but now they came from the east and were steaming westward toward the city. the wild geese flew on, but instead of the narrow mälar fiords and the little islands, broader waters and larger islands spread under them. at last the land was left behind and seen no more. they flew still farther out, where they found no more large inhabited islands--only numberless little rock islands were scattered on the water. now the fiords were not crowded by the land. the sea lay before them, vast and limitless. here the wild geese alighted on a cliff island, and as soon as their feet touched the ground the boy turned to dunfin. "what city did we fly over just now?" he asked. "i don't know what human beings have named it," said dunfin. "we gray geese call it the 'city that floats on the water'." the sisters dunfin had two sisters, prettywing and goldeye. they were strong and intelligent birds, but they did not have such a soft and shiny feather dress as dunfin, nor did they have her sweet and gentle disposition. from the time they had been little, yellow goslings, their parents and relatives and even the old fisherman had plainly shown them that they thought more of dunfin than of them. therefore the sisters had always hated her. when the wild geese landed on the cliff island, prettywing and goldeye were feeding on a bit of grass close to the strand, and immediately caught sight of the strangers. "see, sister goldeye, what fine-looking geese have come to our island!" exclaimed prettywing, "i have rarely seen such graceful birds. do you notice that they have a white goosey-gander among them? did you ever set eyes on a handsomer bird? one could almost take him for a swan!" goldeye agreed with her sister that these were certainly very distinguished strangers that had come to the island, but suddenly she broke off and called: "sister prettywing! oh, sister prettywing! don't you see whom they bring with them?" prettywing also caught sight of dunfin and was so astounded that she stood for a long time with her bill wide open, and only hissed. "it can't be possible that it is she! how did she manage to get in with people of that class? why, we left her at Öland to freeze and starve." "the worse of it is she will tattle to father and mother that we flew so close to her that we knocked her wing out of joint," said goldeye. "you'll see that it will end in our being driven from the island!" "we have nothing but trouble in store for us, now that that young one has come back!" snapped prettywing. "still i think it would be best for us to appear as pleased as possible over her return. she is so stupid that perhaps she didn't even notice that we gave her a push on purpose." while prettywing and goldeye were talking in this strain, the wild geese had been standing on the strand, pluming their feathers after the flight. now they marched in a long line up the rocky shore to the cleft where dunfin's parents usually stopped. dunfin's parents were good folk. they had lived on the island longer than any one else, and it was their habit to counsel and aid all newcomers. they too had seen the geese approach, but they had not recognized dunfin in the flock. "it is strange to see wild geese land on this island," remarked the goose-master. "it is a fine flock--that one can see by their flight." "but it won't be easy to find pasturage for so many," said the goose-wife, who was gentle and sweet-tempered, like dunfin. when akka came marching with her company, dunfin's parents went out to meet her and welcome her to the island. dunfin flew from her place at the end of the line and lit between her parents. "mother and father, i'm here at last!" she cried joyously. "don't you know dunfin?" at first the old goose-parents could not quite make out what they saw, but when they recognized dunfin they were absurdly happy, of course. while the wild geese and morten goosey-gander and dunfin were chattering excitedly, trying to tell how she had been rescued, prettywing and goldeye came running. they cried "_welcome"_ and pretended to be so happy because dunfin was at home that she was deeply moved. the wild geese fared well on the island and decided not to travel farther until the following morning. after a while the sisters asked dunfin if she would come with them and see the places where they intended to build their nests. she promptly accompanied them, and saw that they had picked out secluded and well protected nesting places. "now where will you settle down, dunfin?" they asked. "i? why i don't intend to remain on the island," she said. "i'm going with the wild geese up to lapland." "what a pity that you must leave us!" said the sisters. "i should have been very glad to remain here with father and mother and you," said dunfin, "had i not promised the big, white--" "what!" shrieked prettywing. "are you to have the handsome goosey-gander? then it is--" but here goldeye gave her a sharp nudge, and she stopped short. the two cruel sisters had much to talk about all the afternoon. they were furious because dunfin had a suitor like the white goosey-gander. they themselves had suitors, but theirs were only common gray geese, and, since they had seen morten goosey-gander, they thought them so homely and low-bred that they did not wish even to look at them. "this will grieve me to death!" whimpered goldeye. "if at least it had been you, sister prettywing, who had captured him!" "i would rather see him dead than to go about here the entire summer thinking of dunfin's capturing a white goosey-gander!" pouted prettywing. however, the sisters continued to appear very friendly toward dunfin, and in the afternoon goldeye took dunfin with her, that she might see the one she thought of marrying. "he's not as attractive as the one you will have," said goldeye. "but to make up for it, one can be certain that he is what he is." "what do you mean, goldeye?" questioned dunfin. at first goldeye would not explain what she had meant, but at last she came out with it. "we have never seen a white goose travel with wild geese," said the sister, "and we wonder if he can be bewitched." "you are very stupid," retorted dunfin indignantly. "he is a tame goose, of course." "he brings with him one who is bewitched," said goldeye, "and, under the circumstances, he too must be bewitched. are you not afraid that he may be a black cormorant?" she was a good talker and succeeded in frightening dunfin thoroughly. "you don't mean what you are saying," pleaded the little gray goose. "you only wish to frighten me!" "i wish what is for your good, dunfin," said goldeye. "i can't imagine anything worse than for you to fly away with a black cormorant! but now i shall tell you something--try to persuade him to eat some of the roots i have gathered here. if he is bewitched, it will be apparent at once. if he is not, he will remain as he is." the boy was sitting amongst the wild geese, listening to akka and the old goose-master, when dunfin came flying up to him. "thumbietot, thumbietot!" she cried. "morten goosey-gander is dying! i have killed him!" "let me get up on your back, dunfin, and take me to him!" away they flew, and akka and the other wild geese followed them. when they got to the goosey-gander, he was lying prostrate on the ground. he could not utter a word--only gasped for breath. "tickle him under the gorge and slap him on the back!" commanded akka. the boy did so and presently the big, white gander coughed up a large, white root, which had stuck in his gorge. "have you been eating of these?" asked akka, pointing to some roots that lay on the ground. "yes," groaned the goosey-gander. "then it was well they stuck in your throat," said akka, "for they are poisonous. had you swallowed them, you certainly should have died." "dunfin bade me eat them," said the goosey-gander. "my sister gave them to me," protested dunfin, and she told everything. "you must beware of those sisters of yours, dunfin!" warned akka, "for they wish you no good, depend upon it!" but dunfin was so constituted that she could not think evil of any one and, a moment later, when prettywing asked her to come and meet her intended, she went with her immediately. "oh, he isn't as handsome as yours," said the sister, "but he's much more courageous and daring!" "how do you know he is?" challenged dunfin. "for some time past there has been weeping and wailing amongst the sea gulls and wild ducks on the island. every morning at daybreak a strange bird of prey comes and carries off one of them." "what kind of a bird is it?" asked dunfin. "we don't know," replied the sister. "one of his kind has never before been seen on the island, and, strange to say, he has never attacked one of us geese. but now my intended has made up his mind to challenge him to-morrow morning, and drive him away." "oh, i hope he'll succeed!" said dunfin. "i hardly think he will," returned the sister. "if my goosey-gander were as big and strong as yours, i should have hope." "do you wish me to ask morten goosey-gander to meet the strange bird?" asked dunfin. "indeed, i do!" exclaimed prettywing excitedly. "you couldn't render me a greater service." the next morning the goosey-gander was up before the sun. he stationed himself on the highest point of the island and peered in all directions. presently he saw a big, dark bird coming from the west. his wings were exceedingly large, and it was easy to tell that he was an eagle. the goosey-gander had not expected a more dangerous adversary than an owl, and how he understood that he could not escape this encounter with his life. but it did not occur to him to avoid a struggle with a bird who was many times stronger than himself. the great bird swooped down on a sea gull and dug his talons into it. before the eagle could spread his wings, morten goosey-gander rushed up to him. "drop that!" he shouted, "and don't come here again or you'll have me to deal with!" "what kind of a lunatic are you?" said the eagle. "it's lucky for you that i never fight with geese, or you would soon be done for!" morten goosey-gander thought the eagle considered himself too good to fight with him and flew at him, incensed, biting him on the throat and beating him with his wings. this, naturally, the eagle would not tolerate and he began to fight, but not with his full strength. the boy lay sleeping in the quarters where akka and the other wild geese slept, when dunfin called: "thumbietot, thumbietot! morten goosey-gander is being torn to pieces by an eagle." "let me get up on your back, dunfin, and take me to him!" said the boy. when they arrived on the scene morten goosey-gander was badly torn, and bleeding, but he was still fighting. the boy could not battle with the eagle; all that he could do was to seek more efficient help. "hurry, dunfin, and call akka and the wild geese!" he cried. the instant he said that, the eagle flew back and stopped fighting. "who's speaking of akka?" he asked. he saw thumbietot and heard the wild geese honking, so he spread his wings. "tell akka i never expected to run across her or any of her flock out here in the sea!" he said, and soared away in a rapid and graceful flight. "that is the self-same eagle who once brought me back to the wild geese," the boy remarked, gazing after the bird in astonishment. the geese had decided to leave the island at dawn, but first they wanted to feed awhile. as they walked about and nibbled, a mountain duck came up to dunfin. "i have a message for you from your sisters," said the duck. "they dare not show themselves among the wild geese, but they asked me to remind you not to leave the island without calling on the old fisherman." "that's so!" exclaimed dunfin, but she was so frightened now that she would not go alone, and asked the goosey-gander and thumbietot to accompany her to the hut. the door was open, so dunfin entered, but the others remained outside. after a moment they heard akka give the signal to start, and called dunfin. a gray goose came out and flew with the wild geese away from the island. they had travelled quite a distance along the archipelago when the boy began to wonder at the goose who accompanied them. dunfin always flew lightly and noiselessly, but this one laboured with heavy and noisy wing-strokes. "we are in the wrong company. it is prettywing that follows us!" the boy had barely spoken when the goose uttered such an ugly and angry shriek that all knew who she was. akka and the others turned to her, but the gray goose did not fly away at once. instead she bumped against the big goosey-gander, snatched thumbietot, and flew off with him in her bill. there was a wild chase over the archipelago. prettywing flew fast, but the wild geese were close behind her, and there was no chance for her to escape. suddenly they saw a puff of smoke rise up from the sea, and heard an explosion. in their excitement they had not noticed that they were directly above a boat in which a lone fisherman was seated. however, none of the geese was hurt; but just there, above the boat, prettywing opened her bill and dropped thumbietot into the sea. stockholm skansen a few years ago, at skansen--the great park just outside of stockholm where they have collected so many wonderful things--there lived a little old man, named clement larsson. he was from hälsingland and had come to skansen with his fiddle to play folk dances and other old melodies. as a performer, he appeared mostly in the evening. during the day it was his business to sit on guard in one of the many pretty peasant cottages which have been moved to skansen from all parts of the country. in the beginning clement thought that he fared better in his old age than he had ever dared dream; but after a time he began to dislike the place terribly, especially while he was on watch duty. it was all very well when visitors came into the cottage to look around, but some days clement would sit for many hours all alone. then he felt so homesick that he feared he would have to give up his place. he was very poor and knew that at home he would become a charge on the parish. therefore he tried to hold out as long as he could, although he felt more unhappy from day to day. one beautiful evening in the beginning of may clement had been granted a few hours' leave of absence. he was on his way down the steep hill leading out of skansen, when he met an island fisherman coming along with his game bag. the fisherman was an active young man who came to skansen with seafowl that he had managed to capture alive. clement had met him before, many times. the fisherman stopped clement to ask if the superintendent at skansen was at home. when clement had replied, he, in turn, asked what choice thing the fisherman had in his bag. "you can see what i have," the fisherman answered, "if in return you will give me an idea as to what i should ask for it." he held open the bag and clement peeped into it once--and again--then quickly drew back a step or two. "good gracious, ashbjörn!" he exclaimed. "how did you catch that one?" he remembered that when he was a child his mother used to talk of the tiny folk who lived under the cabin floor. he was not permitted to cry or to be naughty, lest he provoke these small people. after he was grown he believed his mother had made up these stories about the elves to make him behave himself. but it had been no invention of his mother's, it seemed; for there, in ashbjörn's bag, lay one of the tiny folk. there was a little of the terror natural to childhood left in clement, and he felt a shudder run down his spinal column as he peeped into the bag. ashbjörn saw that he was frightened and began to laugh; but clement took the matter seriously. "tell me, ashbjörn, where you came across him?" he asked. "you may be sure that i wasn't lying in wait for him!" said ashbjörn. "he came to me. i started out early this morning and took my rifle along into the boat. i had just poled away from the shore when i sighted some wild geese coming from the east, shrieking like mad. i sent them a shot, but hit none of them. instead this creature came tumbling down into the water--so close to the boat that i only had to put my hand out and pick him up." "i hope you didn't shoot him, ashbjörn?" "oh, no! he is well and sound; but when he came down, he was a little dazed at first, so i took advantage of that fact to wind the ends of two sail threads around his ankles and wrists, so that he couldn't run away. 'ha! here's something for skansen,' i thought instantly." clement grew strangely troubled as the fisherman talked. all that he had heard about the tiny folk in his childhood--of their vindictiveness toward enemies and their benevolence toward friends--came back to him. it had never gone well with those who had attempted to hold one of them captive. "you should have let him go at once, ashbjörn," said clement. "i came precious near being forced to set him free," returned the fisherman. "you may as well know, clement, that the wild geese followed me all the way home, and they criss-crossed over the island the whole morning, honk-honking as if they wanted him back. not only they, but the entire population--sea gulls, sea swallows, and many others who are not worth a shot of powder, alighted on the island and made an awful racket. when i came out they fluttered about me until i had to turn back. my wife begged me to let him go, but i had made up my mind that he should come here to skansen, so i placed one of the children's dolls in the window, hid the midget in the bottom of my bag, and started away. the birds must have fancied that it was he who stood in the window, for they permitted me to leave without pursuing me." "does it say anything?" asked clement. "yes. at first he tried to call to the birds, but i wouldn't have it and put a gag in his mouth." "oh, ashbjörn!" protested clement. "how can you treat him so! don't you see that he is something supernatural!" "i don't know what he is," said ashbjörn calmly. "let others consider that. i'm satisfied if only i can get a good sum for him. now tell me, clement, what you think the doctor at skansen would give me." there was a long pause before clement replied. he felt very sorry for the poor little chap. he actually imagined that his mother was standing beside him telling him that he must always be kind to the tiny folk. "i have no idea what the doctor up there would care to give you, ashbjörn," he said finally. "but if you will leave him with me, i'll pay you twenty kroner for him." ashbjörn stared at the fiddler in amazement when he heard him name so large a sum. he thought that clement believed the midget had some mysterious power and might be of service for him. he was by no means certain that the doctor would think him such a great find or would offer to pay so high a sum for him; so he accepted clement's proffer. the fiddler poked his purchase into one of his wide pockets, turned back to skansen, and went into a moss-covered hut, where there were neither visitors nor guards. he closed the door after him, took out the midget, who was still bound hand and foot and gagged, and laid him down gently on a bench. "now listen to what i say!" said clement. "i know of course that such as you do not like to be seen of men, but prefer to go about and busy yourselves in your own way. therefore i have decided to give you your liberty--but only on condition that you will remain in this park until i permit you to leave. if you agree to this, nod your head three times." clement gazed at the midget with confident expectation, but the latter did not move a muscle. "you shall not fare badly," continued clement. "i'll see to it that you are fed every day, and you will have so much to do there that the time will not seem long to you. but you mustn't go elsewhere till i give you leave. now we'll agree as to a signal. so long as i set your food out in a white bowl you are to stay. when i set it out in a blue one you may go." clement paused again, expecting the midget to give the sign of approval, but he did not stir. "very well," said clement, "then there's no choice but to show you to the master of this place. then you'll be put in a glass case, and all the people in the big city of stockholm will come and stare at you." this scared the midget, and he promptly gave the signal. "that was right," said clement as he cut the cord that bound the midget's hands. then he hurried toward the door. the boy unloosed the bands around his ankles and tore away the gag before thinking of anything else. when he turned to clement to thank him, he had gone. just outside the door clement met a handsome, noble-looking gentleman, who was on his way to a place close by from which there was a beautiful outlook. clement could not recall having seen the stately old man before, but the latter must surely have noticed clement sometime when he was playing the fiddle, because he stopped and spoke to him. "good day, clement!" he said. "how do you do? you are not ill, are you? i think you have grown a bit thin of late." there was such an expression of kindliness about the old gentleman that clement plucked up courage and told him of his homesickness. "what!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "are you homesick when you are in stockholm? it can't be possible!" he looked almost offended. then he reflected that it was only an ignorant old peasant from hälsingland that he talked with--and so resumed his friendly attitude. "surely you have never heard how the city of stockholm was founded? if you had, you would comprehend that your anxiety to get away is only a foolish fancy. come with me to the bench over yonder and i will tell you something about stockholm." when the old gentleman was seated on the bench he glanced down at the city, which spread in all its glory below him, and he drew a deep breath, as if he wished to drink in all the beauty of the landscape. thereupon he turned to the fiddler. "look, clement!" he said, and as he talked he traced with his cane a little map in the sand in front of them. "here lies uppland, and here, to the south, a point juts out, which is split up by a number of bays. and here we have sörmland with another point, which is just as cut up and points straight north. here, from the west, comes a lake filled with islands: it is lake mälar. from the east comes another body of water, which can barely squeeze in between the islands and islets. it is the east sea. here, clement, where uppland joins sörmland and mälaren joins the east sea, comes a short river, in the centre of which lie four little islets that divide the river into several tributaries--one of which is called norriström but was formerly stocksund. "in the beginning these islets were common wooded islands, such as one finds in plenty on lake mälar even to-day, and for ages they were entirely uninhabited. they were well located between two bodies of water and two bodies of land; but this no one remarked. year after year passed; people settled along lake mälar and in the archipelago, but these river islands attracted no settlers. sometimes it happened that a seafarer put into port at one of them and pitched his tent for the night; but no one remained there long. "one day a fisherman, who lived on liding island, out in salt fiord, steered his boat toward lake mälar, where he had such good luck with his fishing that he forgot to start for home in time. he got no farther than the four islets, and the best he could do was to land on one and wait until later in the night, when there would be bright moonlight. "it was late summer and warm. the fisherman hauled his boat on land, lay down beside it, his head resting upon a stone, and fell asleep. when he awoke the moon had been up a long while. it hung right above him and shone with such splendour that it was like broad daylight. "the man jumped to his feet and was about to push his boat into the water, when he saw a lot of black specks moving out in the stream. a school of seals was heading full speed for the island. when the fisherman saw that they intended to crawl up on land, he bent down for his spear, which he always took with him in the boat. but when he straightened up, he saw no seals. instead, there stood on the strand the most beautiful young maidens, dressed in green, trailing satin robes, with pearl crowns upon their heads. the fisherman understood that these were mermaids who lived on desolate rock islands far out at sea and had assumed seal disguises in order to come up on land and enjoy the moonlight on the green islets. "he laid down the spear very cautiously, and when the young maidens came up on the island to play, he stole behind and surveyed them. he had heard that sea-nymphs were so beautiful and fascinating that no one could see them and not be enchanted by their charms; and he had to admit that this was not too much to say of them. "when he had stood for a while under the shadow of the trees and watched the dance, he went down to the strand, took one of the seal skins lying there, and hid it under a stone. then he went back to his boat, lay down beside it, and pretended to be asleep. "presently he saw the young maidens trip down to the strand to don their seal skins. at first all was play and laughter, which was changed to weeping and wailing when one of the mermaids could not find her seal robe. her companions ran up and down the strand and helped her search for it, but no trace could they find. while they were seeking they noticed that the sky was growing pale and the day was breaking, so they could tarry no longer, and they all swam away, leaving behind the one whose seal skin was missing. she sat on the strand and wept. "the fisherman felt sorry for her, of course, but he forced himself to lie still till daybreak. then he got up, pushed the boat into the water, and stepped into it to make it appear that he saw her by chance after he had lifted the oars. "'who are you?' he called out. 'are you shipwrecked?' "she ran toward him and asked if he had seen her seal skin. the fisherman looked as if he did not know what she was talking about. she sat down again and wept. then he determined to take her with him in the boat. 'come with me to my cottage,' he commanded, 'and my mother will take care of you. you can't stay here on the island, where you have neither food nor shelter!' he talked so convincingly that she was persuaded to step into his boat. "both the fisherman and his mother were very kind to the poor mermaid, and she seemed to be happy with them. she grew more contented every day and helped the older woman with her work, and was exactly like any other island lass--only she was much prettier. one day the fisherman asked her if she would be his wife, and she did not object, but at once said yes. "preparations were made for the wedding. the mermaid dressed as a bride in her green, trailing robe with the shimmering pearl crown she had worn when the fisherman first saw her. there was neither church nor parson on the island at that time, so the bridal party seated themselves in the boats to row up to the first church they should find. "the fisherman had the mermaid and his mother in his boat, and he rowed so well that he was far ahead of all the others. when he had come so far that he could see the islet in the river, where he won his bride, he could not help smiling. "'what are you smiling at?' she asked. "'oh, i'm thinking of that night when i hid your seal skin,' answered the fisherman; for he felt so sure of her that he thought there was no longer any need for him to conceal anything. "'what are you saying?' asked the bride, astonished. 'surely i have never possessed a seal skin!' it appeared she had forgotten everything. "'don't you recollect how you danced with the mermaids?' he asked. "'i don't know what you mean,' said the bride. 'i think that you must have dreamed a strange dream last night.' "if i show you your seal skin, you'll probably believe me!' laughed the fisherman, promptly turning the boat toward the islet. they stepped ashore and he brought the seal skin out from under the stone where he had hidden it. "but the instant the bride set eyes on the seal skin she grasped it and drew it over her head. it snuggled close to her--as if there was life in it--and immediately she threw herself into the stream. "the bridegroom saw her swim away and plunged into the water after her; but he could not catch up to her. when he saw that he couldn't stop her in any other way, in his grief he seized his spear and hurled it. he aimed better than he had intended, for the poor mermaid gave a piercing shriek and disappeared in the depths. "the fisherman stood on the strand waiting for her to appear again. he observed that the water around him began to take on a soft sheen, a beauty that he had never seen before. it shimmered in pink and white, like the colour-play on the inside of sea shells. "as the glittering water lapped the shores, the fisherman thought that they too were transformed. they began to blossom and waft their perfumes. a soft sheen spread over them and they also took on a beauty which they had never possessed before. "he understood how all this had come to pass. for it is thus with mermaids: one who beholds them must needs find them more beautiful than any one else, and the mermaid's blood being mixed with the water that bathed the shores, her beauty was transferred to both. all who saw them must love them and yearn for them. this was their legacy from the mermaid." when the stately old gentleman had got thus far in his narrative he turned to clement and looked at him. clement nodded reverently but made no comment, as he did not wish to cause a break in the story. "now you must bear this in mind, clement," the old gentleman continued, with a roguish glint in his eyes. "from that time on people emigrated to the islands. at first only fishermen and peasants settled there, but others, too, were attracted to them. one day the king and his earl sailed up the stream. they started at once to talk of these islands, having observed they were so situated that every vessel that sailed toward lake mälar had to pass them. the earl suggested that there ought to be a lock put on the channel which could be opened or closed at will, to let in merchant vessels and shut out pirates. "this idea was carried out," said the old gentleman, as he rose and began to trace in the sand again with his cane. "on the largest of these islands the earl erected a fortress with a strong tower, which was called 'kärnan.' and around the island a wall was built. here, at the north and south ends of the wall, they made gates and placed strong towers over them. across the other islands they built bridges; these were likewise equipped with high towers. out in the water, round about, they put a wreath of piles with bars that could open and close, so that no vessel could sail past without permission. "therefore you see, clement, the four islands which had lain so long unnoticed were soon strongly fortified. but this was not all, for the shores and the sound tempted people, and before long they came from all quarters to settle there. they built a church, which has since been called 'storkyrkan.' here it stands, near the castle. and here, within the walls, were the little huts the pioneers built for themselves. they were primitive, but they served their purpose. more was not needed at that time to make the place pass for a city. and the city was named stockholm. "there came a day, clement, when the earl who had begun the work went to his final rest, and stockholm was without a master builder. monks called the gray friars came to the country. stockholm attracted them. they asked permission to erect a monastery there, so the king gave them an island--one of the smaller ones--this one facing lake mälar. there they built, and the place was called gray friars' island. other monks came, called the black friars. they, too, asked for right to build in stockholm, near the south gate. on this, the larger of the islands north of the city, a 'holy ghost house,' or hospital, was built; while on the smaller one thrifty men put up a mill, and along the little islands close by the monks fished. as you know, there is only one island now, for the canal between the two has filled up; but it is still called holy ghost island. "and now, clement, all the little wooded islands were dotted with houses, but still people kept streaming in; for these shores and waters have the power to draw people to them. hither came pious women of the order of saint clara and asked for ground to build upon. for them there was no choice but to settle on the north shore, at norrmalm, as it is called. you may be sure that they were not over pleased with this location, for across norrmalm ran a high ridge, and on that the city had its gallows hill, so that it was a detested spot. nevertheless the poor clares erected their church and their convent on the strand below the ridge. after they were established there they soon found plenty of followers. upon the ridge itself were built a hospital and a church, consecrated to saint goran, and just below the ridge a church was erected to saint jacob. "and even at södermalm, where the mountain rises perpendicularly from the strand, they began to build. there they raised a church to saint mary. "but you must not think that only cloister folk moved to stockholm! there were also many others--principally german tradesmen and artisans. these were more skilled than the swedes, and were well received. they settled within the walls of the city where they pulled down the wretched little cabins that stood there and built high, magnificent stone houses. but space was not plentiful within the walls, therefore they had to build the houses close together, with gables facing the narrow by-lanes. so you see, clement, that stockholm could attract people!" at this point in the narrative another gentleman appeared and walked rapidly down the path toward the man who was talking to clement, but he waved his hand, and the other remained at a distance. the dignified old gentleman still sat on the bench beside the fiddler. "now, clement, you must render me a service," he said. "i have no time to talk more with you, but i will send you a book about stockholm and you must read it from cover to cover. i have, so to speak, laid the foundations of stockholm for you. study the rest out for yourself and learn how the city has thrived and changed. read how the little, narrow, wall-enclosed city on the islands has spread into this great sea of houses below us. read how, on the spot where the dark tower kärnan once stood, the beautiful, light castle below us was erected and how the gray friars' church has been turned into the burial place of the swedish kings; read how islet after islet was built up with factories; how the ridge was lowered and the sound filled in; how the truck gardens at the south and north ends of the city have been converted into beautiful parks or built-up quarters; how the king's private deer park has become the people's favourite pleasure resort. you must make yourself at home here, clement. this city does not belong exclusively to the stockholmers. it belongs to you and to all swedes. "as you read about stockholm, remember that i have spoken the truth, for the city has the power to draw every one to it. first the king moved here, then the nobles built their palaces here, and then one after another was attracted to the place, so that now, as you see, stockholm is not a city unto itself or for nearby districts; it has grown into a city for the whole kingdom. "you know, clement, that there are judicial courts in every parish throughout the land, but in stockholm they have jurisdiction for the whole nation. you know that there are judges in every district court in the country, but at stockholm there is only one court, to which all the others are accountable. you know that there are barracks and troops in every part of the land, but those at stockholm command the whole army. everywhere in the country you will find railroads, but the whole great national system is controlled and managed at stockholm; here you will find the governing boards for the clergy, for teachers, for physicians, for bailiffs and jurors. this is the heart of your country, clement. all the change you have in your pocket is coined here, and the postage stamps you stick on your letters are made here. there is something here for every swede. here no one need feel homesick, for here all swedes are at home. "and when you read of all that has been brought here to stockholm, think too of the latest that the city has attracted to itself: these old-time peasant cottages here at skansen; the old dances; the old costumes and house-furnishings; the musicians and story-tellers. everything good of the old times stockholm has tempted here to skansen to do it honour, that it may, in turn, stand before the people with renewed glory. "but, first and last, remember as you read about stockholm that you are to sit in this place. you must see how the waves sparkle in joyous play and how the shores shimmer with beauty. you will come under the spell of their witchery, clement." the handsome old gentleman had raised his voice, so that it rang out strong and commanding, and his eyes shone. then he rose, and, with a wave of his hand to clement, walked away. clement understood that the one who had been talking to him was a great man, and he bowed to him as low as he could. the next day came a royal lackey with a big red book and a letter for clement, and in the letter it said that the book was from the king. after that the little old man, clement larsson, was lightheaded for several days, and it was impossible to get a sensible word out of him. when a week had gone by, he went to the superintendent and gave in his notice. he simply had to go home. "why must you go home? can't you learn to be content here?" asked the doctor. "oh, i'm contented here," said clement. "that matter troubles me no longer, but i must go home all the same." clement was quite perturbed because the king had said that he should learn all about stockholm and be happy there. but he could not rest until he had told every one at home that the king had said those words to him. he could not renounce the idea of standing on the church knoll at home and telling high and low that the king had been so kind to him, that he had sat beside him on the bench, and had sent him a book, and had taken the time to talk to him--a poor fiddler--for a whole hour, in order to cure him of his homesickness. it was good to relate this to the laplanders and dalecarlian peasant girls at skansen, but what was that compared to being able to tell of it at home? even if clement were to end in the poorhouse, it wouldn't be so hard after this. he was a totally different man from what he had been, and he would be respected and honoured in a very different way. this new yearning took possession of clement. he simply had to go up to the doctor and say that he must go home. gorgo, the eagle in the mountain glen far up among the mountains of lapland there was an old eagle's nest on a ledge which projected from a high cliff. the nest was made of dry twigs of pine and spruce, interlaced one with another until they formed a perfect network. year by year the nest had been repaired and strengthened. it was about two metres wide, and nearly as high as a laplander's hut. the cliff on which the eagle's nest was situated towered above a big glen, which was inhabited in summer by a flock of wild geese, as it was an excellent refuge for them. it was so secluded between cliffs that not many knew of it, even among the laplanders themselves. in the heart of this glen there was a small, round lake in which was an abundance of food for the tiny goslings, and on the tufted lake shores which were covered with osier bushes and dwarfed birches the geese found fine nesting places. in all ages eagles had lived on the mountain, and geese in the glen. every year the former carried off a few of the latter, but they were very careful not to take so many that the wild geese would be afraid to remain in the glen. the geese, in their turn, found the eagles quite useful. they were robbers, to be sure, but they kept other robbers away. two years before nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese the old leader-goose, akka from kebnekaise, was standing at the foot of the mountain slope looking toward the eagle's nest. the eagles were in the habit of starting on their chase soon after sunrise; during the summers that akka had lived in the glen she had watched every morning for their departure to find if they stopped in the glen to hunt, or if they flew beyond it to other hunting grounds. she did not have to wait long before the two eagles left the ledge on the cliff. stately and terror-striking they soared into the air. they directed their course toward the plain, and akka breathed a sigh of relief. the old leader-goose's days of nesting and rearing of young were over, and during the summer she passed the time going from one goose range to another, giving counsel regarding the brooding and care of the young. aside from this she kept an eye out not only for eagles but also for mountain fox and owls and all other enemies who were a menace to the wild geese and their young. about noontime akka began to watch for the eagles again. this she had done every day during all the summers that she had lived in the glen. she could tell at once by their flight if their hunt had been successful, and in that event she felt relieved for the safety of those who belonged to her. but on this particular day she had not seen the eagles return. "i must be getting old and stupid," she thought, when she had waited a time for them. "the eagles have probably been home this long while." in the afternoon she looked toward the cliff again, expecting to see the eagles perched on the rocky ledge where they usually took their afternoon rest; toward evening, when they took their bath in the dale lake, she tried again to get sight of them, but failed. again she bemoaned the fact that she was growing old. she was so accustomed to having the eagles on the mountain above her that she could not imagine the possibility of their not having returned. the following morning akka was awake in good season to watch for the eagles; but she did not see them. on the other hand, she heard in the morning stillness a cry that sounded both angry and plaintive, and it seemed to come from the eagles' nest. "can there possibly be anything amiss with the eagles?" she wondered. she spread her wings quickly, and rose so high that she could perfectly well look down into the nest. there she saw neither of the eagles. there was no one in the nest save a little half-fledged eaglet who was screaming for food. akka sank down toward the eagles' nest, slowly and reluctantly. it was a gruesome place to come to! it was plain what kind of robber folk lived there! in the nest and on the cliff ledge lay bleached bones, bloody feathers, pieces of skin, hares' heads, birds' beaks, and the tufted claws of grouse. the eaglet, who was lying in the midst of this, was repulsive to look upon, with his big, gaping bill, his awkward, down-clad body, and his undeveloped wings where the prospective quills stuck out like thorns. at last akka conquered her repugnance and alighted on the edge of the nest, at the same time glancing about her anxiously in every direction, for each second she expected to see the old eagles coming back. "it is well that some one has come at last," cried the baby eagle. "fetch me some food at once!" "well, well, don't be in such haste," said akka. "tell me first where your father and mother are." "that's what i should like to know myself. they went off yesterday morning and left me a lemming to live upon while they were away. you can believe that was eaten long ago. it's a shame for mother to let me starve in this way!" akka began to think that the eagles had really been shot, and she reasoned that if she were to let the eaglet starve she might perhaps be rid of the whole robber tribe for all time. but it went very much against her not to succour a deserted young one so far as she could. "why do you sit there and stare?" snapped the eaglet. "didn't you hear me say i want food?" akka spread her wings and sank down to the little lake in the glen. a moment later she returned to the eagles' nest with a salmon trout in her bill. the eaglet flew into a temper when she dropped the fish in front of him. "do you think i can eat such stuff?" he shrieked, pushing it aside, and trying to strike akka with his bill. "fetch me a willow grouse or a lemming, do you hear?" akka stretched her head forward, and gave the eaglet a sharp nip in the neck. "let me say to you," remarked the old goose, "that if i'm to procure food for you, you must be satisfied with what i give you. your father and mother are dead, and from them you can get no help; but if you want to lie here and starve to death while you wait for grouse and lemming, i shall not hinder you." when akka had spoken her mind she promptly retired, and did not show her face in the eagles' nest again for some time. but when she did return, the eaglet had eaten the fish, and when she dropped another in front of him he swallowed it at once, although it was plain that he found it very distasteful. akka had imposed upon herself a tedious task. the old eagles never appeared again, and she alone had to procure for the eaglet all the food he needed. she gave him fish and frogs and he did not seem to fare badly on this diet, but grew big and strong. he soon forgot his parents, the eagles, and fancied that akka was his real mother. akka, in turn, loved him as if he had been her own child. she tried to give him a good bringing up, and to cure him of his wildness and overbearing ways. after a fortnight akka observed that the time was approaching for her to moult and put on a new feather dress so as to be ready to fly. for a whole moon she would be unable to carry food to the baby eaglet, and he might starve to death. so akka said to him one day: "gorgo, i can't come to you any more with fish. everything depends now upon your pluck--which means can you dare to venture into the glen, so i can continue to procure food for you? you must choose between starvation and flying down to the glen, but that, too, may cost you your life." without a second's hesitation the eaglet stepped upon the edge of the nest. barely taking the trouble to measure the distance to the bottom, he spread his tiny wings and started away. he rolled over and over in space, but nevertheless made enough use of his wings to reach the ground almost unhurt. down there in the glen gorgo passed the summer in company with the little goslings, and was a good comrade for them. since he regarded himself as a gosling, he tried to live as they lived; when they swam in the lake he followed them until he came near drowning. it was most embarrassing to him that he could not learn to swim, and he went to akka and complained of his inability. "why can't i swim like the others?" he asked. "your claws grew too hooked, and your toes too large while you were up there on the cliff," akka replied. "but you'll make a fine bird all the same." the eaglet's wings soon grew so large that they could carry him; but not until autumn, when the goslings learned to fly, did it dawn upon him that he could use them for flight. there came a proud time for him, for at this sport he was the peer of them all. his companions never stayed up in the air any longer than they had to, but he stayed there nearly the whole day, and practised the art of flying. so far it had not occurred to him that he was of another species than the geese, but he could not help noting a number of things that surprised him, and he questioned akka constantly. "why do grouse and lemming run and hide when they see my shadow on the cliff?" he queried. "they don't show such fear of the other goslings." "your wings grew too big when you were on the cliff," said akka. "it is that which frightens the little wretches. but don't be unhappy because of that. you'll be a fine bird all the same." after the eagle had learned to fly, he taught himself to fish, and to catch frogs. but by and by he began to ponder this also. "how does it happen that i live on fish and frogs?" he asked. "the other goslings don't." "this is due to the fact that i had no other food to give you when you were on the cliff," said akka. "but don't let that make you sad. you'll be a fine bird all the same." when the wild geese began their autumn moving, gorgo flew along with the flock, regarding himself all the while as one of them. the air was filled with birds who were on their way south, and there was great excitement among them when akka appeared with an eagle in her train. the wild goose flock was continually surrounded by swarms of the curious who loudly expressed their astonishment. akka bade them be silent, but it was impossible to stop so many wagging tongues. "why do they call me an eagle?" gorgo asked repeatedly, growing more and more exasperated. "can't they see that i'm a wild goose? i'm no bird-eater who preys upon his kind. how dare they give me such an ugly name?" one day they flew above a barn yard where many chickens walked on a dump heap and picked. "an eagle! an eagle!" shrieked the chickens, and started to run for shelter. but gorgo, who had heard the eagles spoken of as savage criminals, could not control his anger. he snapped his wings together and shot down to the ground, striking his talons into one of the hens. "i'll teach you, i will, that i'm no eagle!" he screamed furiously, and struck with his beak. that instant he heard akka call to him from the air, and rose obediently. the wild goose flew toward him and began to reprimand him. "what are you trying to do?" she cried, beating him with her bill. "was it perhaps your intention to tear that poor hen to pieces?" but when the eagle took his punishment from the wild goose without a protest, there arose from the great bird throng around them a perfect storm of taunts and gibes. the eagle heard this, and turned toward akka with flaming eyes, as though he would have liked to attack her. but he suddenly changed his mind, and with quick wing strokes bounded into the air, soaring so high that no call could reach him; and he sailed around up there as long as the wild geese saw him. two days later he appeared again in the wild goose flock. "i know who i am," he said to akka. "since i am an eagle, i must live as becomes an eagle; but i think that we can be friends all the same. you or any of yours i shall never attack." but akka had set her heart on successfully training an eagle into a mild and harmless bird, and she could not tolerate his wanting to do as he chose. "do you think that i wish to be the friend of a bird-eater?" she asked. "live as i have taught you to live, and you may travel with my flock as heretofore." both were proud and stubborn, and neither of them would yield. it ended in akka's forbidding the eagle to show his face in her neighbourhood, and her anger toward him was so intense that no one dared speak his name in her presence. after that gorgo roamed around the country, alone and shunned, like all great robbers. he was often downhearted, and certainly longed many a time for the days when he thought himself a wild goose, and played with the merry goslings. among the animals he had a great reputation for courage. they used to say of him that he feared no one but his foster-mother, akka. and they could also say of him that he never used violence against a wild goose. in captivity gorgo was only three years old, and had not as yet thought about marrying and procuring a home for himself, when he was captured one day by a hunter, and sold to the skansen zoölogical garden, where there were already two eagles held captive in a cage built of iron bars and steel wires. the cage stood out in the open, and was so large that a couple of trees had easily been moved into it, and quite a large cairn was piled up in there. notwithstanding all this, the birds were unhappy. they sat motionless on the same spot nearly all day. their pretty, dark feather dresses became rough and lustreless, and their eyes were riveted with hopeless longing on the sky without. during the first week of gorgo's captivity he was still awake and full of life, but later a heavy torpor came upon him. he perched himself on one spot, like the other eagles, and stared at vacancy. he no longer knew how the days passed. one morning when gorgo sat in his usual torpor, he heard some one call to him from below. he was so drowsy that he could barely rouse himself enough to lower his glance. "who is calling me?" he asked. "oh, gorgo! don't you know me? it's thumbietot who used to fly around with the wild geese." "is akka also captured?" asked gorgo in the tone of one who is trying to collect his thoughts after a long sleep. "no; akka, the white goosey-gander, and the whole flock are probably safe and sound up in lapland at this season," said the boy. "it's only i who am a prisoner here." as the boy was speaking he noticed that gorgo averted his glance, and began to stare into space again. "golden eagle!" cried the boy; "i have not forgotten that once you carried me back to the wild geese, and that you spared the white goosey-gander's life! tell me if i can be of any help to you!" gorgo scarcely raised his head. "don't disturb me, thumbietot," he yawned. "i'm sitting here dreaming that i am free, and am soaring away up among the clouds. i don't want to be awake." "you must rouse yourself, and see what goes on around you," the boy admonished, "or you will soon look as wretched as the other eagles." "i wish i were as they are! they are so lost in their dreams that nothing more can trouble them," said the eagle. when night came, and all three eagles were asleep, there was a light scraping on the steel wires stretched across the top of the cage. the two listless old captives did not allow themselves to be disturbed by the noise, but gorgo awakened. "who's there? who is moving up on the roof?" he asked. "it's thumbietot, gorgo," answered the boy. "i'm sitting here filing away at the steel wires so that you can escape." the eagle raised his head, and saw in the night light how the boy sat and filed the steel wires at the top of the cage. he felt hopeful for an instant, but soon discouragement got the upper hand. "i'm a big bird, thumbietot," said gorgo; "how can you ever manage to file away enough wires for me to come out? you'd better quit that, and leave me in peace." "oh, go to sleep, and don't bother about me!" said the boy. "i'll not be through to-night nor to-morrow night, but i shall try to free you in time for here you'll become a total wreck." gorgo fell asleep. when he awoke the next morning he saw at a glance that a number of wires had been filed. that day he felt less drowsy than he had done in the past. he spread his wings, and fluttered from branch to branch to get the stiffness out of his joints. one morning early, just as the first streak of sunlight made its appearance, thumbietot awakened the eagle. "try now, gorgo!" he whispered. the eagle looked up. the boy had actually filed off so many wires that now there was a big hole in the wire netting. gorgo flapped his wings and propelled himself upward. twice he missed and fell back into the cage; but finally he succeeded in getting out. with proud wing strokes he soared into the clouds. little thumbietot sat and gazed after him with a mournful expression. he wished that some one would come and give him his freedom too. the boy was domiciled now at skansen. he had become acquainted with all the animals there, and had made many friends among them. he had to admit that there was so much to see and learn there that it was not difficult for him to pass the time. to be sure his thoughts went forth every day to morten goosey-gander and his other comrades, and he yearned for them. "if only i weren't bound by my promise," he thought, "i'd find some bird to take me to them!" it may seem strange that clement larsson had not restored the boy's liberty, but one must remember how excited the little fiddler had been when he left skansen. the morning of his departure he had thought of setting out the midget's food in a blue bowl, but, unluckily, he had been unable to find one. all the skansen folk--lapps, peasant girls, artisans, and gardeners--had come to bid him good-bye, and he had had no time to search for a blue bowl. it was time to start, and at the last moment he had to ask the old laplander to help him. "one of the tiny folk happens to be living here at skansen," said clement, "and every morning i set out a little food for him. will you do me the favour of taking these few coppers and purchasing a blue bowl with them? put a little gruel and milk in it, and to-morrow morning set it out under the steps of bollnäs cottage." the old laplander looked surprised, but there was no time for clement to explain further, as he had to be off to the railway station. the laplander went down to the zoölogical village to purchase the bowl. as he saw no blue one that he thought appropriate, he bought a white one, and this he conscientiously filled and set out every morning. that was why the boy had not been released from his pledge. he knew that clement had gone away, but _he_ was not allowed to leave. that night the boy longed more than ever for his freedom. this was because summer had come now in earnest. during his travels he had suffered much in cold and stormy weather, and when he first came to skansen he had thought that perhaps it was just as well that he had been compelled to break the journey. he would have been frozen to death had he gone to lapland in the month of may. but now it was warm; the earth was green-clad, birches and poplars were clothed in their satiny foliage, and the cherry trees--in fact all the fruit trees--were covered with blossoms. the berry bushes had green berries on their stems; the oaks had carefully unfolded their leaves, and peas, cabbages, and beans were growing in the vegetable garden at skansen. "now it must be warm up in lapland," thought the boy. "i should like to be seated on morten goosey-gander's back on a fine morning like this! it would be great fun to ride around in the warm, still air, and look down at the ground, as it now lies decked with green grass, and embellished with pretty blossoms." he sat musing on this when the eagle suddenly swooped down from the sky, and perched beside the boy, on top of the cage. "i wanted to try my wings to see if they were still good for anything," said gorgo. "you didn't suppose that i meant to leave you here in captivity? get up on my back, and i'll take you to your comrades." "no, that's impossible!" the boy answered. "i have pledged my word that i would stay here till i am liberated." "what sort of nonsense are you talking?" protested gorgo. "in the first place they brought you here against your will; then they forced you to promise that you would remain here. surely you must understand that such a promise one need not keep?" "oh, no, i must keep it," said the boy. "i thank you all the same for your kind intention, but you can't help me." "oh, can't i?" said gorgo. "we'll see about that!" in a twinkling he grasped nils holgersson in his big talons, and rose with him toward the skies, disappearing in a northerly direction. on over gÄstrikland the precious girdle _wednesday, june fifteenth_. the eagle kept on flying until he was a long distance north of stockholm. then he sank to a wooded hillock where he relaxed his hold on the boy. the instant thumbietot was out of gorgo's clutches he started to run back to the city as fast as he could. the eagle made a long swoop, caught up to the boy, and stopped him with his claw. "do you propose to go back to prison?" he demanded. "that's my affair. i can go where i like, for all of you!" retorted the boy, trying to get away. thereupon the eagle gripped him with his strong talons, and rose in the air. now gorgo circled over the entire province of uppland and did not stop again until he came to the great water-falls at Älvkarleby where he alighted on a rock in the middle of the rushing rapids below the roaring falls. again he relaxed his hold on the captive. the boy saw that here there was no chance of escape from the eagle. above them the white scum wall of the water-fall came tumbling down, and round about the river rushed along in a mighty torrent. thumbietot was very indignant to think that in this way he had been forced to become a promise-breaker. he turned his back to the eagle and would not speak to him. now that the bird had set the boy down in a place from which he could not run away, he told him confidentially that he had been brought up by akka from kebnekaise, and that he had quarrelled with his foster-mother. "now, thumbietot, perhaps you understand why i wish to take you back to the wild geese," he said. "i have heard that you are in great favour with akka, and it was my purpose to ask you to make peace between us." as soon as the boy comprehended that the eagle had not carried him off in a spirit of contrariness, he felt kindly toward him. "i should like very much to help you," he returned, "but i am bound by my promise." thereupon he explained to the eagle how he had fallen into captivity and how clement larsson had left skansen without setting him free. nevertheless the eagle would not relinquish his plan. "listen to me, thumbietot," he said. "my wings can carry you wherever you wish to go, and my eyes can search out whatever you wish to find. tell me how the man looks who exacted this promise from you, and i will find him and take you to him. then it is for you to do the rest." thumbietot approved of the proposition. "i can see, gorgo, that you have had a wise bird like akka for a foster-mother," the boy remarked. he gave a graphic description of clement larsson, and added that he had heard at skansen that the little fiddler was from hälsingland. "we'll search for him through the whole of hälsingland--from ljungby to mellansjö; from great mountain to hornland," said the eagle. "to-morrow before sundown you shall have a talk with the man!" "i fear you are promising more than you can perform," doubted the boy. "i should be a mighty poor eagle if i couldn't do that much," said gorgo. so when gorgo and thumbietot left Älvkarleby they were good friends, and the boy willingly took his mount for a ride on the eagle's back. thus he had an opportunity to see much of the country. when clutched in the eagle's talons he had seen nothing. perhaps it was just as well, for in the forenoon he had travelled over upsala, Österby's big factories, the dannemora mine, and the ancient castle of Örbyhus, and he would have been sadly disappointed at not seeing them had he known of their proximity. the eagle bore him speedily over gästrikland. in the southern part of the province there was very little to tempt the eye. but as they flew northward, it began to be interesting. "this country is clad in a spruce skirt and a gray-stone jacket," thought the boy. "but around its waist it wears a girdle which has not its match in value, for it is embroidered with blue lakes and green groves. the great ironworks adorn it like a row of precious stones, and its buckle is a whole city with castles and cathedrals and great clusters of houses." when the travellers arrived in the northern forest region, gorgo alighted on top of a mountain. as the boy dismounted, the eagle said: "there's game in this forest, and i can't forget my late captivity and feel really free until i have gone a-hunting. you won't mind my leaving you for a while?" "no, of course, i won't," the boy assured him. "you may go where you like if only you are back here by sundown," said the eagle, as he flew off. the boy sat on a stone gazing across the bare, rocky ground and the great forests round about. he felt rather lonely. but soon he heard singing in the forest below, and saw something bright moving amongst the trees. presently he saw a blue and yellow banner, and he knew by the songs and the merry chatter that it was being borne at the head of a procession. on it came, up the winding path; he wondered where it and those who followed it were going. he couldn't believe that anybody would come up to such an ugly, desolate waste as the place where he sat. but the banner was nearing the forest border, and behind it marched many happy people for whom it had led the way. suddenly there was life and movement all over the mountain plain; after that there was so much for the boy to see that he didn't have a dull moment. forest day on the mountain's broad back, where gorgo left thumbietot, there had been a forest fire ten years before. since that time the charred trees had been felled and removed, and the great fire-swept area had begun to deck itself with green along the edges, where it skirted the healthy forest. however, the larger part of the top was still barren and appallingly desolate. charred stumps, standing sentinel-like between the rock ledges, bore witness that once there had been a fine forest here; but no fresh roots sprang from the ground. one day in the early summer all the children in the parish had assembled in front of the schoolhouse near the fire-swept mountain. each child carried either a spade or a hoe on its shoulder, and a basket of food in its hand. as soon as all were assembled, they marched in a long procession toward the forest. the banner came first, with the teachers on either side of it; then followed a couple of foresters and a wagon load of pine shrubs and spruce seeds; then the children. the procession did not pause in any of the birch groves near the settlements, but marched on deep into the forest. as it moved along, the foxes stuck their heads out of the lairs in astonishment, and wondered what kind of backwoods people these were. as they marched past old coal pits where charcoal kilns were fired every autumn, the cross-beaks twisted their hooked bills, and asked one another what kind of coalers these might be who were now thronging the forest. finally, the procession reached the big, burnt mountain plain. the rocks had been stripped of the fine twin-flower creepers that once covered them; they had been robbed of the pretty silver moss and the attractive reindeer moss. around the dark water gathered in clefts and hollows there was now no wood-sorrel. the little patches of soil in crevices and between stones were without ferns, without star-flowers, without all the green and red and light and soft and soothing things which usually clothe the forest ground. it was as if a bright light flashed upon the mountain when all the parish children covered it. here again was something sweet and delicate; something fresh and rosy; something young and growing. perhaps these children would bring to the poor abandoned forest a little new life. when the children had rested and eaten their luncheon, they seized hoes and spades and began to work. the foresters showed them what to do. they set out shrub after shrub on every clear spot of earth they could find. as they worked, they talked quite knowingly among themselves of how the little shrubs they were planting would bind the soil so that it could not get away, and of how new soil would form under the trees. by and by seeds would drop, and in a few years they would be picking both strawberries and raspberries where now there were only bare rocks. the little shrubs which they were planting would gradually become tall trees. perhaps big houses and great splendid ships would be built from them! if the children had not come here and planted while there was still a little soil in the clefts, all the earth would have been carried away by wind and water, and the mountain could never more have been clothed in green. "it was well that we came," said the children. "we were just in the nick of time!" they felt very important. while they were working on the mountain, their parents were at home. by and by they began to wonder how the children were getting along. of course it was only a joke about their planting a forest, but it might be amusing to see what they were trying to do. so presently both fathers and mothers were on their way to the forest. when they came to the outlying stock farms they met some of their neighbours. "are you going to the fire-swept mountain?" they asked. "that's where we're bound for." "to have a look at the children?" "yes, to see what they're up to." "it's only play, of course." "it isn't likely that there will be many forest trees planted by the youngsters. we have brought the coffee pot along so that we can have something warm to drink, since we must stay there all day with only lunch-basket provisions." so the parents of the children went on up the mountain. at first they thought only of how pretty it looked to see all the rosy-cheeked little children scattered over the gray hills. later, they observed how the children were working--how some were setting out shrubs, while others were digging furrows and sowing seeds. others again were pulling up heather to prevent its choking the young trees. they saw that the children took the work seriously and were so intent upon what they were doing that they scarcely had time to glance up. the fathers and mothers stood for a moment and looked on; then they too began to pull up heather--just for the fun of it. the children were the instructors, for they were already trained, and had to show their elders what to do. thus it happened that all the grown-ups who had come to watch the children took part in the work. then, of course, it became greater fun than before. by and by the children had even more help. other implements were needed, so a couple of long-legged boys were sent down to the village for spades and hoes. as they ran past the cabins, the stay-at-homes came out and asked: "what's wrong? has there been an accident?" "no, indeed! but the whole parish is up on the fire-swept mountain planting a forest." "if the whole parish is there, we can't stay at home!" so party after party of peasants went crowding to the top of the burnt mountain. they stood a moment and looked on. the temptation to join the workers was irresistible. "it's a pleasure to sow one's own acres in the spring, and to think of the grain that will spring up from the earth, but this work is even more alluring," they thought. not only slender blades would come from that sowing, but mighty trees with tall trunks and sturdy branches. it meant giving birth not merely to a summer's grain, but to many years' growths. it meant the awakening hum of insects, the song of the thrush, the play of grouse and all kinds of life on the desolate mountain. moreover, it was like raising a memorial for coming generations. they could have left a bare, treeless height as a heritage. instead they were to leave a glorious forest. coming generations would know their forefathers had been a good and wise folk and they would remember them with reverence and gratitude. a day in hÄlsingland a large green leaf _thursday, june sixteenth_. the following day the boy travelled over hälsingland. it spread beneath him with new, pale-green shoots on the pine trees, new birch leaves in the groves, new green grass in the meadows, and sprouting grain in the fields. it was a mountainous country, but directly through it ran a broad, light valley from either side of which branched other valleys--some short and narrow, some broad and long. "this land resembles a leaf," thought the boy, "for it's as green as a leaf, and the valleys subdivide it in about the same way as the veins of a leaf are foliated." the branch valleys, like the main one, were filled with lakes, rivers, farms, and villages. they snuggled, light and smiling, between the dark mountains until they were gradually squeezed together by the hills. there they were so narrow that they could not hold more than a little brook. on the high land between the valleys there were pine forests which had no even ground to grow upon. there were mountains standing all about, and the forest covered the whole, like a woolly hide stretched over a bony body. it was a picturesque country to look down upon, and the boy saw a good deal of it, because the eagle was trying to find the old fiddler, clement larsson, and flew from ravine to ravine looking for him. a little later in the morning there was life and movement on every farm. the doors of the cattle sheds were thrown wide open and the cows were let out. they were prettily coloured, small, supple and sprightly, and so sure-footed that they made the most comic leaps and bounds. after them came the calves and sheep, and it was plainly to be seen that they, too, were in the best of spirits. it grew livelier every moment in the farm yards. a couple of young girls with knapsacks on their backs walked among the cattle; a boy with a long switch kept the sheep together, and a little dog ran in and out among the cows, barking at the ones that tried to gore him. the farmer hitched a horse to a cart loaded with tubs of butter, boxes of cheese, and all kinds of eatables. the people laughed and chattered. they and the beasts were alike merry--as if looking forward to a day of real pleasure. a moment later all were on their way to the forest. one of the girls walked in the lead and coaxed the cattle with pretty, musical calls. the animals followed in a long line. the shepherd boy and the sheep-dog ran hither and thither, to see that no creature turned from the right course; and last came the farmer and his hired man. they walked beside the cart to prevent its being upset, for the road they followed was a narrow, stony forest path. it may have been the custom for all the peasants in hälsingland to send their cattle into the forests on the same day--or perhaps it only happened so that year; at any rate the boy saw how processions of happy people and cattle wandered out from every valley and every farm and rushed into the lonely forest, filling it with life. from the depths of the dense woods the boy heard the shepherd maidens' songs and the tinkle of the cow bells. many of the processions had long and difficult roads to travel; and the boy saw how they tramped through marshes, how they had to take roundabout ways to get past windfalls, and how, time and again, the carts bumped against stones and turned over with all their contents. but the people met all the obstacles with jokes and laughter. in the afternoon they came to a cleared space where cattle sheds and a couple of rude cabins had been built. the cows mooed with delight as they tramped on the luscious green grass in the yards between the cabins, and at once began grazing. the peasants, with merry chatter and banter, carried water and wood and all that had been brought in the carts into the larger cabin. presently smoke rose from the chimney and then the dairymaids, the shepherd boy, and the men squatted upon a flat rock and ate their supper. gorgo, the eagle, was certain that he should find clement larsson among those who were off for the forest. whenever he saw a stock farm procession, he sank down and scrutinized it with his sharp eyes; but hour after hour passed without his finding the one he sought. after much circling around, toward evening they came to a stony and desolate tract east of the great main valley. there the boy saw another outlying stock farm under him. the people and the cattle had arrived. the men were splitting wood, and the dairymaids were milking the cows. "look there!" said gorgo. "i think we've got him." he sank, and, to his great astonishment, the boy saw that the eagle was right. there indeed stood little clement larsson chopping wood. gorgo alighted on a pine tree in the thick woods a little away from the house. "i have fulfilled my obligation," said the eagle, with a proud toss of his head. "now you must try and have a word with the man. i'll perch here at the top of the thick pine and wait for you." the animals' new year's eve the day's work was done at the forest ranches, supper was over, and the peasants sat about and chatted. it was a long time since they had been in the forest of a summer's night, and they seemed reluctant to go to bed and sleep. it was as light as day, and the dairymaids were busy with their needle-work. ever and anon they raised their heads, looked toward the forest and smiled. "now we are here again!" they said. the town, with its unrest, faded from their minds, and the forest, with its peaceful stillness, enfolded them. when at home they had wondered how they should ever be able to endure the loneliness of the woods; but once there, they felt that they were having their best time. many of the young girls and young men from neighbouring ranches had come to call upon them, so that there were quite a lot of folk seated on the grass before the cabins, but they did not find it easy to start conversation. the men were going home the next day, so the dairymaids gave them little commissions and bade them take greetings to their friends in the village. this was nearly all that had been said. suddenly the eldest of the dairy girls looked up from her work and said laughingly: "there's no need of our sitting here so silent to-night, for we have two story-tellers with us. one is clement larsson, who sits beside me, and the other is bernhard from sunnasjö, who stands back there gazing toward black's ridge. i think that we should ask each of them to tell us a story. to the one who entertains us the better i shall give the muffler i am knitting." this proposal won hearty applause. the two competitors offered lame excuses, naturally, but were quickly persuaded. clement asked bernhard to begin, and he did not object. he knew little of clement larsson, but assumed that he would come out with some story about ghosts and trolls. as he knew that people liked to listen to such things, he thought it best to choose something of the same sort. "some centuries ago," he began, "a dean here in delsbo township was riding through the dense forest on a new year's eve. he was on horseback, dressed in fur coat and cap. on the pommel of his saddle hung a satchel in which he kept the communion service, the prayer-book, and the clerical robe. he had been summoned on a parochial errand to a remote forest settlement, where he had talked with a sick person until late in the evening. now he was on his way home, but feared that he should not get back to the rectory until after midnight. "as he had to sit in the saddle when he should have been at home in his bed, he was glad it was not a rough night. the weather was mild, the air still and the skies overcast. behind the clouds hung a full round moon which gave some light, although it was out of sight. but for that faint light it would have been impossible for him to distinguish paths from fields, for that was a snowless winter, and all things had the same grayish-brown colour. "the horse the dean rode was one he prized very highly. he was strong and sturdy, and quite as wise as a human being. he could find his way home from any place in the township. the dean had observed this on several occasions, and he relied upon it with such a sense of security that he never troubled himself to think where he was going when he rode that horse. so he came along now in the gray night, through the bewildering forest, with the reins dangling and his thoughts far away. "he was thinking of the sermon he had to preach on the morrow, and of much else besides, and it was a long time before it occurred to him to notice how far along he was on his homeward way. when he did glance up, he saw that the forest was as dense about him as at the beginning, and he was somewhat surprised, for he had ridden so long that he should have come to the inhabited portion of the township. "delsbo was about the same then as now. the church and parsonage and all the large farms and villages were at the northern end of the township, while at the southern part there were only forests and mountains. the dean saw that he was still in the unpopulated district and knew that he was in the southern part and must ride to the north to get home. there were no stars, nor was there a moon to guide him; but he was a man who had the four cardinal points in his head. he had the positive feeling that he was travelling southward, or possibly eastward. "he intended to turn the horse at once, but hesitated. the animal had never strayed, and it did not seem likely that he would do so now. it was more likely that the dean was mistaken. he had been far away in thought and had not looked at the road. so he let the horse continue in the same direction, and again lost himself in his reverie. "suddenly a big branch struck him and almost swept him off the horse. then he realized that he must find out where he was. "he glanced down and saw that he was riding over a soft marsh, where there was no beaten path. the horse trotted along at a brisk pace and showed no uncertainty. again the dean was positive that he was going in the wrong direction, and now he did not hesitate to interfere. he seized the reins and turned the horse about, guiding him back to the roadway. no sooner was he there than he turned again and made straight for the woods. "the dean was certain that he was going wrong, but because the beast was so persistent he thought that probably he was trying to find a better road, and let him go along. "the horse did very well, although he had no path to follow. if a precipice obstructed his way, he climbed it as nimbly as a goat, and later, when they had to descend, he bunched his hoofs and slid down the rocky inclines. "'may he only find his way home before church hour!' thought the dean. 'i wonder how the delsbo folk would take it if i were not at my church on time?' "he did not have to brood over this long, for soon he came to a place that was familiar to him. it was a little creek where he had fished the summer before. now he saw it was as he had feared--he was in the depths of the forest, and the horse was plodding along in a south-easterly direction. he seemed determined to carry the dean as far from church and rectory as he could. "the clergyman dismounted. he could not let the horse carry him into the wilderness. he must go home. and, since the animal persisted in going in the wrong direction, he decided to walk and lead him until they came to more familiar roads. the dean wound the reins around his arm and began to walk. it was not an easy matter to tramp through the forest in a heavy fur coat; but the dean was strong and hardy and had little fear of overexertion. "the horse, meanwhile, caused him fresh anxiety. he would not follow but planted his hoofs firmly on the ground. "at last the dean was angry. he had never beaten that horse, nor did he wish to do so now. instead, he threw down the reins and walked away. "'we may as well part company here, since you want to go your own way,' he said. "he had not taken more than two steps before the horse came after him, took a cautious grip on his coat sleeve and stopped him. the dean turned and looked the horse straight in the eyes, as if to search out why he behaved so strangely. "afterward the dean could not quite understand how this was possible, but it is certain that, dark as it was, he plainly saw the horse's face and read it like that of a human being. he realized that the animal was in a terrible state of apprehension and fear. he gave his master a look that was both imploring and reproachful. "'i have served you day after day and done your bidding,' he seemed to say. 'will you not follow me this one night?' "the dean was touched by the appeal in the animal's eyes. it was clear that the horse needed his help to-night, in one way or another. being a man through and through, the dean promptly determined to follow him. without further delay he sprang into the saddle. 'go on!' he said. 'i will not desert you since you want me. no one shall say of the dean in delsbo that he refused to accompany any creature who was in trouble.' "he let the horse go as he wished and thought only of keeping his seat. it proved to be a hazardous and troublesome journey--uphill most of the way. the forest was so thick that he could not see two feet ahead, but it appeared to him that they were ascending a high mountain. the horse climbed perilous steeps. had the dean been guiding, he should not have thought of riding over such ground. "'surely you don't intend to go up to black's ridge, do you?' laughed the dean, who knew that was one of the highest peaks in hälsingland. "during the ride he discovered that he and the horse were not the only ones who were out that night. he heard stones roll down and branches crackle, as if animals were breaking their way through the forest. he remembered that wolves were plentiful in that section and wondered if the horse wished to lead him to an encounter with wild beasts. "they mounted up and up, and the higher they went the more scattered were the trees. at last they rode on almost bare highland, where the dean could look in every direction. he gazed out over immeasurable tracts of land, which went up and down in mountains and valleys covered with sombre forests. it was so dark that he had difficulty in seeing any orderly arrangement; but presently he could make out where he was. "'why of course it's black's ridge that i've come to!' he remarked to himself. 'it can't be any other mountain, for there, in the west, i see jarv island, and to the east the sea glitters around ag island. toward the north also i see something shiny. it must be dellen. in the depths below me i see white smoke from nian falls. yes, i'm up on black's ridge. what an adventure!' "when they were at the summit the horse stopped behind a thick pine, as if to hide. the dean bent forward and pushed aside the branches, that he might have an unobstructed view. "the mountain's bald plate confronted him. it was not empty and desolate, as he had anticipated. in the middle of the open space was an immense boulder around which many wild beasts had gathered. apparently they were holding a conclave of some sort. "near to the big rock he saw bears, so firmly and heavily built that they seemed like fur-clad blocks of stone. they were lying down and their little eyes blinked impatiently; it was obvious that they had come from their winter sleep to attend court, and that they could hardly keep awake. behind them, in tight rows, were hundreds of wolves. they were not sleepy, for wolves are more alert in winter than in summer. they sat upon their haunches, like dogs, whipping the ground with their tails and panting--their tongues lolling far out of their jaws. behind the wolves the lynx skulked, stiff-legged and clumsy, like misshapen cats. they were loath to be among the other beasts, and hissed and spat when one came near them. the row back of the lynx was occupied by the wolverines, with dog faces and bear coats. they were not happy on the ground, and they stamped their pads impatiently, longing to get into the trees. behind them, covering the entire space to the forest border, leaped the foxes, the weasels, and the martens. these were small and perfectly formed, but they looked even more savage and bloodthirsty than the larger beasts. "all this the dean plainly saw, for the whole place was illuminated. upon the huge rock at the centre was the wood-nymph, who held in her hand a pine torch which burned in a big red flame. the nymph was as tall as the tallest tree in the forest. she wore a spruce-brush mantle and had spruce-cone hair. she stood very still, her face turned toward the forest. she was watching and listening. "the dean saw everything as plain as plain could be, but his astonishment was so great that he tried to combat it, and would not believe the evidence of his own eyes. "'such things cannot possibly happen!' he thought. 'i have ridden much too long in the bleak forest. this is only an optical illusion.' "nevertheless he gave the closest attention to the spectacle, and wondered what was about to be done. "he hadn't long to wait before he caught the sound of a familiar bell, coming from the depths of the forest, and the next moment he heard footfalls and crackling of branches--as when many animals break through the forest. "a big herd of cattle was climbing the mountain. they came through the forest in the order in which they had marched to the mountain ranches. first came the bell cow followed by the bull, then the other cows and the calves. the sheep, closely herded, followed. after them came the goats, and last were the horses and colts. the sheep-dog trotted along beside the sheep; but neither shepherd nor shepherdess attended them. "the dean thought it heart-rending to see the tame animals coming straight toward the wild beasts. he would gladly have blocked their way and called 'halt!' but he understood that it was not within human power to stop the march of the cattle on this night; therefore he made no move. "the domestic animals were in a state of torment over that which they had to face. if it happened to be the bell cow's turn, she advanced with drooping head and faltering step. the goats had no desire either to play or to butt. the horses tried to bear up bravely, but their bodies were all of a quiver with fright. the most pathetic of all was the sheep-dog. he kept his tail between his legs and crawled on the ground. "the bell cow led the procession all the way up to the wood-nymph, who stood on the boulder at the top of the mountain. the cow walked around the rock and then turned toward the forest without any of the wild beasts touching her. in the same way all the cattle walked unmolested past the wild beasts. "as the creatures filed past, the dean saw the wood-nymph lower her pine torch over one and another of them. "every time this occurred the beasts of prey broke into loud, exultant roars--particularly when it was lowered over a cow or some other large creature. the animal that saw the torch turning toward it uttered a piercing shriek, as if it had received a knife thrust in its flesh, while the entire herd to which it belonged bellowed their lamentations. "then the dean began to comprehend the meaning of what he saw. surely he had heard that the animals in delsbo assembled on black's ridge every new year's eve, that the wood-nymph might mark out which among the tame beasts would that year be prey for the wild beasts. the dean pitied the poor creatures that were at the mercy of savage beasts, when in reality they should have no master but man. "the leading herd had only just left when another bell tinkled, and the cattle from another farm tramped to the mountain top. these came in the same order as the first and marched past the wood-nymph, who stood there, stern and solemn, indicating animal after animal for death. "herd upon herd followed, without a break in the line of procession. some were so small that they included only one cow and a few sheep; others consisted of only a pair of goats. it was apparent that these were from very humble homes, but they too were compelled to pass in review. "the dean thought of the delsbo farmers, who had so much love for their beasts. 'did they but know of it, surely they would not allow a repetition of this!' he thought. 'they would risk their own lives rather than let their cattle wander amongst bears and wolves, to be doomed by the wood-nymph!' "the last herd to appear was the one from the rectory farm. the dean heard the sound of the familiar bell a long way off. the horse, too, must have heard it, for he began to shake in every limb, and was bathed in sweat. "'so it is your turn now to pass before the wood-nymph to receive your sentence,' the dean said to the horse. 'don't be afraid! now i know why you brought me here, and i shall not leave you.' "the fine cattle from the parsonage farm emerged from the forest and marched to the wood-nymph and the wild beasts. last in the line was the horse that had brought his master to black's ridge. the dean did not leave the saddle, but let the animal take him to the wood-nymph. "he had neither knife nor gun for his defence, but he had taken out the prayer-book and sat pressing it to his heart as he exposed himself to battle against evil. "at first it appeared as if none had observed him. the dean's cattle filed past the wood-nymph in the same order as the others had done. she did not wave the torch toward any of these, but as soon as the intelligent horse stepped forward, she made a movement to mark him for death. "instantly the dean held up the prayer-book, and the torchlight fell upon the cross on its cover. the wood-nymph uttered a loud, shrill cry and let the torch drop from her hand. "immediately the flame was extinguished. in the sudden transition from light to darkness the dean saw nothing, nor did he hear anything. about him reigned the profound stillness of a wilderness in winter. "then the dark clouds parted, and through the opening stepped the full round moon to shed its light upon the ground. the dean saw that he and the horse were alone on the summit of black's ridge. not one of the many wild beasts was there. the ground had not been trampled by the herds that had passed over it; but the dean himself sat with his prayer-book before him, while the horse under him stood trembling and foaming. "by the time the dean reached home he no longer knew whether or not it had been a dream, a vision, or reality--this that he had seen; but he took it as a warning to him to remember the poor creatures who were at the mercy of wild beasts. he preached so powerfully to the delsbo peasants that in his day all the wolves and bears were exterminated from that section of the country, although they may have returned since his time." here bernhard ended his story. he received praise from all sides and it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that he would get the prize. the majority thought it almost a pity that clement had to compete with him. but clement, undaunted, began: "one day, while i was living at skansen, just outside of stockholm, and longing for home--" then he told about the tiny midget he had ransomed so that he would not have to be confined in a cage, to be stared at by all the people. he told, also, that no sooner had he performed this act of mercy than he was rewarded for it. he talked and talked, and the astonishment of his hearers grew greater and greater; but when he came to the royal lackey and the beautiful book, all the dairymaids dropped their needle-work and sat staring at clement in open-eyed wonder at his marvellous experiences. as soon as clement had finished, the eldest of the dairymaids announced that he should have the muffler. "bernhard related only things that happened to another, but clement has himself been the hero of a true story, which i consider far more important." in this all concurred. they regarded clement with very different eyes after hearing that he had talked with the king, and the little fiddler was afraid to show how proud he felt. but at the very height of his elation some one asked him what had become of the midget. "i had no time to set out the blue bowl for him myself," said clement, "so i asked the old laplander to do it. what has become of him since then i don't know." no sooner had he spoken than a little pine cone came along and struck him on the nose. it did not drop from a tree, and none of the peasants had thrown it. it was simply impossible to tell whence it had come. "aha, clement!" winked the dairymaid, "it appears as if the tiny folk were listening to us. you should not have left it to another to set out that blue bowl!" in medelpad _friday, june seventeenth_. the boy and the eagle were out bright and early the next morning. gorgo hoped that he would get far up into west bothnia that day. as luck would have it, he heard the boy remark to himself that in a country like the one through which they were now travelling it must be impossible for people to live. the land which spread below them was southern medelpad. when the eagle heard the boy's remark, he replied: "up here they have forests for fields." the boy thought of the contrast between the light, golden-rye fields with their delicate blades that spring up in one summer, and the dark spruce forest with its solid trees which took many years to ripen for harvest. "one who has to get his livelihood from such a field must have a deal of patience!" he observed. nothing more was said until they came to a place where the forest had been cleared, and the ground was covered with stumps and lopped-off branches. as they flew over this ground, the eagle heard the boy mutter to himself that it was a mighty ugly and poverty-stricken place. "this field was cleared last winter," said the eagle. the boy thought of the harvesters at home, who rode on their reaping machines on fine summer mornings, and in a short time mowed a large field. but the forest field was harvested in winter. the lumbermen went out in the wilderness when the snow was deep, and the cold most severe. it was tedious work to fell even one tree, and to hew down a forest such as this they must have been out in the open many weeks. "they have to be hardy men to mow a field of this kind," he said. when the eagle had taken two more wing strokes, they sighted a log cabin at the edge of the clearing. it had no windows and only two loose boards for a door. the roof had been covered with bark and twigs, but now it was gaping, and the boy could see that inside the cabin there were only a few big stones to serve as a fireplace, and two board benches. when they were above the cabin the eagle suspected that the boy was wondering who could have lived in such a wretched hut as that. "the reapers who mowed the forest field lived there," the eagle said. the boy remembered how the reapers in his home had returned from their day's work, cheerful and happy, and how the best his mother had in the larder was always spread for them; while here, after the arduous work of the day, they must rest on hard benches in a cabin that was worse than an outhouse. and what they had to eat he could not imagine. "i wonder if there are any harvest festivals for these labourers?" he questioned. a little farther on they saw below them a wretchedly bad road winding through the forest. it was narrow and zigzag, hilly and stony, and cut up by brooks in many places. as they flew over it the eagle knew that the boy was wondering what was carted over a road like that. "over this road the harvest was conveyed to the stack," the eagle said. the boy recalled what fun they had at home when the harvest wagons drawn by two sturdy horses, carried the grain from the field. the man who drove sat proudly on top of the load; the horses danced and pricked up their ears, while the village children, who were allowed to climb upon the sheaves, sat there laughing and shrieking, half-pleased, half-frightened. but here the great logs were drawn up and down steep hills; here the poor horses must be worked to their limit, and the driver must often be in peril. "i'm afraid there has been very little cheer along this road," the boy observed. the eagle flew on with powerful wing strokes, and soon they came to a river bank covered with logs, chips, and bark. the eagle perceived that the boy wondered why it looked so littered up down there. "here the harvest has been stacked," the eagle told him. the boy thought of how the grain stacks in his part of the country were piled up close to the farms, as if they were their greatest ornaments, while here the harvest was borne to a desolate river strand, and left there. "i wonder if any one out in this wilderness counts his stacks, and compares them with his neighbour's?" he said. a little later they came to ljungen, a river which glides through a broad valley. immediately everything was so changed that they might well think they had come to another country. the dark spruce forest had stopped on the inclines above the valley, and the slopes were clad in light-stemmed birches and aspens. the valley was so broad that in many places the river widened into lakes. along the shores lay a large flourishing town. as they soared above the valley the eagle realized that the boy was wondering if the fields and meadows here could provide a livelihood for so many people. "here live the reapers who mow the forest fields," the eagle said. the boy was thinking of the lowly cabins and the hedged-in farms down in skåne when he exclaimed: "why, here the peasants live in real manors. it looks as if it might be worth one's while to work in the forest!" the eagle had intended to travel straight north, but when he had flown out over the river he understood that the boy wondered who handled the timber after it was stacked on the river bank. the boy recollected how careful they had been at home never to let a grain be wasted, while here were great rafts of logs floating down the river, uncared for. he could not believe that more than half of the logs ever reached their destination. many were floating in midstream, and for them all went smoothly; others moved close to the shore, bumping against points of land, and some were left behind in the still waters of the creeks. on the lakes there were so many logs that they covered the entire surface of the water. these appeared to be lodged for an indefinite period. at the bridges they stuck; in the falls they were bunched, then they were pyramided and broken in two; afterward, in the rapids, they were blocked by the stones and massed into great heaps. "i wonder how long it takes for the logs to get to the mill?" said the boy. the eagle continued his slow flight down river ljungen. over many places he paused in the air on outspread wings, that the boy might see how this kind of harvest work was done. presently they came to a place where the loggers were at work. the eagle marked that the boy wondered what they were doing. "they are the ones who take care of all the belated harvest," the eagle said. the boy remembered the perfect ease with which his people at home had driven their grain to the mill. here the men ran alongside the shores with long boat-hooks, and with toil and effort urged the logs along. they waded out in the river and were soaked from top to toe. they jumped from stone to stone far out into the rapids, and they tramped on the rolling log heaps as calmly as though they were on flat ground. they were daring and resolute men. "as i watch this, i'm reminded of the iron-moulders in the mining districts, who juggle with fire as if it were perfectly harmless," remarked the boy. "these loggers play with water as if they were its masters. they seem to have subjugated it so that it dare not harm them." gradually they neared the mouth of the river, and bothnia bay was beyond them. gorgo flew no farther straight ahead, but went northward along the coast. before they had travelled very far they saw a lumber camp as large as a small city. while the eagle circled back and forth above it, he heard the boy remark that this place looked interesting. "here you have the great lumber camp called svartvik," the eagle said. the boy thought of the mill at home, which stood peacefully embedded in foliage, and moved its wings very slowly. this mill, where they grind the forest harvest, stood on the water. the mill pond was crowded with logs. one by one the helpers seized them with their cant-hooks, crowded them into the chutes and hurried them along to the whirling saws. what happened to the logs inside, the boy could not see, but he heard loud buzzing and roaring, and from the other end of the house small cars ran out, loaded with white planks. the cars ran on shining tracks down to the lumber yard, where the planks were piled in rows, forming streets--like blocks of houses in a city. in one place they were building new piles; in another they were pulling down old ones. these were carried aboard two large vessels which lay waiting for cargo. the place was alive with workmen, and in the woods, back of the yard, they had their homes. "they'll soon manage to saw up all the forests in medelpad the way they work here," said the boy. the eagle moved his wings just a little, and carried the boy above another large camp, very much like the first, with the mill, yard, wharf, and the homes of the workmen. "this is called kukikenborg," the eagle said. he flapped his wings slowly, flew past two big lumber camps, and approached a large city. when the eagle heard the boy ask the name of it, he cried; "this is sundsvall, the manor of the lumber districts." the boy remembered the cities of skåne, which looked so old and gray and solemn; while here in the bleak north the city of sundsvall faced a beautiful bay, and looked young and happy and beaming. there was something odd about the city when one saw it from above, for in the middle stood a cluster of tall stone structures which looked so imposing that their match was hardly to be found in stockholm. around the stone buildings there was a large open space, then came a wreath of frame houses which looked pretty and cosy in their little gardens; but they seemed to be conscious of the fact that they were very much poorer than the stone houses, and dared not venture into their neighbourhood. "this must be both a wealthy and powerful city," remarked the boy. "can it be possible that the poor forest soil is the source of all this?" the eagle flapped his wings again, and went over to aln island, which lies opposite sundsvall. the boy was greatly surprised to see all the sawmills that decked the shores. on aln island they stood, one next another, and on the mainland opposite were mill upon mill, lumber yard upon lumber yard. he counted forty, at least, but believed there were many more. "how wonderful it all looks from up here!" he marvelled. "so much life and activity i have not seen in any place save this on the whole trip. it is a great country that we have! wherever i go, there is always something new for people to live upon." a morning in Ångermanland the bread _saturday, june eighteenth_. next morning, when the eagle had flown some distance into Ångermanland, he remarked that to-day he was the one who was hungry, and must find something to eat! he set the boy down in an enormous pine on a high mountain ridge, and away he flew. the boy found a comfortable seat in a cleft branch from which he could look down over Ångermanland. it was a glorious morning! the sunshine gilded the treetops; a soft breeze played in the pine needles; the sweetest fragrance was wafted through the forest; a beautiful landscape spread before him; and the boy himself was happy and care-free. he felt that no one could be better off. he had a perfect outlook in every direction. the country west of him was all peaks and table-land, and the farther away they were, the higher and wilder they looked. to the east there were also many peaks, but these sank lower and lower toward the sea, where the land became perfectly flat. everywhere he saw shining rivers and brooks which were having a troublesome journey with rapids and falls so long as they ran between mountains, but spread out clear and broad as they neared the shore of the coast. bothnia bay was dotted with islands and notched with points, but farther out was open, blue water, like a summer sky. when the boy had had enough of the landscape he unloosed his knapsack, took out a morsel of fine white bread, and began to eat. "i don't think i've ever tasted such good bread," said he. "and how much i have left! there's enough to last me for a couple of days." as he munched he thought of how he had come by the bread. "it must be because i got it in such a nice way that it tastes so good to me," he said. the golden eagle had left medelpad the evening before. he had hardly crossed the border into Ångermanland when the boy caught a glimpse of a fertile valley and a river, which surpassed anything of the kind he had seen before. as the boy glanced down at the rich valley, he complained of feeling hungry. he had had no food for two whole days, he said, and now he was famished. gorgo did not wish to have it said that the boy had fared worse in his company than when he travelled with the wild geese, so he slackened his speed. "why haven't you spoken of this before?" he asked. "you shall have all the food you want. there's no need of your starving when you have an eagle for a travelling companion." just then the eagle sighted a farmer who was sowing a field near the river strand. the man carried the seeds in a basket suspended from his neck, and each time that it was emptied he refilled it from a seed sack which stood at the end of the furrow. the eagle reasoned it out that the sack must be filled with the best food that the boy could wish for, so he darted toward it. but before the bird could get there a terrible clamour arose about him. sparrows, crows, and swallows came rushing up with wild shrieks, thinking that the eagle meant to swoop down upon some bird. "away, away, robber! away, away, bird-killer!" they cried. they made such a racket that it attracted the farmer, who came running, so that gorgo had to flee, and the boy got no seed. the small birds behaved in the most extraordinary manner. not only did they force the eagle to flee, they pursued him a long distance down the valley, and everywhere the people heard their cries. women came out and clapped their hands so that it sounded like a volley of musketry, and the men rushed out with rifles. the same thing was repeated every time the eagle swept toward the ground. the boy abandoned the hope that the eagle could procure any food for him. it had never occurred to him before that gorgo was so much hated. he almost pitied him. in a little while they came to a homestead where the housewife had just been baking. she had set a platter of sugared buns in the back yard to cool and was standing beside it, watching, so that the cat and dog should not steal the buns. the eagle circled down to the yard, but dared not alight right under the eyes of the peasant woman. he flew up and down, irresolute; twice he came down as far as the chimney, then rose again. the peasant woman noticed the eagle. she raised her head and followed him with her glance. "how peculiarly he acts!" she remarked. "i believe he wants one of my buns." she was a beautiful woman, tall and fair, with a cheery, open countenance. laughing heartily, she took a bun from the platter, and held it above her head. "if you want it, come and take it!" she challenged. while the eagle did not understand her language, he knew at once that she was offering him the bun. with lightning speed, he swooped to the bread, snatched it, and flew toward the heights. when the boy saw the eagle snatch the bread he wept for joy--not because he would escape suffering hunger for a few days, but because he was touched by the peasant woman's sharing her bread with a savage bird of prey. where he now sat on the pine branch he could recall at will the tall, fair woman as she stood in the yard and held up the bread. she must have known that the large bird was a golden eagle--a plunderer, who was usually welcomed with loud shots; doubtless she had also seen the queer changeling he bore on his back. but she had not thought of what they were. as soon as she understood that they were hungry, she shared her good bread with them. "if i ever become human again," thought the boy, "i shall look up the pretty woman who lives near the great river, and thank her for her kindness to us." the forest fire while the boy was still at his breakfast he smelled a faint odour of smoke coming from the north. he turned and saw a tiny spiral, white as a mist, rise from a forest ridge--not from the one nearest him, but from the one beyond it. it looked strange to see smoke in the wild forest, but it might be that a mountain stock farm lay over yonder, and the women were boiling their morning coffee. it was remarkable the way that smoke increased and spread! it could not come from a ranch, but perhaps there were charcoal kilns in the forest. the smoke increased every moment. now it curled over the whole mountain top. it was not possible that so much smoke could come from a charcoal kiln. there must be a conflagration of some sort, for many birds flew over to the nearest ridge. hawks, grouse, and other birds, who were so small that it was impossible to recognize them at such a distance, fled from the fire. the tiny white spiral of smoke grew to a thick white cloud which rolled over the edge of the ridge and sank toward the valley. sparks and flakes of soot shot up from the clouds, and here and there one could see a red flame in the smoke. a big fire was raging over there, but what was burning? surely there was no large farm hidden in the forest. the source of such a fire must be more than a farm. now the smoke came not only from the ridge, but from the valley below it, which the boy could not see, because the next ridge obstructed his view. great clouds of smoke ascended; the forest itself was burning! it was difficult for him to grasp the idea that the fresh, green pines could burn. if it really were the forest that was burning, perhaps the fire might spread all the way over to him. it seemed improbable; but he wished the eagle would soon return. it would be best to be away from this. the mere smell of the smoke which he drew in with every breath was a torture. all at once he heard a terrible crackling and sputtering. it came from the ridge nearest him. there, on the highest point, stood a tall pine like the one in which he sat. a moment before it had been a gorgeous red in the morning light. now all the needles flashed, and the pine caught fire. never before had it looked so beautiful! but this was the last time it could exhibit any beauty, for the pine was the first tree on the ridge to burn. it was impossible to tell how the flames had reached it. had the fire flown on red wings, or crawled along the ground like a snake? it was not easy to say, but there it was at all events. the great pine burned like a birch stem. ah, look! now smoke curled up in many places on the ridge. the forest fire was both bird and snake. it could fly in the air over wide stretches, or steal along the ground. the whole ridge was ablaze! there was a hasty flight of birds that circled up through the smoke like big flakes of soot. they flew across the valley and came to the ridge where the boy sat. a horned owl perched beside him, and on a branch just above him a hen hawk alighted. these would have been dangerous neighbours at any other time, but now they did not even glance in his direction--only stared at the fire. probably they could not make out what was wrong with the forest. a marten ran up the pine to the tip of a branch, and looked at the burning heights. close beside the marten sat a squirrel, but they did not appear to notice each other. now the fire came rushing down the slope, hissing and roaring like a tornado. through the smoke one could see the flames dart from tree to tree. before a branch caught fire it was first enveloped in a thin veil of smoke, then all the needles grew red at one time, and it began to crackle and blaze. in the glen below ran a little brook, bordered by elms and small birches. it appeared as if the flames would halt there. leafy trees are not so ready to take fire as fir trees. the fire did pause as if before a gate that could stop it. it glowed and crackled and tried to leap across the brook to the pine woods on the other side, but could not reach them. for a short time the fire was thus restrained, then it shot a long flame over to the large, dry pine that stood on the slope, and this was soon ablaze. the fire had crossed the brook! the heat was so intense that every tree on the mountain was ready to burn. with the roar and rush of the maddest storm and the wildest torrent the forest fire flew over to the ridge. then the hawk and the owl rose and the marten dashed down the tree. in a few seconds more the fire would reach the top of the pine, and the boy, too, would have to be moving. it was not easy to slide down the long, straight pine trunk. he took as firm a hold of it as he could, and slid in long stretches between the knotty branches; finally he tumbled headlong to the ground. he had no time to find out if he was hurt--only to hurry away. the fire raced down the pine like a raging tempest; the ground under his feet was hot and smouldering. on either side of him ran a lynx and an adder, and right beside the snake fluttered a mother grouse who was hurrying along with her little downy chicks. when the refugees descended the mountain to the glen they met people fighting the fire. they had been there for some time, but the boy had been gazing so intently in the direction of the fire that he had not noticed them before. in this glen there was a brook, bordered by a row of leaf trees, and back of these trees the people worked. they felled the fir trees nearest the elms, dipped water from the brook and poured it over the ground, washing away heather and myrtle to prevent the fire from stealing up to the birch brush. they, too, thought only of the fire which was now rushing toward them. the fleeing animals ran in and out among the men's feet, without attracting attention. no one struck at the adder or tried to catch the mother grouse as she ran back and forth with her little peeping birdlings. they did not even bother about thumbietot. in their hands they held great, charred pine branches which had dropped into the brook, and it appeared as if they intended to challenge the fire with these weapons. there were not many men, and it was strange to see them stand there, ready to fight, when all other living creatures were fleeing. as the fire came roaring and rushing down the slope with its intolerable heat and suffocating smoke, ready to hurl itself over brook and leaf-tree wall in order to reach the opposite shore without having to pause, the people drew back at first as if unable to withstand it; but they did not flee far before they turned back. the conflagration raged with savage force, sparks poured like a rain of fire over the leaf trees, and long tongues of flame shot hissingly out from the smoke, as if the forest on the other side were sucking them in. but the leaf-tree wall was an obstruction behind which the men worked. when the ground began to smoulder they brought water in their vessels and dampened it. when a tree became wreathed in smoke they felled it at once, threw it down and put out the flames. where the fire crept along the heather, they beat it with the wet pine branches and smothered it. the smoke was so dense that it enveloped everything. one could not possibly see how the battle was going, but it was easy enough to understand that it was a hard fight, and that several times the fire came near penetrating farther. but think! after a while the loud roar of the flames decreased, and the smoke cleared. by that time the leaf trees had lost all their foliage, the ground under them was charred, the faces of the men were blackened by smoke and dripping with sweat; but the forest fire was conquered. it had ceased to flame up. soft white smoke crept along the ground, and from it peeped out a lot of black stumps. this was all there was left of the beautiful forest! the boy scrambled up on a rock, so that he might see how the fire had been quenched. but now that the forest was saved, his peril began. the owl and the hawk simultaneously turned their eyes toward him. just then he heard a familiar voice calling to him. gorgo, the golden eagle, came sweeping through the forest, and soon the boy was soaring among the clouds--rescued from every peril. westbottom and lapland the five scouts once, at skansen, the boy had sat under the steps at bollnäs cottage and had overheard clement larsson and the old laplander talk about norrland. both agreed that it was the most beautiful part of sweden. clement thought that the southern part was the best, while the laplander favoured the northern part. as they argued, it became plain that clement had never been farther north than härnösand. the laplander laughed at him for speaking with such assurance of places that he had never seen. "i think i shall have to tell you a story, clement, to give you some idea of lapland, since you have not seen it," volunteered the laplander. "it shall not be said of me that i refuse to listen to a story," retorted clement, and the old laplander began: "it once happened that the birds who lived down in sweden, south of the great saméland, thought that they were overcrowded there and suggested moving northward. "they came together to consider the matter. the young and eager birds wished to start at once, but the older and wiser ones passed a resolution to send scouts to explore the new country. "'let each of the five great bird families send out a scout,' said the old and wise birds, 'to learn if there is room for us all up there--food and hiding places.' "five intelligent and capable birds were immediately appointed by the five great bird families. "the forest birds selected a grouse, the field birds a lark, the sea birds a gull, the fresh-water birds a loon, and the cliff birds a snow sparrow. "when the five chosen ones were ready to start, the grouse, who was the largest and most commanding, said: "'there are great stretches of land ahead. if we travel together, it will be long before we cover all the territory that we must explore. if, on the other hand, we travel singly--each one exploring his special portion of the country--the whole business can be accomplished in a few days.' "the other scouts thought the suggestion a good one, and agreed to act upon it. "it was decided that the grouse should explore the midlands. the lark was to travel to the eastward, the sea gull still farther east, where the land bordered on the sea, while the loon should fly over the territory west of the midlands, and the snow sparrow to the extreme west. "in accordance with this plan, the five birds flew over the whole northland. then they turned back and told the assembly of birds what they had discovered. "the gull, who had travelled along the sea-coast, spoke first. "'the north is a fine country,' he said. 'the sounds are full of fish, and there are points and islands without number. most of these are uninhabited, and the birds will find plenty of room there. the humans do a little fishing and sailing in the sounds, but not enough to disturb the birds. if the sea birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "when the gull had finished, the lark, who had explored the land back from the coast, spoke: "'i don't know what the gull means by his islands and points,' said the lark. i have travelled only over great fields and flowery meadows. i have never before seen a country crossed by some large streams. their shores are dotted with homesteads, and at the mouth of the rivers are cities; but for the most part the country is very desolate. if the field birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "after the lark came the grouse, who had flown over the midlands. "'i know neither what the lark means with his meadows nor the gull with his islands and points,' said he. 'i have seen only pine forests on this whole trip. there are also many rushing streams and great stretches of moss-grown swamp land; but all that is not river or swamp is forest. if the forest birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "after the grouse came the loon, who had explored the borderland to the west. "i don't know what the grouse means by his forests, nor do i know where the eyes of the lark and the gull could have been,' remarked the loon. there's hardly any land up there--only big lakes. between beautiful shores glisten clear, blue mountain lakes, which pour into roaring water-falls. if the fresh-water birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "the last speaker was the snow sparrow, who had flown along the western boundary. "'i don't know what the loon means by his lakes, nor do i know what countries the grouse, the lark, and the gull can have seen,' he said. 'i found one vast mountainous region up north. i didn't run across any fields or any pine forests, but peak after peak and highlands. i have seen ice fields and snow and mountain brooks, with water as white as milk. no farmers nor cattle nor homesteads have i seen, but only lapps and reindeer and huts met my eyes. if the cliff birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "when the five scouts had presented their reports to the assembly, they began to call one another liars, and were ready to fly at each other to prove the truth of their arguments. "but the old and wise birds who had sent them out, listened to their accounts with joy, and calmed their fighting propensities. "'you mustn't quarrel among yourselves,' they said. 'we understand from your reports that up north there are large mountain tracts, a big lake region, great forest lands, a wide plain, and a big group of islands. this is more than we have expected--more than many a mighty kingdom can boast within its borders.'" the moving landscape _saturday, june eighteenth_. the boy had been reminded of the old laplander's story because he himself was now travelling over the country of which he had spoken. the eagle told him that the expanse of coast which spread beneath them was westbottom, and that the blue ridges far to the west were in lapland. only to be once more seated comfortably on gorgo's back, after all that he had suffered during the forest fire, was a pleasure. besides, they were having a fine trip. the flight was so easy that at times it seemed as if they were standing still in the air. the eagle beat and beat his wings, without appearing to move from the spot; on the other hand, everything under them seemed in motion. the whole earth and all things on it moved slowly southward. the forests, the fields, the fences, the rivers, the cities, the islands, the sawmills--all were on the march. the boy wondered whither they were bound. had they grown tired of standing so far north, and wished to move toward the south? amid all the objects in motion there was only one that stood still: that was a railway train. it stood directly under them, for it was with the train as with gorgo--it could not move from the spot. the locomotive sent forth smoke and sparks. the clatter of the wheels could be heard all the way up to the boy, but the train did not seem to move. the forests rushed by; the flag station rushed by; fences and telegraph poles rushed by; but the train stood still. a broad river with a long bridge came toward it, but the river and the bridge glided along under the train with perfect ease. finally a railway station appeared. the station master stood on the platform with his red flag, and moved slowly toward the train. when he waved his little flag, the locomotive belched even darker smoke curls than before, and whistled mournfully because it had to stand still. all of a sudden it began to move toward the south, like everything else. the boy saw all the coach doors open and the passengers step out while both cars and people were moving southward. he glanced away from the earth and tried to look straight ahead. staring at the queer railway train had made him dizzy; but after he had gazed for a moment at a little white cloud, he was tired of that and looked down again--thinking all the while that the eagle and himself were quite still and that everything else was travelling on south. fancy! suppose the grain field just then running along under him--which must have been newly sown for he had seen a green blade on it--were to travel all the way down to skåne where the rye was in full bloom at this season! up here the pine forests were different: the trees were bare, the branches short and the needles were almost black. many trees were bald at the top and looked sickly. if a forest like that were to journey down to kolmården and see a real forest, how inferior it would feel! the gardens which he now saw had some pretty bushes, but no fruit trees or lindens or chestnut trees--only mountain ash and birch. there were some vegetable beds, but they were not as yet hoed or planted. "if such an apology for a garden were to come trailing into sörmland, the province of gardens, wouldn't it think itself a poor wilderness by comparison?" imagine an immense plain like the one now gliding beneath him, coming under the very eyes of the poor småland peasants! they would hurry away from their meagre garden plots and stony fields, to begin plowing and sowing. there was one thing, however, of which this northland had more than other lands, and that was light. night must have set in, for the cranes stood sleeping on the morass; but it was as light as day. the sun had not travelled southward, like every other thing. instead, it had gone so far north that it shone in the boy's face. to all appearance, it had no notion of setting that night. if this light and this sun were only shining on west vemmenhög! it would suit the boy's father and mother to a dot to have a working day that lasted twenty-four hours. _sunday, june nineteenth_. the boy raised his head and looked around, perfectly bewildered. it was mighty queer! here he lay sleeping in some place where he had not been before. no, he had never seen this glen nor the mountains round about; and never had he noticed such puny and shrunken birches as those under which he now lay. where was the eagle? the boy could see no sign of him. gorgo must have deserted him. well, here was another adventure! the boy lay down again, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the circumstances under which he had dropped to sleep. he remembered that as long as he was travelling over westbottom he had fancied that the eagle and he were at a standstill in the air, and that the land under them was moving southward. as the eagle turned northwest, the wind had come from that side, and again he had felt a current of air, so that the land below had stopped moving and he had noticed that the eagle was bearing him onward with terrific speed. "now we are flying into lapland," gorgo had said, and the boy had bent forward, so that he might see the country of which he had heard so much. but he had felt rather disappointed at not seeing anything but great tracts of forest land and wide marshes. forest followed marsh and marsh followed forest. the monotony of the whole finally made him so sleepy that he had nearly dropped to the ground. he said to the eagle that he could not stay on his back another minute, but must sleep awhile. gorgo had promptly swooped to the ground, where the boy had dropped down on a moss tuft. then gorgo put a talon around him and soared into the air with him again. "go to sleep, thumbietot!" he cried. "the sunshine keeps me awake and i want to continue the journey." although the boy hung in this uncomfortable position, he actually dozed and dreamed. he dreamed that he was on a broad road in southern sweden, hurrying along as fast as his little legs could carry him. he was not alone, many wayfarers were tramping in the same direction. close beside him marched grain-filled rye blades, blossoming corn flowers, and yellow daisies. heavily laden apple trees went puffing along, followed by vine-covered bean stalks, big clusters of white daisies, and masses of berry bushes. tall beeches and oaks and lindens strolled leisurely in the middle of the road, their branches swaying, and they stepped aside for none. between the boy's tiny feet darted the little flowers--wild strawberry blossoms, white anemones, clover, and forget-me-nots. at first he thought that only the vegetable family was on the march, but presently he saw that animals and people accompanied them. the insects were buzzing around advancing bushes, the fishes were swimming in moving ditches, the birds were singing in strolling trees. both tame and wild beasts were racing, and amongst all this people moved along--some with spades and scythes, others with axes, and others, again, with fishing nets. the procession marched with gladness and gayety, and he did not wonder at that when he saw who was leading it. it was nothing less than the sun itself that rolled on like a great shining head with hair of many-hued rays and a countenance beaming with merriment and kindliness! "forward, march!" it kept calling out. "none need feel anxious whilst i am here. forward, march!" "i wonder where the sun wants to take us to?" remarked the boy. a rye blade that walked beside him heard him, and immediately answered: "he wants to take us up to lapland to fight the ice witch." presently the boy noticed that some of the travellers hesitated, slowed up, and finally stood quite still. he saw that the tall beech tree stopped, and that the roebuck and the wheat blade tarried by the wayside, likewise the blackberry bush, the little yellow buttercup, the chestnut tree, and the grouse. he glanced about him and tried to reason out why so many stopped. then he discovered that they were no longer in southern sweden. the march had been so rapid that they were already in svealand. up there the oak began to move more cautiously. it paused awhile to consider, took a few faltering steps, then came to a standstill. "why doesn't the oak come along?" asked the boy. "it's afraid of the ice witch," said a fair young birch that tripped along so boldly and cheerfully that it was a joy to watch it. the crowd hurried on as before. in a short time they were in norrland, and now it mattered not how much the sun cried and coaxed--the apple tree stopped, the cherry tree stopped, the rye blade stopped! the boy turned to them and asked: "why don't you come along? why do you desert the sun?" "we dare not! we're afraid of the ice witch, who lives in lapland," they answered. the boy comprehended that they were far north, as the procession grew thinner and thinner. the rye blade, the barley, the wild strawberry, the blueberry bush, the pea stalk, the currant bush had come along as far as this. the elk and the domestic cow had been walking side by side, but now they stopped. the sun no doubt would have been almost deserted if new followers had not happened along. osier bushes and a lot of brushy vegetation joined the procession. laps and reindeer, mountain owl and mountain fox and willow grouse followed. then the boy heard something coming toward them. he saw great rivers and creeks sweeping along with terrible force. "why are they in such a hurry?" he asked. "they are running away from the ice witch, who lives up in the mountains." all of a sudden the boy saw before him a high, dark, turreted wall. instantly the sun turned its beaming face toward this wall and flooded it with light. then it became apparent that it was no wall, but the most glorious mountains, which loomed up--one behind another. their peaks were rose-coloured in the sunlight, their slopes azure and gold-tinted. "onward, onward!" urged the sun as it climbed the steep cliffs. "there's no danger so long as i am with you." but half way up, the bold young birch deserted--also the sturdy pine and the persistent spruce, and there, too, the laplander, and the willow brush deserted. at last, when the sun reached the top, there was no one but the little tot, nils holgersson, who had followed it. the sun rolled into a cave, where the walls were bedecked with ice, and nils holgersson wanted to follow, but farther than the opening of the cave he dared not venture, for in there he saw something dreadful. far back in the cave sat an old witch with an ice body, hair of icicles, and a mantle of snow! at her feet lay three black wolves, who rose and opened their jaws when the sun approached. from the mouth of one came a piercing cold, from the second a blustering north wind, and from the third came impenetrable darkness. "that must be the ice witch and her tribe," thought the boy. he understood that now was the time for him to flee, but he was so curious to see the outcome of the meeting between the sun and the ice witch that he tarried. the ice witch did not move--only turned her hideous face toward the sun. this continued for a short time. it appeared to the boy that the witch was beginning to sigh and tremble. her snow mantle fell, and the three ferocious wolves howled less savagely. suddenly the sun cried: "now my time is up!" and rolled out of the cave. then the ice witch let loose her three wolves. instantly the north wind, cold, and darkness rushed from the cave and began to chase the sun. "drive him out! drive him back!" shrieked the ice witch. "chase him so far that he can never come back! teach him that lapland is mine!" but nils holgersson felt so unhappy when he saw that the sun was to be driven from lapland that he awakened with a cry. when he recovered his senses, he found himself at the bottom of a ravine. but where was gorgo? how was he to find out where he himself was? he arose and looked all around him. then he happened to glance upward and saw a peculiar structure of pine twigs and branches that stood on a cliff-ledge. "that must be one of those eagle nests that gorgo--" but this was as far as he got. he tore off his cap, waved it in the air, and cheered. now he understood where gorgo had brought him. this was the very glen where the wild geese lived in summer, and just above it was the eagles' cliff. he had arrived! he would meet morten goosey-gander and akka and all the other comrades in a few moments. hurrah! the meeting all was still in the glen. the sun had not yet stepped above the cliffs, and nils holgersson knew that it was too early in the morning for the geese to be awake. the boy walked along leisurely and searched for his friends. before he had gone very far, he paused with a smile, for he saw such a pretty sight. a wild goose was sleeping in a neat little nest, and beside her stood her goosey-gander. he too, slept, but it was obvious that he had stationed himself thus near her that he might be on hand in the possible event of danger. the boy went on without disturbing them and peeped into the willow brush that covered the ground. it was not long before he spied another goose couple. these were strangers, not of his flock, but he was so happy that he began to hum--just because he had come across wild geese. he peeped into another bit of brushwood. there at last he saw two that were familiar. it was certainly neljä that was nesting there, and the goosey-gander who stood beside her was surely kolme. why, of course! the boy had a good mind to awaken them, but he let them sleep on, and walked away. in the next brush he saw viisi and kuusi, and not far from them he found yksi and kaksi. all four were asleep, and the boy passed by without disturbing them. as he approached the next brush, he thought he saw something white shimmering among the bushes, and the heart of him thumped with joy. yes, it was as he expected. in there sat the dainty dunfin on an egg-filled nest. beside her stood her white goosey-gander. although he slept, it was easy to see how proud he was to watch over his wife up here among the lapland mountains. the boy did not care to waken the goosey-gander, so he walked on. he had to seek a long time before he came across any more wild geese. finally, he saw on a little hillock something that resembled a small, gray moss tuft, and he knew that there was akka from kebnekaise. she stood, wide awake, looking about as if she were keeping watch over the whole glen. "good morning, mother akka!" said the boy. "please don't waken the other geese yet awhile, for i wish to speak with you in private." the old leader-goose came rushing down the hill and up to the boy. first she seized hold of him and shook him, then she stroked him with her bill before she shook him again. but she did not say a word, since he asked her not to waken the others. thumbietot kissed old mother akka on both cheeks, then he told her how he had been carried off to skansen and held captive there. "now i must tell you that smirre fox, short of an ear, sat imprisoned in the foxes' cage at skansen," said the boy. "although he was very mean to us, i couldn't help feeling sorry for him. there were many other foxes in the cage; and they seemed quite contented there, but smirre sat all the while looking dejected, longing for liberty. "i made many good friends at skansen, and i learned one day from the lapp dog that a man had come to skansen to buy foxes. he was from some island far out in the ocean. all the foxes had been exterminated there, and the rats were about to get the better of the inhabitants, so they wished the foxes back again. "as soon as i learned of this, i went to smirre's cage and said to him: "'to-morrow some men are coming here to get a pair of foxes. don't hide, smirre, but keep well in the foreground and see to it that you are chosen. then you'll be free again.' "he followed my suggestion, and now he is running at large on the island. what say you to this, mother akka? if you had been in my place, would you not have done likewise?" "you have acted in a way that makes me wish i had done that myself," said the leader-goose proudly. "it's a relief to know that you approve," said the boy. "now there is one thing more i wish to ask you about: "one day i happened to see gorgo, the eagle--the one that fought with morten goosey-gander--a prisoner at skansen. he was in the eagles' cage and looked pitifully forlorn. i was thinking of filing down the wire roof over him and letting him out, but i also thought of his being a dangerous robber and bird-eater, and wondered if i should be doing right in letting loose such a plunderer, and if it were not better, perhaps, to let him stay where he was. what say you, mother akka? was it right to think thus?" "no, it was not right!" retorted akka. "say what you will about the eagles, they are proud birds and greater lovers of freedom than all others. it is not right to keep them in captivity. do you know what i would suggest? this: that, as soon as you are well rested, we two make the trip together to the big bird prison, and liberate gorgo." "that is just the word i was expecting from you, mother akka," returned the boy eagerly. "there are those who say that you no longer have any love in your heart for the one you reared so tenderly, because he lives as eagles must live. but i know now that it isn't true. and now i want to see if morten goosey-gander is awake. "meanwhile, if you wish to say a 'thank you' to the one who brought me here to you, i think you'll find him up there on the cliff ledge, where once you found a helpless eaglet." osa, the goose girl, and little mats the year that nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese everybody was talking about two little children, a boy and a girl, who tramped through the country. they were from sunnerbo township, in småland, and had once lived with their parents and four brothers and sisters in a little cabin on the heath. while the two children, osa and mats, were still small, a poor, homeless woman came to their cabin one night and begged for shelter. although the place could hardly hold the family, she was taken in and the mother spread a bed for her on the floor. in the night she coughed so hard that the children fancied the house shook. by morning she was too ill to continue her wanderings. the children's father and mother were as kind to her as could be. they gave up their bed to her and slept on the floor, while the father went to the doctor and brought her medicine. the first few days the sick woman behaved like a savage; she demanded constant attention and never uttered a word of thanks. later she became more subdued and finally begged to be carried out to the heath and left there to die. when her hosts would not hear of this, she told them that the last few years she had roamed about with a band of gipsies. she herself was not of gipsy blood, but was the daughter of a well-to-do farmer. she had run away from home and gone with the nomads. she believed that a gipsy woman who was angry at her had brought this sickness upon her. nor was that all: the gipsy woman had also cursed her, saying that all who took her under their roof or were kind to her should suffer a like fate. she believed this, and therefore begged them to cast her out of the house and never to see her again. she did not want to bring misfortune down upon such good people. but the peasants refused to do her bidding. it was quite possible that they were alarmed, but they were not the kind of folk who could turn out a poor, sick person. soon after that she died, and then along came the misfortunes. before, there had never been anything but happiness in that cabin. its inmates were poor, yet not so very poor. the father was a maker of weavers' combs, and mother and children helped him with the work. father made the frames, mother and the older children did the binding, while the smaller ones planed the teeth and cut them out. they worked from morning until night, but the time passed pleasantly, especially when father talked of the days when he travelled about in foreign lands and sold weavers' combs. father was so jolly that sometimes mother and the children would laugh until their sides ached at his funny quips and jokes. the weeks following the death of the poor vagabond woman lingered in the minds of the children like a horrible nightmare. they knew not if the time had been long or short, but they remembered that they were always having funerals at home. one after another they lost their brothers and sisters. at last it was very still and sad in the cabin. the mother kept up some measure of courage, but the father was not a bit like himself. he could no longer work nor jest, but sat from morning till night, his head buried in his hands, and only brooded. once--that was after the third burial--the father had broken out into wild talk, which frightened the children. he said that he could not understand why such misfortunes should come upon them. they had done a kindly thing in helping the sick woman. could it be true, then, that the evil in this world was more powerful than the good? the mother tried to reason with him, but she was unable to soothe him. a few days later the eldest was stricken. she had always been the father's favourite, so when he realized that she, too, must go, he fled from all the misery. the mother never said anything, but she thought it was best for him to be away, as she feared that he might lose his reason. he had brooded too long over this one idea: that god had allowed a wicked person to bring about so much evil. after the father went away they became very poor. for awhile he sent them money, but afterward things must have gone badly with him, for no more came. the day of the eldest daughter's burial the mother closed the cabin and left home with the two remaining children, osa and mats. she went down to skåne to work in the beet fields, and found a place at the jordberga sugar refinery. she was a good worker and had a cheerful and generous nature. everybody liked her. many were astonished because she could be so calm after all that she had passed through, but the mother was very strong and patient. when any one spoke to her of her two sturdy children, she only said: "i shall soon lose them also," without a quaver in her voice or a tear in her eye. she had accustomed herself to expect nothing else. but it did not turn out as she feared. instead, the sickness came upon herself. she had gone to skane in the beginning of summer; before autumn she was gone, and the children were left alone. while their mother was ill she had often said to the children they must remember that she never regretted having let the sick woman stop with them. it was not hard to die when one had done right, she said, for then one could go with a clear conscience. before the mother passed away, she tried to make some provision for her children. she asked the people with whom she lived to let them remain in the room which she had occupied. if the children only had a shelter they would not become a burden to any one. she knew that they could take care of themselves. osa and mats were allowed to keep the room on condition that they would tend the geese, as it was always hard to find children willing to do that work. it turned out as the mother expected: they did maintain themselves. the girl made candy, and the boy carved wooden toys, which they sold at the farm houses. they had a talent for trading and soon began buying eggs and butter from the farmers, which they sold to the workers at the sugar refinery. osa was the older, and, by the time she was thirteen, she was as responsible as a grown woman. she was quiet and serious, while mats was lively and talkative. his sister used to say to him that he could outcackle the geese. when the children had been at jordberga for two years, there was a lecture given one evening at the schoolhouse. evidently it was meant for grown-ups, but the two småland children were in the audience. they did not regard themselves as children, and few persons thought of them as such. the lecturer talked about the dread disease called the white plague, which every year carried off so many people in sweden. he spoke very plainly and the children understood every word. after the lecture they waited outside the schoolhouse. when the lecturer came out they took hold of hands and walked gravely up to him, asking if they might speak to him. the stranger must have wondered at the two rosy, baby-faced children standing there talking with an earnestness more in keeping with people thrice their age; but he listened graciously to them. they related what had happened in their home, and asked the lecturer if he thought their mother and their sisters and brothers had died of the sickness he had described. "very likely," he answered. "it could hardly have been any other disease." if only the mother and father had known what the children learned that evening, they might have protected themselves. if they had burned the clothing of the vagabond woman; if they had scoured and aired the cabin and had not used the old bedding, all whom the children mourned might have been living yet. the lecturer said he could not say positively, but he believed that none of their dear ones would have been sick had they understood how to guard against the infection. osa and mats waited awhile before putting the next question, for that was the most important of all. it was not true then that the gipsy woman had sent the sickness because they had befriended the one with whom she was angry. it was not something special that had stricken only them. the lecturer assured them that no person had the power to bring sickness upon another in that way. thereupon the children thanked him and went to their room. they talked until late that night. the next day they gave notice that they could not tend geese another year, but must go elsewhere. where were they going? why, to try to find their father. they must tell him that their mother and the other children had died of a common ailment and not something special brought upon them by an angry person. they were very glad that they had found out about this. now it was their duty to tell their father of it, for probably he was still trying to solve the mystery. osa and mats set out for their old home on the heath. when they arrived they were shocked to find the little cabin in flames. they went to the parsonage and there they learned that a railroad workman had seen their father at malmberget, far up in lapland. he had been working in a mine and possibly was still there. when the clergyman heard that the children wanted to go in search of their father he brought forth a map and showed them how far it was to malmberget and tried to dissuade them from making the journey, but the children insisted that they must find their father. he had left home believing something that was not true. they must find him and tell him that it was all a mistake. they did not want to spend their little savings buying railway tickets, therefore they decided to go all the way on foot, which they never regretted, as it proved to be a remarkably beautiful journey. before they were out of småland, they stopped at a farm house to buy food. the housewife was a kind, motherly soul who took an interest in the children. she asked them who they were and where they came from, and they told her their story. "dear, dear! dear, dear!" she interpolated time and again when they were speaking. later she petted the children and stuffed them with all kinds of goodies, for which she would not accept a penny. when they rose to thank her and go, the woman asked them to stop at her brother's farm in the next township. of course the children were delighted. "give him my greetings and tell him what has happened to you," said the peasant woman. this the children did and were well treated. from every farm after that it was always: "if you happen to go in such and such a direction, stop there or there and tell them what has happened to you." in every farm house to which they were sent there was always a consumptive. so osa and mats went through the country unconsciously teaching the people how to combat that dreadful disease. long, long ago, when the black plague was ravaging the country, 'twas said that a boy and a girl were seen wandering from house to house. the boy carried a rake, and if he stopped and raked in front of a house, it meant that there many should die, but not all; for the rake has coarse teeth and does not take everything with it. the girl carried a broom, and if she came along and swept before a door, it meant that all who lived within must die; for the broom is an implement that makes a clean sweep. it seems quite remarkable that in our time two children should wander through the land because of a cruel sickness. but these children did not frighten people with the rake and the broom. they said rather: "we will not content ourselves with merely raking the yard and sweeping the floors, we will use mop and brush, water and soap. we will keep clean inside and outside of the door and we ourselves will be clean in both mind and body. in this way we will conquer the sickness." one day, while still in lapland, akka took the boy to malmberget, where they discovered little mats lying unconscious at the mouth of the pit. he and osa had arrived there a short time before. that morning he had been roaming about, hoping to come across his father. he had ventured too near the shaft and been hurt by flying rocks after the setting off of a blast. thumbietot ran to the edge of the shaft and called down to the miners that a little boy was injured. immediately a number of labourers came rushing up to little mats. two of them carried him to the hut where he and osa were staying. they did all they could to save him, but it was too late. thumbietot felt so sorry for poor osa. he wanted to help and comfort her; but he knew that if he were to go to her now, he would only frighten her--such as he was! the night after the burial of little mats, osa straightway shut herself in her hut. she sat alone recalling, one after another, things her brother had said and done. there was so much to think about that she did not go straight to bed, but sat up most of the night. the more she thought of her brother the more she realized how hard it would be to live without him. at last she dropped her head on the table and wept. "what shall i do now that little mats is gone?" she sobbed. it was far along toward morning and osa, spent by the strain of her hard day, finally fell asleep. she dreamed that little mats softly opened the door and stepped into the room. "osa, you must go and find father," he said. "how can i when i don't even know where he is?" she replied in her dream. "don't worry about that," returned little mats in his usual, cheery way. "i'll send some one to help you." just as osa, the goose girl, dreamed that little mats had said this, there was a knock at the door. it was a real knock--not something she heard in the dream, but she was so held by the dream that she could not tell the real from the unreal. as she went on to open the door, she thought: "this must be the person little mats promised to send me." she was right, for it was thumbietot come to talk to her about her father. when he saw that she was not afraid of him, he told her in a few words where her father was and how to reach him. while he was speaking, osa, the goose girl, gradually regained consciousness; when he had finished she was wide awake. then she was so terrified at the thought of talking with an elf that she could not say thank you or anything else, but quickly shut the door. as she did that she thought she saw an expression of pain flash across the elf's face, but she could not help what she did, for she was beside herself with fright. she crept into bed as quickly as she could and drew the covers over her head. although she was afraid of the elf, she had a feeling that he meant well by her. so the next day she made haste to do as he had told her. with the laplanders one afternoon in july it rained frightfully up around lake luossajaure. the laplanders, who lived mostly in the open during the summer, had crawled under the tent and were squatting round the fire drinking coffee. the new settlers on the east shore of the lake worked diligently to have their homes in readiness before the severe arctic winter set in. they wondered at the laplanders, who had lived in the far north for centuries without even thinking that better protection was needed against cold and storm than thin tent covering. the laplanders, on the other hand, wondered at the new settlers giving themselves so much needless, hard work, when nothing more was necessary to live comfortably than a few reindeer and a tent. they only had to drive the poles into the ground and spread the covers over them, and their abodes were ready. they did not have to trouble themselves about decorating or furnishing. the principal thing was to scatter some spruce twigs on the floor, spread a few skins, and hang the big kettle, in which they cooked their reindeer meat, on a chain suspended from the top of the tent poles. while the laplanders were chatting over their coffee cups, a row boat coming from the kiruna side pulled ashore at the lapps' quarters. a workman and a young girl, between thirteen and fourteen, stepped from the boat. the girl was osa. the lapp dogs bounded down to them, barking loudly, and a native poked his head out of the tent opening to see what was going on. he was glad when he saw the workman, for he was a friend of the laplanders--a kindly and sociable man, who could speak their native tongue. the lapp called to him to crawl under the tent. "you're just in time, söderberg!" he said. "the coffee pot is on the fire. no one can do any work in this rain, so come in and tell us the news." the workman went in, and, with much ado and amid a great deal of laughter and joking, places were made for söderberg and osa, though the tent was already crowded to the limit with natives. osa understood none of the conversation. she sat dumb and looked in wonderment at the kettle and coffee pot; at the fire and smoke; at the lapp men and lapp women; at the children and dogs; the walls and floor; the coffee cups and tobacco pipes; the multi-coloured costumes and crude implements. all this was new to her. suddenly she lowered her glance, conscious that every one in the tent was looking at her. söderberg must have said something about her, for now both lapp men and lapp women took the short pipes from their mouths and stared at her in open-eyed wonder and awe. the laplander at her side patted her shoulder and nodded, saying in swedish, "bra, bra!" (good, good!) a lapp woman filled a cup to the brim with coffee and passed it under difficulties, while a lapp boy, who was about her own age, wriggled and crawled between the squatters over to her. osa felt that söderberg was telling the laplanders that she had just buried her little brother, mats. she wished he would find out about her father instead. the elf had said that he lived with the lapps, who camped west of lake luossajaure, and she had begged leave to ride up on a sand truck to seek him, as no regular passenger trains came so far. both labourers and foremen had assisted her as best they could. an engineer had sent söderberg across the lake with her, as he spoke lappish. she had hoped to meet her father as soon as she arrived. her glance wandered anxiously from face to face, but she saw only natives. her father was not there. she noticed that the lapps and the swede, söderberg, grew more and more earnest as they talked among themselves. the lapps shook their heads and tapped their foreheads, as if they were speaking of some one that was not quite right in his mind. she became so uneasy that she could no longer endure the suspense and asked söderberg what the laplanders knew of her father. "they say he has gone fishing," said the workman. "they're not sure that he can get back to the camp to-night; but as soon as the weather clears, one of them will go in search of him." thereupon he turned to the lapps and went on talking to them. he did not wish to give osa an opportunity to question him further about jon esserson. the next morning ola serka himself, who was the most distinguished man among the lapps, had said that he would find osa's father, but he appeared to be in no haste and sat huddled outside the tent, thinking of jon esserson and wondering how best to tell him of his daughter's arrival. it would require diplomacy in order that jon esserson might not become alarmed and flee. he was an odd sort of man who was afraid of children. he used to say that the sight of them made him so melancholy that he could not endure it. while ola serka deliberated, osa, the goose girl, and aslak, the young lapp boy who had stared so hard at her the night before, sat on the ground in front of the tent and chatted. aslak had been to school and could speak swedish. he was telling osa about the life of the "saméfolk," assuring her that they fared better than other people. osa thought that they lived wretchedly, and told him so. "you don't know what you are talking about!" said aslak curtly. "only stop with us a week and you shall see that we are the happiest people on earth." "if i were to stop here a whole week, i should be choked by all the smoke in the tent," osa retorted. "don't say that!" protested the boy. "you know nothing of us. let me tell you something which will make you understand that the longer you stay with us the more contented you will become." thereupon aslak began to tell osa how a sickness called "the black plague" once raged throughout the land. he was not certain as to whether it had swept through the real "saméland," where they now were, but in jämtland it had raged so brutally that among the saméfolk, who lived in the forests and mountains there, all had died except a boy of fifteen. among the swedes, who lived in the valleys, none was left but a girl, who was also fifteen years old. the boy and girl separately tramped the desolate country all winter in search of other human beings. finally, toward spring, the two met. aslak continued: "the swedish girl begged the lapp boy to accompany her southward, where she could meet people of her own race. she did not wish to tarry longer in jämtland, where there were only vacant homesteads. i'll take you wherever you wish to go,' said the boy, 'but not before winter. it's spring now, and my reindeer go westward toward the mountains. you know that we who are of the saméfolk must go where our reindeer take us.' the swedish girl was the daughter of wealthy parents. she was used to living under a roof, sleeping in a bed, and eating at a table. she had always despised the poor mountaineers and thought that those who lived under the open sky were most unfortunate; but she was afraid to return to her home, where there were none but the dead. 'at least let me go with you to the mountains,' she said to the boy, 'so that i sha'n't have to tramp about here all alone and never hear the sound of a human voice.' "the boy willingly assented, so the girl went with the reindeer to the mountains. "the herd yearned for the good pastures there, and every day tramped long distances to feed on the moss. there was not time to pitch tents. the children had to lie on the snowy ground and sleep when the reindeer stopped to graze. the girl often sighed and complained of being so tired that she must turn back to the valley. nevertheless she went along to avoid being left without human companionship. "when they reached the highlands the boy pitched a tent for the girl on a pretty hill that sloped toward a mountain brook. "in the evening he lassoed and milked the reindeer, and gave the girl milk to drink. he brought forth dried reindeer meat and reindeer cheese, which his people had stowed away on the heights when they were there the summer before. "still the girl grumbled all the while, and was never satisfied. she would eat neither reindeer meat nor reindeer cheese, nor would she drink reindeer milk. she could not accustom herself to squatting in the tent or to lying on the ground with only a reindeer skin and some spruce twigs for a bed. "the son of the mountains laughed at her woes and continued to treat her kindly. "after a few days, the girl went up to the boy when he was milking and asked if she might help him. she next undertook to make the fire under the kettle, in which the reindeer meat was to be cooked, then to carry water and to make cheese. so the time passed pleasantly. the weather was mild and food was easily procured. together they set snares for game, fished for salmon-trout in the rapids and picked cloud-berries in the swamp. "when the summer was gone, they moved farther down the mountains, where pine and leaf forests meet. there they pitched their tent. they had to work hard every day, but fared better, for food was even more plentiful than in the summer because of the game. "when the snow came and the lakes began to freeze, they drew farther east toward the dense pine forests. "as soon as the tent was up, the winter's work began. the boy taught the girl to make twine from reindeer sinews, to treat skins, to make shoes and clothing of hides, to make combs and tools of reindeer horn, to travel on skis, and to drive a sledge drawn by reindeer. "when they had lived through the dark winter and the sun began to shine all day and most of the night, the boy said to the girl that now he would accompany her southward, so that she might meet some of her own race. "then the girl looked at him astonished. "'why do you want to send me away?' she asked. 'do you long to be alone with your reindeer?' "'i thought that you were the one that longed to get away?' said the boy. "'i have lived the life of the saméfolk almost a year now,' replied the girl. i can't return to my people and live the shut-in life after having wandered freely on mountains and in forests. don't drive me away, but let me stay here. your way of living is better than ours.' "the girl stayed with the boy for the rest of her life, and never again did she long for the valleys. and you, osa, if you were to stay with us only a month, you could never again part from us." with these words, aslak, the lapp boy, finished his story. just then his father, ola serka, took the pipe from his mouth and rose. old ola understood more swedish than he was willing to have any one know, and he had overheard his son's remarks. while he was listening, it had suddenly flashed on him how he should handle this delicate matter of telling jon esserson that his daughter had come in search of him. ola serka went down to lake luossajaure and had walked a short distance along the strand, when he happened upon a man who sat on a rock fishing. the fisherman was gray-haired and bent. his eyes blinked wearily and there was something slack and helpless about him. he looked like a man who had tried to carry a burden too heavy for him, or to solve a problem too difficult for him, who had become broken and despondent over his failure. "you must have had luck with your fishing, jon, since you've been at it all night?" said the mountaineer in lappish, as he approached. the fisherman gave a start, then glanced up. the bait on his hook was gone and not a fish lay on the strand beside him. he hastened to rebait the hook and throw out the line. in the meantime the mountaineer squatted on the grass beside him. "there's a matter that i wanted to talk over with you," said ola. "you know that i had a little daughter who died last winter, and we have always missed her in the tent." "yes, i know," said the fisherman abruptly, a cloud passing over his face--as though he disliked being reminded of a dead child. "it's not worth while to spend one's life grieving," said the laplander. "i suppose it isn't." "now i'm thinking of adopting another child. don't you think it would be a good idea?" "that depends on the child, ola." "i will tell you what i know of the girl," said ola. then he told the fisherman that around midsummer-time, two strange children--a boy and a girl--had come to the mines to look for their father, but as their father was away, they had stayed to await his return. while there, the boy had been killed by a blast of rock. thereupon ola gave a beautiful description of how brave the little girl had been, and of how she had won the admiration and sympathy of everyone. "is that the girl you want to take into your tent?" asked the fisherman. "yes," returned the lapp. "when we heard her story we were all deeply touched and said among ourselves that so good a sister would also make a good daughter, and we hoped that she would come to us." the fisherman sat quietly thinking a moment. it was plain that he continued the conversation only to please his friend, the lapp. "i presume the girl is one of your race?" "no," said ola, "she doesn't belong to the saméfolk." "perhaps she's the daughter of some new settler and is accustomed to the life here?" "no, she's from the far south," replied ola, as if this was of small importance. the fisherman grew more interested. "then i don't believe that you can take her," he said. "it's doubtful if she could stand living in a tent in winter, since she was not brought up that way." "she will find kind parents and kind brothers and sisters in the tent," insisted ola serka. "it's worse to be alone than to freeze." the fisherman became more and more zealous to prevent the adoption. it seemed as if he could not bear the thought of a child of swedish parents being taken in by laplanders. "you said just now that she had a father in the mine." "he's dead," said the lapp abruptly. "i suppose you have thoroughly investigated this matter, ola?" "what's the use of going to all that trouble?" disdained the lapp. "i ought to know! would the girl and her brother have been obliged to roam about the country if they had a father living? would two children have been forced to care for themselves if they had a father? the girl herself thinks he's alive, but i say that he must be dead." the man with the tired eyes turned to ola. "what is the girl's name, ola?" he asked. the mountaineer thought awhile, then said: "i can't remember it. i must ask her." "ask her! is she already here?" "she's down at the camp." "what, ola! have you taken her in before knowing her father's wishes?" "what do i care for her father! if he isn't dead, he's probably the kind of man who cares nothing for his child. he may be glad to have another take her in hand." the fisherman threw down his rod and rose with an alertness in his movements that bespoke new life. "i don't think her father can be like other folk," continued the mountaineer. "i dare say he is a man who is haunted by gloomy forebodings and therefore can not work steadily. what kind of a father would that be for the girl?" while ola was talking the fisherman started up the strand. "where are you going?" queried the lapp. "i'm going to have a look at your foster-daughter, ola." "good!" said the lapp. "come along and meet her. i think you'll say that she will be a good daughter to me." the swede rushed on so rapidly that the laplander could hardly keep pace with him. after a moment ola said to his companion: "now i recall that her name is osa--this girl i'm adopting." the other man only kept hurrying along and old ola serka was so well pleased that he wanted to laugh aloud. when they came in sight of the tents, ola said a few words more. "she came here to us saméfolk to find her father and not to become my foster-child. but if she doesn't find him, i shall be glad to keep her in my tent." the fisherman hastened all the faster. "i might have known that he would be alarmed when i threatened to take his daughter into the lapps' quarters," laughed ola to himself. when the man from kiruna, who had brought osa to the tent, turned back later in the day, he had two people with him in the boat, who sat close together, holding hands--as if they never again wanted to part. they were jon esserson and his daughter. both were unlike what they had been a few hours earlier. the father looked less bent and weary and his eyes were clear and good, as if at last he had found the answer to that which had troubled him so long. osa, the goose girl, did not glance longingly about, for she had found some one to care for her, and now she could be a child again. homeward bound! the first travelling day _saturday, october first_. the boy sat on the goosey-gander's back and rode up amongst the clouds. some thirty geese, in regular order, flew rapidly southward. there was a rustling of feathers and the many wings beat the air so noisily that one could scarcely hear one's own voice. akka from kebnekaise flew in the lead; after her came yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi, morten goosey-gander and dunfin. the six goslings which had accompanied the flock the autumn before had now left to look after themselves. instead, the old geese were taking with them twenty-two goslings that had grown up in the glen that summer. eleven flew to the right, eleven to the left; and they did their best to fly at even distances, like the big birds. the poor youngsters had never before been on a long trip and at first they had difficulty in keeping up with the rapid flight. "akka from kebnekaise! akka from kebnekaise!" they cried in plaintive tones. "what's the matter?" said the leader-goose sharply. "our wings are tired of moving, our wings are tired of moving!" wailed the young ones. "the longer you keep it up, the better it will go," answered the leader-goose, without slackening her speed. and she was quite right, for when the goslings had flown two hours longer, they complained no more of being tired. but in the mountain glen they had been in the habit of eating all day long, and very soon they began to feel hungry. "akka, akka, akka from kebnekaise!" wailed the goslings pitifully. "what's the trouble now?" asked the leader-goose. "we're so hungry, we can't fly any more!" whimpered the goslings. "we're so hungry, we can't fly any more!" "wild geese must learn to eat air and drink wind," said the leader-goose, and kept right on flying. it actually seemed as if the young ones were learning to live on wind and air, for when they had flown a little longer, they said nothing more about being hungry. the goose flock was still in the mountain regions, and the old geese called out the names of all the peaks as they flew past, so that the youngsters might learn them. when they had been calling out a while: "this is porsotjokko, this is särjaktjokko, this is sulitelma," and so on, the goslings became impatient again. "akka, akka, akka!" they shrieked in heart-rending tones. "what's wrong?" said the leader-goose. "we haven't room in our heads for any more of those awful names!" shrieked the goslings. "the more you put into your heads the more you can get into them," retorted the leader-goose, and continued to call out the queer names. the boy sat thinking that it was about time the wild geese betook themselves southward, for so much snow had fallen that the ground was white as far as the eye could see. there was no use denying that it had been rather disagreeable in the glen toward the last. rain and fog had succeeded each other without any relief, and even if it did clear up once in a while, immediately frost set in. berries and mushrooms, upon which the boy had subsisted during the summer, were either frozen or decayed. finally he had been compelled to eat raw fish, which was something he disliked. the days had grown short and the long evenings and late mornings were rather tiresome for one who could not sleep the whole time that the sun was away. now, at last, the goslings' wings had grown, so that the geese could start for the south. the boy was so happy that he laughed and sang as he rode on the goose's back. it was not only on account of the darkness and cold that he longed to get away from lapland; there were other reasons too. the first weeks of his sojourn there the boy had not been the least bit homesick. he thought he had never before seen such a glorious country. the only worry he had had was to keep the mosquitoes from eating him up. the boy had seen very little of the goosey-gander, because the big, white gander thought only of his dunfin and was unwilling to leave her for a moment. on the other hand, thumbietot had stuck to akka and gorgo, the eagle, and the three of them had passed many happy hours together. the two birds had taken him with them on long trips. he had stood on snow-capped mount kebnekaise, had looked down at the glaciers and visited many high cliffs seldom tramped by human feet. akka had shown him deep-hidden mountain dales and had let him peep into caves where mother wolves brought up their young. he had also made the acquaintance of the tame reindeer that grazed in herds along the shores of the beautiful torne lake, and he had been down to the great falls and brought greetings to the bears that lived thereabouts from their friends and relatives in westmanland. ever since he had seen osa, the goose girl, he longed for the day when he might go home with morten goosey-gander and be a normal human being once more. he wanted to be himself again, so that osa would not be afraid to talk to him and would not shut the door in his face. yes, indeed, he was glad that at last they were speeding southward. he waved his cap and cheered when he saw the first pine forest. in the same manner he greeted the first gray cabin, the first goat, the first cat, and the first chicken. they were continually meeting birds of passage, flying now in greater flocks than in the spring. "where are you bound for, wild geese?" called the passing birds. "where are you bound for?" "we, like yourselves, are going abroad," answered the geese. "those goslings of yours aren't ready to fly," screamed the others. "they'll never cross the sea with those puny wings!" laplander and reindeer were also leaving the mountains. when the wild geese sighted the reindeer, they circled down and called out: "thanks for your company this summer!" "a pleasant journey to you and a welcome back!" returned the reindeer. but when the bears saw the wild geese, they pointed them out to the cubs and growled: "just look at those geese; they are so afraid of a little cold they don't dare to stay at home in winter." but the old geese were ready with a retort and cried to their goslings: "look at those beasts that stay at home and sleep half the year rather than go to the trouble of travelling south!" down in the pine forest the young grouse sat huddled together and gazed longingly after the big bird flocks which, amid joy and merriment, proceeded southward. "when will our turn come?" they asked the mother grouse. "you will have to stay at home with mamma and papa," she said. legends from hÄrjedalen _tuesday, october fourth_. the boy had had three days' travel in the rain and mist and longed for some sheltered nook, where he might rest awhile. at last the geese alighted to feed and ease their wings a bit. to his great relief the boy saw an observation tower on a hill close by, and dragged himself to it. when he had climbed to the top of the tower he found a party of tourists there, so he quickly crawled into a dark corner and was soon sound asleep. when the boy awoke, he began to feel uneasy because the tourists lingered so long in the tower telling stories. he thought they would never go. morten goosey-gander could not come for him while they were there and he knew, of course, that the wild geese were in a hurry to continue the journey. in the middle of a story he thought he heard honking and the beating of wings, as if the geese were flying away, but he did not dare to venture over to the balustrade to find out if it was so. at last, when the tourists were gone, and the boy could crawl from his hiding place, he saw no wild geese, and no morten goosey-gander came to fetch him. he called, "here am i, where are you?" as loud as he could, but his travelling companions did not appear. not for a second did he think they had deserted him; but he feared that they had met with some mishap and was wondering what he should do to find them, when bataki, the raven, lit beside him. the boy never dreamed that he should greet bataki with such a glad welcome as he now gave him. "dear bataki," he burst forth. "how fortunate that you are here! maybe you know what has become of morten goosey-gander and the wild geese?" "i've just come with a greeting from them," replied the raven. "akka saw a hunter prowling about on the mountain and therefore dared not stay to wait for you, but has gone on ahead. get up on my back and you shall soon be with your friends." the boy quickly seated himself on the raven's back and bataki would soon have caught up with the geese had he not been hindered by a fog. it was as if the morning sun had awakened it to life. little light veils of mist rose suddenly from the lake, from fields, and from the forest. they thickened and spread with marvellous rapidity, and soon the entire ground was hidden from sight by white, rolling mists. bataki flew along above the fog in clear air and sparkling sunshine, but the wild geese must have circled down among the damp clouds, for it was impossible to sight them. the boy and the raven called and shrieked, but got no response. "well, this is a stroke of ill luck!" said bataki finally. "but we know that they are travelling toward the south, and of course i'll find them as soon as the mist clears." the boy was distressed at the thought of being parted from morten goosey-gander just now, when the geese were on the wing, and the big white one might meet with all sorts of mishaps. after thumbietot had been sitting worrying for two hours or more, he remarked to himself that, thus far, there had been no mishap, and it was not worth while to lose heart. just then he heard a rooster crowing down on the ground, and instantly he bent forward on the raven's back and called out: "what's the name of the country i'm travelling over?" "it's called härjedalen, härjedalen, härjedalen," crowed the rooster. "how does it look down there where you are?" the boy asked. "cliffs in the west, woods in the east, broad valleys across the whole country," replied the rooster. "thank you," cried the boy. "you give a clear account of it." when they had travelled a little farther, he heard a crow cawing down in the mist. "what kind of people live in this country?" shouted the boy. "good, thrifty peasants," answered the crow. "good, thrifty peasants." "what do they do?" asked the boy. "what do they do?" "they raise cattle and fell forests," cawed the crow. "thanks," replied the boy. "you answer well." a bit farther on he heard a human voice yodeling and singing down in the mist. "is there any large city in this part of the country?" the boy asked. "what--what--who is it that calls?" cried the human voice. "is there any large city in this region?" the boy repeated. "i want to know who it is that calls," shouted the human voice. "i might have known that i could get no information when i asked a human being a civil question," the boy retorted. it was not long before the mist went away as suddenly as it had come. then the boy saw a beautiful landscape, with high cliffs as in jämtland, but there were no large, flourishing settlements on the mountain slopes. the villages lay far apart, and the farms were small. bataki followed the stream southward till they came within sight of a village. there he alighted in a stubble field and let the boy dismount. "in the summer grain grew on this ground," said bataki. "look around and see if you can't find something eatable." the boy acted upon the suggestion and before long he found a blade of wheat. as he picked out the grains and ate them, bataki talked to him. "do you see that mountain towering directly south of us?" he asked. "yes, of course, i see it," said the boy. "it is called sonfjället," continued the raven; "you can imagine that wolves were plentiful there once upon a time." "it must have been an ideal place for wolves," said the boy. "the people who lived here in the valley were frequently attacked by them," remarked the raven. "perhaps you remember a good wolf story you could tell me?" said the boy. "i've been told that a long, long time ago the wolves from sonfjället are supposed to have waylaid a man who had gone out to peddle his wares," began bataki. "he was from hede, a village a few miles down the valley. it was winter time and the wolves made for him as he was driving over the ice on lake ljusna. there were about nine or ten, and the man from hede had a poor old horse, so there was very little hope of his escaping. "when the man heard the wolves howl and saw how many there were after him, he lost his head, and it did not occur to him that he ought to dump his casks and jugs out of the sledge, to lighten the load. he only whipped up the horse and made the best speed he could, but he soon observed that the wolves were gaining on him. the shores were desolate and he was fourteen miles from the nearest farm. he thought that his final hour had come, and was paralyzed with fear. "while he sat there, terrified, he saw something move in the brush, which had been set in the ice to mark out the road; and when he discovered who it was that walked there, his fear grew more and more intense. "wild beasts were not coming toward him, but a poor old woman, named finn-malin, who was in the habit of roaming about on highways and byways. she was a hunchback, and slightly lame, so he recognized her at a distance. "the old woman was walking straight toward the wolves. the sledge had hidden them from her view, and the man comprehended at once that, if he were to drive on without warning her, she would walk right into the jaws of the wild beasts, and while they were rending her, he would have time enough to get away. "the old woman walked slowly, bent over a cane. it was plain that she was doomed if he did not help her, but even if he were to stop and take her into the sledge, it was by no means certain that she would be safe. more than likely the wolves would catch up with them, and he and she and the horse would all be killed. he wondered if it were not better to sacrifice one life in order that two might be spared--this flashed upon him the minute he saw the old woman. he had also time to think how it would be with him afterward--if perchance he might not regret that he had not succoured her; or if people should some day learn of the meeting and that he had not tried to help her. it was a terrible temptation. "'i would rather not have seen her,' he said to himself. "just then the wolves howled savagely. the horse reared, plunged forward, and dashed past the old beggar woman. she, too, had heard the howling of the wolves, and, as the man from hede drove by, he saw that the old woman knew what awaited her. she stood motionless, her mouth open for a cry, her arms stretched out for help. but she neither cried nor tried to throw herself into the sledge. something seemed to have turned her to stone. 'it was i,' thought the man. 'i must have looked like a demon as i passed.' "he tried to feel satisfied, now that he was certain of escape; but at that very moment his heart reproached him. never before had he done a dastardly thing, and he felt now that his whole life was blasted. "'let come what may,' he said, and reined in the horse, 'i cannot leave her alone with the wolves!' "it was with great difficulty that he got the horse to turn, but in the end he managed it and promptly drove back to her. "'be quick and get into the sledge,' he said gruffly; for he was mad with himself for not leaving the old woman to her fate. "'you might stay at home once in awhile, you old hag!' he growled. 'now both my horse and i will come to grief on your account.' "the old woman did not say a word, but the man from hede was in no mood to spare her. "'the horse has already tramped thirty-five miles to-day, and the load hasn't lightened any since you got up on it!' he grumbled, 'so that you must understand he'll soon be exhausted.' "the sledge runners crunched on the ice, but for all that he heard how the wolves panted, and knew that the beasts were almost upon him. "'it's all up with us!' he said. 'much good it was, either to you or to me, this attempt to save you, finn-malin!' "up to this point the old woman had been silent--like one who is accustomed to take abuse--but now she said a few words. "'i can't understand why you don't throw out your wares and lighten the load. you can come back again to-morrow and gather them up.' "the man realized that this was sound advice and was surprised that he had not thought of it before. he tossed the reins to the old woman, loosed the ropes that bound the casks, and pitched them out. the wolves were right upon them, but now they stopped to examine that which was thrown on the ice, and the travellers again had the start of them. "'if this does not help you,' said the old woman, 'you understand, of course, that i will give myself up to the wolves voluntarily, that you may escape.' "while she was speaking the man was trying to push a heavy brewer's vat from the long sledge. as he tugged at this he paused, as if he could not quite make up his mind to throw it out; but, in reality, his mind was taken up with something altogether different. "'surely a man and a horse who have no infirmities need not let a feeble old woman be devoured by wolves for their sakes!' he thought. 'there must be some other way of salvation. why, of course, there is! it's only my stupidity that hinders me from finding the way.' "again he started to push the vat, then paused once more and burst out laughing. "the old woman was alarmed and wondered if he had gone mad, but the man from hede was laughing at himself because he had been so stupid all the while. it was the simplest thing in the world to save all three of them. he could not imagine why he had not thought of it before. "'listen to what i say to you, malin!' he said. 'it was splendid of you to be willing to throw yourself to the wolves. but you won't have to do that because i know how we can all three be helped without endangering the life of any. remember, whatever i may do, you are to sit still and drive down to linsäll. there you must waken the townspeople and tell them that i'm alone out here on the ice, surrounded by wolves, and ask them to come and help me.' "the man waited until the wolves were almost upon the sledge. then he rolled out the big brewer's vat, jumped down, and crawled in under it. "it was a huge vat, large enough to hold a whole christmas brew. the wolves pounced upon it and bit at the hoops, but the vat was too heavy for them to move. they could not get at the man inside. "he knew that he was safe and laughed at the wolves. after a bit he was serious again. "'for the future, when i get into a tight place, i shall remember this vat, and i shall bear in mind that i need never wrong either myself or others, for there is always a third way out of a difficulty if only one can hit upon it.'" with this bataki closed his narrative. the boy noticed that the raven never spoke unless there was some special meaning back of his words, and the longer he listened to him, the more thoughtful he became. "i wonder why you told me that story?" remarked the boy. "i just happened to think of it as i stood here, gazing up at sonfjället," replied the raven. now they had travelled farther down lake ljusna and in an hour or so they came to kolsätt, close to the border of hälsingland. here the raven alighted near a little hut that had no windows--only a shutter. from the chimney rose sparks and smoke, and from within the sound of heavy hammering was heard. "whenever i see this smithy," observed the raven, "i'm reminded that, in former times, there were such skilled blacksmiths here in härjedalen, more especially in this village--that they couldn't be matched in the whole country." "perhaps you also remember a story about them?" said the boy. "yes," returned bataki, "i remember one about a smith from härjedalen who once invited two other master blacksmiths--one from dalecarlia and one from vermland--to compete with him at nail-making. the challenge was accepted and the three blacksmiths met here at kolsätt. the dalecarlian began. he forged a dozen nails, so even and smooth and sharp that they couldn't be improved upon. after him came the vermlander. he, too, forged a dozen nails, which were quite perfect and, moreover, he finished them in half the time that it took the dalecarlian. when the judges saw this they said to the härjedal smith that it wouldn't be worth while for him to try, since he could not forge better than the dalecarlian or faster than the vermlander. "'i sha'n't give up! there must be still another way of excelling,' insisted the härjedal smith. "he placed the iron on the anvil without heating it at the forge; he simply hammered it hot and forged nail after nail, without the use of either anvil or bellows. none of the judges had ever seen a blacksmith wield a hammer more masterfully, and the härjedal smith was proclaimed the best in the land." with these remarks bataki subsided, and the boy grew even more thoughtful. "i wonder what your purpose was in telling me that?" he queried. "the story dropped into my mind when i saw the old smithy again," said bataki in an offhand manner. the two travellers rose again into the air and the raven carried the boy southward till they came to lillhärdal parish, where he alighted on a leafy mound at the top of a ridge. "i wonder if you know upon what mound you are standing?" said bataki. the boy had to confess that he did not know. "this is a grave," said bataki. "beneath this mound lies the first settler in härjedalen." "perhaps you have a story to tell of him too?" said the boy. "i haven't heard much about him, but i think he was a norwegian. he had served with a norwegian king, got into his bad graces, and had to flee the country. "later he went over to the swedish king, who lived at upsala, and took service with him. but, after a time, he asked for the hand of the king's sister in marriage, and when the king wouldn't give him such a high-born bride, he eloped with her. by that time he had managed to get himself into such disfavour that it wasn't safe for him to live either in norway or sweden, and he did not wish to move to a foreign country. 'but there must still be a course open to me,' he thought. with his servants and treasures, he journeyed through dalecarlia until he arrived in the desolate forests beyond the outskirts of the province. there he settled, built houses and broke up land. thus, you see, he was the first man to settle in this part of the country." as the boy listened to the last story, he looked very serious. "i wonder what your object is in telling me all this?" he repeated. bataki twisted and turned and screwed up his eyes, and it was some time before he answered the boy. "since we are here alone," he said finally, "i shall take this opportunity to question you regarding a certain matter. "have you ever tried to ascertain upon what terms the elf who transformed you was to restore you to a normal human being?" "the only stipulation i've heard anything about was that i should take the white goosey-gander up to lapland and bring him back to skåne, safe and sound." "i thought as much," said bataki; "for when last we met, you talked confidently of there being nothing more contemptible than deceiving a friend who trusts one. you'd better ask akka about the terms. you know, i dare say, that she was at your home and talked with the elf." "akka hasn't told me of this," said the boy wonderingly. "she must have thought that it was best for you not to know just what the elf _did_ say. naturally she would rather help you than morten goosey-gander." "it is singular, bataki, that you always have a way of making me feel unhappy and anxious," said the boy. "i dare say it might seem so," continued the raven, "but this time i believe that you will be grateful to me for telling you that the elf's words were to this effect: you were to become a normal human being again if you would bring back morten goosey-gander that your mother might lay him on the block and chop his head off." the boy leaped up. "that's only one of your base fabrications," he cried indignantly. "you can ask akka yourself," said bataki. "i see her coming up there with her whole flock. and don't forget what i have told you to-day. there is usually a way out of all difficulties, if only one can find it. i shall be interested to see what success you have." vermland and dalsland _wednesday, october fifth_. to-day the boy took advantage of the rest hour, when akka was feeding apart from the other wild geese, to ask her if that which bataki had related was true, and akka could not deny it. the boy made the leader-goose promise that she would not divulge the secret to morten goosey-gander. the big white gander was so brave and generous that he might do something rash were he to learn of the elf's stipulations. later the boy sat on the goose-back, glum and silent, and hung his head. he heard the wild geese call out to the goslings that now they were in dalarne, they could see städjan in the north, and that now they were flying over Österdal river to horrmund lake and were coming to vesterdal river. but the boy did not care even to glance at all this. "i shall probably travel around with wild geese the rest of my life," he remarked to himself, "and i am likely to see more of this land than i wish." he was quite as indifferent when the wild geese called out to him that now they had arrived in vermland and that the stream they were following southward was klarälven. "i've seen so many rivers already," thought the boy, "why bother to look at one more?" even had he been more eager for sight-seeing, there was not very much to be seen, for northern vermland is nothing but vast, monotonous forest tracts, through which klarälven winds--narrow and rich in rapids. here and there one can see a charcoal kiln, a forest clearing, or a few low, chimneyless huts, occupied by finns. but the forest as a whole is so extensive one might fancy it was far up in lapland. a little homestead _thursday, october sixth_. the wild geese followed klarälven as far as the big iron foundries at monk fors. then they proceeded westward to fryksdalen. before they got to lake fryken it began to grow dusky, and they lit in a little wet morass on a wooded hill. the morass was certainly a good night quarter for the wild geese, but the boy thought it dismal and rough, and wished for a better sleeping place. while he was still high in the air, he had noticed that below the ridge lay a number of farms, and with great haste he proceeded to seek them out. they were farther away than he had fancied and several times he was tempted to turn back. presently the woods became less dense, and he came to a road skirting the edge of the forest. from it branched a pretty birch-bordered lane, which led down to a farm, and immediately he hastened toward it. first the boy entered a farm yard as large as a city marketplace and enclosed by a long row of red houses. as he crossed the yard, he saw another farm where the dwelling-house faced a gravel path and a wide lawn. back of the house there was a garden thick with foliage. the dwelling itself was small and humble, but the garden was edged by a row of exceedingly tall mountain-ash trees, so close together that they formed a real wall around it. it appeared to the boy as if he were coming into a great, high-vaulted chamber, with the lovely blue sky for a ceiling. the mountain-ash were thick with clusters of red berries, the grass plots were still green, of course, but that night there was a full moon, and as the bright moonlight fell upon the grass it looked as white as silver. no human being was in sight and the boy could wander freely wherever he wished. when he was in the garden he saw something which almost put him in good humour. he had climbed a mountain-ash to eat berries, but before he could reach a cluster he caught sight of a barberry bush, which was also full of berries. he slid along the ash branch and clambered up into the barberry bush, but he was no sooner there than he discovered a currant bush, on which still hung long red clusters. next he saw that the garden was full of gooseberries and raspberries and dog-rose bushes; that there were cabbages and turnips in the vegetable beds and berries on every bush, seeds on the herbs and grain-filled ears on every blade. and there on the path--no, of course he could not mistake it--was a big red apple which shone in the moonlight. the boy sat down at the side of the path, with the big red apple in front of him, and began cutting little pieces from it with his sheath knife. "it wouldn't be such a serious matter to be an elf all one's life if it were always as easy to get good food as it is here," he thought. he sat and mused as he ate, wondering finally if it would not be as well for him to remain here and let the wild geese travel south without him. "i don't know for the life of me how i can ever explain to morten goosey-gander that i cannot go home," thought he. "it would be better were i to leave him altogether. i could gather provisions enough for the winter, as well as the squirrels do, and if i were to live in a dark corner of the stable or the cow shed, i shouldn't freeze to death." just as he was thinking this, he heard a light rustle over his head, and a second later something which resembled a birch stump stood on the ground beside him. the stump twisted and turned, and two bright dots on top of it glowed like coals of fire. it looked like some enchantment. however, the boy soon remarked that the stump had a hooked beak and big feather wreaths around its glowing eyes. then he knew that this was no enchantment. "it is a real pleasure to meet a living creature," remarked the boy. "perhaps you will be good enough to tell me the name of this place, mrs. brown owl, and what sort of folk live here." that evening, as on all other evenings, the owl had perched on a rung of the big ladder propped against the roof, from which she had looked down toward the gravel walks and grass plots, watching for rats. very much to her surprise, not a single grayskin had appeared. she saw instead something that looked like a human being, but much, much smaller, moving about in the garden. "that's the one who is scaring away the rats!" thought the owl. "what in the world can it be? it's not a squirrel, nor a kitten, nor a weasel," she observed. "i suppose that a bird who has lived on an old place like this as long as i have ought to know about everything in the world; but this is beyond my comprehension," she concluded. she had been staring at the object that moved on the gravel path until her eyes burned. finally curiosity got the better of her and she flew down to the ground to have a closer view of the stranger. when the boy began to speak, the owl bent forward and looked him up and down. "he has neither claws nor horns," she remarked to herself, "yet who knows but he may have a poisonous fang or some even more dangerous weapon. i must try to find out what he passes for before i venture to touch him." "the place is called mårbacka," said the owl, "and gentlefolk lived here once upon a time. but you, yourself, who are you?" "i think of moving in here," volunteered the boy without answering the owl's question. "would it be possible, do you think?" "oh, yes--but it's not much of a place now compared to what it was once," said the owl. "you can weather it here i dare say. it all depends upon what you expect to live on. do you intend to take up the rat chase?" "oh, by no means!" declared the boy. "there is more fear of the rats eating me than that i shall do them any harm." "it can't be that he is as harmless as he says," thought the brown owl. "all the same i believe i'll make an attempt...." she rose into the air, and in a second her claws were fastened in nils holgersson's shoulder and she was trying to hack at his eyes. the boy shielded both eyes with one hand and tried to free himself with the other, at the same time calling with all his might for help. he realized that he was in deadly peril and thought that this time, surely, it was all over with him! now i must tell you of a strange coincidence: the very year that nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese there was a woman who thought of writing a book about sweden, which would be suitable for children to read in the schools. she had thought of this from christmas time until the following autumn; but not a line of the book had she written. at last she became so tired of the whole thing that she said to herself: "you are not fitted for such work. sit down and compose stories and legends, as usual, and let another write this book, which has got to be serious and instructive, and in which there must not be one untruthful word." it was as good as settled that she would abandon the idea. but she thought, very naturally, it would have been agreeable to write something beautiful about sweden, and it was hard for her to relinquish her work. finally, it occurred to her that maybe it was because she lived in a city, with only gray streets and house walls around her, that she could make no headway with the writing. perhaps if she were to go into the country, where she could see woods and fields, that it might go better. she was from vermland, and it was perfectly clear to her that she wished to begin the book with that province. first of all she would write about the place where she had grown up. it was a little homestead, far removed from the great world, where many old-time habits and customs were retained. she thought that it would be entertaining for children to hear of the manifold duties which had succeeded one another the year around. she wanted to tell them how they celebrated christmas and new year and easter and midsummer day in her home; what kind of house furnishings they had; what the kitchen and larder were like, and how the cow shed, stable, lodge, and bath house had looked. but when she was to write about it the pen would not move. why this was she could not in the least understand; nevertheless it was so. true, she remembered it all just as distinctly as if she were still living in the midst of it. she argued with herself that since she was going into the country anyway, perhaps she ought to make a little trip to the old homestead that she might see it again before writing about it. she had not been there in many years and did not think it half bad to have a reason for the journey. in fact she had always longed to be there, no matter in what part of the world she happened to be. she had seen many places that were more pretentious and prettier. but nowhere could she find such comfort and protection as in the home of her childhood. it was not such an easy matter for her to go home as one might think, for the estate had been sold to people she did not know. she felt, to be sure, that they would receive her well, but she did not care to go to the old place to sit and talk with strangers, for she wanted to recall how it had been in times gone by. that was why she planned it so as to arrive there late in the evening, when the day's work was done and the people were indoors. she had never imagined that it would be so wonderful to come home! as she sat in the cart and drove toward the old homestead she fancied that she was growing younger and younger every minute, and that soon she would no longer be an oldish person with hair that was turning gray, but a little girl in short skirts with a long flaxen braid. as she recognized each farm along the road, she could not picture anything else than that everything at home would be as in bygone days. her father and mother and brothers and sisters would be standing on the porch to welcome her; the old housekeeper would run to the kitchen window to see who was coming, and nero and freja and another dog or two would come bounding and jumping up on her. the nearer she approached the place the happier she felt. it was autumn, which meant a busy time with a round of duties. it must have been all these varying duties which prevented home from ever being monotonous. all along the way the farmers were digging potatoes, and probably they would be doing likewise at her home. that meant that they must begin immediately to grate potatoes and make potato flour. the autumn had been a mild one; she wondered if everything in the garden had already been stored. the cabbages were still out, but perhaps the hops had been picked, and all the apples. it would be well if they were not having house cleaning at home. autumn fair time was drawing nigh, everywhere the cleaning and scouring had to be done before the fair opened. that was regarded as a great event--more especially by the servants. it was a pleasure to go into the kitchen on market eve and see the newly scoured floor strewn with juniper twigs, the whitewashed walls and the shining copper utensils which were suspended from the ceiling. even after the fair festivities were over there would not be much of a breathing spell, for then came the work on the flax. during dog days the flax had been spread out on a meadow to mould. now it was laid in the old bath house, where the stove was lighted to dry it out. when it was dry enough to handle all the women in the neighbourhood were called together. they sat outside the bath house and picked the flax to pieces. then they beat it with swingles, to separate the fine white fibres from the dry stems. as they worked, the women grew gray with dust; their hair and clothing were covered with flax seed, but they did not seem to mind it. all day the swingles pounded, and the chatter went on, so that when one went near the old bath house it sounded as if a blustering storm had broken loose there. after the work with the flax, came the big hard-tack baking, the sheep shearing, and the servants' moving time. in november there were busy slaughter days, with salting of meats, sausage making, baking of blood pudding, and candle steeping. the seamstress who used to make up their homespun dresses had to come at this time, of course, and those were always two pleasant weeks--when the women folk sat together and busied themselves with sewing. the cobbler, who made shoes for the entire household, sat working at the same time in the men-servants' quarters, and one never tired of watching him as he cut the leather and soled and heeled the shoes and put eyelets in the shoestring holes. but the greatest rush came around christmas time. lucia day--when the housemaid went about dressed in white, with candles in her hair, and served coffee to everybody at five in the morning--came as a sort of reminder that for the next two weeks they could not count on much sleep. for now they must brew the christmas ale, steep the christmas fish in lye, and do their christmas baking and christmas scouring. she was in the middle of the baking, with pans of christmas buns and cooky platters all around her, when the driver drew in the reins at the end of the lane as she had requested. she started like one suddenly awakened from a sound sleep. it was dismal for her who had just dreamed herself surrounded by all her people to be sitting alone in the late evening. as she stepped from the wagon and started to walk up the long lane that she might come unobserved to her old home, she felt so keenly the contrast between then and now that she would have preferred to turn back. "of what use is it to come here?" she sighed. "it can't be the same as in the old days!" on the other hand she felt that since she had travelled such a long distance, she would see the place at all events, so continued to walk on, although she was more depressed with every step that she took. she had heard that it was very much changed; and it certainly was! but she did not observe this now in the evening. she thought, rather, that everything was quite the same. there was the pond, which in her youth had been full of carp and where no one dared fish, because it was father's wish that the carp should be left in peace. over there were the men-servants' quarters, the larder and barn, with the farm yard bell over one gable and the weather-vane over the other. the house yard was like a circular room, with no outlook in any direction, as it had been in her father's time--for he had not the heart to cut down as much as a bush. she lingered in the shadow under the big mountain-ash at the entrance to the farm, and stood looking about her. as she stood there a strange thing happened; a flock of doves came and lit beside her. she could hardly believe that they were real birds, for doves are not in the habit of moving about after sundown. it must have been the beautiful moonlight that had awakened these. they must have thought it was dawn and flown from their dove-cotes, only to become confused, hardly knowing where they were. when they saw a human being they flew over to her, as if she would set them right. there had been many flocks of doves at the manor when her parents lived there, for the doves were among the creatures which her father had taken under his special care. if one ever mentioned the killing of a dove, it put him in a bad humour. she was pleased that the pretty birds had come to meet her in the old home. who could tell but the doves had flown out in the night to show her they had not forgotten that once upon a time they had a good home there. perhaps her father had sent his birds with a greeting to her, so that she would not feel so sad and lonely when she came to her former home. as she thought of this, there welled up within her such an intense longing for the old times that her eyes filled with tears. life had been beautiful in this place. they had had weeks of work broken by many holiday festivities. they had toiled hard all day, but at evening they had gathered around the lamp and read tegner and runeberg, "_fru"_ lenngren and "_mamsell"_ bremer. they had cultivated grain, but also roses and jasmine. they had spun flax, but had sung folk-songs as they spun. they had worked hard at their history and grammar, but they had also played theatre and written verses. they had stood at the kitchen stove and prepared food, but had learned, also, to play the flute and guitar, the violin and piano. they had planted cabbages and turnips, peas and beans in one garden, but they had another full of apples and pears and all kinds of berries. they had lived by themselves, and this was why so many stories and legends were stowed away in their memories. they had worn homespun clothes, but they had also been able to lead care-free and independent lives. "nowhere else in the world do they know how to get so much out of life as they did at one of these little homesteads in my childhood!" she thought. "there was just enough work and just enough play, and every day there was a joy. how i should love to come back here again! now that i have seen the place, it is hard to leave it." then she turned to the flock of doves and said to them--laughing at herself all the while: "won't you fly to father and tell him that i long to come home? i have wandered long enough in strange places. ask him if he can't arrange it so that i may soon turn back to my childhood's home." the moment she had said this the flock of doves rose and flew away. she tried to follow them with her eyes, but they vanished instantly. it was as if the whole white company had dissolved in the shimmering air. the doves had only just gone when she heard a couple of piercing cries from the garden, and as she hastened thither she saw a singular sight. there stood a tiny midget, no taller than a hand's breadth, struggling with a brown owl. at first she was so astonished that she could not move. but when the midget cried more and more pitifully, she stepped up quickly and parted the fighters. the owl swung herself into a tree, but the midget stood on the gravel path, without attempting either to hide or to run away. "thanks for your help," he said. "but it was very stupid of you to let the owl escape. i can't get away from here, because she is sitting up in the tree watching me." "it was thoughtless of me to let her go. but to make amends, can't i accompany you to your home?" asked she who wrote stories, somewhat surprised to think that in this unexpected fashion she had got into conversation with one of the tiny folk. still she was not so much surprised after all. it was as if all the while she had been awaiting some extraordinary experience, while she walked in the moonlight outside her old home. "the fact is, i had thought of stopping here over night," said the midget. "if you will only show me a safe sleeping place, i shall not be obliged to return to the forest before daybreak." "must i show you a place to sleep? are you not at home here?" "i understand that you take me for one of the tiny folk," said the midget, "but i'm a human being, like yourself, although i have been transformed by an elf." "that is the most remarkable thing i have ever heard! wouldn't you like to tell me how you happened to get into such a plight?" the boy did not mind telling her of his adventures, and, as the narrative proceeded, she who listened to him grew more and more astonished and happy. "what luck to run across one who has travelled all over sweden on the back of a goose!" thought she. "just this which he is relating i shall write down in my book. now i need worry no more over that matter. it was well that i came home. to think that i should find such help as soon as i came to the old place!" instantly another thought flashed into her mind. she had sent word to her father by the doves that she longed for home, and almost immediately she had received help in the matter she had pondered so long. might not this be the father's answer to her prayer? the treasure on the island on their way to the sea _friday, october seventh_. from the very start of the autumn trip the wild geese had flown straight south; but when they left fryksdalen they veered in another direction, travelling over western vermland and dalsland, toward bohuslän. that was a jolly trip! the goslings were now so used to flying that they complained no more of fatigue, and the boy was fast recovering his good humour. he was glad that he had talked with a human being. he felt encouraged when she said to him that if he were to continue doing good to all whom he met, as heretofore, it could not end badly for him. she was not able to tell him how to get back his natural form, but she had given him a little hope and assurance, which inspired the boy to think out a way to prevent the big white gander from going home. "do you know, morten goosey-gander, that it will be rather monotonous for us to stay at home all winter after having been on a trip like this," he said, as they were flying far up in the air. "i'm sitting here thinking that we ought to go abroad with the geese." "surely you are not in earnest!" said the goosey-gander. since he had proved to the wild geese his ability to travel with them all the way to lapland, he was perfectly satisfied to get back to the goose pen in holger nilsson's cow shed. the boy sat silently a while and gazed down on vermland, where the birch woods, leafy groves, and gardens were clad in red and yellow autumn colours. "i don't think i've ever seen the earth beneath us as lovely as it is to-day!" he finally remarked. "the lakes are like blue satin bands. don't you think it would be a pity to settle down in west vemminghög and never see any more of the world?" "i thought you wanted to go home to your mother and father and show them what a splendid boy you had become?" said the goosey-gander. all summer he had been dreaming of what a proud moment it would be for him when he should alight in the house yard before holger nilsson's cabin and show dunfin and the six goslings to the geese and chickens, the cows and the cat, and to mother holger nilsson herself, so that he was not very happy over the boy's proposal. "now, morten goosey-gander, don't you think yourself that it would be hard never to see anything more that is beautiful!" said the boy. "i would rather see the fat grain fields of söderslätt than these lean hills," answered the goosey-gander. "but you must know very well that if you really wish to continue the trip, i can't be parted from you." "that is just the answer i had expected from you," said the boy, and his voice betrayed that he was relieved of a great anxiety. later, when they travelled over bohuslän, the boy observed that the mountain stretches were more continuous, the valleys were more like little ravines blasted in the rock foundation, while the long lakes at their base were as black as if they had come from the underworld. this, too, was a glorious country, and as the boy saw it, with now a strip of sun, now a shadow, he thought that there was something strange and wild about it. he knew not why, but the idea came to him that once upon a time there were many strong and brave heroes in these mystical regions who had passed through many dangerous and daring adventures. the old passion of wanting to share in all sorts of wonderful adventures awoke in him. "i might possibly miss not being in danger of my life at least once every day or two," he thought. "anyhow it's best to be content with things as they are." he did not speak of this idea to the big white gander, because the geese were now flying over bohuslän with all the speed they could muster, and the goosey-gander was puffing so hard that he would not have had the strength to reply. the sun was far down on the horizon, and disappeared every now and then behind a hill; still the geese kept forging ahead. finally, in the west, they saw a shining strip of light, which grew broader and broader with every wing stroke. soon the sea spread before them, milk white with a shimmer of rose red and sky blue, and when they had circled past the coast cliffs they saw the sun again, as it hung over the sea, big and red and ready to plunge into the waves. as the boy gazed at the broad, endless sea and the red evening sun, which had such a kindly glow that he dared to look straight at it, he felt a sense of peace and calm penetrate his soul. "it's not worth while to be sad, nils holgersson," said the sun. "this is a beautiful world to live in both for big and little. it is also good to be free and happy, and to have a great dome of open sky above you." the gift of the wild geese the geese stood sleeping on a little rock islet just beyond fjällbacka. when it drew on toward midnight, and the moon hung high in the heavens, old akka shook the sleepiness out of her eyes. after that she walked around and awakened yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi, and, last of all, she gave thumbietot a nudge with her bill that startled him. "what is it, mother akka?" he asked, springing up in alarm. "nothing serious," assured the leader-goose. "it's just this: we seven who have been long together want to fly a short distance out to sea to-night, and we wondered if you would care to come with us." the boy knew that akka would not have proposed this move had there not been something important on foot, so he promptly seated himself on her back. the flight was straight west. the wild geese first flew over a belt of large and small islands near the coast, then over a broad expanse of open sea, till they reached the large cluster known as the väder islands. all of them were low and rocky, and in the moonlight one could see that they were rather large. akka looked at one of the smallest islands and alighted there. it consisted of a round, gray stone hill, with a wide cleft across it, into which the sea had cast fine, white sea sand and a few shells. as the boy slid from the goose's back he noticed something quite close to him that looked like a jagged stone. but almost at once he saw that it was a big vulture which had chosen the rock island for a night harbour. before the boy had time to wonder at the geese recklessly alighting so near a dangerous enemy, the bird flew up to them and the boy recognized gorgo, the eagle. evidently akka and gorgo had arranged the meeting, for neither of them was taken by surprise. "this was good of you, gorgo," said akka. "i didn't expect that you would be at the meeting place ahead of us. have you been here long?" "i came early in the evening," replied gorgo. "but i fear that the only praise i deserve is for keeping my appointment with you. i've not been very successful in carrying out the orders you gave me." "i'm sure, gorgo, that you have done more than you care to admit," assured akka. "but before you relate your experiences on the trip, i shall ask thumbietot to help me find something which is supposed to be buried on this island." the boy stood gazing admiringly at two beautiful shells, but when akka spoke his name, he glanced up. "you must have wondered, thumbietot, why we turned out of our course to fly here to the west sea," said akka. "to be frank, i did think it strange," answered the boy. "but i knew, of course, that you always have some good reason for whatever you do." "you have a good opinion of me," returned akka, "but i almost fear you will lose it now, for it's very probable that we have made this journey in vain. "many years ago it happened that two of the other old geese and myself encountered frightful storms during a spring flight and were wind-driven to this island. when we discovered that there was only open sea before us, we feared we should be swept so far out that we should never find our way back to land, so we lay down on the waves between these bare cliffs, where the storm compelled us to remain for several days. "we suffered terribly from hunger; once we ventured up to the cleft on this island in search of food. we couldn't find a green blade, but we saw a number of securely tied bags half buried in the sand. we hoped to find grain in the bags and pulled and tugged at them till we tore the cloth. however, no grain poured out, but shining gold pieces. for such things we wild geese had no use, so we left them where they were. we haven't thought of the find in all these years; but this autumn something has come up to make us wish for gold. "we do not know that the treasure is still here, but we have travelled all this way to ask you to look into the matter." with a shell in either hand the boy jumped down into the cleft and began to scoop up the sand. he found no bags, but when he had made a deep hole he heard the clink of metal and saw that he had come upon a gold piece. then he dug with his fingers and felt many coins in the sand. so he hurried back to akka. "the bags have rotted and fallen apart," he exclaimed, "and the money lies scattered all through the sand." "that's well!" said akka. "now fill in the hole and smooth it over so no one will notice the sand has been disturbed." the boy did as he was told, but when he came up from the cleft he was astonished to see that the wild geese were lined up, with akka in the lead, and were marching toward him with great solemnity. the geese paused in front of him, and all bowed their heads many times, looking so grave that he had to doff his cap and make an obeisance to them. "the fact is," said akka, "we old geese have been thinking that if thumbietot had been in the service of human beings and had done as much for them as he has for us they would not let him go without rewarding him well." "i haven't helped you; it is you who have taken good care of me," returned the boy. "we think also," continued akka, "that when a human being has attended us on a whole journey he shouldn't be allowed to leave us as poor as when he came." "i know that what i have learned this year with you is worth more to me than gold or lands," said the boy. "since these gold coins have been lying unclaimed in the cleft all these years, i think that you ought to have them," declared the wild goose. "i thought you said something about needing this money yourselves," reminded the boy. "we do need it, so as to be able to give you such recompense as will make your mother and father think you have been working as a goose boy with worthy people." the boy turned half round and cast a glance toward the sea, then faced about and looked straight into akka's bright eyes. "i think it strange, mother akka, that you turn me away from your service like this and pay me off before i have given you notice," he said. "as long as we wild geese remain in sweden, i trust that you will stay with us," said akka. "i only wanted to show you where the treasure was while we could get to it without going too far out of our course." "all the same it looks as if you wished to be rid of me before i want to go," argued thumbietot. "after all the good times we have had together, i think you ought to let me go abroad with you." when the boy said this, akka and the other wild geese stretched their long necks straight up and stood a moment, with bills half open, drinking in air. "that is something i haven't thought about," said akka, when she recovered herself. "before you decide to come with us, we had better hear what gorgo has to say. you may as well know that when we left lapland the agreement between gorgo and myself was that he should travel to your home down in skåne to try to make better terms for you with the elf." "that is true," affirmed gorgo, "but as i have already told you, luck was against me. i soon hunted up holger nilsson's croft and after circling up and down over the place a couple of hours, i caught sight of the elf, skulking along between the sheds. "immediately i swooped down upon him and flew off with him to a meadow where we could talk together without interruption. "i told him that i had been sent by akka from kebnekaise to ask if he couldn't give nils holgersson easier terms. "'i only wish i could!' he answered, 'for i have heard that he has conducted himself well on the trip; but it is not in my power to do so.' "then i was wrathy and said that i would bore out his eyes unless he gave in. "'you may do as you like,' he retorted, 'but as to nils holgersson, it will turn out exactly as i have said. you can tell him from me that he would do well to return soon with his goose, for matters on the farm are in a bad shape. his father has had to forfeit a bond for his brother, whom he trusted. he has bought a horse with borrowed money, and the beast went lame the first time he drove it. since then it has been of no earthly use to him. tell nils holgersson that his parents have had to sell two of the cows and that they must give up the croft unless they receive help from somewhere." when the boy heard this he frowned and clenched his fists so hard that the nails dug into his flesh. "it is cruel of the elf to make the conditions so hard for me that i can not go home and relieve my parents, but he sha'n't turn me into a traitor to a friend! my father and mother are square and upright folk. i know they would rather forfeit my help than have me come back to them with a guilty conscience." the journey to vemminghÖg _thursday, november third_. one day in the beginning of november the wild geese flew over halland ridge and into skåne. for several weeks they had been resting on the wide plains around falköping. as many other wild goose flocks also stopped there, the grown geese had had a pleasant time visiting with old friends, and there had been all kinds of games and races between the younger birds. nils holgersson had not been happy over the delay in westergötland. he had tried to keep a stout heart; but it was hard for him to reconcile himself to his fate. "if i were only well out of skåne and in some foreign land," he had thought, "i should know for certain that i had nothing to hope for, and would feel easier in my mind." finally, one morning, the geese started out and flew toward halland. in the beginning the boy took very little interest in that province. he thought there was nothing new to be seen there. but when the wild geese continued the journey farther south, along the narrow coast-lands, the boy leaned over the goose's neck and did not take his glance from the ground. he saw the hills gradually disappear and the plain spread under him, at the same time he noticed that the coast became less rugged, while the group of islands beyond thinned and finally vanished and the broad, open sea came clear up to firm land. here there were no more forests: here the plain was supreme. it spread all the way to the horizon. a land that lay so exposed, with field upon field, reminded the boy of skåne. he felt both happy and sad as he looked at it. "i can't be very far from home," he thought. many times during the trip the goslings had asked the old geese: "how does it look in foreign lands?" "wait, wait! you shall soon see," the old geese had answered. when the wild geese had passed halland ridge and gone a distance into skåne, akka called out: "now look down! look all around! it is like this in foreign lands." just then they flew over söder ridge. the whole long range of hills was clad in beech woods, and beautiful, turreted castles peeped out here and there. among the trees grazed roe-buck, and on the forest meadow romped the hares. hunters' horns sounded from the forests; the loud baying of dogs could be heard all the way up to the wild geese. broad avenues wound through the trees and on these ladies and gentlemen were driving in polished carriages or riding fine horses. at the foot of the ridge lay ring lake with the ancient bosjö cloister on a narrow peninsula. "does it look like this in foreign lands?" asked the goslings. "it looks exactly like this wherever there are forest-clad ridges," replied akka, "only one doesn't see many of them. wait! you shall see how it looks in general." akka led the geese farther south to the great skåne plain. there it spread, with grain fields; with acres and acres of sugar beets, where the beet-pickers were at work; with low whitewashed farm- and outhouses; with numberless little white churches; with ugly, gray sugar refineries and small villages near the railway stations. little beech-encircled meadow lakes, each of them adorned by its own stately manor, shimmered here and there. "now look down! look carefully!" called the leader-goose. "thus it is in foreign lands, from the baltic coast all the way down to the high alps. farther than that i have never travelled." when the goslings had seen the plain, the leader-goose flew down the Öresund coast. swampy meadows sloped gradually toward the sea. in some places were high, steep banks, in others drift-sand fields, where the sand lay heaped in banks and hills. fishing hamlets stood all along the coast, with long rows of low, uniform brick houses, with a lighthouse at the edge of the breakwater, and brown fishing nets hanging in the drying yard. "now look down! look well! this is how it looks along the coasts in foreign lands." after akka had been flying about in this manner a long time she alighted suddenly on a marsh in vemminghög township and the boy could not help thinking that she had travelled over skåne just to let him see that his was a country which could compare favourably with any in the world. this was unnecessary, for the boy was not thinking of whether the country was rich or poor. from the moment that he had seen the first willow grove his heart ached with homesickness. home at last _tuesday, november eighth_. the atmosphere was dull and hazy. the wild geese had been feeding on the big meadow around skerup church and were having their noonday rest when akka came up to the boy. "it looks as if we should have calm weather for awhile," she remarked, "and i think we'll cross the baltic to-morrow." "indeed!" said the boy abruptly, for his throat contracted so that he could hardly speak. all along he had cherished the hope that he would be released from the enchantment while he was still in skåne. "we are quite near west vemminghög now," said akka, "and i thought that perhaps you might like to go home for awhile. it may be some time before you have another opportunity to see your people." "perhaps i had better not," said the boy hesitatingly, but something in his voice betrayed that he was glad of akka's proposal. "if the goosey-gander remains with us, no harm can come to him," akka assured. "i think you had better find out how your parents are getting along. you might be of some help to them, even if you're not a normal boy." "you are right, mother akka. i should have thought of that long ago," said the boy impulsively. the next second he and the leader-goose were on their way to his home. it was not long before akka alighted behind the stone hedge encircling the little farm. "strange how natural everything looks around here!" the boy remarked, quickly clambering to the top of the hedge, so that he could look about. "it seems to me only yesterday that i first saw you come flying through the air." "i wonder if your father has a gun," said akka suddenly. "you may be sure he has," returned the boy. "it was just the gun that kept me at home that sunday morning when i should have been at church." "then i don't dare to stand here and wait for you," said akka. "you had better meet us at smygahök early to-morrow morning, so that you may stay at home over night." "oh, don't go yet, mother akka!" begged the boy, jumping from the hedge. he could not tell just why it was, but he felt as if something would happen, either to the wild goose or to himself, to prevent their future meeting. "no doubt you see that i'm distressed because i cannot get back my right form; but i want to say to you that i don't regret having gone with you last spring," he added. "i would rather forfeit the chance of ever being human again than to have missed that trip." akka breathed quickly before she answered. "there's a little matter i should have mentioned to you before this, but since you are not going back to your home for good, i thought there was no hurry about it. still it may as well be said now." "you know very well that i am always glad to do your bidding," said the boy. "if you have learned anything at all from us, thumbietot, you no longer think that the humans should have the whole earth to themselves," said the wild goose, solemnly. "remember you have a large country and you can easily afford to leave a few bare rocks, a few shallow lakes and swamps, a few desolate cliffs and remote forests to us poor, dumb creatures, where we can be allowed to live in peace. all my days i have been hounded and hunted. it would be a comfort to know that there is a refuge somewhere for one like me." "indeed, i should be glad to help if i could," said the boy, "but it's not likely that i shall ever again have any influence among human beings." "well, we're standing here talking as if we were never to meet again," said akka, "but we shall see each other to-morrow, of course. now i'll return to my flock." she spread her wings and started to fly, but came back and stroked thumbietot up and down with her bill before she flew away. it was broad daylight, but no human being moved on the farm and the boy could go where he pleased. he hastened to the cow shed, because he knew that he could get the best information from the cows. it looked rather barren in their shed. in the spring there had been three fine cows there, but now there was only one--mayrose. it was quite apparent that she yearned for her comrades. her head drooped sadly, and she had hardly touched the feed in her crib. "good day, mayrose!" said the boy, running fearlessly into her stall. "how are mother and father? how are the cat and the chickens? what has become of star and gold-lily?" when mayrose heard the boy's voice she started, and appeared as if she were going to gore him. but she was not so quick-tempered now as formerly, and took time to look well at nils holgersson. he was just as little now as when he went away, and wore the same clothes; yet he was completely changed. the nils holgersson that went away in the spring had a heavy, slow gait, a drawling speech, and sleepy eyes. the one that had come back was lithe and alert, ready of speech, and had eyes that sparkled and danced. he had a confident bearing that commanded respect, little as he was. although he himself did not look happy, he inspired happiness in others. "moo!" bellowed mayrose. "they told me that he was changed, but i couldn't believe it. welcome home, nils holgersson! welcome home! this is the first glad moment i have known for ever so long!" "thank you, mayrose!" said the boy, who was very happy to be so well received. "now tell me all about father and mother." "they have had nothing but hardship ever since you went away," said mayrose. "the horse has been a costly care all summer, for he has stood in the stable the whole time and not earned his feed. your father is too soft-hearted to shoot him and he can't sell him. it was on account of the horse that both star and gold-lily had to be sold." there was something else the boy wanted badly to know, but he was diffident about asking the question point blank. therefore he said: "mother must have felt very sorry when she discovered that morten goosey-gander had flown?" "she wouldn't have worried much about morten goosey-gander had she known the way he came to leave. she grieves most at the thought of her son having run away from home with a goosey-gander." "does she really think that i _stole_ the goosey-gander?" said the boy. "what else could she think?" "father and mother must fancy that i've been roaming about the country, like a common tramp?" "they think that you've gone to the dogs," said mayrose. "they have mourned you as one mourns the loss of the dearest thing on earth." as soon as the boy heard this, he rushed from the cow shed and down to the stable. it was small, but clean and tidy. everything showed that his father had tried to make the place comfortable for the new horse. in the stall stood a strong, fine animal that looked well fed and well cared for. "good day to you!" said the boy. "i have heard that there's a sick horse in here. surely it can't be you, who look so healthy and strong." the horse turned his head and stared fixedly at the boy. "are you the son?" he queried. "i have heard many bad reports of him. but you have such a good face, i couldn't believe that you were he, did i not know that he was transformed into an elf." "i know that i left a bad name behind me when i went away from the farm," admitted nils holgersson. "my own mother thinks i am a thief. but what matters it--i sha'n't tarry here long. meanwhile, i want to know what ails you." "pity you're not going to stay," said the horse, "for i have the feeling that you and i might become good friends. i've got something in my foot--the point of a knife, or something sharp--that's all that ails me. it has gone so far in that the doctor can't find it, but it cuts so that i can't walk. if you would only tell your father what's wrong with me, i'm sure that he could help me. i should like to be of some use. i really feel ashamed to stand here and feed without doing any work." "it's well that you have no real illness," remarked nils holgersson. "i must attend to this at once, so that you will be all right again. you don't mind if i do a little scratching on your hoof with my knife, do you?" nils holgersson had just finished, when he heard the sound of voices. he opened the stable door a little and peeped out. his father and mother were coming down the lane. it was easy to see that they were broken by many sorrows. his mother had many lines on her face and his father's hair had turned gray. she was talking with him about getting a loan from her brother-in-law. "no, i don't want to borrow any more money," his father said, as they were passing the stable. "there's nothing quite so hard as being in debt. it would be better to sell the cabin." "if it were not for the boy, i shouldn't mind selling it," his mother demurred. "but what will become of him, if he returns some day, wretched and poor--as he's likely to be--and we not here?" "you're right about that," the father agreed. "but we shall have to ask the folks who take the place to receive him kindly and to let him know that he's welcome back to us. we sha'n't say a harsh word to him, no matter what he may be, shall we mother?" "no, indeed! if i only had him again, so that i could be certain he is not starving and freezing on the highways, i'd ask nothing more!" then his father and mother went in, and the boy heard no more of their conversation. he was happy and deeply moved when he knew that they loved him so dearly, although they believed he had gone astray. he longed to rush into their arms. "but perhaps it would be an even greater sorrow were they to see me as i now am." while he stood there, hesitating, a cart drove up to the gate. the boy smothered a cry of surprise, for who should step from the cart and go into the house yard but osa, the goose girl, and her father! they walked hand in hand toward the cabin. when they were about half way there, osa stopped her father and said: "now remember, father, you are not to mention the wooden shoe or the geese or the little brownie who was so like nils holgersson that if it was not himself it must have had some connection with him." "certainly not!" said jon esserson. "i shall only say that their son has been of great help to you on several occasions--when you were trying to find me--and that therefore we have come to ask if we can't do them a service in return, since i'm a rich man now and have more than i need, thanks to the mine i discovered up in lapland." "i know, father, that you can say the right thing in the right way," osa commended. "it is only that one particular thing that i don't wish you to mention." they went into the cabin, and the boy would have liked to hear what they talked about in there; but he dared not venture near the house. it was not long before they came out again, and his father and mother accompanied them as far as the gate. his parents were strangely happy. they appeared to have gained a new hold on life. when the visitors were gone, father and mother lingered at the gate gazing after them. "i don't feel unhappy any longer, since i've heard so much that is good of our nils," said his mother. "perhaps he got more praise than he really deserved," put in his father thoughtfully. "wasn't it enough for you that they came here specially to say they wanted to help us because our nils had served them in many ways? i think, father, that you should have accepted their offer." "no, mother, i don't wish to accept money from any one, either as a gift or a loan. in the first place i want to free myself from all debt, then we will work our way up again. we're not so very old, are we, mother?" the father laughed heartily as he said this. "i believe you think it will be fun to sell this place, upon which we have expended such a lot of time and hard work," protested the mother. "oh, you know why i'm laughing," the father retorted. "it was the thought of the boy's having gone to the bad that weighed me down until i had no strength or courage left in me. now that i know he still lives and has turned out well, you'll see that holger nilsson has some grit left." the mother went in alone, and the boy made haste to hide in a corner, for his father walked into the stable. he went over to the horse and examined its hoof, as usual, to try to discover what was wrong with it. "what's this!" he cried, discovering some letters scratched on the hoof. "remove the sharp piece of iron from the foot," he read and glanced around inquiringly. however, he ran his fingers along the under side of the hoof and looked at it carefully. "i verily believe there is something sharp here!" he said. while his father was busy with the horse and the boy sat huddled in a corner, it happened that other callers came to the farm. the fact was that when morten goosey-gander found himself so near his old home he simply could not resist the temptation of showing his wife and children to his old companions on the farm. so he took dunfin and the goslings along, and made for home. there was not a soul in the barn yard when the goosey-gander came along. he alighted, confidently walked all around the place, and showed dunfin how luxuriously he had lived when he was a tame goose. when they had viewed the entire farm, he noticed that the door of the cow shed was open. "look in here a moment," he said, "then you will see how i lived in former days. it was very different from camping in swamps and morasses, as we do now." the goosey-gander stood in the doorway and looked into the cow shed. "there's not a soul in here," he said. "come along, dunfin, and you shall see the goose pen. don't be afraid; there's no danger." forthwith the goosey-gander, dunfin, and all six goslings waddled into the goose pen, to have a look at the elegance and comfort in which the big white gander had lived before he joined the wild geese. "this is the way it used to be: here was my place and over there was the trough, which was always filled with oats and water," explained the goosey-gander. "wait! there's some fodder in it now." with that he rushed to the trough and began to gobble up the oats. but dunfin was nervous. "let's go out again!" she said. "only two more grains," insisted the goosey-gander. the next second he let out a shriek and ran for the door, but it was too late! the door slammed, the mistress stood without and bolted it. they were locked in! the father had removed a sharp piece of iron from the horse's hoof and stood contentedly stroking the animal when the mother came running into the stable. "come, father, and see the capture i've made!" "no, wait a minute!" said the father. "look here, first. i have discovered what ailed the horse." "i believe our luck has turned," said the mother. "only fancy! the big white goosey-gander that disappeared last spring must have gone off with the wild geese. he has come back to us in company with seven wild geese. they walked straight into the goose pen, and i've shut them all in." "that's extraordinary," remarked the father. "but best of all is that we don't have to think any more that our boy stole the goosey-gander when he went away." "you're quite right, father," she said. "but i'm afraid we'll have to kill them to-night. in two days is morten gooseday[ ] and we must make haste if we expect to get them to market in time." [footnote : in sweden the th of november is called morten gooseday and corresponds to the american thanksgiving day.] "i think it would be outrageous to butcher the goosey-gander, now that he has returned to us with such a large family," protested holger nilsson. "if times were easier we'd let him live; but since we're going to move from here, we can't keep geese. come along now and help me carry them into the kitchen," urged the mother. they went out together and in a few moments the boy saw his father coming along with morten goosey-gander and dunfin--one under each arm. he and his wife went into the cabin. the goosey-gander cried: "thumbietot, come and help me!"--as he always did when in peril--although he was not aware that the boy was at hand. nils holgersson heard him, yet he lingered at the door of the cow shed. he did not hesitate because he knew that it would be well for him if the goosey-gander were beheaded--at that moment he did not even remember this--but because he shrank from being seen by his parents. "they have a hard enough time of it already," he thought. "must i bring them a new sorrow?" but when the door closed on the goosey-gander, the boy was aroused. he dashed across the house yard, sprang up on the board-walk leading to the entrance door and ran into the hallway, where he kicked off his wooden shoes in the old accustomed way, and walked toward the door. all the while it went so much against the grain to appear before his father and mother that he could not raise his hand to knock. "but this concerns the life of the goosey-gander," he said to himself--"he who has been my best friend ever since i last stood here." in a twinkling the boy remembered all that he and the goosey-gander had suffered on ice-bound lakes and stormy seas and among wild beasts of prey. his heart swelled with gratitude; he conquered himself and knocked on the door. "is there some one who wishes to come in?" asked his father, opening the door. "mother, you sha'n't touch the goosey-gander!" cried the boy. instantly both the goosey-gander and dunfin, who lay on a bench with their feet tied, gave a cry of joy, so that he was sure they were alive. some one else gave a cry of joy--his _mother_! "my, but you have grown tall and handsome!" she exclaimed. the boy had not entered the cabin, but was standing on the doorstep, like one who is not quite certain how he will be received. "the lord be praised that i have you back again!" said his mother, laughing and crying. "come in, my boy! come in!" "welcome!" added his father, and not another word could he utter. but the boy still lingered at the threshold. he could not comprehend why they were so glad to see him--such as he was. then his mother came and put her arms around him and drew him into the room, and he knew that he was all right. "mother and father!" he cried. "i'm a big boy. i am a human being again!" the parting with the wild geese _wednesday, november ninth_. the boy arose before dawn and wandered down to the coast. he was standing alone on the strand east of smyge fishing hamlet before sunrise. he had already been in the pen with morten goosey-gander to try to rouse him, but the big white gander had no desire to leave home. he did not say a word, but only stuck his bill under his wing and went to sleep again. to all appearances the weather promised to be almost as perfect as it had been that spring day when the wild geese came to skåne. there was hardly a ripple on the water; the air was still and the boy thought of the good passage the geese would have. he himself was as yet in a kind of daze--sometimes thinking he was an elf, sometimes a human being. when he saw a stone hedge alongside the road, he was afraid to go farther until he had made sure that no wild animal or vulture lurked behind it. very soon he laughed to himself and rejoiced because he was big and strong and did not have to be afraid of anything. when he reached the coast he stationed himself, big as he was, at the very edge of the strand, so that the wild geese could see him. it was a busy day for the birds of passage. bird calls sounded on the air continuously. the boy smiled as he thought that no one but himself understood what the birds were saying to one another. presently wild geese came flying; one big flock following another. "just so it's not my geese that are going away without bidding me farewell," he thought. he wanted so much to tell them how everything had turned out, and to show them that he was no longer an elf but a human being. there came a flock that flew faster and cackled louder than the others, and something told him that this must be _the_ flock, but now he was not quite so sure about it as he would have been the day before. the flock slackened its flight and circled up and down along the coast. the boy knew it was the right one, but he could not understand why the geese did not come straight down to him. they could not avoid seeing him where he stood. he tried to give a call that would bring them down to him, but only think! his tongue would not obey him. he could not make the right sound! he heard akka's calls, but did not understand what she said. "what can this mean? have the wild geese changed their language?" he wondered. he waved his cap to them and ran along the shore calling. "here am i, where are you?" but this seemed only to frighten the geese. they rose and flew farther out to sea. at last he understood. they did not know that he was human, had not recognized him. he could not call them to him because human beings can not speak the language of birds. he could not speak their language, nor could he understand it. although the boy was very glad to be released from the enchantment, still he thought it hard that because of this he should be parted from his old comrades. he sat down on the sands and buried his face in his hands. what was the use of his gazing after them any more? presently he heard the rustle of wings. old mother akka had found it hard to fly away from thumbietot, and turned back, and now that the boy sat quite still she ventured to fly nearer to him. suddenly something must have told her who he was, for she lit close beside him. nils gave a cry of joy and took old akka in his arms. the other wild geese crowded round him and stroked him with their bills. they cackled and chattered and wished him all kinds of good luck, and he, too, talked to them and thanked them for the wonderful journey which he had been privileged to make in their company. all at once the wild geese became strangely quiet and withdrew from him, as if to say: "alas! he is a man. he does not understand us: we do not understand him!" then the boy rose and went over to akka; he stroked her and patted her. he did the same to yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi--the old birds who had been his companions from the very start. after that he walked farther up the strand. he knew perfectly well that the sorrows of the birds do not last long, and he wanted to part with them while they were still sad at losing him. as he crossed the shore meadows he turned and watched the many flocks of birds that were flying over the sea. all were shrieking their coaxing calls--only one goose flock flew silently on as long as he could follow it with his eyes. the wedge was perfect, the speed good, and the wing strokes strong and certain. the boy felt such a yearning for his departing comrades that he almost wished he were thumbietot again and could travel over land and sea with a flock of wild geese. table of pronunciation the final _e_ is sounded in skåne, sirle, gripe, etc. the _å_ in skåne and småland is pronounced like _o_ in ore. _j_ is like the english _y_. nuolja, oviksfjällen, sjangeli, jarro, etc., should sound as if they were spelled like this: nuolya, oviksfyellen, syang [one syllable] elee, yarro, etc. _g_, when followed by _e, i, y, ä, ö_, is also like _y_. example, göta is pronounced yöta. when _g_ is followed by _a, o, u_, or _å_, it is hard, as in go. _k_ in norrköping, linköping, kivik (pronounced cheeveek), etc., is like _ch_ in cheer. _k_ is hard when it precedes _a, o, u_, or _å_. example, kaksi, kolmi, etc. _ä_ is pronounced like _ä_ in fare. example, färs. there is no sound in the english language which corresponds to the swedish _ö_. it is like the french _eu_ in jeu. gripe is pronounced greep-e. in sirle, the first syllable has the same sound as _sir_, in sirup. the names which miss lagerlöf has given to the animals are descriptive. smirre fox, is cunning fox. sirle squirrel, is graceful, or nimble squirrel. gripe otter, means grabbing or clutching otter. mons is a pet name applied to cats; like our tommy or pussy. monsie house-cat is equivalent to tommy house-cat. mårten gåskarl (morten goosie-gander) is a pet name for a tame gander, just as we use dickie-bird for a pet bird. fru is the swedish for mrs. this title is usually applied to gentlewomen only. the author has used this meaning of "fru." a goa-nisse is an elf-king, and corresponds to the english puck or robin goodfellow. velma swanston howard. file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) little tora: the swedish schoolmistress and other stories. [illustration: "_the school was going on in its usual routine._" page .] [illustration: a brave deed _page _] little tora the swedish schoolmistress and other stories by mrs. woods baker author of "the babes in the basket," "the swedish twins," "fireside sketches from swedish life," etc. etc. [illustration] thomas nelson and sons _london, edinburgh, and new york_ contents. a swedish schoolmistress. i. little tora, ii. facing the world, iii. a narrow escape, iv. a happy morning, v. the permanent pupil, a week at kulleby. i. church service, ii. at the pastor's, iii. a strange meeting, iv. too late, v. karin and elsa, vi. christmas eve, alf. i. a foolish resolve, ii. after thirty years, iii. in the poorhouse, iv. preparing for confirmation, v. led to the light, vi. painful disclosures, vii. a happy christmas, viii. the beata charity, transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. original spellings have been retained. little tora: the swedish schoolmistress chapter i. little tora. the kindly doctor was entertaining his brother-in-law, and all the family were sitting round the table in state. the polished silver and shining glass, with porcelain, flowers, and fruit, seemed to be all that had been provided for the dinner. the usual "grace" had hardly been said, when a trim maid announced that a little girl was at the door, who must see the doctor about something particular. "there is nobody sick more than usual," she says; "but she must come in," continued the irritated damsel-in-waiting. "let her come in here. you can never have your meals in peace!" said the doctor's wife affectionately. the soup and the little girl came in together, the latterly evidently quite prepared to state her errand. she was a small, straight child, with a determined air and a cheery face, as if sure of success in her undertaking. fresh in monday cleanliness, her white cotton head-kerchief stood stiffly out in a point behind, and her calico apron was without spot or wrinkle. her shoes, though they had been diligently blackened and were under high polish, did not correspond with the rest of her appearance. they had evidently been made for a boy, an individual much larger than their present wearer. great wrinkles crossing each other shut off some low, unoccupied land near the toe, and showed how much of the sole had been too proud to touch the common ground. all this the observers saw at once. "well, tora!" said the doctor pleasantly, after she had dropped her bob-courtesies, and "good-days" had been exchanged. "may i sing for you?" said the little girl, without further hesitation, as she hastily took out a thin, black book from the small pocket handkerchief in which it had been carefully wrapped. "sing? yes, surely!" said the doctor. "just the thing for us while we are taking our dinner. my brother-in-law here is a famous judge of music, so you must do your best." tora opened the book, took what she considered an imposing position, and announced the name of the song. it was a patriotic one, and in the full chorus of the schoolroom it had stirred the young swedish hearts to their depths. the first few notes were right, though tremblingly given; then came a quivering and a faltering and a falsity that made the doctor's boys cover their laughing mouths with their hands, while their eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment. just then there was a queer buzzing noise in the room, by which the tune was carried on, and tora fell in with fresh courage. most of the party were taking their soup, as well as listening; but the boys observed that their uncle quietly held his motionless spoon, and was looking at the singer as if lost in musical bliss. his mouth was closed, but his nostrils seemed undergoing a rhythmical contraction and distension most interesting and unusual. tora gave the closing notes in fine style, and the expression of applause was general. so encouraged, she volunteered a simple newly-published carol that she had that day been practising at school. here it seemed the musical accompaniment could not be relied upon. tora began, stopped, and began again, then was silent, while great tears stood in her eyes. one of the before-smiling boys hastened to say,-- "let her speak a piece, uncle. she can do that beautifully, her brother karl says. he has taught her ever so many, and it costs her nothing to learn them. he likes to tell that she is the best scholar in her class." the uncle seemed to be able to enjoy his dinner at the same time as the elocutionary treat with which it was now accompanied, and he warmly complimented the speaker on her performance at its close. "what made you think of giving us this pleasure, little tora?" said the doctor, with a humorous look in his kindly face. "why," said the little girl at once, "i don't like my shoes. they have been brother karl's. when i asked father this morning to give me some new ones, he said this was a fine strong pair and did not let in water, and he could not think of letting them go to waste. then he looked sorrowful, and i heard him say to mother, 'the poor children will have to earn all they have soon.' i made up my mind to begin at once, and earn my shoes, if i could. our teacher told us to-day about jenny lind, who began to sing when she was a very little girl, and when she was older she made a great deal of money, and gave away ever so much, and was loved and admired wherever she went. i thought i should like to be loved and admired wherever i went, and have new shoes whenever i wanted them, and i would try singing too. i came here first because the doctor has always been so pleasant to me and so good to us all." "you have made a real beginning," said the brother-in-law.--"gustaf, take round the hat." the doctor's son ran for his cap. there was a chinking and a silver flash as the uncle put his hand into the cap. something of the same kind happened when it came to the doctor's turn to contribute. the mother fumbled confusedly in her pocket, and found only her handkerchief. the boys tossed in conspicuously some coppers of their own, perhaps with the idea of covering, by their munificence, the evident discomfiture of their mother. "there! there!" said the uncle. "hand the cap to the little girl. what is in it is for the singer. as for the shoes, i'll see about that.--i would not advise you, though, little tora, to try singing to make money. it might do for jenny lind, but i hardly think it would suit for you." the little girl's countenance fell. the friendly stranger went on, "how would you like to be a little schoolmistress? that would be a nice way for you to take care of yourself, and maybe help all at home, by-and-by. i know how that thing is done, and i think we could manage it." the uncle did know "how that thing was done," and who meant to do it. little tora was provided for from that day; and so, if she did not sing like jenny lind, she sang herself into being a schoolmistress--a little schoolmistress of the very best order. chapter ii. facing the world. it was five o'clock in the morning on one of the last days of august. this was no legally-sanctioned swedish moving-day, and yet it was plain that with somebody a change of residence was in progress. before a low house on a winding "cobble-stone" paved street two long, narrow wagons were standing. their horses faced in different directions, though in all other respects the two establishments were, even to their loading, like a pair of twins. in each was the furniture for one simple room, a sofa-bed being the striking article in the inventory. a carefully-packed basket of china, a few primitive cooking utensils, and some boxes and packages indicated, if not good cheer, at least something to keep soul and body together. the outer door of the house was locked at last, and the key had been handed to a humble woman, who courtesied and took it as a matter of form; though both parties knew that she would soon be opening that door and coming into lawful possession of all the effects, remnants, and refuse left on the premises, and would be sure to hand that house over to the landlord in a superlatively clean and tidy condition. two stout men took their places as drivers, and two passengers stood on the low steps for a few parting words. they were by no means twins. the straight, slight girl, though not tall, yet fully grown, had been the little tora, the singer of one public performance. now she had in her pocket her greatest treasure--the paper that pronounced her a fully-fledged schoolmistress; who had completed with honour the prescribed course at the seminary duly authorized for the manufacture of teachers of unimpeachable character, and all pedagogical requisites in perfection. at tora's side stood "brother karl," just about to start for upsala university, with his arrangements complete for his bachelor housekeeping on the most simple principles. there was no effusiveness in the parting. "keep well, karl, and don't study too hard," said the sister. "and don't have any 'food-days'; i could not bear that. but you must not live too low, and pull yourself down. send to me if you get to the bottom of your purse. i shall be likely to have a few coppers in mine." "i'll warrant that, miss prudence," was his reply. "nobody but you would have managed to keep us both comfortably on what was only meant to carry you through the seminary. don't be afraid for me! i shall clear my own way. i shall teach boys in the evening, and study after they have gone to bed. i have served a good apprenticeship with the doctor's chaps these years. i understand packing lessons into youngsters to be given out in the class next day. then i am to write an article now and then for the paper here, with upsala news for the country folks. as to 'food-days,' i am not exactly of your mind. i have made arrangements for one already." "o karl! how could you?" said tora reproachfully. "gunner steelhammer liked well enough to take porridge with us now and then when he was teaching here. his mother has told him to invite me to dine at their house on sundays, and to call there whenever i feel like it. we are real friends, though he is a university tutor now. anybody that i would be willing to help i am willing to let help me. of course, i shall enjoy a good substantial dinner once a week, but i really care more to be with the family at that house. gunner is a splendid fellow, as you know, and his father draws all kinds of nice people about him, i hear. i did not dare to tell you this before, little sister; but now i have made a clean breast of it. i was half teasing about it, too. be sure, i'll work hard and live low before i shall let anybody help me. well, good-bye," and he stretched out his hand to tora, who took it hastily for a hearty shake, and then they parted. karl was wearing his white university cap, which, with the loading of the wagon, marked him as a student on the way to upsala, and would ensure him many a friendly greeting by the way. tora had prudently covered the fresh velvet with a fair cotton cover; but the blue-and-yellow rosette was in full sight--a token of the honours he had lately won at his examination, and would be striving to win at the old centre of learning. the kind neighbours whom he had known from boyhood had added to his equipment--here a cheese, and there a pat of butter or a bag of fresh biscuits; but he did not need to open his stores by the way. now and again from the roadside houses kindly faces smiled on him, and homely fare was offered him by the elders; while flowers or wild berries came to his share from glad children who had been ranging the woods for treasures during these last days of their summer vacation. as for tora, sitting in a low chair in the midst of her possessions, she went rattling over the cobble-stones, if not more proud at least more happy of heart than a conqueror of old at the head of a roman triumph. she had reached the goal towards which she had long been striving. she was now an independent worker, with a profession by which she could earn an honourable living. she was a teacher, "a teacher of the little school"--that is to say, of the school for little children. the state was her sure paymaster. if continued health were granted her, her path for the future was plain--her bread was sure. the cobble-stones were soon passed, and over the smooth country road rumbled the clumsy vehicle, now through evergreen thickets, now through groves of bright birches, and at last out on the rolling meadows. the fences had disappeared, and but for a lone landmark here and there, the sea of green might have seemed the property of any strong-handed labourer who might choose to call it his own. down an unusually steep slope the wagon passed, then across the low meadow with a bright stream threading its midst, and then there was a triumphant sweep up to the little red schoolhouse where tora was to have her abode and the sphere of her labours. a low wooded point ran like a promontory out into the meadow, and there "the forefathers of the vale" had built the temple for the spelling-book and the slate. on the opposite side from the meadow the schoolhouse was entered, after crossing the wide playground. where "the field for sport" ended at the road there stood a lad, evidently looking out eagerly for the arrival of the new teacher. "that's a life-member of the little school," said the driver, with a whimsical look. "nils is not much at books, but he's a powerful singer." the last words were spoken within the hearing of the frank-faced boy, who now pulled off his cap, and stepped up to the wagon to help tora down. she shook his hand kindly, and said, "i hear you are a singer, nils. i am glad of that, for in my certificate i got but a poor record for my singing." "and 'great a' for everything else, mother said," he answered promptly, while his eyes beamed pleasantly on the new teacher, whose first friendly greeting had won his heart. "i'll help you down with the heavy things first," said nils to the driver, "and then if you'll set the rest here, we'll take them in together later. i want to show the schoolhouse to the mistress." the one room set apart for the home of the teacher did not look dreary as she stepped into it. the table from the schoolroom stood in the centre covered with a white cloth, its edge outlined by bright birch leaves laid on it, loosely and tastefully, like a wreath. then on a tray covered with a snowy napkin stood a shining coffee-pot, with cups for three, and a light saffron cake that might have sufficed for the whole school assembled. "mother thought perhaps you would like a taste of something warm after your ride," said nils, as he proceeded to pour out a cup of coffee as if he were quite at home. at home he was in a way, for in that schoolhouse he had for years passed his days among the little ones, through a special permit from the school board. tora clasped her hands, and stood silent a moment before she tasted the first morsel of food in her new home, and her heart sent up really grateful thoughts to her heavenly father, who had so blessed her, and would, she was sure, continue to bless her in her new surroundings. "may i take out a cup to petter?" asked nils, while he cut the big cake into generous pieces, and offered the simple entertainment to the teacher. of course the driver did not refuse the proposed refreshment, nor did nils hesitate to help himself, while the mistress was taking her coffee and glancing round the premises. all was fresh and clean about her. the windows had evidently been open since early morning, and the closets and shelves could well afford to be displayed through the doors more than half ajar. "thanks, nils," said the mistress, as she took the boy's hand after the refreshment. "thanks and welcome to the new teacher!" was the reply. "now i shall go in and look at the schoolroom while petter and you furnish my room for me. the sofa should stand there, and the bureau there. the rest i can leave to you," said tora, as she disappeared. nils unfolded a strip of rag carpeting and "criss-crossed" it round the room, whispering to himself, "mother said there were to be no footmarks left behind us." the schoolroom was but a big, bare room--no maps on the walls, none of the modern aids for instruction, save that the space between the two windows that looked out towards the meadow had been painted, to be used as a blackboard: "a useless, new-fangled notion" the rustics had called this forward step in the way of education. in front of the blackboard stood a wooden armchair for the teacher. the benches were low, and the desks were of the simplest sort, saving one, which was larger and higher, which the teacher at once understood was the permanent arrangement for nils. her heart went out towards the big, kind fellow, on whom so sore a trial had been laid in his youth. along one side of the schoolroom there were four horses standing silent, but not "saddled and bridled," as in old nursery stories. without head or tail, they stood on four sprawling legs--supports for two long, "shallow boxes" that had been in the schoolroom for fifty years or more. wood was abundant in the old days, and unskilful hands had done the work; so the boxes were but clumsy specimens of carpentry, and deep enough, it seemed, to hold sand for all the long winter through. the grandfathers of the neighbourhood could remember when these receptacles were their writing-desks, in which, stick in hand, they were taught to trace in the smoothed sand their names or any higher efforts of chirography that the teacher might demand. these superannuated articles of furniture were now used in winter as places of deposit for the children's folded outer garments, rather than the cold vestibule. there, too, the dinner-baskets had their rightful quarters. the room was high, as it went up to the very roof. on the rafters were stored, in cold weather, the stilts for summer, and the bundles of ropes for the swings to be fastened to the tall trees by adventurous nils, whose friendly hands delighted to send the laughing little ones flying far up into the fresh air like merry fairies. there, too, were the bows and arrows, and all other lawful things for summer sport. the little schoolmistress took a full survey of her new kingdom, sat for a moment in her chair of state, and noticed a simple footstool put in front of it for her use, as she fancied, by that unknown "mother" who seemed to have her comfort so much at heart. when the new mistress returned to her own private apartment, the furniture was all in place, the covers were taken from the boxes, and everything was ready for her personal arrangement of her property. "the school board have had shutters put to the windows," said the driver, pointing to the late improvement. "they thought perhaps the new teacher might be afraid. this is a lonely place." "afraid!" said the little schoolmistress, wonderingly; "i am never afraid, night or day." the driver opened his eyes wide as he answered,-- "the last teacher was as tall as i am, and she always kept a pistol at night by her on a chair, with an apron thrown over it, so the thieves could not find it and shoot her before she had a chance at them. this little mistress must be made of different stuff.--well, good-bye, miss, and i wish you well." tora was about to put in his hand the usual payment for his services, when he shut his broad fist expressively, and then half raised it, as he said,-- "i never took pay for a mistress's things being brought to this schoolhouse yet, and i don't mean to do it now. folks for the most part seem to like you, but i have a particular feeling. i knew your father once, and he was good to me." the honest man could say no more just then, and he hurried out of the room. nils followed with his best bow, but the pleasant words reached his ears,-- "we'll meet soon again. thanks! thanks to you both.--i think we shall be real friends, nils, you and i." that little allusion to her father, coming so suddenly, had almost made tora break down in the midst of her abounding courage. the past came up in vivid pictures where scenes of sorrow were predominant. her weak, ever-ailing little baby sister had floated quietly across the dark river. the stricken mother sank, and soon followed her child to the churchyard. the father's hand, that had first guided an editor's pen, and then in his long decline that of a mere copyist, grew weaker and weaker, and finally the last loving pressure was given to his daughter, and then that hand lay still and white. its work on earth was done, and the brother and sister were left alone. courageous and loving, they had both struggled on. her end was attained, but he was at the beginning of the steady conflict before him. how would he bear himself in the battle? if she could only know whether his surroundings would be as pleasant and homelike as her own, and his heart as full of hope and quiet trust! would he be borne safely through the privations and temptations of his university life? a prayer went silently up to the father of all for that absent brother, and then the practical little sister was soon deep in the stir of bringing all things to order in her new home. physical effort brought back the resolute cheerfulness so natural to the little schoolmistress, and she hummed to herself a simple song of long ago, to which she could always hear the buzzing accompaniment of that stranger who had proved to her a faithful, untiring benefactor and friend. chapter iii. a narrow escape. the winter had been unusually long. for nearly six months the ground had been continually white. not that it had been clothed by an ever-smooth, fair mantle. the snow had been tossed and whirled by the wild winds till it was fitfully heaped, now in the meadows, and now banked up against the very hill-sides. but for the dark woods as landmarks, the face of the country would have seemed to be utterly changed. the ice-covered streams were hidden away out of sight, and the wide ponds appeared but as smooth pastures. a path from the little-frequented road had been kept open to the schoolhouse. week by week this narrow way to the seat of learning had been walled higher and higher, until at last the rustic scholars seemed passing through a stately white marble corridor as they filed along towards the well-known door. the first days of april had come and gone without a flower-bud to greet them. the weather had suddenly grown soft and mild, and a drizzling rain had been falling all night. nils appeared early at school; but the tidy mistress had already cleared away all traces of her modest breakfast, and was ready to bid him welcome more as a visitor than a scholar. they had some pleasant chat together, and then the teacher said seriously, as she laid her hand on the boy's shoulder, "you must try as hard as you can, nils, to do well, or i am afraid you will not 'go up' this year." "i do try--i try as hard as i can!" he said. tears suddenly filled his large eyes as he added, "i am not like other boys, and i know it." "god knows what you can do, nils," she said tenderly; "and he will not judge you for what is not your fault. it may be, 'well done, good and faithful servant!' for you at the last, if you cannot be a great scholar." some merry voices at the door put an end to the conversation, and the school was soon going on in its usual routine. many weather-wise mothers had kept their children at home, and only eight scholars were in their places, not counting nils, who occupied in many practical things a middle ground between the little ones and the teacher. a heavy rain soon began to fall, and pattered cheerily on the roof, to the great delight of the small pupils. towards noon the schoolmistress was hearing the class read aloud. she sat with her back to the windows, with the light falling on the book she held in her hand; but she did not see a letter. suddenly she looked up and said, "nils, please open the right-hand shutter in my room." the boy obeyed instantly; but in another moment he said quickly, "please come in here a moment, teacher." she disappeared immediately, closing the door behind her. nils pointed to the window with wide-open eyes, and said, "the meadow is all afloat!" "i know it!" she answered calmly. "i saw it while the children were getting their books for the class. if the pond above breaks over the banks, we may be all swept away in a moment. there is no time to be lost. the children must not be frightened. i have thought just what to do. you can swim, nils?" "yes," was his only answer. "i can swim too," she said. "if anything goes wrong, we must do what we can for the children." she looked into the clear, calm eyes of the boy, and she knew she could trust him. they returned quietly to the schoolroom. the teacher had hardly taken her seat and closed the book she had held in her hand, when there was a loud crashing sound without, and a heavy thud against the outer door. "it's all right," said nils calmly, taking his cue from the teacher. "i put up the bar after the children came in. i supposed this might happen." "we don't mind the snow falling against the door," said the teacher cheerfully. "we didn't mean to go out that way. we shall go home by boat anyhow. i've thought about that before." "by boat!" exclaimed the children delightedly, for to them a row or a sail was the most charming thing in the world. "but where's the boat?" asked a prudent little boy, with a sceptical look in his small countenance. "and where's the water?" he would have added if he had dared. "two boats--two boats are here! i see them now!" said the teacher, glancing at the sand-boxes.--"nils, climb up into the rafters and bring down the oars." climbing to the rafters was a familiar exploit of nils's. with one foot on his desk and his knee to the wall, he swung himself up in a moment. "hand down my oars and yours," she said, as she pointed at the stilts; for the little schoolmistress was a leader in the sports of her children, and often enjoyed them as much as they did. the stilts were duly secured, and then the order followed, "and now the ropes for the launching," and another glance prompted the lowering of the summer swings for their new use. "give out the clothes, nils, and call the names of the children as usual," said the teacher. those were no dainty little ones, accustomed to be dressed like passive dolls by careful nurses or over-fond mammas. they had but to receive their garments in the daily orderly way, and to put them on as they well knew how. there might sometimes be an obstinate string or button, but nils was sure to be able to help in any such difficulty, or even to tie a refractory kerchief over the light locks. the children now put on their wrappings mechanically, lost in watching the proceedings of the teacher and her obedient assistant. the swings were cut in halves and attached to the strong handles of the empty sand-boxes of olden times. "and now we must launch the boats," said the teacher, with the nearest approach she could muster to the manner of a bluff sea-captain. "heave ho!" shouted nils, as he put his strong shoulders to the work of moving the boats, while the mistress held on to the horses. one by one the boats were put in what tora deemed proper position, the square prows curiously tilted up to the broad window-seat. then came the orders--"climb to the top of the shutter, nils! pass that rope round the upper hinge; tie it fast! now the other rope on the lower hinge. right! the same with the other ropes--bind them fast to the other shutter-hinges!" every order was promptly and skilfully obeyed. "nils, are you sure the boats are perfectly watertight?" said the mistress, with, for the first time, a shadow of anxiety in her determined face. "tight as a bottle!" was the immediate reply. "we had them filled with water for the last examination, to float the boats the children had made. the ships and such like were here, and the row-boats and canoes in the other." "i saw them! i saw them all!" exclaimed a little chap, with great delight. "my brother had the prize for his ship, and he made it every bit himself." the eager memories that came to the minds of the children were chatted about with an intensity that made the boats of the moment to be almost for the time forgotten. now came the real launching of the boats. with a proper amount of drawing in and letting out and holding fast on the part of nils and the teacher, the long boxes sat at last on the water like a pair of contented swans. "get down into the boat you are to be captain of, and i will hand down the oars for us both. lay mine across my boat and yours across yours. your passengers are to come down first. there will be four for each of us." the little schoolmistress, putting on her coat and fur cap, backed up to one of her little girls, saying, "put your arms round my neck, and you shall ride to the boat." two chubby arms went willingly round the neck of the teacher, as they had done many a time before on a less momentous occasion. so the little one, with her eyes away from the window, was backed up to it, to be lifted down by nils with a merry shout as he landed the first passenger. the others followed in the same style, and all the eight were cheerily deposited in high good-humour. "now i'll come down, too," said the schoolmistress, and she came down the rope as if she were in a gymnasium. she took her place in the centre of her boat, with two delighted children before her and two more behind her. "cut loose, nils! one rope as long as you can, and the other short up to the stern; and then give me your knife, and i'll do the same for mine. now start, nils! i'll follow." the orders were rapidly given and promptly obeyed, and then the little party started across the watery stretch that had taken the place of the meadow. nils, with his strong arms, got on rapidly, and his boat was soon far in advance of the other. he neared the bank, plunged in and drew the uncertain little craft to the shore, and then as a sledge up the long slope. nils had before decided that he would deposit his passengers in a sheepfold high on the bank, where he had seen in the morning a window left open under the projecting roof to give the poor creatures a little air. he knew that in the corner by the window there was a great bin that had been freshly filled with dried birch branches as food for the sheep. he left the children looking down at the pretty lambs and their mothers, and ran back himself to see what he could do for the rest of the party. the little mistress was only half-way over, and evidently managing with difficulty her awkward oars in the thick, snow-encumbered water through which she was making her way. nils plunged in, swam to her boat, tied the loose rope round his body, and then struck out for the shore, while the oars were plied as well as they could be by the weary hands that held them. his feet had just touched bottom when there was a loud cheer from the top of the hill that sloped down to the meadow. two great wagons, with a pair of strong horses attached to each, were coming to the rescue of the children. as horses that were good forders and wagons suited to the purpose were to be selected, some time had been lost in the preparations after the first news of the condition of the meadow had been spread abroad. the question now was how to get the whole party under roof as soon as possible. the drivers were for putting the children half in one wagon and half in the other; but nils said in a tone most unusual for him, "_all_ the children must go in one wagon, and you will see them safe home, petter. _we_ go the other way where the road forks. of course, i take the mistress home with me. mother wouldn't forgive me if i let her go anywhere else; and i think i have a kind of right to her too!" "that you have," said the rough man, with a kind of little quiver round his lips. "you've earned that right, anyhow." and away nils and the teacher were borne, while from the other wagon there was a merry "good-bye! good-bye! good-bye, teacher! good-bye, nils!" and a hearty shout of "hurrah for nils!" from the driver, which came from the very depths of petter's honest heart. chapter iv. a happy morning. the home to which the little schoolmistress and nils were bound had formerly been a wayside inn of most modest pretensions. it was but a one-story red building, with a row of white-framed windows looking out on the road close at hand. there was a storm-house, for stamping off the snow and depositing extra articles of carriage, and for dogs, who, like the peri, must stand outside the paradise within. next came one large, cheerful room, which served as kitchen, as well as general place of refreshment and assembly. on one side of this apartment of manifold uses were four small rooms for lodgers, furnished with almost as much simplicity as the prophet's chamber of the scriptures, save that a plain sofa-bed was added in each, as a possible accommodation for an extra sleeper when there was a throng of guests. on the death of nils's father, the widow had resolved to retire into private life, as she was comfortably provided for. not but that she was willing at times to give a meal or a bed to an old acquaintance; but such inmates must conform to the temperance arrangements of the establishment, for total abstinence was now the rule of the house. the widow had declared that her son should not be brought up with the fumes of spirituous liquors as his natural atmosphere. perhaps this resolution had been prompted by the suspicion that her husband's life had been shortened by too frequent good meals and too frequent strong potations. be that as it may, the determined woman had made it known that, now that she was mistress in her own house, she would manage it as she thought best. the tables for guests had been swept away (or rather sold discreetly at private sale) to make room for a spinning-wheel, a loom, and a sewing-machine, by which the prudent woman said she was sure she could add to her substance in a quiet way. "the clicking, the buzzing, and the slamming," she said, were nothing to her, and now she could choose what noises she would have in her ears. it was not yet time for the usual return of her son from school, but the mother had begun to go to the door to see if nils could possibly be coming. perhaps the old habit of looking out occasionally up and down the road, to reconnoitre as to what customers might be expected, had lingered to keep the former hostess now constantly, as it were, on guard. in one of these excursions for inspection she was surprised to see a big wagon drawing up before the door, with the schoolmistress and nils as passengers. the driver hastened to tell in an abridged form the story of their experiences, and to hand over his charge, with as many orders that they should be well looked after as if he were the only person interested in the matter. the doors to the little bedrooms were always kept ajar when unoccupied, that they might be at least not chilly when needed. two of them were immediately put into requisition. nils, as in the most desperate case, was stripped and rubbed down, and put into bed at once; and then the little schoolmistress was looked after. she had obeyed orders, and her pale face lay on the pillow when she was visited. the quondam hostess left her suddenly, and soon returned with a hot drink, which she assured the patient would make her "quite natural." to nils a similar draught was administered, with the command that he should dash it down at once, with "no sipping," and go to sleep afterwards. "wasn't that whisky?" exclaimed nils, in surprise. "there _was_ a drop in it," owned the mother; adding, "i would give it clear to anybody dying. i am not wild crazy about temperance, boy." "do you think i am dying?" said nils; and then he hastily added, "i should not like to leave you and the schoolmistress; but for anything else i should not mind. maybe i should be like other folks up there." "hush, child! you are not dying, nor likely to be; you are as strong as a bear. a little dip in cold water is not going to hurt you. that stuff has gone to your head and made you melancholy-like and weepish. it does sometimes; it don't generally, though, just in a minute. you go to sleep; and don't let me hear anything from you for one while." the mother put down the thick paper shade, and set a pin here and there along the edge, to keep out any adventurous rays of light that might be peeping in at the sleeper--"a pin practice" she had sorely complained of when ventured upon by restless lodgers. the same process was gone through in the room where the mistress was lying. the locks and hinges of the doors were carefully oiled, and then the agitated woman sat down to meditate and be thankful. the meditation proved to be of the perambulatory sort, for she peeped into one room and then into the other, noiselessly appearing and retiring. she listened to see if her patients were alive. the schoolmistress lay pale and still; her hands, loosely spread out, dropped on the sheet almost as colourless as itself. but she breathed regularly; that was an ascertained fact. nils was frequently visited. he gave audible tokens as to how he was enjoying himself. the mother sat down for the fifth or sixth time, as it might be, in the great, quiet room. she did not enter upon any of her favourite branches of home industry; she thought them too noisy for the occasion. she was not a reader. she could but nod a little in her chair, and then make another round of observation. at last, towards evening, the schoolmistress was fairly awake; and such a dish of porridge as she was obliged to consume! such a series of inquiries she was subjected to as to her symptoms and sensations as would have done credit to a young medical practitioner examining his first patient, though the questions, in this case, were practically rather than scientifically put, and could actually be understood by the respondent. to have quiet was all that the little schoolmistress craved, and that she was at last allowed. as for nils, it was plain that he considered that small apartment his sleeping-car, for which his ticket had been taken for the livelong night. the schoolmistress rose early. her room was soon in perfect order. she was reading devoutly in the bible: that had been an accessory in the arrangement of her room, as of all the other small dormitories, since the hostess "had her way in her own house." tora suddenly heard a quick repeated knock at her door. the permission to enter was hardly given when nils burst in, his face glowing with delight. "it's all right with me, teacher!" he exclaimed--"it's all right with me! you know that hymn i've tried to learn so many times, and couldn't make out. the first line came into my head yesterday in our troubles--'god is our stronghold and defence;' but i could not get any further." "perhaps that was far enough just then, nils," said tora. "i thought of that line too myself when i first suspected how matters stood, as i sat there with my book before me." "but, teacher, i'm all right. this morning i thought i would read that hymn all over, and i did--twice. and then, o teacher, i'm all right, for the whole hymn just repeated itself in my mind as if i had the book before me. i asked mother to hear me, and when she saw i could say it all through without a stumble, she put her arms round my neck and cried and talked about herself dreadfully. she said she had been such a sinner to make prayers and never believe they could come true; and that she hadn't taken any comfort, either, in what the doctor had always been telling her, and that she had thought was awful. he had said that if anything remarkable could happen to me, or any great shock, or even if i had a hard blow on the head, i might come round like other boys. she had felt sure that nothing remarkable could ever happen to me; and as to anybody's giving me a hard knock on the head, she would not have let that happen when she was by. she said she had prayed and worried, and never thought of leaving it all to her heavenly father, and now she wasn't fit to have such a blessing. i couldn't make her glad about it; but she'll come round, i'm sure, teacher, if you'll just go and talk to her." the teacher's eyes were full of tears of joy as she took nils by the hand and said, "you are all right, i really believe. may god bless you, and make you a good and useful man." the mother was not to be found. she was locked into her own room. there she was pouring out thanksgiving from the depths of her heart now for the first time in her life, understanding that she had indeed a loving heavenly father, and that even her faithlessness and ingratitude could be forgiven. it was a happy morning at the wayside inn. chapter v. the permanent pupil. the dear old schoolhouse had been swept away in the destructive flood that followed but ten minutes after the escape of the little schoolmistress with her pupils. intense gratitude for the happy deliverance of the children spread through the neighbourhood. a public meeting was called, where the thanks of the community were conveyed by a dignified and most complimentary spokesman, to the blushing confusion of tora and the astonishment of nils that he was said to have behaved so remarkably well on the memorable occasion. of course, the newspapers throughout the country celebrated the praises of the little schoolmistress, and to the meeting in her honour came her friends from far and near. "brother karl" and his devoted gunner made a point of being present, and tora's buzzing benefactor beamed on the occasion, as if the credit were all his own. that there must be a new schoolhouse was a self-evident fact. it was built as promptly as possible. the admirable building, with all its modern aids and appurtenances, was not placed on the old site, but crowned the summit of a green hill, where nothing more dangerous than a pouring rain could be expected to disturb its peace and safety. when the first term in the new and most desirable quarters commenced, it was with a stranger as the teacher. our little schoolmistress was to spend the winter in the home where she had been so tenderly cared for during the long time of bodily prostration which followed the overstraining of her nervous system at the time of her escape with the children under her care. busy with spinning-wheel and loom and sewing-machine, and with her diligent efforts to prepare nils to enter with honour a higher school than that over which she had presided, the winter passed pleasantly away. nils's examination surpassed the utmost expectations of his teacher. his sweet, grateful humility in the midst of honour was as touching as his humble submission to the great misfortune which had threatened to overshadow his whole life. the little schoolmistress took, with the opening spring, the place of a private teacher--a position that she had been strongly urged to fill. her first scholar was a tall fellow, who was sure he could learn from her in the higher branches much that was important for him to understand. the second pupil, who came in later on, was a little chap. he did not understand swedish, nor did he know much in any direction, it was said. but how could he expect a fair estimation of his abilities, when the judges were not at home in his language, nor he in theirs? he, however, improved rapidly, and was soon not only able to speak swedish, but comprehended many matters so well that he was a great help to the younger pupils who came in by degrees to be taught. he was too, in a way, a teacher for the schoolmistress herself, and had his credentials from the very highest authority. the class increased as years went on, and was ever a delightful source of interest to the happy instructress. the children did not call her "teacher," or "mistress," or even "miss tora;" they said simply "mother," which she thought the sweetest name in the world. as to the first, the tall scholar, who was what nils had promised to be, her permanent pupil, he was not always as obedient and submissive as he might have been. even when he sat opposite to her at the dinner-table, in the presence of stranger guests, he would sometimes, contrary to her express command, tell the story of the great april thaw, and the escape of the little schoolmistress with her pupils. of course he was rebuked for his misdemeanour; but he only protested against her strict government, and declared that she could never get over "the schoolma'am." yet he acknowledged she was always teaching him something worth knowing through what she was--the very best woman and the very best christian he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. this was, it must be confessed, an inexcusably obstreperous scholar; but tora would not have exchanged her husband, her gunner, the fast friend of her promising "brother karl," for the meekest or the wisest man in the world. a week at kulleby. chapter i. church service. the church at kulleby was no dear, old-fashioned swedish church, with its low white stone walls and its high black roof. the bell had no quaintly-formed tower of its own outside and quite separate from the sacred edifice, like an ecclesiastical functionary whose own soul has never entered into the holy of holies. no; the parish of kulleby had its pride in a great new wooden sanctuary, with nothing about its exterior, from foundation to belfry, that might not be seen in any protestant land whatever. crowning the top of a green hill that rose in the midst of a wide stretch of rolling meadows stood the simple building. to it came on sunday the rustics of the parish as regularly as they went to their week-day work. only here and there in the unfenced churchyard rose a low mound to indicate where, as it were, a chance seed had been dropped into "god's acre." it was sunday morning. at eight o'clock the bell had sounded out over the green slopes, and even late sleepers were called to put on their best garments, whether church-goers or not church-goers, in honour of the holy day or holiday, as it might happen to be kept in their home. then came the second ringing, when prudent, far-away worshippers took psalm-book and pocket-handkerchief in hand and started demurely, at a sunday pace, for the house of god. at a quarter to ten the clergyman had been seen in the dim distance, and the fact was announced by "priest-ringing." at ten came the "assembly-ringing," when talkers in the churchyard must break off in the midst of a half-made bargain, or check the but half-expressed sympathy with the joy or sorrow of some fellow-rustic with whom there had been a confidential chat. within, the church was all white, with here and there a gilded line like a bright, holy purpose running through a simple everyday life. there was a fresh, pure air about the place, as if even angels might have gathered there in their fair garments. the worshippers, however, on the women's side were all in black--black dresses, and black kerchiefs over the heads, like solemn, mourning penitents rather than followers of the psalmist who could say, "i was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the lord." there were two exceptions to this sombre rule. the seats facing each other on opposite sides of the chancel were unoccupied, save by a tall young woman and a little girl, who now hurriedly took their places, and in a formal, perfunctory manner put down their heads for a supposed private prayer for a blessing on this opportunity of public worship. they very soon rose up mechanically, and looked about them with the curious eyes of strangers. the little girl, nipped, and it seemed almost blasted, by gales of prosperity, showed a fair, round face, full and soft, and satisfied with its worldly portion. the mouth, although it looked as if it had tasted the good things of life, was sweet and loving. her companion was tall and strongly built, and somewhat gaily dressed in garments made in every particular according to the latest fashion. two long ostrich feathers lazily lolled on the broad brim of her hat, as much at home as if they had never known any other abode; and her new kid gloves fitted her large hands to perfection--a fact of which it was plain she was conscious. the clergyman was coming in, with the long black folds which were his authorized substitute for a gown hanging from the nape of his neck to the floor. in one hand he carried in full sight a white handkerchief, held in one corner like a drooping banner of peace. there was suddenly a counter object of attention for the gay worshippers in the side pew. a little woman in black came hurrying up the aisle and entered the seat before them. she put down on the narrow shelf her prayer-book and a tumbled red handkerchief, and then bowed her head. suddenly, in the midst of her devotions, she hastily withdrew the offending radical handkerchief, and substituted in its place a heavy linen one, so closely pressed, as if by mangling, that it lay by the psalm-book as uncompromisingly stiff as itself. a smile passed over the features of the little girl, and she looked up into the face of her companion for sympathy. instead of the responsive glance she expected, she saw an expression of pain which she was puzzled to understand. the service went on. the sermon was long and tiresome, to judge from the impulsive movement of relief on the part of the little girl when all was at last over. she was well satisfied when her companion went down the aisle at an unusually rapid pace. the rustics generally lingered to hear when there was to be an auction, what letters were to be distributed, and other announcements by which a scattered congregation, rarely meeting through the week, might be made aware of matters secular and parochial which it was important for them to know. the butterfly worshippers had, as it were, flown away when the mass of the congregation streamed out from the door. long, narrow black lines stretched off in every direction as over the well-trodden paths the cottagers plodded away to their homes after this the periodical great event, recreation, and social gathering of their hard-working lives. alone the little woman in black took her way. her goal was on the long rocky ridge that bounded the eastern horizon like a transplanted bit of the jura. there was no path for her to follow, but she made her way over the meadows with the sure instinct of the swallow winging its flight to its winter home. he who careth for the birds would surely care for her. it was plain she was one of the humble of the earth in every sense of the word. her black head kerchief was old and worn, and her clumsily-fitting, coarse cloth "sacque" stood out below her waist as if it were of sheet iron, while her spare skirts fell below it like a drooping flower-bell from its open calyx above. she was not thinking of her clothes. her heart was warbling a song of thanksgiving. chapter ii. at the pastor's. monday morning had come, with work for the workers and pleasure for the pleasure-seekers. the curate at kulleby was one of the workers, and yet monday, instead of sunday, was really his day of rest. his last sermon having been delivered, fairly given over to his hearers to be digested, the new one was not to be begun before tuesday. there must be one day in the week in which to draw a free breath before the real labour of his life was to be recommenced. the introduction to the discourse once mastered, as the first link, he added day by day to the lengthening chain--a perpetual wearying weight to him, and, it might be supposed, to become so for his hearers. this would be a mistake. had the curate preached in hebrew or greek, the reverent faces would have been respectfully turned towards him, with the honest conviction that somehow or other the listeners were undergoing a helpful and uplifting process through what the curate was pleased to say to them. he was reverenced and beloved, as he well deserved to be, and was to his people the bearer of good tidings--the messenger of peace. _he_ was the message to them, through what he was and what he was striving to be, and not through those painfully-produced sermons. now for the morning he had dropped the pastor, and was simply the family father. the humble home of the curate was separated from the public road by a great grass plot, through which a wide walk went straight, without a curve or a compromise, from the gate to the foot of the high wooden steps that led to the ever-open door. the saturday evening rake-marks were on the loose sand of the path, for the family had on sunday, though in their holiday garments, used the side gate that led to the entrance at the back of the house. the garden was large and well cared for. now the weekly weeding was going on, the father sitting like a general at a distance from the battle, but in constant communication with the soldiers in full fight in the cause of order, fruitfulness, and prosperity. the four small boys who were working so busily were not under strict military discipline, for free conversation was allowed so long as the hands continued as busy as the tongues. the curate sat on a roughly-made but comfortable garden sofa, and was knitting on a strong stocking in sweet composure. a gay-coloured parallelogram stared out from the grass beside him; for there, covered with a patchwork quilt, lay, in a great basket, the baby, the little girl, the pride of the household, fast asleep. so the curate could not be said to be exactly idle, though he was taking a delicious morning rest. his wife meanwhile--a large-hearted, practical woman--was making all things comfortable in the house, with the help of her efficient _aide-de-camp_, an orphan girl snatched from the influences of the poorhouse. where a specially strong arm was required, the curate himself was at all times to be relied upon. he was not only a hewer of wood, but often a bearer of wood as well as of water. he was, too, an embodied guild of all mechanical trades, and might have been warranted to use skilfully at a pinch any tools whatever. the curate gave a start as the click of the front gate was heard, and almost impatiently wondered who could be coming. a tall young woman walked rapidly along the rake-marked walk, and dotted it at regular intervals with the distinct portrait of the soles of her strong and well-made boots. she went up the steps decidedly, and entered the house without knocking, as any ordinary visitor might have done. in a moment more she appeared in the garden, with the curate's wife at her side. he stood up and bowed awkwardly, and then looked inquiringly at the new-comer. he recognized at once in her the stranger who had sat near the chancel the day before, though her dress was somewhat different from her sunday attire. she wore a black sailor hat, from which she had that morning removed the uplifted wings that threatened to take the whole head-gear upward, and had left only the broad, bright band that wound round it. she wore a short, dark travelling dress that well displayed her new boots. the visitor did not wait for the curate to speak, but said quickly, "i will only detain you a moment. can you tell me where widow marget erikson lives, the old woman who sat in front, on the side benches, in the church yesterday?" "marget erikson? her i know very well, but it is not so easy to tell where she lives," answered the curate, with at the same time an inquiring glance at the stranger. a look of intelligence came into his face, and he said: "it is not--it cannot be! no," and he turned to the group of small boys, now all standing, some of them weeds in hand, wonderingly regarding the stranger. "here, kael," said the father, singling out a fair-haired, intelligent-looking little fellow, "you can show the young lady the way to widow marget erikson's." again there was a scrutinizing, questioning look on the part of the pastor. a slight flush tinged the cheek of the stranger. she was turning away with her guide, when the boy said hastily, "where's the basket, mamma?" "there'll be no basket to-day," she answered, almost with a smile. "you can take marget this instead from me," and she picked from her favourite bush a large, half-open rosebud, with a long stem and rich, shining leaves. the boy could hardly understand the love-prompted courtesy that would not send to the widow what might to a stranger seem like alms, but which really was but the sharing of what one poor christian had with a poorer. the guide trotted off with his bare feet across the meadow, where a little path showed that he was not the first to find a direct way from the parsonage to the widow's cottage. "well, wife? well, anna?" said the pastor, and looked inquiringly into the face of his best-beloved, as he generally did when he was in doubt or difficulty. it was a face that any one might have been pleased to look upon. it had in it the bright cheeriness of a child, and at the same time dignity and a wisdom in this world's matters, as well as "the wisdom that cometh from above." he received no answer, and so said himself: "she was in church yesterday when you were at little fia's death-bed. i could hardly help thinking of you and the child when i was in the midst of my sermon. the miller told me afterwards that 'miss' and the little girl were with possessionaten something, a traveller who had stopped at the inn by the cross-road." there was a sudden end put to the conversation by a loud cry from the baby, which swept all other expressions from the face of the pastor's wife, where at once mother love was triumphant. chapter iii. a strange meeting. across meadows, over ditches, and at last up rather a steep ascent wound the way to widow erikson's cottage. the path had grown rough and narrow, but the barefooted boy went over it as lightly and as unharmed as if he had been a happy bird. the boots, however, of his companion seemed a tight fit for climbing, and at last a straggling bramble that crossed the way turned up two little black points, like doors, to show the way to the untanned leather behind the bright polish. the traveller stopped, and smoothed them down in vain with her finger; the mischief was done. "this is an ugly, disagreeable path," she exclaimed, "and a long one too." "maybe," said the boy; "but summer and winter widow erikson comes down here all alone. i don't believe she'd miss the service if you'd give her a bucket of red apples." the boy had evidently named his ultimatum in the way of temptation. "there's the cottage," he added, pointing to a small, reddish-brown building far up the ascent. "give me the flower," said the stranger; "i will tell her who sent it. you go back now. you've shown me the way; i don't need you any longer. thanks! thank your mother too. here!" and she laid in the boy's hand a bit of silver that made his face shine. he bowed in his best style, which did not disturb his backbone, but brought his chin down till it touched his breast. he had taken off his cap for the performance, and his white hair fluttered in the breeze as he watched his late companion making her way up to the cottage alone. all was right, he was sure, and down he ran as fast as his feet could carry him. the precious silver was stored in the depths of his pocket, and with it he bought in imagination all sorts of treasures before he reached home to tell the success of his errand. the traveller moved slowly as the path grew more steep, and finally walked doubtfully on as she approached the cottage. there were three or four low steps leading to the door, and there some kind of an animal seemed making a vain attempt to go up. as the stranger drew nearer she saw that a small woman with a short, dark skirt was bowed over, evidently washing the steps, with her back towards the path and her unexpected guest. a noise near her made the figure stand upright and turn its face towards the new-comer. one sight of the visitor prompted a series of bobbing courtesies, a wondering look in the old sun-browned face, and a folding back into a triangular form of the wet sackcloth apron, which was truly not in a presentable condition. the old woman was the first to speak. "good-day, miss--good-day!" and then there was a look of astonished inquiry. "the pastor's wife sent you this," said the girl, holding out the beautiful rosebud she had taken from the boy. "so like her!" said the old woman, lovingly. "she's just like that herself! god bless her! thank her for me, please--thank her for me!" and the thin, work-distorted, wrinkled hand was hastily wiped on the apron, and then stretched out to take that of the stranger for the usual expression of gratitude. "thank _you_, miss, for bringing it," continued the old woman, with another questioning look at her guest. "do you know her--do you know the curate's wife? it's likely you don't live hereabouts." the cut of the stranger's clothes was not in vogue at kulleby. "don't you know me?" said the young woman, in a low voice. "no, miss!" was the answer, with another courtesy. "don't you know me, mother?" was the question that followed, while the fair face flushed with the effort those words had cost the speaker. "it can't be my karin!" was the exclamation. there was another period of courtesying, and a long look of almost unbelieving surprise. there was no move to take this changed daughter by the hand, nor was there any such action on the part of the girl. "i was stopping at the inn with possessionaten bilberg and his little daughter, the one i have taken care of so long. i found out you were in this neighbourhood, and so i got some one to show me the way to where you were living." she did not say that she had seen her mother at church, nor would she have liked to own, even to herself, that she was now repulsed by the appearance and manners of one to whom she was bound by the strongest of ties. "come in," said the old woman, courtesying as to a stranger. "it's a poor place, but you are welcome." a poor place it was indeed, and karin with her belongings looked there like a transplanted flower from a far country. they who had once been so near to each other seemed now to have almost no common ground on which to meet. "i did not know how you had it, mother," said karin at last. she had been silenced by her first view of the poor room. "it is worse than it was in norrland, when you went away, so long ago. your brother erik came home, and was wild-like, as he always was. he pulled himself down, and was sick a long while, and then he died. there was the funeral, and the doctor, and all that; and there was not much left, for of course i couldn't do a turn of work while i was nursing him." "just like him, to take all you had!" said the daughter, indignant. the old woman did not seem to notice the angry exclamation. a sudden light made beautiful the old face as she said: "he came round at the last, and almost like an angel. it did me good to hear him talk. i didn't mind anything when he had come round. i am sure he went to heaven when he died. he was my only boy, and i loved him!" she continued, as if she were speaking to a stranger; and then suddenly remembering who her visitor was, she added: "you would not have known him for the same. 'tell karin,' he said to me--'tell her she must forgive me. tell her to remember she'll need to have her sins forgiven some time. there's only one way.' he said so!" and there was another courtesy of apology that she was talking so to that strange young lady who said she was her daughter. "oh dear!" said karin, looking at her watch, "i must go now. possessionaten and his little girl were out for a drive, and i did not leave any word at the inn where i was going. i will come soon again. don't feel hard to me about erik or anything. remember i did not know how you had it. they wrote me there was a cottage somewhere you could live in free, and i thought you were getting on pretty well." "yes, i have the cottage free. the curate's wife comes from the north. he married up there, and they came to visit her folks. she heard about me, for she was there when erik died. she knew about this cottage, and nothing would do but i must come down with them; and so i did. you can't think how kind they have been to me. i've done a power of knitting since i have been here. she sees that somebody buys my stockings. but you must go. come again," said the old woman, in strange confusion between her daughter that was ten years ago and this strange young lady who had condescended to look in upon her. they parted without even a shake of the hand. the old woman stood at the door and watched the tall girl hurrying down the path, and felt almost as if she had been in a troubled dream. chapter iv. too late. possessionaten bilberg was subject to transient indispositions on sunday morning. the symptoms that had prevented his being at the church service the day before seemed to have disappeared entirely on monday. he came home from his drive with his daughter in unusually good spirits; and as for little elsa, she was quite delighted. she had had a nice play with some charming children, and there was a baby in the house, which she had really been allowed to carry in her own willing arms. karin's overshadowed countenance passed unnoticed in the general stir that followed the return of the father and daughter. they had been invited to spend several days at the hospitable country home where they had been so warmly welcomed. it had been urged that while elsa was happy with playmates of her own age, possessionaten could see many things in the neighbourhood that might be suggestive to him, interested as he was in agriculture and manufactures. planning and packing took all the afternoon, and towards evening the carriage was at the door, and elsa and her father were to take their departure. "i was afraid you would be lonely, karin, and sorry we are going away; but you don't seem to mind it at all," said the little girl, in an injured tone. "so you want me to be sorrowful," answered karin, trying to be playful. "no, no! but i thought you would miss me, and i was glad when papa said you could keep on sleeping in my nice room, and be as comfortable as anybody." there was a little condescension in the tone, though it was affectionate; but karin did not notice it, for she was accustomed to elsa's airs and graces. karin really drew a sigh of relief when the carriage drove away and she was left to herself. it was not a pleasant evening that she spent, filled with the thronging reminiscences of the past and a full realization of her own shortcomings. to-morrow she would make another visit to her mother, and try to be more frank and affectionate. the morning came, and karin was busy clearing all traces of a traveller's comfort from the capacious bag that elsa had been allowed to give her for the journey. it really would hold a great deal, and filled it was to the uttermost at the country shop to which karin easily found her way; tea, sugar, and tempting articles of diet, which she hoped her mother would enjoy. it was heavy, but karin rather liked to feel the pain in her arm, from bearing her unusual burden. she easily found her way along the upward path, and exhilarated by the exercise and the pleasure she was about to give, she entered the cottage in a very cheerful frame of mind. all was silent within. in the box sofa-bed of the single room there was some one lying, pale and still. "she is dead!" was the first wild thought of distress; but a sweet, broken voice murmured something about erik and heaven. it was plain that the old woman was wandering in mind, and lost in visions of the past. karin unpacked her basket in a hurry. there were the preparations of the night before for the fire and the boiling of the water for the morning meal, to be simple indeed. yet there was a packed basket, "the basket" no doubt from the parsonage. she did not unpack it, though it seemed filled with food. she made some tea in haste, and took it with a biscuit to her mother's side. she put the cup on a chair near her, and sitting down on the edge of the bed, she lifted up the old woman, passing one strong arm about the little body. there was gentleness and kindness in the touch. the old head was voluntarily drooped caressingly against the breast of her daughter; there was a long sigh, and karin knew she was motherless. repentant, sorrowing tears flowed fast. there was no opportunity left for reparation in this world. that loving last movement towards her was the only pleasant thought on which karin could dwell. how still it was in the cottage! the birches without scarcely quivered in the soft summer air, and not even the twitter of a bird was to be heard. karin had just gently laid the old head on the pillow, when a form, almost to her as of an angel, suddenly appeared at the door. it was the pastor's wife, her face beaming with the tender interest she was feeling for the lone dweller in the cottage. she understood the whole as she saw karin's streaming tears, and the changed old face beside her. "my mother is dead!" said karin simply, but in a broken voice. "i am glad she saw her good daughter before she died," said the pastor's wife comfortingly. "i am no good daughter!" exclaimed karin bitterly. it was a relief to confess her selfishness, her forgetfulness of her mother, in the midst of her own comfortable surroundings, and her cold willingness to believe that all was well with that old woman, who she had supposed was still in the far north. the pastor's wife listened in silence. she had no words of comfort to say. here was a case beyond her treatment. she did not kneel, but she clasped her hands and sat quite still, while she laid karin's sorrow and penitence before the dear lord jesus, so ready to forgive, and to heal the broken, repentant heart. when she had closed the prayer with a fervent "amen!" which seemed to be the sealing of her petitions to the one strong to save, she turned to karin and said, "i will go down and send a person to watch her, and then you must go with me to our home; for i have heard that you were left at the inn. you cannot be there now." she felt that it would be best for karin to be for a time alone. she had brought her to the heavenly presence, and she left her there to commune with the pitiful father in heaven. chapter v. karin and elsa. there was a new, low mound in the churchyard. kind young hands from the curate's had covered it with evergreen boughs, and sprinkled among them bright flowers, so that it seemed but a slight swell in the green sweep around it dotted with daisies. karin had begun a new phase in her life. she had something to love and respect which had no taint of this present world and the worldliness reigning therein. she had entered humbly and heartily into the simple life at the curate's home, where she had been so lovingly welcomed. that thin man, with the angular, loosely-built figure, with a speaking expression of poverty about it; that man whose shabby sunday coat had not a button-hole that did not publicly tell of privately-done repairs by his wife's untailor-like hand; that man whose very hair was scanty, and was changing colour--she looked up to him as if he had been a prince. and so he was; for he had a father who was king over all the nations of the earth, who loved him as a son, and received from that son the happy, truthful affection of a true child. that woman who went about in the simplest of garments, and shunned no form of labour that made the home more comfortable or attractive, had become to karin a model of all that was pure and lovely and lovable. the baby, who fell much to her care, seemed to have a healing influence on her wounded, humbled, penitent heart. it had for her its artless smile, and its little arms went out to her as trustfully as if she had never strayed from the narrow path. karin had a new standard in life, a new picture of what she wished to be, a new way of estimating her fellow-creatures. karin was glad that circumstances made it necessary for her to lay down in the depths of her capacious trunk the gay garments that had been her pride. there had been no dressmaking, no consulting of milliner or _modiste_. like most swedish girls, she had a black dress; she had but to put a crape band over her sailor-hat, and let the short crape veil fall over her solemnized face, and her mourning suit was for the present complete. this time, this precious time, went away all too rapidly, but it swept from karin the impressions of years, and strengthened in her, day by day, the new purposes and the new hopes that had sprung up in the midst of her humiliation and distress. from the cottage in the woods the daughter had but taken away her mother's "psalm-book" in its close-fitting black cotton case, her worn bible, and the carefully-folded white handkerchief that lay under them. in the corner of the handkerchief a large k had been embroidered by unskilful hands. karin knew it as one of her own early trophies, that had been given to her mother in pride when she had received it as a reward for skill shown in the sewing-class at school. this little remembrance of her had been treasured and prized while she was living in selfish forgetfulness of the poor old woman far away. repentant tears had fallen on the humble memento. on the morning of the day when possessionaten bilberg and his daughter were expected, the curate's wife went with karin to the inn. the parting between them was full of grateful expression on the one side, and of tender interest and kind advice on the other. they were never to meet again on earth, but they had a common father in heaven above, in whose presence they trusted one day to be united. karin was, of course, on the steps of the inn to receive her charge. it was not unusual for karin to wear sometimes a black dress, and elsa, in her pleasure at the meeting and her eagerness to tell her late experiences, did not notice anything particularly serious in the face of the maid. when, however, they were alone together, she looked up suddenly, and saw that karin's eyes were full of tears as she was struggling to speak of what had befallen her. "what is it? what is the matter?" asked elsa affrightedly. "my mother is dead! i have lost my mother!" said karin simply. elsa cast her arms around karin's neck in an unusual fit of demonstrative affection, and wept with her. "o karin, what will you do? how you must have loved her! how sorry you must be! i have thought a great deal about a mother since i have been away. i have always missed something, and felt that i was different from other little girls, but i did not really understand what it was. i have had everything i wanted, and papa has been so kind, and you too, karin, but there was something. where i have been the children did so love their mamma, and she made it so charming for them, and she had such a sweet way with them;" and here the little girl sobbed, more, it must be owned, from thinking of what she had missed in her life than from sympathy for karin, and yet they were drawn nearer together than ever before. the stir of the arrival of possessionaten bilberg and his daughter had passed away from about the inn, and stillness reigned around on every side, on the wide meadows in front, and on the long, low, rocky ridge beyond them. possessionaten bilberg was smoking a cigar in the wide porch, and quietly thinking. elsa had flown down to tell him of karin's trouble, and now he greeted the trusted maid almost with respect as she came to him to ask some questions about their approaching departure. he got up stiffly and took karin by the hand, as he said simply, "i am sorry to hear that you have had trouble. your mother was old, i daresay," he added, as he dropped her hand. "yes, old and feeble," was the reply. karin waited a moment, and then began to speak of the journey. "yes; it will be this evening," he said, and his face wore a most peculiar expression, as if some struggle was going on within him. at last he began: "i have had time to see more of elsa than usual, and when she was with young companions. there is something about her as if her pleasure were the most important thing to everybody, and she rather thought nobody was quite equal to herself." it is possible that these peculiarities had become elsa's by inheritance, as her father was not without his own tendencies in that direction--a fact of which he was naturally unconscious. he went on: "you have been a good girl, karin, and i am pleased with you. elsa needs now some one who has a right to take her more steadily in hand." there was a pause, and the tears sprang to karin's eyes. was she to be dismissed, when she felt almost as much at home in her master's house as his daughter herself? "yes, you have been a good girl, karin, and you deserve your reward. you never ought to leave my home. what elsa needs, though, is a mother's care. she needs one who with a mother's name will have a strong right to her respect and her affection." he paused a moment. karin, not knowing what else to do, dropped a courtesy, and waited for him to go on. he got up, blushed, took a few steps on the piazza, and then turned and said abruptly: "i am going to be married, and i want you to tell elsa about it. tell her that it is the lady whom the children called 'aunty' there in the country--their mother's sister. she is willing to marry me. i never thought to get such a good wife." and possessionaten bilberg looked humble, for perhaps the first time in his life. "she is not like me in many things," he continued, as if pleased with his subject. "she is pious--something i don't quite understand, but it makes me sure she will be a good mother to elsa. i really believe she would hardly have taken me if she had not longed to get my child under her care," said possessionaten, with another unwonted attack of humility. "please tell elsa at once," he said, and sat down again, to indicate that the interview was over. in a few moments elsa came flying along the piazza, and surprised her father by taking a seat on his knee and putting her arms round his neck. "papa! papa!" she said, "how could you think of doing anything that would please me so much?" "your own mother loved her, elsa, and so i am sure she is the right kind of a woman, and that you will be happy together." possessionaten had spoken in a matter-of-fact sort of way, and elsa went upstairs in a less ecstatic mood than when she came down, and told karin calmly that her father seemed pleased that she liked having a new mother. chapter vi. christmas eve. christmas eve had come. there had been joy in the curate's home--carols and prayer around the lighted tree, the distribution of simple gifts, and the consumption of any amount of rice porridge. even the grave pastor had grown playful as the evening went on. this had prompted one of the boys to exclaim that he was the very best father in the world--a comprehensive assertion that was approved by all parties present. the power to cast off care and even serious thought for a time, and frolic with children, was one of the secrets of the curate's personal power. in his sacred capacity he was above and apart from all; as a father or a friend he was near and familiarly dear to all, even to the youngest in his household and the humblest of his people. now he gave a start, and there was a look of astonishment all round the family as there was the sound of heavy cart-wheels grinding along over the sand under the parsonage windows. in another moment there was a steady tramping on the side steps, then through the passage to the dining-room, where the family were assembled. four strong men were bearing a huge box, and now entered, much embarrassed at being unable to take off their caps in the presence of the pastor, but their deep voices pronounced a "good yule!" and their thick, soft caps went off in a hurry when they had deposited their heavy burden. "we were to open it, pastor," they said, and they forthwith produced their tools from the slouching pockets of their strong coats. the pastor's wife disappeared instantly, thinking, as usual, of others more than of herself; for she, too, would have liked a peep into the box when the thick boards had been thrown up and the packed stores were first visible. she had, however, what pleased her better--some hot coffee, a cake of saffron bread, and the remains of the porridge on the table in the kitchen when the last nail had been drawn out. the men disappeared, grinning with satisfaction; while the wondering children superintended, with occasional wild dances and leaps of delight, the unfolding of the secrets of the wonderful box. a prosperous "possessionat" who had learned that the chief joy of possession is the power of giving had sent household stores on a munificent scale. a happy wife, accustomed to see her own husband always dressed as for a holiday, having a full remembrance of the pastor's outer man, and of his wife's forgetfulness of herself, had sent for him a full black suit, and for his wife a handsome dark dress, as well as a warm fur cape. a little girl, who had learned to remember that there were other people beside herself to be thought of in the world, had selected books and toys for the children. the orphan girl had not been forgotten. she looked with astonishment at the substantial winter coat that had been marked with her name, and wondered who could have thought of _her_. there was still a beautiful, closely-woven white basket, with a firm handle, at one side of the box. it was lifted out and opened. there were all sorts of things--potted, canned, dried, and preserved, to make, with good bread and butter, a nice evening meal for an unexpected guest; a most welcome present in a family where hospitality never failed, and yet the larder was often scantily provided. at the bottom of the basket lay a card, on which was written, "from a humble friend, in remembrance of 'the basket.'" the tears rushed to the eyes of the curate and his wife, and their hands met, while their thoughts were with the little old cottage saint now in heaven, and a prayer was sent up for the daughter that she might continue to walk in the ways of peace. "o mamma, what a good basket to keep all your mending in!" said one of the boys. "just what i will do," said the mother; "i shall like to have it always near me." "do put on your new suit, papa," urged the children. he vanished into his room close at hand, and soon reappeared transformed into a new and complete edition of his old self, as it were, in a fine fresh binding. the suit was not a perfect fit, but hung less loosely about him than his wonted best garments, made long, long ago. the pastor playfully walked up and down the room with a consequential air, to the great amusement of the children. "you will wear your new suit to-morrow!" they exclaimed, one after another, as in the refrain of a song. "on new-year's day, perhaps," said the father. "for to-morrow i like my old suit best; for we are to remember then how the loving lord of all humbled himself to be the babe of bethlehem." there were a few words of prayer and thanksgiving, and then the family, with a kiss all round, parted for the night. perchance the angels who sang again the christmas song, "on earth peace, good will toward men," lingered over the curate's home with a kindred feeling for him; for was he not, too, a messenger, sent "to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation"? alf. chapter i. a foolish resolve. tall, handsome, and young; that one saw at a single glance. the age of the lad it was not easy to determine. the mind wavered between sixteen and nineteen, but sixteen it really was. it was no true swedish face, yet such faces are often found among the fair children of the north. the boy had a clear, dark complexion, and his waving hair was intensely black. his nose was decided, but there was a weakness about the small mouth that seemed quite inconsistent with the fiery glance of the full brown eyes. it was late, yet he was sitting looking steadily before him, while his thoughts were evidently wandering. "_so_ they want me to promise, and _so_ they want me to live?" he said at last. "i cannot make promises i do not mean to keep. i can do many things, but i cannot take a false position as to what i intend to be." he stood up and straightened his whole person with an admiring self-respect as he spoke. _he_ would not be compelled by public opinion to do that for which he was not inclined! he was old enough to choose for himself, and choose he would! he would not be confirmed! he would not assume obligations contrary to his wishes, and make professions he did not honestly mean! there seemed to him to be in this something noble, something determined, something manly, and he pleasantly reflected upon his righteous independence. the confirmation was appointed for the morrow. he had seen the slender, swift horse that was to be his--a gift from his father. he knew a gold watch was lying in his mother's drawer, to be one of his many presents to commemorate the important occasion. the guests were invited for the splendid dinner his parents were to give in his honour. he would be expected to appear in one of the stylish new suits provided for him as now a fully-grown young gentleman. he would be toasted, complimented, and, in short, the hero of the day in that beautiful home. he knew that his mother had retired early. she was doubtless praying for him then, and would be on the morrow. she, at least, would expect him to keep his promises. she should know that he would not disgrace her by a false oath. his pocket-book was well filled by a munificent present from his grand-uncle in america. he could go where he pleased. he took out a small, light trunk from one of his closets, and it was soon packed with his new garments and a few specially dear personal valuables. there were no books but the pocket bible, in which his mother had so lately written his name. for her sake he would take it with him, and for her sake he would open it at least for five minutes every day. stealthily he crept down the staircase and through the broad halls, dropped from a low window, and was soon in the open air. there was a light still in the stable-boy's room, and he would so have help for the harnessing of the horse, and an opportunity to leave a parting message for his mother. he moved slowly and silently. he looked in through the small panes, and could see the boy bending over a book. he tapped gently. there was a start, and the door was opened in a moment. "i am going to town, lars," he said, "and i want your help. get up the spring wagon as soon as you can." the stable-boy looked suspiciously at his young master, and at the small trunk he had set down beside him. "where is master alf going?" asked the boy anxiously. "anything dreadful happened? won't you be here for the confirmation?" "no; it's that that sends me away," was the answer. "i can't even seem to make promises i don't intend to keep. i mean to be an honourable gentleman, and i shall not begin that way. come, hurry!" "but stop, master alf! why don't you make the promises and try to keep them?" said the stable-boy. "i suppose that is what you mean to do--eh?" said the young gentleman scornfully. "it would be my duty any way to live right," was the answer. "i can't see that the promises make any difference. i ought to live right, i know, and i mean to try. it won't be easy. that's all i understand about it." the round, dull face of the boy expressed clear determination, and he looked his young master full in the eyes as he spoke. "perhaps you've made up your mind to go wrong!" he added, with a doubtful look at his companion. "do as i bid you, and get up the horse at once!" said alf, in a commanding tone. "tell my mother what i have said to you, and tell her, too, i have taken with me the bible she gave me, and i'll read in it a bit every day for her sake. _i_ believe in keeping promises. as for you, you'll find the team at the usual stable; you must go in early to-morrow for it." "where are you going, master alf?" urged the boy. "i'm afraid it's clean out to the bad!" "that's none of your business! you don't know how a gentleman feels about a promise," was the answer. "my father is here for the confirmation. he talked to me about that matter last night," persisted lars. "he said when people were married they promised they would be good to each other, but that was their duty any way, if they were man and wife, promise or no promise. about confirmation, he said that was a good old custom that it was well to follow, but any way when boys get to our age they've got to make up their minds what sort of men they mean to be, and start clear and determined on the right track, or else they'll be sure, as the world is, to go to the bad. he said, too, we'd better be in a hurry, and have that fixed, for there was no saying how long even young folks would live. young folks might be broken off right sudden, like a green branch in a high wind. i do wish you, master alf, could hear my father talk about this thing." "i've heard you talk; that's quite enough of the family for me!" said alf impatiently. "attend to your business at once, will you, or i shall have to harness the horse myself." "i _wish_ my father was here, i do!" murmured lars to himself, as he most unwillingly obeyed. "that's for your sermon," said alf, as he took the reins in his hand, and tossed a bit of silver to the serious, stolid-faced boy who was looking so sorrowfully at him. as alf said his last words to lars, he wished in his heart that he had the stable-boy's full, simple determination to do right whatever it might cost him. the veil of self-contentment had fallen from alf's eyes. his motives for what he was now doing stood out plainly before him. it was true that he did not wish to pledge himself openly to a life he did not intend to lead, but it was also true that it had long been his cherished wish to be free from the restraints of home, and able to yield to any and all the temptations that assailed him. he was voluntarily giving himself up to an evil, reckless life, and he knew it. chapter ii. after thirty years. the slender birches were sunning their mottled stems in the warm spring air; the evergreen woods rose dark and mysterious; while the glad little spruces that skirted the thickets were nourishing soft buds on every twig, little caring that they would in time be as gloomy and solemn as the grand old veterans of the forest behind them. sweden once more! all seemed unchanged after thirty years, save the emigrant and whatever specially concerned him. the familiar homes far back from the road, he remembered them well. his own home, he knew, had been ravaged by fire, and scarcely a vestige of it remained. his parents were no more. he could not, if he had wished it, shed penitent tears over their graves; for their bones were mouldering in a far-away ancestral vault, with no kindly grass to mantle them, and no glad wild flowers to whisper of a coming resurrection. the possessions that should have been his had been willed away to strangers. the once well-known family name was now rarely heard in the neighbourhood, and then only sorrowfully whispered as connected with the sad and almost forgotten past. it was sunday morning. the church bell had rung out its peals the appointed number of times, and now all was silent, for the rustic worshippers were gathered within the sacred walls. the congregation were all seated, and the confession was being repeated, when a tall, slender man, with peculiarly broad shoulders and a peculiarly small waist, came with an ungainly gait up the aisle, holding in his hand a limp felt hat as if it were glued fast to his long, thin fingers. he stopped a moment, as if mechanically, before a full pew, and then stood doubtfully in the aisle. a little chubby girl perched just behind him had not been too devout to observe the proceedings of the stranger. she unhooked the door of the seat in which she was established alone with her mother. the slight click attracted, as she had hoped, the attention of the new worshipper. she whispered to her bowed mother, "he has no place to sit; may i let him in to us?" the head was slightly nodded in reply; the door was gently pushed open; and the stranger sat down in the offered place. his dark face was thin, and wrinkled too much apparently for his years. his thick black hair and beard were irregularly streaked in locks with white, rather than grey with the usual even sprinkling brought about by age alone; and his forehead threatened to stretch backward far beyond the usual frontal bounds. he apparently took no part in the service. his eyes seemed looking far away from priest and altar, and his ears were dead to the words that fell upon them. above the chancel there had been a painting representing the lord's supper, not copied even second or third hand from leonardo's masterpiece, but from the work of some far more humble artist. the cracks that had crept across the cloth of the holy table and scarred the faces of the disciples were no longer to be seen. the disciples, whose identity had so occupied the minds of the little church-goers and been the subject of week-day discussions, were now hidden with the whole scene from the eyes of all beholders. a red curtain veiled the long-valued painting in its disfigured old age. against this glowing background was suspended a huge golden cross of the simplest construction. it was, in fact, the work of the carpenter of the neighbourhood, and was gilded by the hand of the pastor's wife, who had solemnly thought to herself as she wielded the brush, "we must look to the cross before we may draw near to the holy supper." some idea like this flitted through the mind of the stranger, though he did not appear like a devout worshipper. his whole bearing gave quite another impression. even when, during prayers later on, he held up his hat before his face, as is supposed to be a devout attitude in some christian lands, the little girl fancied she could see him peeping here and there round the church, as if he were taking an inventory of its specialties. it was but a simple country church, with square pillars of masonry supporting the galleries, from whence light wooden columns rose to the vaulted roof. indeed, in the old-fashioned building the rural seemed to have been the only style of architecture attempted. the whole interior had been thoroughly whitewashed, however it had fared with the hearts of the worshippers. during the sermon the stranger was evidently lost in his own meditations. as soon as the service was over, he followed the clergyman down the aisle to the sacristy, on one side of the main door. the reverend gentleman was in the midst of disrobing, when the dark-faced man hastily entered and said abruptly, "will you kindly look over this paper, which must be my only credential with you? i belong to this parish, and should be glad to have the privileges of membership when broken down and needing a home." the pastor glanced at the paper. it was a simple certificate, from a well-known dignitary high in authority in the land, requesting that the bearer, without being subject to further investigation, should have his right acknowledged as a member of the parish to which he now made application. the pastor could treat him accordingly, only showing the paper in case any difficulty arising from this arrangement should make such publicity necessary. the paper was properly signed, witnessed, and sealed. the pastor put it in his pocket, looked wonderingly at the applicant, and said, "the poorhouse is but a mean place, with accommodation for a few persons, and the present occupants are of the humblest sort. there are now living there an old woman, formerly a servant in respectable families, who has a room to herself; a half-mad fellow, who will not speak when spoken to unless he can hit on some way of answering in rhyme. he, of course, has a room to himself. there is, besides, a large room with sleeping-places for two persons. one of these places is occupied by an old man who has been a hard drinker; you would have to share the room with him. would you be contented with that arrangement?" "contented and grateful," said the stranger. his name was given as "a. johanson," and was so registered in the pastor's note-book. particular directions were then kindly lavished on the stranger as to how he was to reach his future home. a peculiar smile stole over the face of the listener. he took politely the permit which ensured his admittance at the last refuge of the unfortunate, and then, with a bow and a slight waving of the limp hat, he disappeared. chapter iii. in the poorhouse. the poorhouse was not an imposing structure, but it could boast of antiquity, as it had been built long, long ago for the purpose for which it was now used. it was not difficult for johanson to locate the poorhouse poet. his room, like the other two, opened directly on the vestibule. on his own door he had been allowed to paint his name and publish his chosen occupation:-- "i take my bag, my legs my nag, and never fail to fetch the mail." so ran the poor rhymes, yet the mad poet had not given himself his full meed of praise. no storm was too wild, no cold too severe, no snow too deep for the faithful mail-carrier to make his rounds. rather than give up the leathern bag entrusted to him to teasing country boys or desperate highwayman, he would have died in its defence. the principle of growth had exerted its power eccentrically with the poorhouse poet. his legs and neck were elongated out of all proportion to the rest of his body. his small, pale face was raised unnaturally high in the air, as if he had suffered decapitation and his head had been posted as an assurance that offended law had been avenged. unconscious of his own peculiarities, the persistent rhymer went about pleased with himself and all the world. now he was particularly happy, for he considered himself a kind of presiding officer at the poorhouse, and as such the proper person to show the premises to curious strangers, or to formally install new inmates. on the entrance of johanson with the pastor's permit, the poet immediately took the odd-looking pauper in hand, to make him at home in the establishment. he knocked at the small room opposite the main entrance, and a shrill voice having shouted, "come in!" the visitors opened the door. "i bring a new-comer, our guest for the summer! he's johanson, he; gull hansdotter, she." so presented, johanson bowed to the little old woman, who stood up beside the chair in which she had been sitting, and deigned to bend her knees for a courtesy just sufficiently to bring her short skirts possibly one inch nearer the floor. her stiff demeanour, however, changed suddenly as she darted to a corner and produced a bit of rag carpet, on which she requested the visitors to stand, as her room had been freshly scoured for sunday. "scour sunday, scour monday, scour every day, that's her way," said the poet, retiring precipitately with his companion. the poet had described the absorbing pursuit of his fellow-lodger. chairs, table, and floor in that little room were subject to such rasping purifications, that if there had ever been paint on any of them, it was a thing of the far past, while an ashy whiteness and a general smell of dampness were the abiding peculiarities of the apartment. the eyes of the owner had become possessed of a microscopic power of discovering the minutest speck that might have been envied by any scientific observer of insect life. the poet next threw open the door of the room opposite his own, as he said to his companion,-- "here is your place-- no want of space; according to diet, not always so quiet." these were the quarters johanson was to share with the broad-chested man in a big chair, who sat with a stout stick beside him, as if ready at any moment to meet the attack of a roving marauder. "this is our cellar-master, who lived faster and faster, till here with us he had to be.-- it's johanson who comes with me; he'll share your room, at least to-night, and longer if you treat him right." there was only an inhospitable grunt from the gouty, red-faced man whose biography had been more justly than politely abridged for the new-comer. johanson had no luggage to deposit. he thanked his conductor for the trouble he had taken, and then seated himself on a wooden chair on his side of the room, and had evidently no further need of his guide, who promptly disappeared. johanson seemed gazing out of the window, but was really seeing nothing, while quite lost in his own thoughts, and altogether forgetful of his companion. there was a pounding on the floor, followed by a rumbling sound, as of some one preparing to speak, and then the other occupant of the room said roughly: "here, you! do you see that crack across the middle of the floor, with three big, dark knots in the middle on each side of it? that's my landmark. you come over it, and there'll be mischief!" "i shall take great pleasure in attending to your wishes. it is not likely that i shall visit you often," said johanson, rising and bowing with much politeness, and then promptly resuming his seat. the next step of the new lodger was to take a small, carefully-covered book from his pocket. the gilt edges, dulled by time, were, however, observed by the watchful spectator, a prisoner in his chair. the fine print and the divided verses were evident to his keen eyes, that twinkled in their red frames with an uncanny light. "no hypocrisy here! it don't take. put up that book, or i'll throw my friend here at you. i never miss, so look out!" he touched the club-like stick beside him. johanson quickly put his hand in his breast-pocket and took out a small revolver. "here is _my_ friend," he said. "i never miss with this in my hand!" he spoke coolly, but his eyes were fearless and determined. "you let me alone, and i'll let you alone. i want to live peaceably. i shall do what i please on my side of the room, and i want no meddling from you." the cellar-master understood at once that he had here a person not to be trifled with, and from that day there was no difficulty between them. the revolver may or may not have been loaded, but the sight of it had been enough for the cellar-master, as for many a "rough" before. as to the little woman who had given johanson so ungracious a reception on his first appearance in her room, he had evidently taken an aversion to her society. when she came into his duplicated quarters, he was always looking out into the street, or so occupied that she had a better view of his back than of his face. he never named her, nor was she ever mentioned in the establishment by her lawful cognomen, but was always spoken of as "she," representing alone, as she did, her own sex in the poorhouse. it seemed to her a wonder that with all her claims to respectability she had ever found her way to her present home. the walls of her room were decorated with silhouettes of this or that grand personage in whose service she had enjoyed the honour of being in days of yore. such mementoes failing her, there were coveted seals to letters, or paper headings cut out and duly pointed at the edges, to shine forth from red backgrounds. a daguerreotype of herself, in all the buxom freshness of youth and the "bravery" of a gaily-adorned peasant costume, was always to be seen standing on her bureau half open, like the book of an absent-minded scholar disturbed in his researches. her pretensions imposed not a little upon the cellar-master, who treated her with a certain respect; but the poet was unmindful of her social claims, and perhaps took a pleasure in showing his independence of her rule. rule it was, for she condescended to cook for "those poor men folks," as she called them. not that her cooking was ever of an elaborate order--coffee and porridge being the only dainties on which she was permitted to display her full powers. warming up and making over other dishes kindly sent in by benevolent neighbours she did to perfection, and showed in this matter an ingenuity most remarkable. when, however, she took in the meals she had prepared for the various recipients, it was with a studied ungraciousness, abated only for the cellar-master, who, as she said, had a respectable title of his own, and was suitable company for her. johanson, who had come to his present abode empty-handed, provided himself by degrees with needful articles of clothing of the simplest sort, as well as necessities for the toilet and the writing-table. the pen was much in his hand. it was used occasionally for a letter to the nearest large city, and such a missive was generally followed by a parcel, which was stowed away at once in the capacious chest appointed for his use. the cellar-master was sure that it was on sheets ruled like music-paper that johanson was almost constantly writing, though they were locked up in his chest almost before they were fairly dry. he did not seem to be a reader, but the objectionable little book with the gilt edges came out at a regular hour each day, and for five minutes at least had his full attention, without offensive interruption. on the whole, the poorhouse had become for johanson a peaceful and in a measure a comfortable home. chapter iv. preparing for confirmation. with the autumn began for the pastor the most pleasing duty of the year--the instruction of his class for confirmation. he announced in church one sunday that after the service he would be in the sacristy to take the names of any of the young people who wished to join the proposed class. he was sitting in the sacristy at the appointed time, with a group of young rustics standing about him, when johanson came quietly in. "i can attend to you first," said the pastor, turning kindly towards the dark-bearded man. "i can wait; i am in no hurry," was the reply. the waiting was long, as had been expected. when the boys and girls had all gone out, johanson stepped to the pastor's side and said, "please put down my name." "for what?" asked the pastor, in astonishment. "for the confirmation class," was the calm reply. "i have never been confirmed." the pastor had noticed, naturally, that johanson had not been forward to the lord's supper even when the cellar-master had been helped up the aisle from the poorhouse seat near the door, and gull and the half-mad poet had decorously followed. at this he had hardly been surprised, for there were other members of the congregation who did not communicate more than once a year. the good man felt a sudden repulsion towards the stranger still without the christian pale. "you wish then to be confirmed?" said the pastor, looking johanson directly in the eye. "i wish to receive the instruction, and it will be your duty to judge of my fitness afterwards," was the reply. "perhaps i could find time to teach you privately, though it is a busy season, with all the certificates of removal and that kind of thing," said the pastor doubtfully. "i would rather be taught as you teach these young people," said johanson. "please try to forget that i am not a boy." that was a hard duty to impose on the pastor, who looked into the browned face and the troubled dark eyes. he did not promise, but simply said, "the class, as you heard, will meet in the dining-room at the parsonage on wednesday afternoon. i hope the instructions may be blessed to you," and they parted. wednesday came. the available chairs in the pastor's simple home had been ranged in long rows on each side of the dining-room. "may i sit here, dear, with my work?" said the pastor's wife, coming in with a basket of stockings in one hand, her needle and yarn for darning in the other. she did not expect to be refused, nor was she, though a little girl of five years old, her only child, held pertinaciously on to her dress. "i may come too, papa; i am sure i may," said a sweet, cheery voice, and only a pleasant smile was the reply. the mother sat down in one of the chairs still at the table, and the little girl took joyously a place at her side. "i always like to hear your confirmation instructions, for many reasons," said the wife. "i seem to take a fresh start in the right direction with the children." the pastor seated himself at the head of the table, with his books before him, laying near them the list of the names of the class. the pastor was a stout, sensible-looking man, with a plain, quiet face, and a modest, shy air. indeed, he was hardly at ease anywhere, except in his home, or in the pulpit or chancel, where the sense of the sacredness of his official duties made him unmindful of earthly witnesses. now he thought it a stay to have his wife with him; for the informal nature of the meeting, and the beginning of something new, made the whole at first an effort for him. perhaps the pastor, in the presence of persons of high standing, found it impossible to forget his humble birth, and suspected that in some way there was always a lack of gentility about him; while with companions of more modest pretensions he must maintain the distant dignity which he fancied appertained to his profession. he was a straightforward, matter-of-fact man, who intended in all things, temporal and spiritual, to do his duty. he believed fully in the inspiration of the bible from cover to cover, and was possibly convinced that every word, and almost every letter, in the then authorized swedish version had a sanction not to be disputed. in his view the sacraments, properly administered, were direct, undoubted channels of grace. the organization of his church was perfect, he was sure, to the least particular, and would have the approval of the apostles were they now on earth, though during their lives the circumstances of their surroundings might have made it impossible for them to have their ministrations conducted according to the admirable order so long established in sweden. martin luther he looked upon as having a kind of supplemental apostleship, almost as incontestable as that of peter himself. luther's catechism was for him the best medium for imparting religious instruction to children, and for strengthening the christian life of young people approaching maturity. with this sound, hearty belief in what he was called on to teach, and with the rules for his ministrations, his work was simple and most agreeable. the pastor was not an emotional man. he had never been deeply stirred by religious feelings of any kind. he had had no agonies of penitence, no distressing doubts, no strong struggles with temper, no vivid thought of the possibility of his being excluded from eternal blessedness. his heavenly father was to him rather a theological abstraction than a near and ever-loving friend. the saviour was to him more an element in a perfect creed than the deliverer--the hand stretched out to the drowning man--the one hope of poor tempted humanity. the pastor was, in his way, a good man, a kind man, an unselfish, true, sincere man. peaceful he lived, peaceful he ministered, and yet heart to heart he came with no human brother. with no human brother, we say; but there was one woman whose life interpenetrated his, if they did not in all things come heart to heart. her presence gave him a sense of sunshine and quiet happiness that was the greatest joy of which his nature was capable. merry, impulsive, devoted, self-sacrificing by nature, the whole existence of the pastor's wife was pervaded by a christian life that exalted her naturally lovely traits, and made her shortcomings the source of a sweet, childlike penitence that was almost as lovely and attractive as her virtues. she had soon found that the deep language of her inner soul was to her husband an unknown tongue. of her spiritual struggles and joys and exaltations she did not speak to him or to any other human being. they were her secret with her god and saviour. yet her husband stood to her on a pinnacle, as rounded in character, blameless in life, and perfect in his ministrations. almost angelic he seemed to her when he stood in the chancel, and in his deep, melodious voice sang all the parts of the service that the church rules allowed to be so given. the pastor's sermons were excellent compositions. compositions they were in the strictest sense of the word. the epistles and gospels for the ecclesiastical year were the authorized and usual subjects for the sermons, being called even in common parlance "the text for the day." these texts had been so elaborated and expounded by wise divines whose works were to be had in print, that when a sermon was to be written, our pastor but got out his books of sermons, studied, compared, compiled, extracted, transformed, and rewrote, until on friday his sermon for the coming sunday was always ready. he had made it his own by hard, conscientious work, and not without a deep sense that he was, in his way, to deliver a divine message as an authorized ambassador of the king of kings, accredited and appointed in an unimpeachable manner. with his confirmation class the pastor was different. he was fond of young people. he had been young himself, and had not forgotten the circumstance. he was getting a little impatient to see the fresh faces he was expecting at the first meeting of the class, when johanson made his appearance, bowed distantly, and took the seat nearest the door. he had passed through a knot of young people without, who were, with some cuffing and shoving, contending who should go in first on this to them august occasion. johanson had left the door slightly ajar, and little elsa, the pastor's child, having caught a glimpse of a familiar face, ran out, to come back immediately leading triumphantly a rosy-cheeked girl, who was all blushes as she was brought into the dining-room, made to her for the time sacred ground. of course, the whole troop from without, boys and girls, followed, taking opposite sides of the room. it proved that johanson had taken his seat on the girls' side, and carefully away from him the skirts of those nearest to him were drawn; for it had been whispered around the parish that the queer man at the poorhouse had never been confirmed. an outcast of the outcasts he must be, was the common conviction. a hymn was to be sung, all sitting, to open the meeting. little elsa went round with the "psalm-books" in a basket, and began with johanson, who took one as he was requested. the pastor began, and the young voices joined him. there was a hush for a second, when a wonderful tenor came in, and seemed to fill the room with a strange melody. but one verse was sung; then followed a short prayer from the church liturgy, after which the lesson began. johanson sat alone in his corner, when elsa tripped away from her mother, and giving a gleeful little hop, she seated herself beside him, laid her small hand lightly on his knee, and looked up at him lovingly and protectingly as she did so. now she felt she really owned him. he was _her_ poor man, a kind of friend and relation to her. through all those long preparatory lessons elsa kept her place by the side of the dark man, without word or comment from her parents. the time for the confirmation was drawing near. "i do not know what i shall do about johanson," said the pastor to his wife. "i get nothing from him in the class except plain, direct, and most correct answers to my questions. i suppose it must be all right, but we don't seem to come near to each other at all. he is a wild, strange man. perhaps you could somehow get on better with him." "maybe elsa could," said the wife. "_she_ loves him. perhaps that is what he feels the need of among us who call ourselves christians." "call ourselves christians!" repeated the pastor, in as severe a tone of reproach as he had ever addressed to his wife. she did not seem to notice his manner, but went on: "elsa might reach him. you know it says, 'a little child shall lead them.' i'll send her to the poorhouse this afternoon with a message to johanson from me, and the book she likes so much. i know which is her favourite picture, and she will be sure to tell him about it." "send her to the poorhouse!" exclaimed the pastor. "she's been there often with me when i've been there to wind up gull's clock, which she is sure to get out of order if gull touches it herself. elsa is not afraid of any of them, even of the cellar-master. he really likes her." the pastor was called away suddenly, and he was glad, for that was one of the occasions when he did not quite understand his wife. chapter v. led to the light. little elsa's errand to johanson was to take to him a small pocket "psalm-book" (as the swedish book for the services and hymns is called). it was well known in the poorhouse and parish that the stranger pauper had a bible, and read it too, at least for five minutes every day. gull, who had a strong taste for gossip, had not left that particular unmentioned. elsa came in with two little packages in her hand. "here's your book mamma sent you," she said. "she has put your name in it. i want to show you my book too." johanson put his gift in his pocket hastily, with a short expression of thanks, and then looked expectantly at the child. "may i sit close to you, so we can both look over it together?" she said, as she pushed a chair to his side and worked herself up on to it. the illustrations were generally from old testament scenes; but elsa hurried past these, turning the pages briskly with her skilful fingers. "here it is! here's the one i like best. you understand it, don't you? it means something," and she looked up questioningly into his face. the picture was a most admirable representation of the good shepherd bearing a lost lamb home on his shoulders. johanson was silent. "you don't know about it, then? i will tell you," she said, and went on, while her tiny finger was impressively pointing from lamb to shepherd, and from shepherd to lamb. "that little lamb got far away from the shepherd and the fold and all the little lambs he knew. and he was dirty, not a bit clean, and his wool was all torn by the briers, and the thorns had hurt him, and he was hungry and thirsty and tired, and did not know where to go. he could hear the wolves growl, and he thought he could see their eyes looking at him as if they wanted to eat him up. you see he had run away, just gone away from the good shepherd and his mother and his home, when he did not need to. and now he wanted to get back, but he didn't know how; and then he began to complain and to bleat (that's his way of crying), and to run this way and that, but he didn't get on at all. "at last he was quite tired out, and he thought he must give up and lie down and die where he was. then the good shepherd heard his cry and came to him. the poor little lamb wanted to follow the shepherd; but he was too weak--he could hardly stand alone. and then"--and here the little voice grew triumphantly glad--"then the good shepherd took him in his own arms, just as sweet and kind as if the naughty lamb had never run away, and carried him over the stones, and past the briers, and across the little streams, and up the steep hills, and through the dark places! he carried him _all the way_ home, not just half-way and then let him drop. he carried him _all the way home_ to the fold, where his mother was, and there he was safe--safe--safe! wasn't that a good shepherd?" there was no answer. "my mother told me all about it, and i like that picture best and that story best. you understand what it means?" "yes," said johanson. there were tears in his eyes. elsa lifted up her loving hand to johanson's face as it was bent over the book, and with her own little handkerchief wiped his tears; then she went out silently, which was probably the best thing she could have done under the circumstances. the next day johanson went to the pastor in his study. "i have not come to talk about _my_ fitness for confirmation," he said. "little elsa has taught me better. i have turned my face towards the good shepherd, and i believe he will carry me home. may i meet with the class to-morrow?" "certainly," said the pastor, and the interview was ended. johanson sat among the candidates for confirmation the next day--among the boys and girls, like a battered old ship that had been dragged into the harbour beside the trim fresh vessels just starting with flying colours for a bright far-away land. he did not mind the nudges and half-smiles among the rustic congregation, but answered the questions put to him with the others, in his strong man's voice, as simply and naturally as a child. he knew he was safe in the hands of the good shepherd, who would carry him tenderly home, and his heart was full of humble joy. the administration of the holy communion took place next day. the newly-confirmed with their friends were to "go forward," while the rest of the congregation were to remain in their seats praying for the young soldiers of christ, now fully enlisted under his banner. johanson had taken a modest place at the chancel railing; but even there he was an outcast, for it was plain that no one was willing to kneel beside him. the pastor's wife was bowed low with new food for prayer and thanksgiving. little elsa moved quickly from her mother's side up the aisle, and to the astonishment and almost horror of the congregation she knelt by johanson, her little head not appearing above the railing; but she held fast to his left hand. he felt the tender familiar grasp, and it was to him like the good shepherd greeting him through one of his little ones. at the close of the service, when all the authorized words for the occasion had been read, the pastor stepped to the front of the chancel, and said, in loud, clear tones,-- "and the father saw him afar off, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him." "him that cometh to me i will in no wise cast out." "a broken and a contrite heart, o god, thou wilt not despise." "come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest." "i hope it was not amiss to say those words i did from the chancel to-day," said the pastor to his wife when at home and they were alone together. "they are not in the service, but i could not help it. i never felt so deeply before how freely and fully god forgives us--_us_ christians as well as what we call 'poor sinners.' yes, it came over me as it never has before, and somehow heaven seems nearer, and god more really my father and christ my saviour. do you understand me, my dear?" "yes, yes," she said--"yes, dear; and you too seem nearer to me than ever before." the pastor answered, tenderly and solemnly: "it is you, wife, you and elsa, and that poor johanson, who have somehow opened my eyes. i have seen before, but seen darkly. may god lead me to the perfect day!" chapter vi. painful disclosures. something about the strange inmate had affected the mad poet, long a dweller in the poorhouse, as unusual in that establishment. these fancies he had versified, and having written the result down on a half-sheet of paper, he folded it into a narrow strip, and then twisted it into an almost impossible knot, and handed it to the person nearest concerned. johanson read with astonishment:-- "it striketh me that you should be a gentleman, and drive a span, live high, drink wine, ask folks to dine, and make a dash. with poorhouse trash you should not be-- with folks like me." in return, the reply was promptly put under the poor poet's door:-- "of who i am, or where belong, please do not whisper in your song." these communications were followed by a few days of unusual silence between the neighbours. the mad poet did not like being answered in rhyme. of versification he considered himself the inventor, and as having therefore an exclusive right to use it, in conversation or on paper. at last johanson made up his mind what course to pursue in the matter. he went to the poet in a friendly way, and said to him, "i take you to be a gentleman who knows how to keep a secret, and does not mention what he can guess out concerning other people's matters. i know your principles about your post-bag. i have heard that you never even read the address of a letter to be sent off, or the post-mark of one to be delivered. now i call that a high sense of honour." "just decency it seems to me," broke in the poet. johanson did not seem to notice the interruption, but went on: "now you keep anything you suspect about me, anything you can't understand in my ways, just as secret as if it were written on the back of a letter. you will, i am sure. so now let us shake hands upon it." they did, and were established as better friends than before. the weather had become extremely cold, but the poorhouse poet went on his rounds, persisting in being dressed as in the autumn. it had been snowing all night, and the cold was excessive. johanson was awakened by an unusual chill in the air. a long point of snow lay along the floor of his room, as it had drifted in under the not over-tight door. he dressed and hurried out. the vestibule was one snow-bank, and the outside door was wide open. he pushed his way into the poet's room. it was empty. it was plain that the poor fellow had been out on his usual rounds, and had not returned to put up the outer bars, as was his nightly custom; for the old locks were not to be relied upon. he probably had not been able to force his way through the heavy drifts and the wild storm which was still raging. the cellar-master was a late sleeper. he woke now to see johanson hurrying about, evidently making ready for a trip. "what are you doing? you are letting the cold in here, sir," said the old fellow, only half awake. "the poet is missing. he didn't come home last night. i shall go and look him up. have you any whisky? you have, i know. i saw gull bring you in a bottle last night. let me have it, will you?" "yes; a pull will keep you up," was the answer. "i don't want it for me," said johanson hastily; "it has pulled me down low enough. i'll never taste it again. but that poor fellow, he may need it, if i find him." "you are not going to risk yourself out looking for _him_!" said the cellar-master, now fairly awake. "_you_ are right down crazy. quiet yourself. he'll be coming in soon, and making rhymes about his trip. you don't look over hearty. i should think you would be afraid to risk it." "afraid!" said johanson. "have you ever been in a tornado? have you been in an earthquake? have you been out in a blizzard, with no house within miles?" "no, no, no!" was the threefold reply. "i've tried them all," said johanson, "and i am not afraid of a little snow. lend me your stick, and i'm off." off he was, but not to return through the long morning. towards noon, a party who had been out with a snow-plough and a sledge came back, bearing two bodies carefully covered. the poet was still and white. he had been found lying under a rock, in a tiny natural cave. on a ledge near him, in some lightly-sifted snow, he had traced with his finger:-- "i must be ill, i've such a chill. here i'll die, nobody by. who'll cry? not i! the bag'll be found, it's safe and sound. there'll be no snow where i shall go; there'll be no storm, it will be warm. good-night! good-night!" it was good-night indeed for the poorhouse poet. in his pocket was found a worn scrap of paper, on which was pencilled his simple creed:-- "the tickets buy for when we die, for where we go we fix below. death clears the track; we can't come back! "somehow, i guess, if we confess, and say, 'forgive!' up there we'll live. conductors quail, and kings prevail. when god has said, 'alive or dead, i own that man,' he save him can." in johanson there still was life. he had been found lying close to the dead poet, as if trying to share with him his little remaining vital warmth. the doctor, the pastor's wife, and gull were soon doing all that was possible to call him back to life. in a few days he was almost well, for broken down though he was, he still had some of the vigour of his naturally strong constitution. the funeral was over. johanson was apparently dozing, lying on his sofa, now in its form for the day; while gull and the cellar-master were chatting together in low, whispering tones. gull, who had prepared the body of the poorhouse poet for interment, now talked over all the items of the expense with evident satisfaction, and concluded by saying, "it was a beautiful corpse. it really was a pleasure to lay him out, he looked so sweet and quiet when it was all done." the cellar-master, who had been helped into a sleigh to attend, remarked that it was a charming funeral; he did not know when he had enjoyed himself so much as on the late occasion. "what luck he had to come in for the bell!" said gull; "he was just in the nick of time. it was really quite a grand funeral, with the three coffins--the baby and the old woman and our young man--and the mourners for all. the pastor did it beautiful too, and the bell sounded so solemn. it is, of course, another thing when the big bell is rung for some high body that is carried out. we may be thankful that we have the little bell rung once a week for poor folks' funerals in this parish; it is not so everywhere." "it would seem more solemn to see the pastor in his black gloves if he didn't wear them always," said the cellar-master. "why does he do it? i never happened to meet anybody that knew. he's still-like himself, and nobody likes to ask him questions. some people say it is to make him look grand with fine folks, and to kind of put down them that have bare hands used to work." "don't you know about his hands?" asked gull, with surprise. "i've known it so many years, it seems as if everybody must have heard that." "i don't happen to have inquired into the matter," said the cellar-master, somewhat humiliated. "i have never been one to gossip." "why, i was there when it happened," broke out gull, eager to tell her story to a new listener. "he was stable-boy when i was housemaid at the major's. my lady was sitting in the carriage one day, and lars--we called him lars then--was standing holding the horses. my lady had sent the coachman in for his cape, for it was getting cold--just like her. the horses took fright at a travelling music-man who came along, and must begin just then to play. off they started full run, dragging lars, who hung on to the reins until they stopped. he'd have held on to those reins, i'm sure, till he died (what he began he always stuck to); and my lady sitting there in the carriage half scared to death. the fingers on his left hand were cut to the bones. they were long healing, and a sight to be seen then at the best. the right wasn't much better, dragged along the road as it had been. my lady always liked lars after that. he had always been for reading; and when he took it into his head he wanted to be a priest, she helped him, and other folks helped him too. he changed his name, as poor fellows do when they go to upsala. when my lady and the major were taken off so sudden with the fever, he kept on at his learning. he wouldn't have given up if he'd had to starve. but he didn't, for one way and another he got on. and then what a wife he picked up, and a little money with her too; not that it's enough to wipe out old scores. those upsala debts hang after him, as they have after many another. he's got them all in one hand now, they say, so that he hasn't to pay on them more than once a year, and that time is just coming on. you can see it in him as well as you can see in the west when there'll be snow next morning. he's rubbed through so far, but it sits heavy. i'm not in their kitchen for an odd bit of work now and then for nothing. i see what i see, and i hear what i hear. beda is lonely like, and she's pleased to have somebody to talk out to. what if the pastor and his wife should find out who's who!" she continued, pointing over her shoulder at the supposed sleeper. the cellar-master gave a stupid look at her mysterious face. "that's the major's son over there," she whispered--"alf, who ran off and never came back. i must tell somebody, if i should die for it. but you mustn't breathe it to a living soul." "not that beautiful young fellow! no, no; you don't make me believe that. don't i remember him? this one isn't a bit like him--an ugly, worthless-looking old tramp. he was a wild chap, alf. my wife used to tell me it was a shame to let him come there and drink--drink down a glass as if he couldn't swallow it quick enough, and then another, and then go out to the stable-boy, who was there to help him home. but that's not alf. i'd know that handsome fellow anywhere among a million." "but that _is_ alf," she whispered. "when he was almost frozen to death, the doctor told me to open his breast and rub him well; and i did. but what did i find there, hanging on to a black string, but his mother's picture, in a little locket she gave him when he was a little fellow; and he was so fond of it then he would wear it outside his clothes, where everybody could see, he said. he's willing enough to hide it now; he don't want to shame such parents, and that's the only good thing i see about him. i found it out, and i know it; but i won't tell anybody but you." "that's alf! and i helped to make him so! my wife said i'd rue the day. now i do. it's very fine to be called 'cellar-master' when you sit fast in the poorhouse; but it's a bad business dragging people down. think what alf was and see what he is! i don't want to talk any more to-day. you go, gull. i've got something to think about." johanson, lost in his own thoughts, had not noticed the whispered conversation till his own name of the past was mentioned. after that, in bitter repentance he heard the galling words that penetrated his inmost soul. now he understood gull's new politeness to him, and the kindly willingness with which she saved him in his degradation, for his mother's sake. she could not treat him like a common tenant of the poorhouse, and he was sure she would keep his secret. with the cellar-master it might be a different thing. that his companions knew him was an added humiliation. he had deserved it all; but there was one who had called himself the friend of sinners, and that friend had received even him, a poor prodigal who had returned to his father's house. chapter vii. a happy christmas. the pastor had fallen into the pleasant habit of having his wife with him when he wrote his sermons. alone in the morning he made his researches and his copious notes for his compilation. in the evening he talked over with his wife the subject in hand, before the work of writing really began. she found him one night, shortly before christmas, sitting dolorously before his table covered with papers, while an unusual cloud overshadowed his face. "i cannot even think how to begin, wife," he said; "my thoughts will run in quite another direction. i feel all the weight of the new year upon me. those old debts of mine, that i can never hope to clear off, hang upon me like a hopeless weight. a few years less at upsala, and a good deal less debt, would have been a far better preparation for such a parish as this." the pastor's wife was not at all cast down by this sorrowful lament. it had long been a familiar strain to her. she answered cheerily,-- "you had nothing to do with the arrangements as to what you were to learn at upsala, and how long you must be there. you worked hard, and denied yourself almost the necessaries of life, as you well know. now you are here and at your higher mission, which _must_ be faithfully performed. so you will have to throw all these cares overboard. just when we are to remember that 'god so loved the world,' we must not forget that he loves us still, every one of us. we here in this little parsonage are under his care, and he is not going to let us have burdens heavier than we can bear. we live simply enough; there is no faring 'sumptuously every day' here, as all the parish knows. i have thought out a little help. we will not give each other anything for christmas. if gifts are but an expression of love, we do not need that kind of expression between us. for elsa i have made a big rag doll, dressed in a fine peasant dress, from the scraps in my piece-bag. we will have a little christmas-tree on a table for a variety, and i have put tinsel round nuts to hang upon it with the pretty red apples from the garden; and as to candles, we have enough left from last year. we will all learn that beautiful carol we had sent us by mail yesterday. our good beda, she must not be disappointed. i have my uncle's last present to me in money, which i shall share with her, and give her the dress from my aunt that i have not yet made up for myself. the rest of aunty's present will do to make christmas cheery for the poorhouse people and the hard-pinched folks in the parish, who look for a little from us at this time. so now all those troublesome matters are blown away. as for the interest on the old debts, that is not to be paid until january; and we will leave that to the loving lord, who has given us so many blessings, and see now after the sermon with cheerful, thankful hearts. come, dear; now i am ready to hear about it." and they did begin on the sermon, and it was the best the pastor had ever written. something of the sweet cheerfulness and loving gratitude of the wife had made its way among the sound theological quotations and the judicious condensations. there was new life in the whole, which now came really from the pastor's uplifted soul, and would find its way to the stirred hearts of the hearers. christmas morning came, and little elsa was early at the poorhouse. she had a present for johanson. it was but a bit of work on perforated paper, done by her own hands--a lamb outlined in gay silk; but it was a _lamb_, and she felt that meant something between her and johanson, and it did. he was moved when he took it, and thanked her with good wishes for christmas from the depths of his heart. "i am so happy, johanson," she said, "for papa and mamma are so glad. i heard them say, 'now the past is all wiped away, and we can begin the new year as free from care as the birds.' i have often heard mamma say that the past is all, all wiped away when we are sorry for what we have done and want to do better, and i am always so glad about that. but this, i am sure, meant something different; for they said something about a letter, and then they looked together at a paper as if they could kiss it, and said, 'we must thank god for it, and ask him to bless an unknown friend with his best blessings.' and they just talked to god where they sat, as they do sometimes. papa has been sorrowful lately, but he really looked to-day like mamma when she is the happiest." the child had found johanson bowed, sitting with his head in his hands, while his thoughts were far back in his sinful, sorrowful past. he had felt as if he had hardly a right to welcome the day when the saviour was born. now his face beamed with joy; but he only said, "i am glad you are all so happy. i am sure you will be pleased again when you see something in church to-day." many weeks before christmas, johanson had asked permission to go into the church, and to have a tall ladder carried in with him. the pastor was astonished at the request. the permission had been granted. no results of the matter had, however, appeared. the same permission had been given the day before. there had been some hammering then, he understood, but had no misgivings in the matter, as he had begun to trust johanson as an upright, honest man. there were surprise and delight on all faces when they entered the church for the early service on christmas morning. of course there was a perfect blaze of light within, but that they had expected. the golden cross was gone; the red curtain had disappeared; the old picture, now but a ragged canvas, had been removed, and in its place was a beautiful painting. it represented the lord jesus, sitting with a glory round his benign countenance, welcoming a penitent, weary pilgrim from afar, who knelt to receive his blessing. below was the legend, "him that cometh to me i will in no wise cast out." the carol that was sung was the same that the pastor's wife had chosen to be used at the lighting of the tree in her own home the evening before. the rural choir had practised it well, and it sounded out over the old church like angelic music. at the first notes johanson started and covered his face with his hands. a moment later, though he held no notes to follow, his beautiful voice rang out loud and clear and in full harmony with the other singers. when the service was over, there was a crowd lingering in the aisles, praising and admiring the beautiful picture and the new carol; but johanson was soon alone in the poorhouse, with "hosanna! hosanna!" in his heart. chapter viii. the beata charity. gull had come to the cellar-master with a choice bit of news to tell. a stranger had bought the land where the major's home and stood, and buildings were to be put up there immediately. the long lonely spot was soon a busy scene, as the architect, with plans in hand, was hurrying about among the skilful workmen. whoever would, might hear where the new poorhouse was to stand, and where the orphan home, and know that the little red cottage, just like any other, was for a musical composer, who must have one large room built with special care and according to all the most scientific acoustic rules; for there he was to have a fine organ, which was now being constructed in the most particular manner. "i want to call it all 'the beata charity,' for beata was my mother's name," johanson had said to the pastor, who was now in his full confidence. they knew each other as the alf and lars of the olden time. they knew each other now as forgiven sinners, each striving in his own way to work for the glory of the master's kingdom. each felt that he was indebted to the other. the stable-boy's words, "the duties are the same whether you make the promises or not," had lingered in the mind of the wanderer in the midst of the lowest depths of sin, and had brought him home at last to try _to make the promises firmly resolved to keep them_. the methodical, authorized, ordained, instructed, conscientious priest had learned from a repentant sinner to bow at the foot of the cross, and thank god for the saviour who could forgive him his poor, blind, cold, self-satisfied service of the past, and wake him to penitence and love, and humble, grateful faithfulness in his sacred office. johanson's work in the poorhouse on his music-paper had been the solace of those long, dark penitential hours. his alternations between deep depression and dawning hope, and at last his full, deep conviction that there was pardon for all in the abundant mercy of god through christ, had been expressed in the musical compositions that had made their way over the length and breadth of the land. many of them were linked with old familiar sacred words; for others, some master-poet must be warmed to write their language in glowing verse. "the white-haired pauper," as johanson was called throughout the whole country, had his satisfaction in his life-long incognito. he felt that he had cast aside his old name and old privileges to be a worthless wanderer, and had but returned to repent and be forgiven. he would, himself forgotten and unknown, praise and serve as god had given him ability. the grand-uncle in america, so munificent for alf's confirmation day, had always cherished a hope of the prodigal's reformation. only when in desperate need had alf applied to him, and had never been refused assistance. dying, the old man had left a will bequeathing his large fortune to his grand-nephew, in the firm belief that alf, having run his wild career, would find his way to his native land, to lead a faithful christian life, and be the centre of wide benevolent enterprises. the hopes and wishes and prayers of the uncle were fulfilled. the white-haired pauper lived to see the results of his efforts, and to know that many who starving had been fed, or sinning reclaimed, or suffering ministered unto, were calling down blessings on his unworthy head. from the pastor and his wife and elsa alf had sympathy and aid in all his undertakings, and their friendship was cemented by common work for the common good. the cellar-master did not live to have a place in the new poorhouse. gull had her own trial in the midst of the comforts of her old age, that she must still keep the secret that the celebrated composer and wide philanthropist was her beloved "major's" long-lost son. the end. the story of ida pfeiffer and her travels in many lands. [queen pomare's palace, tahiti: page .jpg] "i'll put a girdle round the world."--shakespeare. london: thomas nelson and sons. edinburgh and new york. . contents. i. her biography. ii. journey round the world. iii. northward. iv. last travels. chapter i.--her biography. ida pfeiffer, the celebrated traveller, was born in vienna on the th of october . she was the third child of a well-to-do merchant, named reyer; and at an early age gave indications of an original and self-possessed character. the only girl in a family of six children, her predilections were favoured by the circumstances which surrounded her. she was bold, enterprising, fond of sport and exercise; loved to dress like her brothers, and to share in their escapades. dolls she contemptuously put aside, preferring drums; and a sword or a gun was valued at much more than a doll's house. in some respects her father brought her up strictly; she was fed, like her brothers, on a simple and even meagre diet, and trained to habits of prompt obedience; but he did nothing to discourage her taste for more violent exercises than are commonly permitted to young girls. she was only in her tenth year, however, when he died; and she then passed naturally enough under the maternal control. between her own inclinations and her mother's ideas of maidenly culture a great contest immediately arose. her mother could not understand why her daughter should prefer the violin to the piano, and the masculine trousers to the feminine petticoat. in fact, she did not understand ida, and it may be assumed that ida did not understand her. in vienna was captured by the french army under napoleon; a disgrace which the brave and spirited ida felt most keenly. some of the victorious troops were quartered in the house of her mother, who thought it politic to treat them with courtesy; but her daughter neither could nor would repress her dislike. when compelled to be present at a grand review which napoleon held in schonbrunn, she turned her back as the emperor rode past. for this hazardous manoeuvre she was summarily punished; and to prevent her from repeating it when the emperor returned, her mother held her by the shoulders. this was of little avail, however, as ida perseveringly persisted in keeping her eyes shut. at the age of thirteen she was induced to resume the garb of her sex, though it was some time before she could accustom her wild free movements to it. she was then placed in charge of a tutor, who seems to have behaved to her with equal skill and delicacy. "he showed," she says, "great patience and perseverance in combating my overstrained and misdirected notions. as i had learned to fear my parents rather than love them, and this gentleman was, so to speak, the first human being who had displayed any sympathy and affection for me, i clung to him in return with enthusiastic attachment, desirous of fulfilling his every wish, and never so happy as when he appeared satisfied with my exertions. he took the entire charge of my education, and though it cost me some tears to abandon my youthful visions, and engage in pursuits i had hitherto regarded with contempt, to all this i submitted out of my affection for him. i even learned many feminine avocations, such as sewing, knitting, and cookery. to him i owed the insight i obtained into the duties and true position of my sex; and it was he who transformed me from a romp and a hoyden into a modest quiet girl." already a great longing for travel had entered into her mind. she longed to see new scenes, new peoples, new manners and customs. she read eagerly every book of travel that fell into her hands; followed with profound interest the career of every adventurous explorer, and blamed her sex that prevented her from following their heroic examples. for a while a change was effected in the current of her thoughts by a strong attachment which sprung up between her and her teacher, who by this time had given up his former profession, and had obtained an honourable position in the civil service. it was natural enough that in the close intimacy which existed between them such an affection should be developed. ida's mother, however, regarded it with grave disapproval, and exacted from the unfortunate girl a promise that she would neither see nor write to her humble suitor again. the result was a dangerous illness: on her recovery from which her mother insisted on her accepting for a husband dr. pfeiffer, a widower, with a grown-up son, but an opulent and distinguished advocate in lemberg, who was then on a visit to vienna. though twenty-four years older than ida, he was attracted by her grace and simplicity, and offered his hand. weary of home persecutions, ida accepted it, and the marriage took place on may st, . if she did not love her husband, she respected him, and their married life was not unhappy. in a few months, however, her husband's integrity led to a sad change of fortune. he had fully and fearlessly exposed the corruption of the austrian officials in galicia, and had thus made many enemies. he was compelled to give up his office as councillor, and, deprived of his lucrative practice, to remove to vienna in search of employment. through the treachery of a friend, ida's fortune was lost, and the ill-fated couple found themselves reduced to the most painful exigencies. vienna, lemberg, vienna again, switzerland, everywhere dr. pfeiffer sought work, and everywhere found himself baffled by some malignant influence. "heaven only knows," says madame pfeiffer in her autobiography, "what i suffered during eighteen years of my married life; not, indeed, from any ill-treatment on my husband's part, but from poverty and want. i came of a wealthy family, and had been accustomed from my earliest youth to order and comfort; and now i frequently knew not where i should lay my head, or find a little money to buy the commonest necessaries. i performed household drudgery, and endured cold and hunger; i worked secretly for money, and gave lessons in drawing and music; and yet, in spite of all my exertions, there were many days when i could hardly put anything but dry bread before my poor children for their dinner." these children were two sons, whose education their mother entirely undertook, until, after old madame reyer's death in , she succeeded to an inheritance, which lifted the little family out of the slough of poverty, and enabled her to provide her sons with good teachers. [beirut and mountains of lebanon: page .jpg] as they grew up and engaged successfully in professional pursuits, madame pfeiffer, who had lost her husband in , found herself once more under the spell of her old passion for travel, and in a position to gratify her adventurous inclinations. her means were somewhat limited, it is true, for she had done much for her husband and her children; but economy was natural to her, and she retained the simple habits she had acquired in her childhood. she was strong, healthy, courageous, and accomplished; and at length, after maturing her plans with anxious consideration, she took up her pilgrim's staff, and sallied forth alone. her first object was to visit the holy land, and tread in the hallowed footsteps of our lord. for this purpose she left vienna on the nd of march , and embarked on board the steamer that was to convey her down the danube to the black sea and the city of constantinople. thence she repaired to broussa, beirut, jaffa, jerusalem, the dead sea, nazareth, damascus, baalbek, the lebanon, alexandria, and cairo; and travelled across the sandy desert to the isthmus of suez and the red sea. from egypt the adventurous lady returned home by way of sicily and italy, visiting naples, rome, and florence, and arriving in vienna in december . in the following year she published the record of her experiences under the title of a "journey of a viennese lady to the holy land." it met with a very favourable reception, to which the simplicity of its style and the faithfulness of its descriptions fully entitled it. with the profits of this book to swell her funds, madame pfeiffer felt emboldened to undertake a new expedition; and this time she resolved on a northern pilgrimage, expecting in _ultima thule_ to see nature manifested on a novel and surprising scale. she began her journey to iceland on the th of april , and returned to vienna on the th of october. her narrative of this second voyage will be found, necessarily much abridged and condensed, in the following pages. what should she do next? success had increased her courage and strengthened her resolution, and she could think of nothing fit for her energies and sufficient for her curiosity but a voyage round the world! she argued that greater privations and fatigue than she had endured in syria and iceland she could scarcely be called upon to encounter. the outlay did not frighten her; for she had learned by experience how little is required, if the traveller will but practise the strictest economy and resolutely forego many comforts and all superfluities. her savings amounted to a sum insufficient, perhaps, for such travellers as prince puckler-muskau, chateaubriand, or lamartine for a fortnight's excursion; but for a woman who wanted to see much, but cared for no personal indulgence, it seemed enough to last during a journey of two or three years. and so it proved. the heroic woman set out alone on the st of may , and proceeded first to rio janeiro. on the rd of february , she sailed round cape horn, and on the nd of march landed at valparaiso. thence she traversed the broad pacific to tahiti, where she was presented to queen pomare. in the beginning of july we find her at macao; afterwards she visited hong kong and canton, where the appearance of a white woman produced a remarkable and rather disagreeable sensation. by way of singapore she proceeded to ceylon, which she carefully explored, making excursions to colombo, candy, and the famous temple of dagoba. towards the end of october she landed at madras, and thence went on to calcutta, ascending the ganges to the holy city of benares, and striking across the country to bombay. late in the month of april she sailed for persia, and from bushire traversed the interior as far as legend-haunted bagdad. after a pilgrimage to the ruins of ctesiphon and babylon, this bold lady accompanied a caravan through the dreary desert to mosul and the vast ruins of nineveh, and afterwards to the salt lake of urumiyeh and the city of tabreez. it is certain that no woman ever accomplished a more daring exploit! the mental as well as physical energy required was enormous; and only a strong mind and a strong frame could have endured the many hardships consequent on her undertaking--the burning heat by day, the inconveniences of every kind at night, the perils incidental to her sex, meagre fare, a filthy couch, and constant apprehension of attack by robber bands. the english consul at tabreez, when she introduced herself to him, found it hard to believe that a woman could have accomplished such an enterprise. at tabreez, madame pfeiffer was presented to the viceroy, and obtained permission to visit his harem. on august th, , she resumed her journey, crossing armenia, georgia, and mingrelia; she touched afterwards at anapa, kertch, and sebastopol, landed at odessa, and returned home by way of constantinople, greece, the ionian islands, and trieste, arriving in vienna on the th of november , just after the city had been recaptured from the rebels by the troops of prince windischgratz. [constantinople: page .jpg] ida pfeiffer was now a woman of note. her name was known in every civilized country; and it was not unnatural that great celebrity should attach to a female who, alone, and without the protection of rank or official recommendation, had travelled miles by land, and , miles by sea. hence, her next work, "a woman's journey round the world," was most favourably received, and translated both into french and english. a summary of it is included in our little volume. the brave adventurer at first, on her return home, spoke of her travelling days as over, and, at the age of fifty-four, as desirous of peace and rest. but this tranquil frame of mind was of very brief duration. her love of action and thirst of novelty could not long be repressed; and as she felt herself still strong and healthy, with energies as quick and lively as ever, she resolved on a second circuit of the globe. her funds having been increased by a grant of florins from the austrian government, she left vienna on the th of march , proceeded to london, and thence to cape town, where she arrived on the th of august. for a while she hesitated between a visit to the interior of africa and a voyage to australia; but at last she sailed to singapore, and determined to explore the east indian archipelago. at sarawak, the british settlement in borneo, she was warmly welcomed by sir james brooke, a man of heroic temper and unusual capacities for command and organization. she adventured among the dyaks, and journeyed westward to pontianak, and the diamond mines of landak. we next meet with her in java, and afterwards in sumatra, where she boldly trusted herself among the cannibal battas, who had hitherto resented the intrusion of any european. returning to java, she saw almost all that it had of natural wonders or natural beauties; and then departed on a tour through the sunda islands and the moluccas, visiting banda, amboyna, ceram, ternate, and celebes. for a second time she traversed the pacific, but on this occasion in an opposite direction. for two months she saw no land; but on the th september she arrived at san francisco. at the close of the year she sailed for callao. thence she repaired to lima, with the intention of crossing the andes, and pushing eastward, through the interior of south america, to the brazilian coast. a revolution in peru, however, compelled her to change her course, and she returned to ecuador, which served as a starting-point for her ascent of the cordilleras. after having the good fortune to witness an eruption of cotopaxi, she retraced her steps to the west. in the neighbourhood of guayaquil she had two very narrow escapes: one, by a fall from her mule; and next, by an immersion in the river guaya, which teems with alligators. meeting with neither courtesy nor help from the spanish americans--a superstitious, ignorant, and degraded race--she gladly set sail for panama. at the end of may she crossed the isthmus, and sailed to new orleans. thence she ascended the mississippi to napoleon, and the arkansas to fort smith. after suffering from a severe attack of fever, she made her way to st. louis, and then directed her steps northward to st. paul, the falls of st. antony, chicago, and thence to the great lakes and "mighty niagara." after an excursion into canada, she visited new york, boston, and other great cities, crossed the atlantic, and arrived in england on the st of november . two years later she published a narrative of her adventures, entitled "my second journey round the world." madame pfeiffer's last voyage was to madagascar, and will be found described in the closing chapter of this little volume. in madagascar she contracted a dangerous illness, from which she temporarily recovered; but on her return to europe it was evident that her constitution had received a severe blow. she gradually grew weaker. her disease proved to be cancer of the liver, and the physicians pronounced it incurable. after lingering a few weeks in much pain, she passed away on the night of the th of october , in the sixty-third year of her age. * * * * * this remarkable woman is described as of short stature, thin, and slightly bent. her movements were deliberate and measured. she was well- knit and of considerable physical energy, and her career proves her to have been possessed of no ordinary powers of endurance. the reader might probably suppose that she was what is commonly known as a strong-minded woman. the epithet would suit her if seriously applied, for she had undoubtedly a clear, strong intellect, a cool judgment, and a resolute purpose; but it would be thoroughly inapplicable in the satirical sense in which it is commonly used. there was nothing masculine about her. on the contrary, she was so reserved and so unassuming that it required an intimate knowledge of her to fathom the depths of her acquirements and experience. "in her whole appearance and manner," we are told, "was a staidness that seemed to indicate the practical housewife, with no thought soaring beyond her domestic concerns." this quiet, silent woman, travelled nearly , miles by land and , miles by sea; visiting regions which no european had previously penetrated, or where the bravest men had found it difficult to make their way; undergoing a variety of severe experiences; opening up numerous novel and surprising scenes; and doing all this with the scantiest means, and unassisted by powerful protection or royal patronage. we doubt whether the entire round of human enterprise presents anything more remarkable or more admirable. and it would be unfair to suppose that she was actuated only by a feminine curiosity. her leading motive was a thirst for knowledge. at all events, if she had a passion for travelling, it must be admitted that her qualifications as a traveller were unusual. her observation was quick and accurate; her perseverance was indefatigable; her courage never faltered; while she possessed a peculiar talent for first awakening, and then profiting by, the interest and sympathy of those with whom she came in contact. to assert that her travels were wholly without scientific value would be unjust; humboldt and carl ritter were of a different opinion. she made her way into regions which had never before been trodden by european foot; and the very fact of her sex was a frequent protection in her most dangerous undertakings. she was allowed to enter many places which would have been rigorously barred against male travellers. consequently, her communications have the merit of embodying many new facts in geography and ethnology, and of correcting numerous popular errors. science derived much benefit also from her valuable collections of plants, animals, and minerals. we conclude with the eulogium pronounced by an anonymous biographer:--"straightforward in character, and endued with high principle, she possessed, moreover, a wisdom and a promptitude in action seldom equalled among her sex. ida pfeiffer may, indeed, justly be classed among those women who richly compensate for the absence of outward charms by their remarkable energy and the rare qualities of their minds." [rio janeiro: page .jpg] chapter ii.--journey round the world. prompted by a boundless thirst for knowledge and an insatiable desire to see new places and new things, madame pfeiffer left vienna on the st of may , and proceeded to hamburg, where she embarked on board a danish brig, the _caroline_, for rio janeiro. as the voyage was divested of romantic incidents, we shall land the reader without delay at the great sea-port of the brazilian empire. the traveller's description of it is not very favourably coloured. the streets are dirty, and the houses, even the public buildings, insignificant. the imperial palace has not the slightest architectural pretensions. the finest square is the largo do roico, but this would not be admitted into belgravia. it is impossible to speak in high terms even of the churches, the interior of which is not less disappointing than their exterior. and as is the town, so are the inhabitants. negroes and mulattoes do not make up attractive pictures. some of the brazilian and portuguese women, however, have handsome and expressive countenances. most writers indulge in glowing descriptions of the scenery and climate of the brazils; of the cloudless, radiant sky, and the magic of the never- ending spring. madame ida pfeiffer admits that the vegetation is richer, and the soil more fruitful, and nature more exuberantly active than in any other part of the world; but still, she says, it must not be thought that all is good and beautiful, and that there is nothing to weaken the powerful effect of the first impression. the constant blaze of colour after a while begins to weary; the eye wants rest; the monotony of the verdure oppresses; and we begin to understand that the true loveliness of spring is only rightly appreciated when it succeeds the harsher aspects of winter. [invasion of ants: page .jpg] europeans suffer much from the climate. the moisture is very considerable, and renders the heat, which in the hot months rises to degrees in the shade, and degrees in the sun, more difficult to bear. fogs and mists are disagreeably common; and whole tracts of country are often veiled by an impenetrable mist. the brazils suffer, too, from a plague of insects,--from mosquitoes, ants, baraten, and sand-fleas; against the attacks of which the traveller finds it difficult to defend himself. the ants often appear in trains of immeasurable length, and pursue their march over every obstacle that stands in the way. madame pfeiffer, during her residence at a friend's house, beheld the advance of a swarm of this description. it was really interesting to see what a regular line they formed; nothing could make them deviate from the direction on which they had first determined. madame geiger, her friend, told her she was awakened one night by a terrible itching: she sprang out of bed immediately, and lo, a swarm of ants were passing over it! there is no remedy for the infliction, except to wait, with as much patience as one can muster, for the end of the procession, which frequently lasts four to six hours. it is possible, to some extent, to protect provisions against their attacks, by placing the legs of the tables in basins filled with water. clothes and linen are enclosed in tightly-fitting tin canisters. the worst plague of all, however, are the sand-fleas, which attach themselves to one's toes, underneath the nail, or sometimes to the soles of the feet. when a person feels an irritation in these parts, he must immediately look at the place; and if he discern a tiny black point, surrounded by a small white ring, the former is the _chigoe_, or sand- flea, and the latter the eggs which it has deposited in the flesh. the first thing to be done is to loosen the skin all round as far as the white skin is visible; the whole deposit is then extracted, and a little snuff strewn in the empty space. the blacks perform this operation with considerable skill. rich as the brazils are in natural productions, they are wanting in many articles which europeans regard as of the first importance. there are sugar and coffee, it is true; but no corn, no potatoes, and none of our delightful varieties of fruit. the flour of manioc, obtained from the cassava plant, which forms a staple portion of almost every dish, supplies the place of bread, but is far from being so nutritious and strengthening; while the different kinds of sweet-tasting roots are far inferior in value to our potato. the only fruit which madame pfeiffer thought really excellent, were the oranges, bananas, and mangoes. the pine-apples are neither very sweet nor very fragrant. and with regard to two most important articles of consumption, the milk is very watery, and the meat very dry. * * * * * our traveller, during her sojourn at rio janeiro, made many interesting excursions in the neighbourhood. one was directed to petropolis, a colony founded by germans in the heart of scenery of the most exquisite character. accompanied by count berchthold, she sailed for porto d'estrella in one of the regular coasting barks. their course carried them across a bay remarkable for its picturesque views. it lies calmly in the embrace of richly-wooded hills, and is studded with islands, like a silver shield with emerald bosses. some of these islands are completely overgrown with palms, while others are masses of huge rock, with a carpet of green turf. their bark was manned by four negroes and a white skipper. at first they ran merrily before a favourable wind, but in two hours the crew were compelled to take to the oars, the method of using which was exceedingly fatiguing. at each dip of the oar, the rower mounts upon a bench in front of him, and then, during the stroke, throws himself off again, with his full force. in two hours more they passed into the river geromerino, and made their way through a world of beautiful aquatic plants which covered the tranquil waters in every direction. the river banks are flat, and fringed with underwood and young trees; the background is formed by ranges of low green hills. at porto d'estrella, madame pfeiffer and her companion landed, and proceeded on foot towards petropolis. the first eight miles lay through a broad valley, clothed with dense brambles and young trees, and shadowed by lofty mountains. the wild pine-apples by the roadside were very fair to see; they were not quite ripe, but tinted of the most delicate red. beautiful humming-birds flashed through the air like "winged jewels," and studded the dense foliage with points of many-coloured light. after passing through the valley, they reached the sierra, as the brazilians term the practicable mountain-summits. it was three thousand feet in height, and was ascended by a broad paved road, striking through the depths of virgin forests. madame pfeiffer had always imagined that the trees in virgin forests had very thick and lofty trunks; but such was not the case here; probably because the vegetation was too luxuriant, and the larger trunks have the life crushed out of them by masses of smaller trees, bushes, creepers, and parasites. frequent truppas, or teams of ten mules driven by a negro, as well as numerous pedestrians, enlivened the path, and prevented our travellers from observing that their steps were persistently followed up by a negro. when, however, they arrived at a somewhat lonely spot, this negro suddenly sprang forward, holding a lasso in one hand and a long knife in the other, and with threatening gestures gave them to understand that he intended to murder them, and then drag their dead bodies into the forest! the travellers were without arms, having been told the road was perfectly safe; their only weapons were their umbrellas, with the exception of a clasp-knife. this the brave woman drew from her pocket and opened, in the calm resolution to sell her life as dearly as possible. with their umbrellas they parried their adversary's blows as long as they could; but he caught hold of madame ida's, which snapped off, leaving only a piece of the handle in her hand. in the struggle, however, he dropped his knife, which rolled a few steps away from him. madame ida immediately made a dash at it, and thought she had secured it; but, quicker in his movements than she was, he thrust her away with his hands and feet, and once more obtained possession of it. waving it furiously over his head, he slashed her twice in the upper part of the left arm. all seemed lost; but in her extreme peril the brave lady bethought her of her own knife, and struck at her adversary, wounding him in the hand. at the same moment count berchthold sprang forward, and while he seized the villain with both arms, madame ida pfeiffer recovered her feet. all this took place in less than a minute. the negro was now roused into a condition of maniacal fury; he gnashed his teeth like a wild beast, and brandished his knife, while uttering fearful threats. the issue of the contest would probably have been disastrous, but for the opportune arrival of assistance. hearing the tramp of horses' hoofs upon the road, the negro desisted from his attack, and sprang into the forest. a couple of horsemen turning the corner of the road, our travellers hurried to meet them; and having told their tale, which, indeed, their wounds told eloquently enough, they leaped from their horses, and entered the wood in pursuit. a couple of negroes soon afterwards coming up, the villain was captured, securely pinioned, and, as he would not walk, severely beaten, until, as most of the blows fell upon his head, madame ida pfeiffer feared that the wretch's skull would be broken. nothing, however, would induce him to walk, and the negroes were compelled to carry him bodily, to the nearest house. the colony of petropolis proved to be situated in the depth of a virgin forest, at an elevation of feet above the sea-level. at the time of madame pfeiffer's visit it was about fourteen months old, having been founded for the special purpose of providing the capital with fruits and vegetables which, in tropical climates, will thrive only in very elevated situations. it was, of course, in a very rudimentary condition, the mere embryo of a town; but the country around it was very picturesque. * * * * * madame pfeiffer's second excursion was into the interior; and it opened up to her a variety of interesting scenes,--as, for instance, a manioc- fazenda, or plantation. the manioc plant, it appears, throws off stalks from four to six feet in height, with a number of large leaves at their upper extremities. the valuable portion of the plant is its bulbous root, which frequently weighs two or three pounds, and supplies the place of corn throughout the brazils. it is washed, peeled, and held against the rough edge of a mill-stone, until it is completely ground into flour. this flour is collected in a basket, steeped thoroughly in water, and afterwards pressed quite dry by means of a press. lastly, it is scattered upon large iron plates, and slowly dried over a gentle fire. at this stage it resembles a very coarse kind of flour, and is eaten in two ways;--either mixed with hot water, until it forms a kind of porridge; or baked in the form of coarse flour, which is handed round at table in little baskets. she also saw a coffee plantation. the coffee-trees stand in rows upon tolerably steep hillocks. their height ranges from six feet to twelve; and they begin to bear sometimes as early as the second, but in no case later than the third year. they are productive for at least ten years. the leaf is long and slightly serrated, and the flower white; while the fruit hangs down like a cluster of grapes, and resembles a large cherry, which varies from green to red, then to brown, and almost black. while red, the outer shell is soft; but eventually it becomes perfectly hard, until it may be compared to a wooden capsule. blossoms and ripe fruit are found on the same tree at the same time; so that a crop may be gathered at almost any season of the year. after the berries are plucked, they are spread out in spacious areas enclosed by a wall about twelve feet high, with small drains to carry off the rain-water. here the coffee is allowed to dry in the heat of the sun, and it is then shaken into large stone mortars, where it is lightly pounded with wooden hammers, set in motion by water power. the whole mass falls into wooden boxes attached to a long table, at which sit the negro workers, who separate the coffee from the husk, and put it into flat copper pans. in these it is carefully and skilfully turned about over a slow fire, until desiccation is complete. on the whole, says madame ida pfeiffer, the preparation of the coffee is not laborious, and the harvest much more easily gathered than one of corn. the negro, while plucking the coffee, stands erect, and the tree protects him from the heat of the sun. his only danger is from poisonous snakes, and a sting from one of these is a very rare occurrence. another novelty which much impressed our traveller was the sight of the frequent burning forests. these are set on fire in order to clear the ground for cultivation. in most cases she viewed the tremendous spectacle from a distance; but one day she realized it in all its details, as her road lay between a wood in flames on the one hand, and the brushwood, crackling and seething, on the other. the space between the double rows of fire did not exceed fifty paces in breadth, and was completely buried in smoke. the spluttering and hissing of the fire was distinctly audible, and through the dense mass of vapour shot upward thick shafts and tongues of flame, while now and then the large trees crashed to the ground, with loud reports, like those of artillery. [a forest of fire: page .jpg] "on seeing my guide enter this fiery gulf," says our traveller, "i was, i must confess, rather frightened;" and her dread was surely very excusable. she plucked up courage, however, when she saw that her guide pushed forward. on the threshold, so to speak, sat two negroes, to indicate the safe, and, in truth, the only path. the guide, in obedience to their warning, spurred on his mule, and, followed by madame pfeiffer, galloped at full speed across the desert of fire. flames to the right of them, flames to the left of them, onward they dashed, and happily effected the passage in safety. * * * * * madame pfeiffer gives a bright description of the beauties of the road as she pushed further into the interior. crossing a small waterfall, she struck right into the depths of the virgin forest, pursuing a narrow path which ran along the bank of a little stream. palms, with their lordly crests, soared high above the other trees, which, intertwined by inextricable boughs, formed the loveliest fairy-bowers imaginable; every stem, every branch was luxuriously festooned with fantastic orchids; while creepers and ferns glided up the tall, smooth trunks, mingling with the boughs, and hanging in every direction waving curtains of flowers, of the sweetest odours and the most vivid colours. with shrill twittering cry and rapid wings flashed the humming-bird from bough to bough; the pepper-pecker, with glowing plumage, soared timorously upwards; while parrots and paroquets, and innumerable birds of beautiful appearance, added, by their cries and motions, to the liveliness of the scene. madame pfeiffer visited an indian village. it lay deep in the forest recesses, and consisted of five huts, or rather sheds, formed of leaves, and measuring eighteen feet by twelve feet, erected under lofty trees. the frames were formed of four poles stuck in the ground, with another reaching across; and the roof was wrought of palm-leaves, by no means impervious to the rain. the sides were open. in the interior hung a hammock or two; and on the earth a few roots, indian corn, and bananas were roasting under a heap of ashes. in one corner, under the roof, a small supply of provisions was hoarded up, and round about were scattered a few gourds; these are used by the puris as substitutes for "crockery." their weapons, the long bows and arrows, leaned against the wall. madame pfeiffer describes the puri indians as even uglier than the negroes. their complexion is a light bronze; they are stunted in stature, well-knit, and about the middle size. their features are broad and somewhat compressed; their hair is thick, long, and of a coal-black colour. the men wear it hanging straight down; the women, in plaits fastened to the back of the head, and sometimes falling loosely down about their persons. their forehead is broad and low, and the nose somewhat flattened; the eyes are long and narrow, almost like those of the chinese; and the mouth is large, with rather thick lips. to enhance the effect of these various charms, the countenance bears a peculiar look of stupidity, which may be attributed perhaps to the way in which the mouth is kept always open. women, as well as males, are generally tattooed of a reddish or blue colour, round the mouth, moustachio-wise. both sexes are addicted to smoking, and look upon brandy as the _summum bonum_ of human life. the indians, ugly as they were, gave madame pfeiffer a hospitable welcome. after an evening meal, in which roasted monkey and parrot were the chief dishes, they performed one of their characteristic dances. a quantity of wood was heaped up into a funeral pile, and set on fire; the men then danced around it in a ring. they threw their bodies from side to side with much awkwardness, but always moving the head forward in a straight line. the women then joined in, forming at a short distance behind the men, and imitating all their movements. a horrible noise arose; this was intended for a song, the singers at the same time distorting their features frightfully. one of them performed on a kind of stringed instrument, made out of the stem of a cabbage-palm, and about two feet, or two feet and a half, in length. a hole was cut in it slantwise, and six fibres of the stem were kept up in an elevated position at each end, by means of a small bridge. the fingers played upon these as upon a guitar, drawing forth a very low, harsh, and disagreeable tone. the dance, thus pleasingly accompanied, was called the dance of peace and joy. a wilder measure was next undertaken by the men alone. they first equipped themselves with bows, arrows, and stout clubs; then they formed a circle, indulged in the most rapid and fantastic movements, and brandished their clubs as if dealing death to a hundred foes. suddenly they broke their ranks, strung their bows, placed their arrows ready, and represented all the evolutions of shooting after a flying foe, giving utterance to the most piercing cries, which resounded through the forest- glades. madame pfeiffer, believing that she was really surrounded by enemies, started up in terror, and was heartily glad when the dance ended. [cape horn: page .jpg] from rio janeiro madame pfeiffer sailed in an english ship, the _john renwick_, on the th of december, bound for valparaiso in chili. she kept to the south, touching at santos, where the voyagers celebrated new- year's day, and reaching the mouth of the rio plata on the th of january. in these latitudes the southern cross is the most conspicuous object in the heavens. it consists of four stars of much brilliancy, arranged in two diagonal rows. late in the month the voyagers sighted the sterile shores and barren mountains of patagonia, and next the volcanic rocks, wave-worn and wind-worn, of tierra del fuego. through the strait of le maire, which separates the latter from staten island, they sailed onward to the extreme southern point of the american continent, the famous promontory of cape horn. it is the termination of the mighty mountain-chain of the andes, and is formed of a mass of colossal basaltic rocks, thrown together in wild disorder, as by a titan's hand. rounding cape horn they encountered a violent gale, which lasted for several days; and soon discovered, like other voyagers, how little the great southern ocean deserves its name of the pacific. but they reached valparaiso in safety. its appearance, however, did not very favourably impress madame ida pfeiffer. it is laid out in two long streets at the foot of dreary hills, these hills consisting of a pile of rocks covered with thin strata of earth and sand. some of them are covered with houses; on one of them is the churchyard; the others are bare and solitary. the two chief streets are broad, and much frequented, especially by horsemen; for every chilian is born a horseman, and is usually mounted on a steed worthy of a good rider. valparaiso houses are european in style, with flat italian roofs. broad steps lead up into a lofty entrance-hall on the first floor, from which, through large glass doors, the visitor passes into the drawing-room and other apartments. the drawing-room is the pride not only of every european settler, but of every native chilian. the foot sinks into heavy and costly carpets; the walls are emblazoned with rich tapestry; the furniture and mirrors are of european make, and sumptuous in the extreme; and every table presents the evidence of refined taste in gorgeous albums, adorned with the choicest engravings. as to the lower classes of the population, if we would obtain an idea of their manners and customs, we must stroll on a fete-day into one of their eating-houses. in one corner, on the ground, crackles a tremendous fire, surrounded by innumerable pots and pans, between which are wooden spits with beef and pork, simmering and roasting with appetizing savour. a rude wooden frame- work, with a long broad plank on it, occupies the middle of the room, and is covered with a cloth, the original colour of which it is impossible to determine. this is the guest-table. the dinner is served up in the most primitive fashion imaginable, all the viands being heaped up in one dish; beans and rice, potatoes and roast beef, onions and paradise apples, forming a curious medley. the appetites of the guests are keen, and no time is wasted in talking. at the end of the repast, a goblet of wine or water passes from hand to hand; after which every tongue is loosened. in the evening a guitar strikes up, and dancing becomes general. a singular custom prevails among the chilians on the death of a little child. this incident, in most european families, is attended by much sorrow: the chilian parents make it the occasion of a great festival. the deceased _angelito_, or little angel, is adorned in various ways. its eyes, instead of being closed, are opened as wide as possible; its cheeks are painted red; then the cold rigid corpse is dressed in the finest clothes, crowned with flowers, and set up in a little chair in a flower- garlanded niche. the relatives and neighbours flock in, to wish the parents joy on the possession of such an angel; and, during the first night, they all indulge in the most extravagant dances, and feast with sounds of wildest merriment before the _angelito_. madame pfeiffer heard from a merchant the following story:--a grave-digger, on his way to the churchyard with one of these deceased angelitos, tarried at a tavern to refresh himself with a cup of wine. the landlord inquired what he was carrying under his cloak, and on learning that it was an angelito, offered him a shilling for it. a bargain was soon struck; the landlord quickly fitted up a flowery niche in the drinking-saloon, and then took care that his neighbours should know what a treasure he had acquired. they came; they admired the angelito; they drank copiously in its honour. but the parents hearing of the affair, interfered, carried away their dead child, and summoned the landlord before the magistrate. the latter gravely heard the pleadings on both sides, and as no such case was mentioned in the statute-book, arranged it amicably, to the satisfaction of both parties. [scene in tahiti: page .jpg] * * * * * wearying of valparaiso, our restless and adventurous traveller, who was bent upon accomplishing a voyage round the world, took her passage for china in the dutch barque _lootpurt_, captain van wyk jurianse. they sailed from valparaiso on the th of march, and on the th of april came in sight of that gem of the south seas, tahiti, the otaheite of captain cook, and the largest and most beautiful of the society group. from the days of bougainville, its discoverer, down to those of "the earl and the doctor," who recently published a narrative of their visit, it has been the theme of admiration for the charms of its scenery. it lifts its lofty summit out of a wealth of luxuriant vegetation, which descends to the very margin of a sea as blue as the sky above it. cool green valleys penetrate into its mountain-recesses, and their slopes are loaded with groves of bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees. the inhabitants, physically speaking, are not unworthy of their island-eden; they are a tall, robust, and well-knit race, and would be comely but for their custom of flattening the nose as soon as the child is born. they have fine dark eyes, and thick jet-black hair. the colour of their skin is a copper-brown. both sexes are tattooed, generally from the hips half down the legs, and frequently over the hands, feet, and other parts of the body; the devices being often very fanciful in design, and always artistically executed. the women of tahiti have always been notorious for their immodesty, and the island, notwithstanding the labours of zealous missionaries, continues to be the polynesian paphos. the french protectorate from which it suffers has not raised the moral standard of the population. madame pfeiffer undertook an excursion to the lake vaihiria, assuming for the nonce a semi-masculine attire, which any less strong-minded and adventurous woman would probably have refused. she wore, she tells us, strong men's shoes, trousers, and a blouse, which was fastened high up about the hips. thus equipped, she started off with her guide, crossing about two-and-thirty brooks before they entered the ravines leading into the interior of the island. she noticed that as they advanced the fruit-trees disappeared, and instead, the slopes were covered with plantains, taros, and marantas; the last attaining a height of twelve feet, and growing so luxuriantly that it is with some difficulty the traveller makes his way through the tangle. the taro, which is carefully cultivated, averages two or three feet high, and has fine large leaves and tubers like those of the potato, but not so good when roasted. there is much gracefulness in the appearance of the plantain, or banana, which varies from twelve to fifteen feet in height, and has leaves like those of the palm, but a brittle reed-like stem, about eight inches in diameter. it attains its full growth in the first year, bears fruit in the second, and then dies. thus its life is as brief as it is useful. through one bright mountain-stream, which swept along the ravine over a stony bed, breaking up into eddies and tiny whirlpools, and in some places attaining a depth of three feet, madame pfeiffer and her guide waded or half-swam two-and-sixty times. the resolute spirit of the woman, however, never failed her; and though the path at every step became more difficult and dangerous, she persisted in pressing forward. she clambered over rocks and stones; she forced her way through inter- tangled bushes; and though severely wounded in her hands and feet, never hesitated for a moment. in two places the ravine narrowed so considerably that the entire space was filled by the brawling torrent. it was here that the islanders, during their struggle against french occupation, threw up stone walls five feet in height, as a barrier against the enemy. in eight hours the bold traveller and her guide had walked, waded, and clambered fully eighteen miles, and had attained an elevation of eighteen hundred feet. the lake itself was not visible until they stood upon its shores, as it lies bosomed in a deep hollow, among lofty and precipitous mountains which descend with startling abruptness to the very brink of its dark, deep waters. to cross the lake it is necessary to put one's trust in one's swimming powers, or in a curiously frail kind of boat, which the natives prepare with equal rapidity and skill. madame pfeiffer, however, was nothing if not adventurous. whatever there was to be dared, she immediately dared. at her request, the guide made the usual essay at boat-building. he tore off some plantain branches, bound them together with long tough grass, laid a few leaves upon them, launched them in the water, and requested madame pfeiffer to embark. she confesses to having felt a little hesitation, but without saying a word, she stepped on board. then her guide took to the water like a duck, and pushed her forward. the passage across the lake, and back again, was in this way accomplished without any accident. having satiated herself with admiring the lake and its surrounding scenery, she retired to a little nook roofed over with leaves, where her guide quickly kindled a good fire in the usual indian fashion. he cut a small piece of wood to a fine point, and then selecting a second piece, grooved it with a narrow and not very deep furrow. in this he rubbed the pointed stick until the fragments detached during the process began to smoke. these he flung into a heap of dry leaves and grass previously collected, and swung the whole several times round in the air, until it broke out into flames. the entire process did not occupy above two minutes. gathering a few plantains, these were roasted for supper; after which madame pfeiffer withdrew to her solitary couch of dry leaves, to sleep as best she might. it is impossible not to wonder at the marvellous physical capability of this adventurous woman, no less than at her courage, her resolution, and her perseverance. how many of her sex could bear for a week the fatigue and exposure to which she subjected herself year after year? the next morning she accomplished the return journey in safety. * * * * * [hong-kong: page .jpg] on the th of may she left tahiti, the dutch vessel in which she had embarked being bound via the philippines. they passed this rich and radiant group of islands on the st of july, and the next day entered the dangerous china sea. a few days afterwards they reached hong-kong, which has been an english settlement since . here madame pfeiffer made no long stay, for she desired to see china and the chinese with as little intermixture of the european element as possible. so she ascended the pearl river, the banks of which are covered with immense plantations of rice, and studded with quaint little country-houses, of the genuine chinese pattern, with sloping, pointed roofs, and mosaics of variously coloured tiles, to canton, one of the great commercial centres of the flowery land. as she approached she surveyed with wonder the animated scene before her. the river was crowded with ships and inhabited boats. junks there were, almost as large as the old spanish galleons, with poops impending far over the water, and covered in with a roof, like a house. men-of-war there were, flat, broad, and long, mounted with twenty or thirty guns, and adorned in the usual chinese fashion, with two large painted eyes at the prow, that they may be the better able to find their way. mandarins' boats she saw, with doors, and sides, and windows gaily painted, with carved galleries, and tiny silken flags fluttering from every point. and flower-boats she also saw; their upper galleries decked with flowers, garlands, and arabesques, as if these were barks fitted out for the service of titania and her fairy company. the interior is divided into one large apartment and a few cabinets, which are lighted by windows of fantastic design. mirrors and silk hangings embellish the walls, while the enchanting scene is completed with an ample garniture of glass chandeliers and coloured paper lanterns, interspersed with lovely little baskets of fresh flowers. it is not necessary to attempt a description of canton, with its pagodas, houses, shops, and european factories. let us direct our attention to the manners, customs, and peculiarities of its inhabitants. as to dress and appearance, the costume of both sexes, among the lower orders, consists of full trousers and long upper garments, and is chiefly remarkable for its "excessive filth." baths and ablutions have no charm for the chinaman; he scorns to wear a shirt, and he holds by his trousers until they drop from his body. the men's upper garments reach a little below the knee, the women's about half way down the calf. they are made of nankeen, or dark blue, brown, or black silk. during the cold season both men and women wear one summer garment over the other, keeping the whole together with a girdle; in the extreme heat, however, they suffer them to float as free as "nora creina's robes" in moore's pretty ballad. the men keep their heads shaved, with the exception of a small patch at the back, where the hair is carefully cultivated and plaited into a cue. the thicker and longer this cue is, the prouder is its owner; false hair and black ribbon, therefore, are all deftly worked into it, with the result of forming an appendage which often reaches down to the ankles! while at work the owner twists it round his neck, but on entering a room he lets it down again, as it would be contrary to all the laws of etiquette and courtesy for a person to make his appearance with his cue twisted up. the women comb their hair entirely back from their forehead, and fasten it to the head in the most artistic plaits. the process occupies a considerable time, but when the hair is once dressed it is not retouched for a whole week. both men and women frequently go about with heads uncovered; but sometimes they wear hats of thin bamboo, three feet in diameter. these are not only an adequate protection against sun and rain, but are exceedingly durable. large numbers of chinese live a kind of aquatic life, and make their home on board a river-boat. the husband goes on shore to his work, and his wife meantime adds to the income of the family by ferrying persons from bank to bank, or letting out the boat to pleasure parties--always reserving one half of its accommodation for herself and household. room is not very abundant, as the whole boat does not exceed twenty-five feet in length; but everywhere the greatest order and cleanliness are apparent, each separate plank being enthusiastically scrubbed and washed every morning. it is worth notice how each inch of space is turned to the best advantage, room being made even for the _lares_ and _penates_. all the washing and cooking are done during the day; yet the pleasure party is never in the least degree inconvenienced. of course our traveller was attracted by the diminutiveness of the feet of the chinese women, and she had an opportunity of examining one of these tiny monstrosities _in natura_. four of the toes were bent under the sole of the foot, to which they were firmly pressed, and simultaneously with which they appeared to have grown, if growth it can be called; the great toe alone remained in its natural state. the fore part of the foot had been so swathed and compressed by tight bandages, that, instead of expanding in length and breadth, it had shot upwards, so as to form a large lump at the instep, where it became, so to speak, a portion of the leg; the lower part of the foot was scarcely five inches long, and an inch and a half broad. the feet are always encased in white linen or silk, with silk bandages over all, and are then stuffed into pretty little shoes with very high heels. "to my astonishment," says madame pfeiffer, "these deformed beings tripped about, as if in defiance of us broad-footed creatures, with tolerable ease, the only difference in their gait being that they waddled like geese; they even ran up and down stairs without a stick." she adds, that the value of a bride is reckoned by the smallness of her feet. it was characteristic of madame pfeiffer that she found means to see much which no european woman had ever seen before. she obtained access even to a buddhist temple,--that of houan, reputed to be one of the finest in china. the sacred enclosure is surrounded by a high wall. the visitor enters first a large outer court, at the extremity of which a huge gateway opens upon an inner court. beneath the arch stand two statues of war-gods, each eighteen feet high, with terribly distorted faces and the most menacing attitudes; these are supposed to prevent the approach of evil genii. a second portal, of similar construction, under which are placed the "four heavenly kings," leads to a third court, surrounding the principal temple, a structure one hundred feet in length, and of equal breadth. on rows of wooden pillars is supported a flat roof, from which glass lamps, lustres, artificial flowers, and brightly-coloured ribbons hang suspended. all about the area are scattered statues, altars, vases of flowers, censers, candelabra, and other accessories. but the eye is chiefly attracted by the three altars in the foreground, with the three coloured statues behind them, of buddha, seated, as emblematic of past, present, and future. on the occasion of madame pfeiffer's visit a service was being performed,--a funeral ceremony in honour of a mandarin's deceased wife, and at his expense. before the altars on the right and left stood several priests, in garments strangely resembling, as did the ceremonial observances, those of the roman church. the mandarin himself, attended by two servants armed with large fans, prayed before the central altar. he kissed the ground repeatedly, and each time he did so three sweet-scented wax-tapers were put into his hand. after raising them in the air, he handed them to the priests, who then stationed them, unlighted, before the buddha images. meantime, the temple resounded with the blended strains of three musicians, one of whom struck a metal ball, the other scraped a stringed instrument, and the third educed shrill notes from a kind of flute. this principal temple is surrounded by numerous smaller sanctuaries, each decorated with images of deities, rudely wrought, but glowing with gilt and vivid colours. special reverence seems to be accorded to kwanfootse, a demigod of war, and the four-and-twenty gods of mercy. these latter have four, six, and even eight arms. in the temple of mercy madame pfeiffer met with an unpleasant adventure. a bonze had offered her and her companions a couple of wax tapers to light in honour of the god. they were on the point of complying, as a matter of civility, when an american missionary, who made one of the party, snatched them roughly from their hands, and gave them back to the priests, protesting that such compliance was idolatrous. the bonze, in high indignation, closed the door, and summoned his brethren, who hurried in from all sides, and jostled and pushed and pressed, while using the most violent language. it was not without difficulty they forced their way through the crowd, and escaped from the temple. the guide next led the curiosity-hunters to the so-called house of the sacred swine. the greatest attention is paid to these porcine treasures, and they reside in a spacious stone hall; but not the less is the atmosphere heavy with odours that are not exactly those of araby the blest. throughout their sluggish existence the swine are carefully fed and cherished, and no cruel knife cuts short the thread of their destiny. at the time of madame pfeiffer's visit only one pair were enjoying their _otium cum dignitate_, and the number rarely exceeds three pairs. peeping into the interior of a bonze's house, the company came upon an opium-smoker. he lay stretched upon a mat, with small tea-cups beside him, some fruit, a tiny lamp, and several miniature-headed pipes, from one of which he was inhaling the intoxicating smoke. it is said that some of the chinese opium-smokers consume as much as twenty or thirty grains daily. this poor wretch was not wholly unconscious of the presence of visitors; and, laying by his pipe, he raised himself from the ground, and dragged his body to a chair. with deadly pale face and fixed, staring eyes, he presented a miserable appearance. * * * * * our traveller also visited a pagoda,--the half-way pagoda; so called by the english because it is situated half-way between canton and whampoa. on a small hillock, in the midst of vast tracts of rice, it raises its nine stories to a height of one hundred and seventy feet. though formerly of great repute, it is now deserted. the interior has been stripped of statues and ornaments, and the floors having been removed, the visitor sees to the very summit. externally, each stage is indicated by a small balcony without railing, access being obtained by steep and narrow flights of stairs. a picturesque effect is produced by these projections, as everybody knows who has examined a "willow-pattern" plate. they are built of coloured bricks, which are laid in rows, with their points jutting obliquely outwards, and faced with variegated tiles. even more interesting was madame pfeiffer's peep into the "domestic interior" of mandarin howqua. the house was of large size, but only one story high, with wide and splendid terraces. the windows looked into the inner courts. at the entrance were two painted images of gods to ward off evil spirits, like the horse-shoe formerly suspended to the cottages and barns of our english peasants. the front part was divided into several reception rooms, without front walls; and adjoining these, bloomed bright and gaily-ordered parterres of flowers and shrubs. the magnificent terraces above also bloomed with blossom, and commanded a lively view of the crowded river, and of the fine scenery that spreads around canton. elegant little cabinets surrounded these rooms, being separated by thin partitions, through which the eye could easily penetrate, and frequently embellished with gay and skilfully-executed paintings. the material used was chiefly bamboo, which was as delicate as gauze, and copiously decorated with painted flowers or beautifully-written proverbs. the chairs and sofas were numerous, and of really artistic workmanship. some of the arm-chairs were cunningly wrought out of a single piece of wood. the seats of others were beautiful marble slabs; of others, again, fine coloured tiles or porcelain. articles of european manufacture, such as handsome mirrors, clocks, vases, and tables of florentine mosaic or variegated marble, were plentiful. there was also a remarkable collection of lamps and lanterns pendent from the ceilings, consisting--these lamps and lanterns--of glass, transparent horn, and coloured gauze or paper, ornamented with glass beads, fringe, and tassels. and as the walls were also largely supplied with lamps, the apartments, when lighted up, assumed a truly fairy-like character. [chinese house and garden: page .jpg] the mandarin's pleasure-garden stretched along the river-side. its cultivation was perfect, but no taste was shown in its arrangement. wherever the visitor turned, kiosks, summer-houses, and bridges confronted her. every path and open spot were lined with large and small flower-pots, in which grew flowers and liliputian fruit-trees of all kinds. in the art of dwarfing trees, if such distortion and crippling of nature deserves to be called an art, the chinese are certainly most accomplished experts; but what can we think of the taste, or want of taste, which prefers pigmies three feet high to the lofty and far-shadowing trees which embellish our english parks and gardens? why should a civilized people put nature in fetters, and delight in checking her growth, in limiting her spontaneous energies? here are some particulars about the tea-plant:--in the plantations around canton, it is not allowed to grow higher than six feet, and is consequently cut at intervals. its leaves are considered good from the third to the eighth year; and the plant is then cut down, in order that it may throw off new shoots, or else it is rooted out. three gatherings take place in the year; the first in march, the second in april, and the third, which lasts for three months, in may. so fine and delicate are the leaves of the first gathering, that they might easily be mistaken for the blossom; which undoubtedly has originated the error that the so-called "bloom or imperial tea" consists of the flowers and not of the leaves of the plant. when gathered, the leaves are thrown for a few seconds into boiling water, and then placed on flat iron plates, inserted slantwise in stone- work. while roasting over a gentle fire, they are continually stirred. as soon as they begin to curl a little, they are scattered over large planks, and each single leaf is rolled together; a process so rapidly accomplished that it requires a person's sole attention to detect that only one leaf is rolled up at a time. this completed, all the leaves are again placed in the pans. black tea takes some time to roast; and the green is frequently coloured with prussian blue, an exceedingly small quantity of which is added during the second roasting. last of all, the tea is once more shaken out upon the boards, and submitted to a careful inspection, the leaves that are not entirely closed being rolled over again. [singapore: page .jpg] madame pfeiffer had an opportunity of tasting a cup of tea made after the most approved chinese fashion. a small quantity was dropped into a delicate porcelain cup, boiling water was poured upon it, and a tightly- fitting cover then adjusted to the cup. after a few seconds, the infusion was ready for drinking--neither milk, cream, nor sugar being added. * * * * * but we must tarry no longer within the borders of the celestial empire. we have to follow madame pfeiffer in her wanderings over many seas and through many countries,--for in the course of her adventurous career she saw more of "men and cities" than even the much-travelling ulysses,--and our limits confine us to brief notices of the most remarkable places she visited. from china she sailed for the east indies. on her way she "looked in" at singapore, a british settlement, where gather the traders of many asiatic nations. the scenery which stretches around it is of a rich and agreeable character, and the island on which it is situated excels in fertility of vegetation. a saunter among the plantations of cloves and nutmegs is very pleasant, the air breathing a peculiar balsamic fragrance. the nutmeg-tree is about the size of a good apricot-bush, and from top to bottom is a mass of foliage; the branches grow very low down the stem, and the leaves glitter as if they were varnished. the fruit closely resembles an apricot, covered with spots of yellowish-brown. it bursts on attaining maturity, and then reveals a round kernel, of the size of a nut, embedded in a network, sold as mace, of a beautiful red colour. this network of fibrous material is carefully separated from the nutmeg, and dried in the shade,--being frequently sprinkled with sea-water, to prevent the colour deepening into black, instead of changing into yellow. the nutmeg is likewise dried, exposed a while to the action of smoke, and dipped several times into sea-water containing a weak solution of lime, to prevent it from turning mouldy. the clove-tree is smaller, and less copiously provided with foliage, than the nutmeg-tree. the buds form what are known to us as cloves; and, of course, are gathered before they have had time to blossom. the areca-nut palm is also plentiful in singapore. it grows in clusters of from ten to twenty nuts; is somewhat larger than a nutmeg, and of a bright colour, almost resembling gilt. the chinese and the natives of the eastern islands chew it with betel- leaf and calcined mussel-shells. with a small quantity of the latter they strew the leaf; a very small piece of the nut is added, and the whole is made into a little packet, which they put into their mouth. madame pfeiffer also inspected a sago manufactory. the unprepared farina, which is the pith of the sago palm, is imported from a neighbouring island. the tree is cut down when it is seven years old, split from top to bottom, and the pith extracted from it. then it is freed from the fibres, pressed in large frames, and dried at the fire or in the sun. at singapore this pith or meal, which is of a yellowish tint, is steeped in water for several days until completely blanched; it is then once more dried by the fire or in the sun, passed under a large wooden roller, and through a hair sieve. when it has become white and fine, it is placed in a kind of linen winnowing-fan, which is kept damp in a peculiar manner. the workman takes a mouthful of water, and "spirts it out like fine rain over the fan;" the meal being alternately shaken and moistened until it assumes the character of small globules. these are stirred round in large flat pans, until they are dried. then they are passed through a second sieve, not quite so fine as the first, and the larger globules are separated from the rest. pepper and gambir plantations are also among the "sights" of singapore. the pepper-tree is a small bush-like plant, which, when carefully trained, springs to a height of eighteen feet. the pepper-pods grow in small clusters, and change from red to green, and then to black. white pepper is nothing more than the black pepper blanched by frequent steeping in sea-water. the gambir does not grow taller than eight feet. the leaves, which are used in dyeing, are first stripped from the stalk, and then boiled down in large coppers. the thick juice is placed in white wooden vessels, and dried in the sun; then it is divided into slips about three inches long, and packed up. singapore is an island of _fruits_. it boasts of the delicious mangosteen, which almost melts in the mouth, and delights the palate with its exquisite flavour. it boasts, too, of splendid pine-apples, frequently weighing as much as four pounds. also of sauersop, as big as the biggest pine-apples, green outside, and white or pale yellow inside, with a taste and fragrance like that of strawberries. nor must the gumaloh be forgotten: it is divided, like the orange, into sections, but is five times as large, and not quite so sweet. finally, we must refer to the custard-apple, which is very white (though full of black pips), very soft, and very enticing in flavour. * * * * * from singapore we follow madame pfeiffer to point de galle, in ceylon. the appearance of this fair and fertile island from the sea is the theme of every traveller's praise. "it was one of the most magnificent sights i ever beheld," says madame pfeiffer, "to see the island soaring gradually from the sea, with its mountain-ranges growing more and more distinctly defined, their summits lighted by the sun, while the dense cocoa-groves, and hills and plains, lay shrouded in shadow." above the whole towers the purple mass of adam's peak; and the eye rests in every direction on the most luxuriant foliage, with verdurous glades, and slopes carpeted with flowers. point de galle presents a curious mixture of races. cingalese, kanditons, tamils from south india, and moormen, with crimson caftans and shaven crowns, form the bulk of the crowds that throng its streets; but, besides these, there are portuguese, chinese, jews, arabs, parsees, englishmen, malays, dutchmen, and half-caste burghers, and now and then a veiled arabian woman, or a veddah, one of the aboriginal inhabitants of the island. sir charles dilke speaks of "silent crowds of tall and graceful girls, wearing, as we at first supposed, white petticoats and bodices; their hair carried off the face with a decorated hoop, and caught at the back by a high tortoise-shell comb. as they drew near, moustaches began to show, and i saw that they were men; whilst walking with them were women naked to the waist, combless, and far more rough and 'manly' than their husbands. petticoat and chignon are male institutions in ceylon." * * * * * madame pfeiffer, with unresting energy, visited colombo and kandy, the chief towns of the island. at the latter she obtained admission to the temple of dagoba, which contains a precious relic of the god buddha--namely, one of his teeth. the sanctuary containing this sacred treasure is a small chamber or cell, less than twenty feet in breadth. it is enveloped in darkness, as there are no windows; and the door is curtained inside, for the more effectual exclusion of the light. rich tapestry covers the walls and ceiling. but the chief object is the altar, which glitters with plates of silver, and is incrusted about the edges with precious stones. upon it stands a bell-shaped case about three feet in height, and three feet in diameter at the base. it is made of silver, elaborately gilt, and decorated with a number of costly jewels. a peacock in the middle blazes with jewels. six smaller cases, reputed to be of gold, are enclosed within the large one, and under the last is the tooth of buddha. as it is as large as that of a great bull, one trembles to think how monstrous must have been the jaw of the indian creed-founder! [native boat, madras: page .jpg] * * * * * madame ida pfeiffer arrived at madras on the th of october. she describes the process of disembarkation; but as her details are few, and refer to a comparatively distant date, we propose to rely on the narrative of a recent traveller. from time immemorial, he says, the system of landing and embarking passengers and cargo has been by means of native massulah boats, constructed of mango wood, calked with straw, and sewn together with cocoa-nut fibre. the ships drop their anchors in the roads half a mile from the shore; the massulah boat pulls off alongside, receives its cargo at the gangway, and is then beached through the surf. it is no uncommon circumstance for the boat alongside, assisted by the rolling of the ship, to rise and fall twenty-five feet relatively to the height of the ship's deck at each undulation. ladies are lashed into chairs, and from the ship's yard-arm lowered into the boat. in some improvement was effected by the construction of an iron pier, about nine hundred feet in length, and twenty feet in height. but a spacious and sheltered harbour is now being provided, by means of piers running out from the shore five hundred yards north and south respectively of the screw pile pier now existing, so as to enclose a rectangular area of one thousand yards in length by eight hundred and thirty yards in width, or one hundred and seventy acres. the foundation-stone was laid by the prince of wales in the course of his indian progress in . madame pfeiffer stayed but a few hours at madras, and her notes respecting it are of no value. we will proceed at once to calcutta, the "city of palaces," as it has been called, and the capital of our indian empire. she speaks of the viceroy's palace as a magnificent building, and one that would ornament any city in the world. other noticeable edifices are the town hall, the hospital, the museum, ochterlony's monument, the mint, and the cathedral. ochterlony's monument is a plain stone column, one hundred and sixty-five feet high, erected in commemoration of a sagacious statesman and an able soldier. from its summit, to which access is obtained by two hundred and twenty-two steps, may be obtained a noble view of the city, the broad reaches of the ganges, and the fertile plains of bengal. the cathedral is an imposing pile. its architecture is gothic, and the interior produces a very fine effect by the harmony of its proportions and the richness of its details. the ill-famed "black hole," in which the rajah surajah dowlah confined one hundred and fifty english men and women, when he obtained possession of calcutta in --confining them in a narrow and noisome cell, which poisoned them with its malarious atmosphere, so that by morning only a few remained alive--is now part of a warehouse. but an obelisk stands at the entrance, inscribed with the names of the victims. the fashionable promenade at calcutta is the maidan. it runs along the bank of the hooghly, and is bounded on the other side by rows of palatial mansions. it commands a good view of the viceroy's palace, the cathedral, the ochterlony column, the strong defensive works of fort william; and is altogether a very interesting and attractive spot. every evening, before sunset, thither wends the fashionable world of calcutta. the impassive european, with all the proud consciousness of a conquering race; the half-europeanized baboo; the deposed rajah,--all may be seen driving to and fro in splendid equipages, drawn by handsome steeds, and followed by servants in gay oriental attire. the rajahs and "nabobs" are usually dressed in gold-embroidered robes of silk, over which are thrown the costliest indian shawls. ladies and gentlemen, on english horses of the best blood, canter along the road, or its turfen borders; while crowds of dusky natives gather in all directions, or leisurely move homewards after their day's work. a bright feature of the scene is the animated appearance of the hooghly: first-class east indiamen are lying at anchor, ships are arriving or preparing for departure, the native craft incessantly ply to and fro, and a babel of voices of different nationalities rises on the air. here is a picture of the maidan, drawn by another lady-traveller, mrs. murray mitchell:-- [the maidan, calcutta: page .jpg] it is, she says, a noble expanse, which, about a hundred years ago, was a wild swampy jungle, famous only for snipe-shooting. strange to say, it is not, like most indian plains, burned up and brown, but, from its vicinity to the river, and the frequent showers that visit it, as fresh and green as an english park. it has a few fine tanks, and is sprinkled with some leafy trees; these, however, not so numerous as they were before the cyclones of and , which swept away its chief natural beauties. several broad well-kept drives intersect it, and it is ornamented by some graceful gardens and a few handsome columns and statues. indeed, the maidan is the centre of all that is grand and imposing; the shabby and the unsightly is kept behind, out of view. facing it, along its eastern marge, stand the noble pillared palaces of chowringhee. at one end stands the handsome new court house; also the town hall, and other buildings of less pretence; and, further on, the noble pile of government house, with four handsome entrance gates, and surrounded by shrubberies and gardens. in front spread the eden gardens, a delightful addition to the beauties both of government house and the esplanade. from this point the business part of calcutta extends in a northerly direction, including dalhousie square, with its many buildings, among which conspicuous stands the domed post office--the vista closing gracefully with the shapely spire of st. andrew's church. at the further extremity, nearly two miles across the verdant expanse, are seen the cathedral, with its noble spire, the general hospital, and the jail; and still further, the richly-wooded suburbs of kidderpore and alipore. fort william fronts toward the river, and with its ramparts and buildings forms a striking object; while the whole is bordered and "beautified" by the broad river, with its crowd of masts and flags, its almost innumerable boats, its landing-ghats, and all its life and motion. * * * * * [benares: page .jpg] from calcutta, madame pfeiffer proceeded to the city of temples, the sacred city of hinduism--benares. she visited several temples, but found them all agreeing in their leading details. that of vishnu has two towers connected by colonnades, the summits of which are covered with gold plates. inside are several images of vishnu and siva, wreathed with flowers, and strewn over with grains of rice and wheat. images in metal or stone of the sacred bull are plentiful everywhere; and living bulls wander about freely, the object of special care and adoration. they are free to stray where they will, not in the temple precincts only, but also in the streets. among the other buildings, the one most worthy of notice is the mosque of aurengzebe, famous on account of its two minarets, which are feet in height, and reported to be the slenderest in the world. they resemble a couple of needles, and certainly better deserve the name than that of cleopatra at alexandria. narrow winding staircases in the interior lead to the summit, on which a small platform, with a balustrade about a foot high, is erected. from this vantage-point a noble view of the city, it is said, may be obtained; but few persons, we should think, have heads cool enough to enjoy it. with all madame pfeiffer's adventurousness, she did not essay this perilous experiment. the observatory, constructed for the great mohammedan emperor akbar, is also an object of interest. it is not furnished, like a european observatory, with the usual astronomical instruments, telescopes, rain- gauges, anemometers, and the like, the handiwork of cunning artificers in glass and metal; but everything is of stone--solid, durable stone. on a raised terrace stand circular tables, semicircular and quadratic curves, all of stone, and all inscribed with mystic signs and characters. benares is celebrated for its bazaars, in which are exhibited some of the rarest productions of the east; but its principal attraction is its sanctity, and crowds of pilgrims resort to its temples, and cleanse themselves of their sins by bathing in the fast-flowing ganges. to die at benares is regarded as a passport to heaven; and one of the most frequent sights is the burning of a corpse on the river-bank, with ceremonies proportioned to the rank and wealth of the deceased--the ashes being afterwards committed to the holy waters. benares is also famous for its palaces. of these the most splendid is that which the rajah inhabits. it was visited by madame pfeiffer, who appears to have gone everywhere and seen everybody at her own sweet will and pleasure, and she was even admitted to the rajah's presence. a handsomely-decorated boat, she says, awaited her and her fellow-traveller at the bank of the river. they crossed; a palanquin was ready to receive them. soon they arrived at the stately gateway which forms the entrance to the palace. the interior proved to be a labyrinth of irregular courts and small unsymmetrical chambers. in one of the courts a hall, surrounded by plain columns, served as a reception-room. this was cumbrously loaded with lamps, glass lustres, and european furniture; on the walls hung some wretched pictures, framed and glazed. presently the rajah made his appearance, accompanied by his brother, and attended by a long train of courtiers. the two princes were gorgeously attired; they wore wide trousers, long under and short over garments, all of satin, covered with gold embroidery. the rajah himself, aged thirty- five, wore short silken cuffs, glowing with gold, and trimmed with diamonds; several large brilliants shone on his fingers, and rich gold embroidery was woven about his shoes. his brother, a youth of nineteen, wore a white turban, with a costly clasp of diamonds and pearls. large pearls hung from his ears; rich massive bracelets clasped his wrists. the guests having taken their seats, a large silver basin was brought in, with elaborately-wrought narghillies, and they were invited to smoke. this honour they declined. the rajah then smoked in solitary dignity--his pipe being changed as soon as he had taken a few whiffs. a nautchni, or dance by nautches, was next provided for the visitors' entertainment. there were three musicians and two dancers. the latter were dressed in gay gold-woven muslin robes, with wide silk gold-broidered trousers, reaching to the ground, and quite covering their bare feet. one of the musicians beat a couple of small drums; the others played on four-stringed instruments not unlike a violin. they stood close behind the dancers, and their music was wholly innocent of melody or harmony; but to the rhythm, which was strongly accentuated, the dancers moved their arms, hands, and fingers in a very animated manner, and at intervals their feet, so as to ring the numerous tiny bells that cover them. their attitudes were not ungraceful. the performance lasted a quarter of an hour, after which they accompanied the dance with what was intended for singing, but sounded like shrieking. meantime, sweetmeats, fruits, and sherbet were handed round. as a contrast to this gay scene, madame pfeiffer describes the performance of the wretched fanatics called fakeers. these men inflict upon themselves the most extraordinary tortures. thus: they stick an iron hook through their flesh, and allow themselves to be suspended by it at a height of twenty or five-and-twenty feet. { } or for long hours they stand upon one foot in the burning sunshine, with their arms rigidly extended in the air. or they hold heavy weights in various positions, swing round and round for hours together, and tear the flesh from their bodies with red-hot pincers. madame pfeiffer saw two of these unfortunate victims of a diseased imagination. one held a heavy axe over his head, in the attitude of a workman bent on felling a tree; in this position he stood, rigid as a statue. the other held the point of his toe to his nose. * * * * * in her tour through india our traveller passed through allahabad, situated at the junction of the jumna and the ganges, and the resort of many pilgrims; agra, where she admired, as so many travellers have admired, the lovely taj-mahal, erected by the sultan jehan in memory of his favourite wife,--and the pearl mosque, with its exquisitely delicate carving; delhi, the ancient capital of the moguls, which figured so conspicuously in the history of the sepoy rebellion; the cave-temples of ajunta and ellora; and the great commercial emporium of bombay. quitting the confines of british india, madame pfeiffer, ever in quest of the new and strange, sailed to bassora, and ascended the historic tigris, so named from the swiftness of its course, to bagdad, that quaint, remote oriental city, which is associated with so many wonderful legends and not less wonderful "travellers' tales." this was of old the residence of the great caliph, haroun-al-raschid, a ruler of no ordinary sagacity, and the hero of many a tradition, whom "the thousand and one nights" have made familiar to every english boy. it is still a populous and wealthy city; many of its houses are surrounded by blooming gardens; its shops are gay with the products of the eastern loom; and it descends in terraces to the bank of the river, which flows in the shade of orchards and groves of palm. over all extends the arch of a glowing sky. from bagdad an excursion to the ruins of babylon is natural enough. they consist of massive fragments of walls and columns, strewn on either side of the euphrates. [cave temple at ellora: page .jpg] on the th of june our heroic traveller joined a caravan which was bound for mosul, a distance of three hundred miles, occupying from twelve to fourteen days. the journey is one of much difficulty and no little danger, across a desert country of the most lifeless character. we shall relate a few of madame pfeiffer's experiences. one day she repaired to a small village in search of food. after wandering from hut to hut, she obtained a small quantity of milk and three eggs. she laid the eggs in hot ashes, and covered them over; filled her leathern flask from the tigris; and, thus loaded, returned to the encampment formed by the caravan. she ate her eggs and drank her milk with an appetite for which an epicure would be thankful. the mode of making butter in vogue at this village was very peculiar. the cream was put into a leathern bottle, and shaken about on the ground until the butter consolidated. it was then put into another bottle filled with water, and finally turned out as white as snow. next day, when they rested during the heat, the guide of the caravan endeavoured to procure her a little shelter from the glare of the pitiless sun by laying a small cover over a couple of poles stuck into the ground. but the place shaded was so small, and the tent so frail, that she was compelled to sit quietly in one position, as the slightest movement would have involved it in ruin. shortly afterwards, when she wished for some refreshment, nothing could be procured but lukewarm water, bread so hard that it could not be eaten until thoroughly soaked, and a cucumber without salt or vinegar. at a village near kerka the caravan tarried for two days. on the first day madame pfeiffer's patience was sorely tried. all the women of the place flocked to examine the stranger. first they inspected her clothes, then wanted to take the turban off her head; and, in fact, proved themselves most troublesome intruders. at last madame pfeiffer seized one of them by the arm, and turned her out of her tent so quickly that she had no time to think of resistance. by the eloquence of gesture our traveller made the others understand that, unless they withdrew at once, a similarly abrupt dismissal awaited them. she then drew a circle round her tent, and forbade them to cross it; an injunction which was strictly respected. she had now only to settle with the wife of her guide, who had besieged her the whole day, pressing as near as possible, and petitioning for some of her "things." fortunately her husband came on the scene, and to him madame pfeiffer preferred her complaint, threatening to leave his house and seek shelter elsewhere,--well knowing that the arabs consider this a great disgrace. he immediately ordered his wife to desist, and the traveller was at peace. "i always succeeded," says madame pfeiffer, "in obtaining my own will. i found that energy and boldness influence all people, whether arabs, persians, bedaween, or others." but for this strong will, this indomitable resolution, madame pfeiffer assuredly could not have succeeded in the enterprises she so daringly undertook. even for a man to have accomplished them would have earned our praise; what shall we not say when they were conceived and carried out by a woman? towards evening, she says, to her great delight a caldron of mutton was set on the fire. for eight days she had eaten nothing but bread, cucumbers, and some dates; and therefore had a great desire for a hot and more nutritious meal. but her appetite was greatly diminished when she saw their style of cookery. the old woman (her guide's mother) threw several handfuls of small grain, and a large quantity of onions, into a panful of water to soften. in about half an hour she thrust her dirty hands into the water, and mixed the whole together, now and then taking a mouthful, and after chewing it, spitting it back again into the pan. then she took a dirty rag, strained through it the delicate mixture, and poured it over the meat in the larger vessel. madame pfeiffer had firmly resolved not to touch the dish, but when it was ready her longing for food was so great, and so savoury was the smell, that she reflected that what she had already eaten was probably not a whit cleaner; in short, for once she proved false to her resolution. eating, she was filled; and the viands gave her increased strength. * * * * * on the th of june the caravan reached erbil, the ancient arbela, where alexander the great defeated darius and his persian host. next day they crossed a broad river, on rafts of inflated skins, fastened together with poles, and covered with reeds, canes, and plank. rapidly traversing the shrubless, herbless plains of mesopotamia, they reached at length the town of mosul, the point from which travellers proceed to visit the ruins of nineveh. these have been so carefully explored and ably described by layard and the late george smith, that it is needless to quote madame ida pfeiffer's superficial observations at any length. according to strabo, nineveh was the greatest city in the old world--larger even than babylon; the circumference of its walls was a three days' journey, and those walls were defended by fifteen hundred towers. now all is covered with earth, and the ranges of hills and mounds that stretch across the wide gray plain on the bank of the tigris do but cover the ruins of the vast assyrian capital. mr. layard began his excavations in , and his labourers, digging deep into the hills, soon opened up spacious and stately apartments, the marble walls of which were embellished from top to bottom with sculptures, revealing a complete panorama of assyrian life! kings with their crowns and sceptres, gods swooping on broad pinions, warriors equipped with their arms and shields, were there; also stirring representations of battles and hunting expeditions, of the storming of fortresses, of triumphal processions; though, unfortunately for artistic effect, neither proportion, perspective, nor correct drawing had been observed. the hills are scarcely three times higher than the men; the fields reach to the clouds; the trees are no taller than the lotus-flowers; and the heads of men and animals are all alike, and all in profile. intermingled with these scenes of ancient civilization are inscriptions of great interest, in the cuneiform or wedge-shaped character. * * * * * a caravan starting from mosul for tabreez, madame ida pfeiffer determined on joining it, though warned that it would traverse a country containing not a single european. but, as we have already had abundant evidence, madame pfeiffer knew not what fear was. nothing could daunt her fixed purpose. she had made up her mind to go to persia; and to persia she would go. she started with the caravan on the th of july, and next day crossed the hills that intervene between mesopotamia and kurdistan. the latter country has never enjoyed a good reputation among travellers; and madame pfeiffer's experience was not calculated to retrieve its character. the caravan was crossing a corn-field which had been recently reaped, when half-a-dozen stalwart kurds, armed with stout cudgels, sprang out from their hiding-place among the sheaves, and seizing the travellers' bridles, poured out upon them what was unmistakably a volley of oaths and threats. one of the travellers leaped from his steed, seized his assailant by the throat, and holding a loaded pistol to his head, indicated his determination of blowing out his brains. the effect of this resolute conduct was immediate; the robbers desisted from their attack, and were soon engaged in quite an amicable conversation with those they had intended to plunder. at last they pointed out a good place for an encampment, receiving in return a trifling _backshish_, collected from the whole caravan. a few days later, the travellers, having started at two in the morning, entered a magnificent mountain-valley, which had been cloven through the solid rock by the waters of a copious stream. a narrow stony path followed the course of the stream upward. the moon shone in unclouded light; or it would have been difficult even for the well-trained horses of the caravan to have kept their footing along the dangerous way, encumbered as it was with fallen masses of rock. like chamois, however, they scrambled up the steep mountain-side, and safely carried their riders round frightful projections and past dangerous, dizzy precipices. so wild, so romantic was the scene, with its shifting lights and shadows, its sudden bursts of silvery lustre where the valley lay open to the moon, and its depths of darkness in many a winding recess, that even madame pfeiffer's uncultured companions were irresistibly moved by its influence; and as they rode along not a sound was heard but the clatter of the horses' hoofs, and the fall of rolling stones into the chasm below. but all at once thick clouds gathered over the moon, and the gloom became so intense that the travellers could scarcely discern each one his fellow. the leader continually struck fire with a flint, that the sparks might afford some slight indication of the proper course. but this was not enough; and as the horses began to miss their footing, the only hope of safety consisted in remaining immovable. with the break of day, however, a gray light spread over the scene, and the travellers found themselves surrounded by a circle of lofty mountains, rising one above the other in magnificent gradation, and superbly dominated by one mighty snow-crowned mass. the journey was resumed. soon the travellers became aware of the fact that the path was sprinkled with spots of blood. at last they came to a place which was crimsoned by a complete pool; and looking down into the ravine, they could see two human bodies, one lying scarcely a hundred feet below them, the other, which had rolled further, half hidden by a projecting crag. from this scene of murder they gladly hastened. * * * * * at a town called ravandus madame pfeiffer rested for some days, making observations on the manners and customs of the kurds. she was not prepossessed in their favour by what she saw: the women are idle, ignorant, and squalid; the men work as little and rob as much as they can. polygamy is practised; and religion is reduced to the performance of a few formalities. the costume of the wealthier kurds is purely oriental, that of the common people varies from it a little. the men wear wide linen trousers, and over them a shirt confined by a girdle, with a sleeveless woollen jacket, made of stuff of only a hand's-breadth wide, and sewed together. instead of white trousers, some wear brown, which are anything but picturesque, and look like sacks with two holes for the insertion of the feet,--the said feet being encased in boots of red or yellow leather, with large iron heels; or in shoes of coarse white wool, adorned with three tassels. the turban is the universal head-covering. the women don loose trousers, and red or yellow boots, with iron heels, like the men; but over all they wear a long blue garment which, if not tucked up under the girdle, would depend some inches below the ankles. a large blue shawl descends below the knee. round their heads they twist black shawls, turban-wise; or they wear the red fez, with a silk handkerchief wound about it; and on the top of this, a kind of wreath made of short black fringe, worn like a diadem, but leaving the forehead free. the hair falls in narrow braids over the shoulders, and from the turban droops a heavy silver chain. as a head-dress it is remarkably attractive; and it is but just to say that it often sets off really handsome faces, with fine features, and glowing eyes. [tartar caravan: page .jpg] * * * * * in her further wanderings through the wild lands of persia, our traveller came to urumiyeh, on the borders of the salt lake of that name, which in several physical features closely resembles the dead sea. urumiyeh is a place of some celebrity, for it gave birth to zoroaster, the preacher of a creed of considerable moral purity, which has spread over a great part of asia. entering a more fertile country, she reached tabreez in safety, and was once more within the influence of law and order. tabreez, the residence of the viceroy, is a handsomely-built town, with numerous silk and leather manufactories, and is reputed to be one of the chief seats of asiatic commerce. its streets are clean and tolerably broad; in each a little rivulet is carried underground, with openings at regular intervals for the purpose of dipping out water. of the houses the passer-by sees no more than is seen in any other oriental town: lofty walls, windowless, with low entrances; and the fronts always looking in upon the open courtyards, which bloom with trees and flowers, and usually adjoin a pleasant garden. inside, the chambers are usually lofty and spacious, with rows of windows which seem to form complete walls of glass. buildings of public importance there are none; excepting the bazaar, which covers a considerable area, and is laid out with lofty, broad, and covered thoroughfares. the traveller turned her back upon tabreez on the th of august, and in a carriage drawn by post-horses, and attended by a single servant, set out for natschivan. at arax she crossed the frontier of asiatic russia, the dominions of the "white tsar," who, in asia as in europe, is ever pressing more and more closely on the "unspeakable turk." at natschivan she joined a caravan which was bound for tiflis, and the drivers of which were tartars. she says of the latter, that they do not live so frugally as the arabs. every evening a savoury pillau was made with good-tasting fat, frequently with dried grapes or plums. they also partook largely of fruits. the caravan wound through the fair and fertile valleys which lie at the base of ararat. of that famous and majestic mountain, which lifts its white glittering crest of snow some sixteen thousand feet above the sea- level, our traveller obtained a fine view. its summit is cloven into two peaks, and in the space between an old tradition affirms that noah's ark landed at the subsidence of the great flood. [mount ararat: page .jpg] in the neighbourhood of a town called sidin, madame pfeiffer met with a singular adventure. she was returning from a short walk, when, hearing the sound of approaching post-horses, she paused for a minute to see the travellers, and noticed a russian, seated in an open car, with a cossack holding a musket by his side. as soon as the vehicle had passed, she resumed her course; when, to her astonishment, it suddenly stopped, and almost at the same moment she felt a fierce grasp on her arms. it was the cossack, who endeavoured to drag her to the car. she struggled with him, and pointing to the caravan, said she belonged to it; but the fellow put his hand on her mouth, and flung her into the car, where she was firmly seized by the russian. then the cossack sprang to his seat, and away they went at a smart gallop. the whole affair was the work of a few seconds, so that madame pfeiffer could scarcely recognize what had happened. as the man still held her tightly, and kept her mouth covered up, she was unable to give an alarm. the brave woman, however, retained her composure, and speedily arrived at the conclusion that her "heroic" captors had mistaken her for some dangerous spy. uncovering her mouth, they began to question her closely; and madame pfeiffer understood enough russian to tell them her name, native country, and object in travelling. this did not satisfy them, and they asked for her passport,--which, however, she could not show them, as it was in her portmanteau. at length they reached the post-house. madame pfeiffer was shown into a room, at the door of which the cossack stationed himself with his musket. she was detained all night; but the next morning, having fetched her portmanteau, they examined her passport, and were then pleased to dismiss her--without, however, offering any apology for their shameful treatment of her. such are the incivilities to which travellers in the russian dominions are too constantly exposed. it is surprising that a powerful government should condescend to so much petty fear and mean suspicion. [odessa: page .jpg] from tiflis our traveller proceeded across georgia to redutkali; whence she made her way to kertsch, on the shore of the sea of azov; and thence to sebastopol, destined a few years later to become the scene of an historic struggle. she afterwards reached odessa, one of the great granaries of europe, situated at the mouth of the dniester and the dnieper. from odessa to constantinople the distance by sea is four hundred and twenty miles. she made but a short stay in the turkish capital; and then proceeded by steamer to smyrna, passing through the maze of the beautiful isles of greece; and from smyrna to athens. here she trod on hallowed ground. every temple, every ruin, recalled to her some brave deed of old, or some illustrious name of philosopher, warrior, statesman, poet, that the world will not willingly let die. a rush of stirring glorious memories swept over her mind as she gazed on the lofty summit of the acropolis, covered with memorials of the ancient art, and associated with the great events of athenian history. the parthenon, or temple of pallas; the temple of theseus; that of olympian jove; the tower of the winds, or so-called lantern of demosthenes; and the choragic monument of lysicrates,--all these she saw, and wondered at. but they have been so frequently described, that we may pass them here with this slight reference. from corinth our traveller crossed to corfu, and from corfu ascended the adriatic to trieste. a day or two afterwards she was received by her friends at vienna,--having accomplished the most extraordinary journey ever undertaken by a woman, and made the complete circuit of the world. in the most remarkable scenes, and in the most critical positions, she had preserved a composure, a calmness of courage, and a simplicity of conduct, that must always command our admiration. chapter iii.--northward. in giving to the world a narrative of her journey to iceland, and her wanderings through norway and sweden, madame pfeiffer anticipated certain objections that would be advanced by the over-refined. "another journey !" she supposed them to exclaim; "and that to regions far more likely to repel than attract the general traveller! what object could this woman have had in visiting them, but a desire to excite our astonishment and raise our curiosity? we might have been induced to pardon her pilgrimage to the holy land, though it was sufficiently hazardous for a solitary woman, because it was prompted, perhaps, by her religious feelings,--and incredible things, as we all know, are frequently accomplished under such an impulse. but, for the present expedition, what reasonable motive can possibly be suggested?" madame pfeiffer remarks that in all this a great injustice is, or would be, done to her; that she was a plain, inoffensive creature, and by no means desirous of drawing upon herself the observation of the crowd. as a matter of fact, she was but following the bent of her natural disposition. from her earliest childhood she had yearned to go forth into the wide world. she could never meet a travelling-carriage without stopping to watch it, and envying the postilion who drove it or the persons it conveyed. when she was ten or twelve years old, no reading had such a charm for her as books of voyages and travels; and then she began to repine at the happiness of every great navigator or discoverer, whose boldness revealed to him the secrets of lands and seas before unknown. she travelled much with her parents, and afterwards with her husband, and thus her natural bias was encouraged. it was not until her two sons were of age to be educated that she remained stationary--on their account. as the business concerns of her husband required his presence alternately in vienna and in lemberg, he intrusted to his wife the responsible duty of superintending their education--feeling assured that, with her perseverance and affection, she could supply the place of both parents. when this duty was discharged, and the education of her sons completed, the dreams and fancies of her youth once more revived within her. she thought of the manners and customs of foreign lands, of remote islands girdled by the "melancholy main," and dwelt so long on the great joy of treading "the blessed acres" trodden by the saviour's feet, that at last she resolved on a pilgrimage thither. she made the journey to palestine. she visited jerusalem, and other hallowed scenes, and she returned in safety. she came, therefore, to the conclusion that she was not presumptuously tempting the providence of god, or laying herself open to the charge of wishing to excite the admiration of her contemporaries, if she followed her inward impulse, and once more adventured forth to see the world. she knew that travel could not but broaden her views, elevate her thoughts, and inspire her with new sympathies. iceland, the next object of her desires, was a country where she hoped to see nature under an entirely novel and peculiar aspect. "i feel," she says, "so wonderfully happy, and draw so close to my maker, while gazing upon such scenes, that no difficulties or fatigues can deter me from seeking so great a reward." * * * * * it was in the year that madame pfeiffer began her northward journey. she left vienna on the th of april, and by way of prague, dresden, and altona, proceeded to kiel. thence the steamer carried her to copenhagen, a city of which she speaks in favourable terms. she notices its numerous splendid palaces; its large and regular squares; its broad and handsome promenades. at the museum of art she was interested by the chair which tycho brahe, the astronomer, formerly used; and at the thorvaldsen museum, the colossal lion executed by the great danish sculptor. having seen all that was to be seen, she took ship for iceland, passing helsingborg on the swedish coast, and elsinore on the danish, the latter associated with shakespeare's "hamlet;" and, through the sound and the cattegat, entering upon the restless waters of the north sea. iceland came in sight on the seventh day of a boisterous voyage, which had tried our traveller somewhat severely; and at the close of the eleventh day she reached havenfiord, an excellent harbour, two miles from reikiavik, the capital of iceland. her first impressions of the icelandic coast, she says, were very different from the descriptions she had read in books. she had conceived of a barren desolate waste, shrubless and treeless; and she saw grassy hillocks, leafy copses, and even, as she thought, patches of dwarfish woods. but as she drew nearer, and could distinguish the different objects more plainly, the hillocks were transformed into human habitations, with small doors and windows; and the groups of trees proved to be huge lava masses, from ten to fifteen feet in height, entirely overgrown with verdure and moss. everything was new, was surprising; and it was with pleasurable sensations of excitement and curiosity that madame pfeiffer landed on the shores of ultima thule. [reikiavik: page .jpg] * * * * * at reikiavik she found the population inhabiting two very different classes of habitations. the wooden houses of the well-to-do are of a single story, she says, with five or six windows in front. a low flight of steps conducts to an entrance in the centre of the building; and this entrance opens into a vestibule, where two doors communicate with the rooms on the right and left respectively. in the rear is the kitchen, and beyond the courtyard. such a house contains four or five rooms on the ground-floor, and a few small chambers under the roof. the domestic or household arrangements are entirely european. the furniture, much of which is mahogany, comes from copenhagen, which also supplies the mirrors and cast-iron stoves. handsome rugs are spread in front of the sofas; neat curtains drop before the windows; english engravings ornament the whitewashed walls; and china, silver, and cut-glass, and the like, are displayed upon the cabinets or corner-tables. but the poor live in huts which are decidedly much more icelandic. they are small and low; built of lava blocks, filled in with earth; and as the whole is covered with turf, they might almost be mistaken for natural elevations of the ground, if the wooden chimneys, and low doors, and almost imperceptible windows, did not betray that they were tenanted by human beings. a dark, narrow passage, not more than four feet high, leads on one hand to the living-room, on the other to the store-room, where the provisions are kept, and where, in winter, the cows and sheep are stabled. the fireplace is generally at the end of this passage, which is purposely built low to keep out the cold. neither the walls nor floors of these huts are boarded; the dwelling-rooms are scarcely large enough for people to sleep in or turn round in; and the whole furniture consists of the bedsteads (very poorly supplied with bedding), a small table, and a few chests--the latter, as well as the beds, being used for seats. to poles fastened in the walls are suspended clothes, shoes, stockings, and other articles; and in each hut is generally found a tiny book-shelf supporting a few volumes. no stoves are needed in these rooms, which are sufficiently warmed by the presence of their numerous inmates. speaking of the better classes of the inhabitants of the icelandic capital, our traveller says: "nothing struck me so much as the great dignity of carriage at which the icelandic ladies aim, and which is so apt to degenerate into stiffness when it is not perfectly natural, or has not become a second nature by habit. they incline their head very coolly when you meet them, with less civility than we should use towards an inferior or a stranger. the lady of the house never accompanies her guests beyond the door of the room, after a call; if the husband is present, he goes a little further; but when this is not the case, you are often at a loss which way to turn, as there is no servant on the spot to open the street door for you, unless it may happen to be in the house of the stiftsamtmann, the first dignitary of the island." the church at reikiavik is capable of accommodating about one hundred and fifty persons; it is built of stone, with a wooden roof, under which is kept a library of several thousand volumes. it possesses an artistic treasure of no ordinary value in a font by thorvaldsen, whose parents were natives of iceland, though he himself was born in denmark. captain burton describes it as the ancient classical altar, with basso-relievos on all four sides--subjects of course evangelical; on the top an alto- relievo of symbolical flowers, roses, and passiflorae is cut to support the normal "dobefal," or baptismal basin. in the sacristy are preserved some handsome priestly robes--especially the velvet vestment sent by pope julius ii. to the last roman catholic bishop in the early part of the sixteenth century, and still worn by the chief protestant dignitary at ordinations. the climate at reikiavik would be considered severe by an englishman. the thermometer sometimes sinks as low as degrees below zero, and the sea is covered with ice for several feet from the shore. the storms and snow- drifts are of the most terrible character, and at times even the boldest icelander dares not cross his threshold. daylight does not last more than four or five hours; but the long night is illuminated by the splendid coruscations of the aurora, filling the firmament with many-coloured flame. from the middle until the end of june, however, there is no night. the sun sinks for a short time below the hills, but twilight blends with the dawn, and before the last rays of evening have faded from the sky the morning light streams forth with renewed brilliancy. * * * * * then, as to the people, madame pfeiffer speaks of them as of medium height and strength. their hair is light, and frequently has a reddish tint; their eyes are blue. the women are more prepossessing in appearance than the men; and pleasing faces are not uncommon among the young girls. they wear long skirts of coarse black woollen stuff, with spencers, and coloured aprons. they cover their heads with a man's cap of the same material as their petticoats, ending in a drooping point, to which hangs a woollen or silken tassel, falling as low as the shoulders. this simple head-dress is not inelegant. all the women have an abundance of hair hanging picturesquely about their face and neck; they wear it loose and short, and it is sometimes curled. the men appear to dress very much like the german peasants. they wear pantaloons, jackets, and vests of dark cloth, with a felt hat or fur cap, and the feet wrapped in pieces of skin, either seal, sheep, or calf. * * * * * here, as a corrective, and for the sake of comparison, let us refer to captain burton's description. the men dress, he says, like sailors, in breeches, jackets serving as coats, and vests of good broadcloth, with four to six rows of buttons, always metal, either copper or silver. the fishermen wear overcoats, coarse smooth waistcoats, large paletots, made waterproof by grease or fish-liver oil; leather overalls, stockings, and native shoes. the women attire themselves in jackets and gowns, petticoats and aprons of woollen frieze; over which is thrown a "hempa," or wide black robe, like a jesuit frock, trimmed with velvet binding. the wealthy add silver ornaments down the length of the dress, and braid the other articles with silk ribbons, galloon, or velvets of various colours. the ruff forms a stiff collar, from three to four inches broad, of very fine stuff, embroidered with gold or silver. the conical head-dress, resembling a fool's-cap or sugar-loaf, measures two or three feet high, and is kept in its place by a coarse cloth, and covered with a finer kerchief. the soleless shoes of ox-hide or sheepskin, made by the women out of a single piece, are strapped to the instep. * * * * * having made herself generally acquainted with the icelanders and their mode of living, madame pfeiffer began to visit the most romantic and interesting spots in the island accessible to an adventurous woman. at first she confined herself to the neighbourhood of reikiavik. she journeyed, for instance, to the island of vidoe, the cliffs of which are frequented by the eider-duck. its tameness while brooding is very remarkable. "i had always looked," she says, "on the wonderful stories i had heard on this subject as fabulous, and should do still had i not been an eye-witness to the fact. i approached and laid my hands on the birds while they were sitting; yes, i could even caress them without their attempting to move from their nests; or, if they left them for a moment, it was only to walk off for a few steps, and remain quietly waiting till i withdrew, when they immediately returned to their station. those whose young were already hatched, however, would beat their wings with violence, and snap at me with their bills when i came near them, rather allowing themselves to be seized than to desert their broods. in size they resemble our common duck; their eggs are of a greenish-gray, rather larger than hens' eggs, and of an excellent flavour. each bird lays about eleven eggs. the finest down is that with which they line their nests at first; it is of a dark gray, and is regularly carried off by the islanders with the first eggs. the poor bird then robs itself of a second portion of its down, and lays a few more eggs, which are also seized; and it is not till the nest has been felted for the third time that the ducks are left unmolested to bring up their brood. the down of the second, and particularly that of the third hatching, is much lighter than the first, and of an inferior quality." the salmon-fishery at the larsalf next engaged our traveller's attention. it is conducted after a primitively simple fashion. when the fish at spawning-time seek the quiet waters of the inland stream, their way back to the sea is blocked up by an embankment of loose stones, about three feet high. in front of this wall is extended a net; and several similar barriers are erected at intervals of eighty to a hundred paces, to prevent the fish which have slipped over one of them from finally accomplishing their escape. a day is appointed for a grand _battue_. the water is then let off as much as possible; and the ensnared fish, feeling it grow shallower, dart hither and thither in frantic confusion, and eventually gather together in such a mass that the fishermen have only to thrust in their hands and seize their prey. yet _some_ degree of skill is necessary, for, as everybody knows, the salmon is full of vivacity, and both strong and swift. so the fisher takes his victim dexterously by head and tail, and throws it ashore immediately. it is caught up by persons who are specially appointed to this duty, and flung to a still greater distance from the stream. were not this done, and done quickly, many a fine fellow would escape. it is strange to see the fish turn round in the hands of their captors, and leap into the air, so that if the fishermen were not provided with woollen mittens, they could not keep their hold of the slippery creatures at all. in these wholesale razzias, from five hundred to a thousand fish are generally taken at a time, each one weighing from five to fifteen pounds. [salmon-fishing in iceland: page .jpg] * * * * * iceland may, with little exaggeration, be described as nothing more than a stratum of snow and ice overlying a mass of fire and vapour and boiling water. nowhere else do we see the two elements of frost and fire in such immediate contiguity. the icy plains are furrowed by lower currents, and in the midst of wastes of snow rise the seething ebullitions of hot springs. several of the snow-shrouded mountains of iceland are volcanic. in the neighbourhood of kriservick madame pfeiffer saw a long, wide valley, traversed by a current of lava, half a mile in length; a current consisting not merely of isolated blocks and stones, but of large masses of porous rock, ten or twelve feet high, frequently broken up by fissures a foot wide. six miles further, and our traveller entered another valley, where, from the sulphur-springs and hills, rose numerous columns of smoke. ascending the neighbouring hills, she saw a truly remarkable scene: basins filled with bubbling waters, and vaporous shafts leaping up from the fissures in the hills and plains. by keeping to windward, she was able to approach very near these phenomenal objects; the ground was lukewarm in a few places, and she could hold her hand for several minutes at a time over the cracks whence the vapour escaped. no water was visible. the roar and hiss of the steam, combined with the violence of the wind, made a noise so deafening that she was glad to quit the scene, and feel a safer soil beneath her feet. it seemed to her excited fancy as if the entire mountain were converted into a boiling caldron. descending into the plain, she found there much to interest her. here a basin was filled with boiling mud; there, from another basin, burst forth a column of steam with fearful violence. several hot springs bubbled and bubbled around. "these spots," says our traveller, "were far more dangerous than any on the hills; in spite of the utmost caution, we often sank in above our ankles, and drew back our feet in dread, covered with the damp exhalations, which, with steam or boiling water, also escaped from the opening. i allowed my guide to feel his way in front of me with a stick; but, notwithstanding his precaution, he went through in one place half-way to his knee--though he was so used to the danger that he treated it very lightly, and stopped quite phlegmatically at the next spring to cleanse himself from the mud. being also covered with it to the ankles, i followed his example." * * * * * we must now accompany our traveller on some longer excursions. and first, to thingvalla, the place where, of old, the althing or island- parliament was annually held. one side of the great valley of council is bounded by the sea, the other by a fine range of peaks, always more or less covered with snow. through the pass of the almannagja we descend upon the thingvallavatn lake, an expanse of placid blue, about thirty miles in circuit. while our attention is rivetted on the lake and the dark brown hills which encircle it, a chasm suddenly, and as if by enchantment, opens at our feet, separating us from the valleys beyond. it varies from thirty to forty feet in width, is several hundred feet in depth, and four miles in length. "we were compelled," says madame pfeiffer, "to descend its steep and dangerous sides by a narrow path leading over fragments of lava. my uneasiness increased as we went down, and could see the colossal masses, in the shape of pillars or columns tottering loosely on the brink of the precipice above our heads, threatening death and desolation at any moment. mute and anxious, we crept along in breathless haste, scarcely venturing to raise our eyes, much less to give vent to the least expression of alarm, for fear of starting the avalanche of stone, of the impetuous force of which we could form some idea by the shattered rocks around us. the echo is very remarkable, and gives back the faintest whisper with perfect distinctness." * * * * * every traveller to iceland feels bound to visit its geysirs, and madame pfeiffer did as others did. from thingvalla she rode for some distance along the side of the lakes, and then struck through a rocky pass of a very difficult character, into a series of valleys of widely different aspect. at last she came to a stream which flowed over a bed of lava, and between banks of lava, with great rapidity and a rushing, roaring sound. at one point the river-bed was cleft through its centre, to the depth of eighteen or twenty feet, by a chasm from fifteen to eighteen feet wide, into which the waters pour with considerable violence. a bridge in the middle of the river spans this rift, and the stranger who reaches the banks feels unable to account for its appearance among the cloud of spray which entirely conceals the chasm in the bed of the stream. into her description of the passage of the river it is to be feared that madame pfeiffer introduces a little exaggeration. the waters roar, she says, with the utmost violence, and dashing wildly into the cavity, they form falls on both sides of it, or shiver themselves to spray against the projecting cliffs; at the extremity of the chasm, which is not far from the bridge, the stream is precipitated in its whole breadth over rocks from thirty to forty feet in height. "our horses began to tremble, and struggled to escape when we drew near the most furious part of the torrent, where the noise was really deafening; and it was not without the greatest difficulty we succeeded in making them obey the reins, and bear us through the foaming waves by which the bridge was washed." either the scene has greatly altered since madame pfeiffer's visit, or her imagination has considerably over-coloured its principal features. that is, if we accept the accounts of recent travellers, and especially that of captain burton, who has laboured so successfully to reduce the romance of icelandic travel to plain matter of fact. [great geysir: page .jpg] the geysirs lie within a comparatively limited area, and consist of various specimens, differing considerably in magnitude. the basin of the great geysir lies on a gentle elevation, about ten feet above the plain; it measures about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, while that of the seething caldron is ten feet. both caldron and basin, on the occasion of madame pfeiffer's visit, were full to the brim with crystal- clear water in a state of slight ebullition. at irregular intervals a column of water is shot perpendicularly upwards from the centre of the caldron, the explosion being always preceded by a low rumbling; but she was not so fortunate as to witness one of these eruptions. lord dufferin, however, after three days' watch, was rewarded for his patience. the usual underground thunder having been heard, he and his friends rushed to the spot. a violent agitation was convulsing the centre of the pool. suddenly a crystal dome lifted itself up to the height of eight or ten feet, and then fell; immediately after which, a shining liquid column, or rather a sheaf of columns, wreathed in robes of vapour, sprang into the air, and in a succession of jerking leaps, each higher than its predecessor, flung their silver crests against the sky. for a few minutes the fountain held its own, then all at once appeared to lose its ascending power. the unstable waters faltered, drooped, fell, "like a broken purpose," back upon themselves, and were immediately absorbed in the depths of the subterranean shaft. about one hundred and forty yards distant is the strokkr, or "churn," with a basin about seven feet wide in its outer, and eighteen feet in its inner diameter. a funnel or inverted cone in shape, whereas the great geysir is a mound and a cylinder, it gives the popular idea of a crater. its surface is "an ugly area of spluttering and ever boiling water." it frequently "erupts," and throws a spout into the air, sometimes as high as forty or fifty feet, the outbursts lasting from ten to thirty minutes. madame pfeiffer had not the luck to see it in its grandest moods; the highest eruption she saw did not rise above thirty feet, nor last more than fifteen minutes. an eruption can be produced by throwing into the caldron a sufficient quantity of turf or stones. two remarkable springs lie directly above the geysirs, in openings separated by a barrier of rock--which, however, rise nowhere above the level of the ground. their waters boil very gently, with an equable and almost rhythmic flow. the charm of these springs lies in their wonderful transparency and clearness. all the prominent points and corners, the varied outlines of the cavities, and the different recesses, can be distinguished far within the depths, until the eye is lost in the darkness of the abyss; and the luminous effects upon the rocks lend an additional beauty to the scene, which has all the magic of the poet's fairy-land. it is illumined by a radiance of a soft pale blue and green, which reaches only a few inches from the rocky barrier, leaving the waters beyond in colourless transparency. the light, to all appearance, seems reflected from the rock, but is really owing to atmospheric causes. * * * * * from the geysirs, madame pfeiffer proceeded towards hekla; and at the village of thorfustadir, on the route, had an opportunity of seeing an icelandic funeral. on entering the church she found the mourners consoling themselves with a dram of brandy. on the arrival of the priest, a psalm or prayer was screamed, under his direction, by a chosen number of the congregation; each shouting his loudest, until he was completely out of breath. the priest, standing by the coffin, which, for lack of better accommodation, was resting on one of the seats, read in a loud voice a prayer of more than half an hour's duration. the body was then borne to the grave, which was one of remarkable depth; and the coffin being duly lowered, the priest threw earth upon it thrice, thus terminating the ceremony. at the little village of skalholt, where the first icelandic bishopric was established in , madame pfeiffer was invited to visit the church, and inspect its treasures. she was shown the grave of the first bishop, thorlakur, whose memory is cherished as that of a saint; an old embroidered robe, and a plain gold chalice, both of which probably belonged to him; and, in an antique chest, some dusty books in the iceland dialect, besides three ponderous folios in german, containing the letters, epistles, and treatises of martin luther. continuing her journey, she arrived at the little village of salsun, which lies at the foot of mount hekla. here she secured the services of a guide, and made preparations for the ascent of the famous volcano. these included the purchase of a store of bread and cheese, and the supply of a bottle of water for herself, and one of brandy for the guide, besides long sticks, shod with iron, to steady the adventurers' footsteps. the day fixed for the expedition opened brightly and warmly. at first the road led through fields of tolerable fertility, covered with a rich green herbage, soft as velvet; and then traversed patches of black sand, surrounded by hills, and blocks, and currents of lava. by degrees it grew more difficult, and was so encumbered with lava as greatly to impede the progress of the travellers. around and behind them rolled the dark congealed lava; and it was needful to be constantly on the watch, to prevent themselves from stumbling, or to avoid rude contact with the rolling rocks. greater still was the danger in the rifts and gorges filled with snow moistening already in the summer heat; here they frequently broke through the deceptive crust, or at every step slipped backwards almost as far as they had advanced. [mount hekla: page .jpg] at length they reached a point where it became necessary to leave behind the horses, and trust entirely to their own strength. laboriously, but undauntedly, madame pfeiffer pressed upward. yet, as she looked around on the sterile scene, which seemed to have been swept by a blast of fire, and on the drear expanse of black lava that surrounded her, madame pfeiffer could scarcely repress a sensation of pain and terror. they had still, she says, three heights to climb; the last of which was also the most dangerous. the path clambered up the rocks which covered the entire area of the mountain-summit. frequent were our traveller's falls; her hands were sadly wounded by the sharp jagged projections of the lava; and her eyes suffered severely from the dazzling brilliancy of the snow that filled every gorge and ravine. but every obstacle gives way to the resolute; and at last madame pfeiffer stood on the topmost peak of hekla. here she made a discovery: in books of travel she had read of the crater of mount hekla, but a careful survey convinced her that none existed. there was neither opening, crevasse, nor sunken wall; in fact, no sign of a crater. lower down on the mountain-side she detected some wide fissures; and from these, not from any crater, must have rolled the lava-rivers. the height of the mountain is computed at feet. during the last hour of the ascent the sun had been veiled in mists, and from the neighbouring glaciers dense clouds now poured down upon them, obscuring or concealing the entire prospect. fortunately, they gradually dissolved into snow, which spread a carpet, white and soft and glittering, over the dreary lava. the thermometer stood at . degrees f. the snow-storm passed, and the sun once more gladdened earth, and filled with light the clear blue arch of the firmament. on her elevated watchtower stood the adventurous traveller, till the clouds, passing away, opened up to her wondering gaze the glorious view--glorious, yet terrible! it seemed as if the ruins of a burned-up world lay all around: the wastes were strewn with masses of lava; of life not a sign was visible; blocks of barren lava were piled upon one another in chaotic confusion; and vast streams of indurated volcanic matter choked up every valley. "here, on the topmost peak of hekla," writes madame pfeiffer, "i could look down far and wide upon the uninhabited land, the image of a torpid nature, passionless, inanimate, and yet sublime,--an image which, once seen, can never be forgotten, and the remembrance of which will compensate me amply for all the toils and difficulties i have endured. a whole world of glaciers, lava-peaks, fields of snow and ice, rivers and miniature lakes, were comprehended in that magnificent prospect; and the foot of man had never yet ventured within these regions of gloom and solitude. how terrible must have been the resistless fury of the element which has produced all these changes! and is its rage now silenced for ever? will it be satisfied with the ruin it has wrought? or does it slumber only to break forth again with renewed strength, and lay waste those few cultivated spots which are scattered so sparingly throughout the land? i thank god that he has allowed me to see this chaos of his creation; and i doubly thank him that my lot was cast in these fair plains where the sun does more than divide the day from the night; where it warms and animates plant-life and animal-life; where it awakens in the heart of man the deepest feelings of gratitude towards his maker." on her way down our traveller discovered that the snow had not melted for the first five or six hundred feet. below that distance the mountain- sides were enveloped in a shroud of vapour. that glossy, coal-black, shining lava, which is never porous, can be found only at hekla and in its immediate vicinity; but the other varieties, jagged, porous, and vitrified, are also met with, though they are invariably black, as is the sand which covers the side of the mountain. as the distance from the volcano increases, the lava loses its jet-black colour, and fades into an iron-gray. after an absence of twelve hours, madame pfeiffer reached salsun in safety. six-and-twenty eruptions of hekla have been recorded,--the last having occurred in - . one was prolonged for a period of six years, spreading desolation over a country which had formerly been the seat of a prosperous settlement, and burying the cultivated fields beneath a flood of lava, scoriae, and ashes. during the eruption of - , three new crater-vents were formed, from which sprang columns of fire and smoke to the height of , feet. the lava accumulated in formidable masses, and fragments of scoriae and pumice-stone weighing two hundredweight were thrown to a distance of a league and a half; while the ice and snow which had lain on the mountain for centuries were liquefied, and rolled in devastating torrents over the plains. hekla is not the only volcanic mountain of iceland. mounts leirhnukr and krabla, in the northeast, are very formidable; and one of the most terrible eruptions recorded in the island annals was that of the skapta jokul in . we have now completed our summary of madame pfeiffer's icelandic excursions. from the country we may pass to its inhabitants, and ascertain the deliberate opinion she had formed of them after an experience extending over several weeks, and under conditions which enabled so shrewd an observer as she was to judge them impartially. her estimate of their character is decidedly less favourable than that of her predecessors; but it is to be noted that in almost every particular it is confirmed by the latest authority, captain burton. and the evidence goes to show that they are not the simple, generous, primitive, guileless arcadians which it had pleased some fanciful minds to portray. their principal occupation consists in the fisheries, which are pursued with the greatest activity during the months of february, march, and april. the people from the interior then stream into the different harbours, and bargain with the coast-population, the fishermen proper, to help them for a share of the profits. on the other hand, in july and august many of the coast-population penetrate inland, and lend their services in the hay-harvest, for which they are paid in butter, wool, and salted lamb. others resort to the mountains in search of iceland moss, which they mix with milk, and use as an article of food; or grind it into meal, and make cakes with it, as a substitute for bread. the labours of the women consist in preparing the fish for drying, smoking, or salting; in tending the cattle, in knitting, and gathering moss. during the winter season both men and women knit uninterruptedly. madame pfeiffer thinks their hospitality has been overrated, and gives them credit for the ability to make a good bargain. in fact, she saw nothing of that disinterestedness which dr. henderson and other travellers have ascribed to them. they are intolerably addicted to brandy-drinking,--indeed, their circumstances would greatly improve if they drank less and worked more. they are scarcely less passionately addicted to snuff-taking, as well as to tobacco-chewing. their mode of taking snuff is peculiar, and certainly not one to be imitated. most of the peasants, and even many of the priests, have no snuff-boxes, but make use instead of a piece of bone, turned in the shape of a little powder- horn. when desirous of indulging in a little titillation, they throw back their heads, and putting the point of the horn to their nostril, empty in the snuff. so little fastidious are these devotees, that they frequently pass on a horn from nose to nose, without the needless formality of cleaning it. the mention of this practice leads madame pfeiffer to comment very severely on the want of cleanliness among the icelanders, who are as dirty in their houses as in their persons. they are also remarkable for their laziness. there are many ample stretches of meadow-land at a short distance from the coast, completely covered with bog, and passable only with great precautions, which the construction of a few ditches would thoroughly drain. capital grass would then spring up in abundant crops. it is well known that such will grow in iceland, for the hillocks which rise above the swamps are luxuriantly overgrown with herbage and wild clover. the best soil is found, it is said, on the north side of the island, where potatoes grow very well, and also a few trees--which, however, do not exceed seven or eight feet in height. the chief occupation of the northerners is cattle- breeding, particularly in the interior, where some of the farmers own three or four hundred sheep, ten or fifteen cows, and a dozen horses. these, it is true, are exceptional cases; but, as a rule, the population here are in much better circumstances than the wretched coast-population, who chiefly rely on the products of their fisheries. * * * * * from iceland madame pfeiffer embarked for copenhagen on the th of july, in the sloop _haabet_ (the "hope"), which proved by no means a vessel of luxurious accommodation. our resolute voyager gives an amusing account of her trials. the fare, for instance, was better adapted for a hermit than for a lady of gentle nurture; but it was sublimely impartial, being exactly the same for captain, mate, crew, and passengers. for breakfast they had wretched tea,--or rather, dirty tea-coloured water,--which the common hands drank without any sugar. the officers made use of a small lump of candy, holding it in their mouths, where it melted slowly, while they swallowed cup after cup to moisten the hard ship-biscuit and rancid butter. the dinners, however, showed a daily variation. first, a piece of salted meat, which, having been soaked and boiled in sea-water, was so intolerably hard, tough, and salt that it required the digestion of an ostrich to overtake it. instead of soup, vegetables, or dessert, barley grits were served up, plainly boiled, without salt or butter, and eaten with syrup and vinegar. on the second day, the _piece de resistance_ was a lump of bacon, boiled in salt water; this was followed by the barley grits. on the third day, cod-fish and pease; on the fourth, the same bill of fare as on the first; and so on,--a cup of coffee, without milk, closing the noonday meal. the evening's repast resembled that of the morning, consisting of tea-water and ship-biscuit. so much for the fare. as to the "table appointments," they were miserably meagre. the cloth was a piece of an old sail, so soiled and dirty that it effectually deprived madame pfeiffer and her fellow-passengers of any small appetite with which they might have sat down to dinner. madame pfeiffer began to think that it would be better to have no cloth at all. she was mistaken! one day she saw the steward belabouring a piece of sailcloth, which was stretched on the deck under his feet, to receive a good sweeping from the ship's broom. the numerous spots of dirt and grease showed plainly that it was the table-cloth; and that same evening the table was bare. the consequence was, that the teapot had no sooner been placed upon it than it began to slide; and nothing but the captain's adroitness prevented the entire "bill of fare" from being poured into the laps of the guests. it then became evident that a table-cloth all foul and stained is better far than none at all! the _hope_ was twenty days at sea, and for twelve days out of sight of land. she was wind-driven to the westward, so that her passengers saw but few of the monsters of the northern seas. they caught sight of the spout of a single whale in the distance; it rose in the air exactly like a fountain-jet, but the animal itself was too far off for its huge outlines to be discernible. one shark had the gallantry to swim round them for a few minutes, affording them an opportunity of observing it closely. it appeared to be from sixteen to eighteen feet in length. * * * * * the "unresting" traveller reached copenhagen on the th of august, and on the very same day embarked again for sweden and norway. let us accompany her to christiania. this town and its suburbs, the fortress, the royal castle, the freemasons' lodge, and other buildings, surmount the noble harbour in a stately semicircle; which, in its turn, is enclosed by meadows, and woods, and green hills. as if loath to leave a scene so charming, the blue sea winds in among the fields and vales to some distance behind the town. the best part of christiania is, not unnaturally, the latest built, where the streets are broad and long, and the houses, both of brick and stone, substantial. in the suburbs, most of the houses are of timber. some of the public edifices are architecturally conspicuous, particularly the new castle and the fortress, which are finely situated on a commanding elevation, and enjoy a prospect of great extent and splendid variety. madame pfeiffer was much struck by the diverseness of the conveyances that dash through the pleasant, breezy streets of this picturesque city. the most common, but the least convenient, are called _carriols_. they consist of a very long, narrow, and uncovered box, strung between two enormously high wheels, and provided with a very small seat, into which the passenger must squeeze himself, with outstretched feet, and a leathern apron drawn over his legs; nor can he, nor dare he, move, from the moment he gets in until he gets out again. a place behind is provided for the coachman, in case the occupant of the _carriol_ is disinclined to drive; but as it is unpleasant to have the reins shaken about one's head, and the whip constantly flourishing in one's ears, the services of a driver are seldom in requisition. besides these unshapely vehicles, there are phaetons, droschkis, chariots, and similar light conveyances; but no covered carriages. * * * * * from christiania to stockholm. at gothenburg madame pfeiffer embarked on board the steamer which plies on the gotha canal, the great water-way, linking streams and lakes, which affords access to the swedish capital. she found herself before long on the river gotha, and at lilla edet came to the first of the five locks which occur there. while the boat was passing through them she had an opportunity of seeing the gotha falls, which, though of no great height, pour down a considerable volume of water. through fir woods, brown with shadows, the canal winds onward to the magnificent locks of trollhatten--an engineering achievement of which any nation might be justly proud. they are eleven in number, and rise by gradations to a height of feet in a distance of feet. the wide, deep channel excavated in the rock is literally paved with flagstones; and these locks mount one above the other like the solitary steps of a majestic stairway, and almost lay claim to be ranked among the world's wonders. while the steamer passes through the successive barriers the passengers have time to make an excursion to the falls of trollhatten, which are less remarkable for their elevation than for their flood of waters and the picturesqueness of the surrounding scenery. beyond trollhatten the stream expands to the proportions of a lake, while a number of green and wooded islands divide it into several channels. thence it traverses the lake of wenner, which is ten or twelve miles long, and proceeds onward through a country of no great interest, until at sjotorp it passes into the river again. a few miles further, and it crosses the vilkensoc, which, like all the other swedish lakes, is charmingly studded with islands. it lies three hundred and six feet above the level of the north sea, and is the culminating point of the canal, which thence descends through about seventy locks, traversing the bottensee and lake wetter. after a tedious journey of five days, madame pfeiffer reached the shores of the baltic, which are finely indented by bays and rivers, with long stretches of lofty cliff, and, inland, dense masses of fir woods. leaving the sea again, a short canal conducts the voyager into lake malar, celebrated for its cluster of islands. the lake at first resembles a broad river, but soon widens to a great extent; the beauty of the scenery never fails to excite the traveller's admiration. it is said that a thousand isles besprinkle its surface; they are crowded together in the most picturesque and varied groups, forming streams, and bays, and a chain of smaller lakes, and continually revealing some new and attractive feature. not less charming the shores: sometimes the hills and mountains pass close to the water, and their steep and rocky sides frown like thunder- smitten ramparts; but generally the eye is delighted by a constant and brightly-coloured panorama of meadows, woods, and valleys, villages, and sequestered farmhouses. on the summit of a steep declivity a high pole is erected, to which hangs suspended the hat of the unfortunate king erik. it is said of him, that having fled from the field of battle, he was here overtaken by one of his soldiers, whose stern reproaches so stung him to the heart that he drove his spurs into his horse's sides, and clearing the precipice with a bound, sank for ever beneath the waters of the lake. his hat, which fell from his head as he made the plunge, is preserved as a memorial of a king's remorse. * * * * * on arriving at stockholm, several stalwart women offer us their services as porters. they are dalecarlians, who earn a livelihood by carrying luggage or water, by rowing boats, and by resorting to other occupations generally reserved for the stronger sex. honest, industrious, capable of immense fatigue, they never lack employment. they wear short black petticoats, red bodices, white chemises with long sleeves, short and narrow aprons of two colours, red stockings, and shoes with thick wooden soles. around their heads they generally bind a handkerchief, or else wear a very small black cap, which just covers the back of their hair. stockholm proves, on examination, to be a handsome city, situated at the junction of the baltic with the lake malar; or, more strictly speaking, on the banks of a short canal which unites the two. one of its most conspicuous buildings is the stately ritterholm church, which madame pfeiffer describes as resembling rather a vault and an armoury than a religious edifice. in the side chapels are enshrined the monuments of dead swedish kings, whose bones lie in the royal sepulchres below. on both sides of the nave are ranged the equestrian statues of armed knights; while from every vantage-point hang flags and standards. the keys of captured towns and fortresses are suspended in the side chapels, and drums and kettle-drums piled upon the floor--trophies won from the enemies of sweden in the days when she was a great european power. the chapels also contain, enclosed in glass-cases, parts of the dress and armour of some of the swedish monarchs. we notice, with keen interest, the uniform worn by charles xii.--he "who left a name at which the world grew pale, to point a moral or adorn a tale"-- at the time of his death, and the hat penetrated by the fatal shot that slew the fiery warrior. a remarkable contrast is afforded by the rich dress and plumed hat of bernadotte, the french soldier of fortune, who founded the present royal house. the royal palace is a stately structure, and its interior is enriched with the costliest decoration. the ritter-house, the museum of ancient art, the crown-prince's palace, the theatre, the bank, the mint, are all deserving of inspection. in the vicinity a trip may be made to the beautiful and diversified scenery of the royal park, or the military school at karlberg, or to the ancient royal castle of gripsholm on the lake of malar. but our last excursion must be directed, by way of upsala, to the iron- mines of danemora. the little village of danemora is embosomed in woods. it contains a small church and a few scattered houses of various dimensions. the neighbourhood abounds in the usual indications of a mining locality. madame pfeiffer arrived in what is called "the nick of time," and just opportunely, to witness the blasting of the ore. from the wide opening of the largest mine it is possible to see what passes below; and a strange and wonderful sight it is to peer down into the abyss, four hundred and eighty feet deep, and observe the colossal entrances to the various pits, the rocky bridges, the projections, arches, and caverns excavated in the solid rock. the miners appear so many puppets; their movements can hardly be distinguished, until the eye has grown accustomed to the darkness and to their diminutive size. at the given moment a match was applied to four trains of gunpowder. the man who lighted them immediately sprang back, and hid himself behind a wall of rock. in a minute or two came the flash; a few stones were hurled into the air; and immediately afterwards was heard a loud detonation, and the shattered mass fell in fragments all around. echo caught up the tremendous explosion, and carried it to the furthest recesses of the mine; while, to enhance the terror of the scene, one rock was hardly shivered before another crash was heard, and then a third, and immediately afterwards a fourth. [iron-mine of danemora: page .jpg] the other pits are still deeper, one of them being six hundred feet beneath the ground; but as they are smaller in their openings, and as the shafts are not always perpendicular, the gaze is soon lost in the obscurity, which produces a dismal effect upon the spectator. the iron obtained from the swedish mines is of excellent quality, and large quantities are annually exported. * * * * * madame pfeiffer now began her homeward journey, and, by way of hamburg and berlin, proceeded to dresden. thence she returned to vienna on the th of october, after an absence of six months. chapter iv.--last travels. madame pfeiffer set out on what proved to be her final expedition, on the st of may . she proceeded to berlin, thence to amsterdam, leyden, rotterdam; visited london and paris; and afterwards undertook the voyage to the cape of good hope. here she hesitated for a while in what direction she should turn her adventurous steps before she pushed forward to the goal of her hopes--madagascar. at length she decided on a visit to the mauritius; and it is at this part of her journey that we propose to take up her record. [port louis, mauritius: page .jpg] she saw much scenery in this rich and beautiful little island that moved her to admiration. the volcanic mountains assume the boldest and most romantic outlines. the vegetation is of the most luxuriant character. each deep gorge or mountain-valley blooms with foliage; and the slopes are clothed with stately trees, graceful shrubs, and climbing plants; while shining streams fall from crag to crag in miniature cascades. of course madame pfeiffer visited the sugar-cane plantations, which cover the broad and fertile plains of pamplemousse. she learned that the sugar- cane is not raised from seed, but that pieces of cane are planted. the first cane requires eighteen months to ripen; but as, meanwhile, the chief stem throws out shoots, each of the following harvests can be gathered in at intervals of twelve months; hence four crops can be obtained in four years and a half. after the fourth harvest, the field must be cleared completely of the cane. if the land be virgin soil, on which no former crop has been raised, fresh slips of cane may be planted immediately, and thus eight crops secured in nine years. but if such is not the case, "ambrezades" must be planted--that is, a leafy plant, growing to the height of eight or nine feet, the leaves of which, continually falling, decay and fertilize the soil. after two years the plants are rooted out, and the ground is once more occupied by a sugar plantation. when the canes are ripe and the harvest begins, every day as many canes are cut down as can be pressed and boiled at once. the cane is introduced between two rollers, set in motion by steam-power, and pressed until it is quite flat and dry: in this state it is used for fuel. the juice is strained successively into six pans, of which the first is exposed to the greatest heat--the force of the fire being diminished gradually under each of the others. in the last pan the sugar is found half crystallized. it is then deposited on great wooden tables to cool, and granulate into complete crystals of about the size of a pin's head. lastly, it is poured into wooden colanders, to filter it thoroughly of the molasses it still contains. the whole process occupies eight or ten days. before the sugar is packed, it is spread out on the open terraces to dry for some hours in the sun. * * * * * an excursion was made to mount orgueil, in order to obtain a panoramic view of the island-scenery. on one side the lofty ridge of the morne brabant, connected with the mainland only by a narrow neck of earth, stretches far out into the sapphire sea; near at hand rises the piton de la riviere noire, the loftiest summit in the island, two thousand five hundred and sixty-four feet. in another direction are visible the green tops of the tamarin and the rempart; and in a fourth, the three-headed mountain called the trois mamelles. contiguous to these opens a deep caldron, two of the sides of which have broken down in ruin, while the others remain erect and steep. besides these mountains, the traveller sees the corps de garde du port loris de mocca; le pouce, with its narrow peak projecting above the plateau like a thumb; and the precipitous peter botte. the last-named mountain recalls the memory of the daring hollander who first reached its summit, long regarded as impracticable. he succeeded in what seemed a hopeless effort by shooting an arrow, to which a strong cord was attached, over the top. the arrow fell on the other side of the mountain, at a point which could be attained without much difficulty. a stout rope was then fastened to the cord, drawn over the mountain, and secured on both sides; and peter botte hauled himself up by it to the topmost crest, and thus immortalized his name. the ascent has since been accomplished by english travellers. a trip was also undertaken to the trou de cerf, or "stag's hole," a crater of perfectly regular formation, brimful of bloom and foliage. as no sign or mark betrays its whereabouts, the traveller is seized with astonishment on suddenly reaching its brink. his astonishment soon wears off, and he feels an intense delight in contemplating the view before him. it comprises three-fourths of the island: majestic mountains clothed in virgin forests almost to their very crests; wide-spreading plains, green with the leafiness of the sugar-cane plantations; cool verdurous valleys, where the drowsy shadows softly rest; and beyond and around the blue sea with a fringe of snow-white foam marking the indentations of the coast. * * * * * on the th of april madame pfeiffer sailed for madagascar, and after a six-days' voyage reached the harbour of tamatave. madagascar, the reader may be reminded, is, next to borneo, the largest island in the world. it is separated from the african mainland by the mozambique channel, only seventy-five miles wide. it stretches from lat. to degrees s., and long. to degrees e. its area is about ten thousand geographical square miles. [the traveller's tree: page .jpg] madagascar contains forests of immense extent, far-reaching plains and valleys, rivers, lakes, and great chains of mountains, which raise their summits to an elevation of ten or twelve thousand feet. the climate is tropical, the vegetation remarkable for abundance and variety. the chief products are gums and odoriferous balsams, sugar, tobacco, maize, indigo, silk, spices. the woods yield many valuable kinds of timber, and almost every fruit of the torrid zone, besides the curious and useful traveller's tree. palms are found in dense and beautiful groves; and among them is the exquisite water-palm, or lattice leaf-plant. in the animal kingdom madagascar possesses some remarkable forms; as, for instance, the makis, or half-ape, and the black parrot. the population consists of four distinct races: the kaffirs, who inhabit the south; the negroes, who dwell in the west; the arabs in the east; and in the interior the malays, among whom the hovas are the most numerous and the most civilized. * * * * * tamatave, when visited by madame pfeiffer looked like a poor but very large village, with between four and five thousand inhabitants. of late years, however, it has grown into a place of much commercial importance. there are some decent houses; but the natives live chiefly in small huts, which are scattered over a wide area, with scarcely any attempt at regularity of arrangement. these huts are supported on piles from six to ten feet high. they are built of wood or of bamboo, thatched with long grass or palm-leaves; and they contain only one room, of which the fireplace occupies a disproportionate share. windows are wanting, but light and air are admitted through two opposite doors. the bazaar is situated in the middle of the village, on an irregular piece of ground, and is distinguished alike by its dirt and poverty. the articles exposed for sale are only a supply of beef, some sugar-cane, rice, and a few fruits; and the whole stock of one of the dealers would be dear at a couple of shillings. the oxen are slaughtered on the spot, and their flesh sold in thick hunches, with the skin, which is esteemed a great delicacy. meat is not bought according to weight, but the size of each piece is measured by the eye. the tamatavians are principally malagasys; and, physically, their appearance does not recommend them. they have wide mouths, with thick lips; their noses are broad and flat; their chins protrude; their cheek- bones are disagreeably prominent. their complexion may be any shade of a muddy brown. generally, their teeth are regular, and very white; but against this redeeming trait must be put their hideous hair, which is coal-black, very long, very woolly, and very coarse. when worn in all its natural amplitude, its effect is curiously disagreeable. the face seems lost in a "boundless convexity" of thick frizzled hair, which stands out in every direction. but, usually, the men cut their hair quite short at the back of the head, leaving only a length of six or eight inches in front, which stands upright, like a hedge of wool. much pride is felt in their "head of hair" by the women, and even by some of the men; and, unwilling to shorten so ornamental an appendage, they plait it into numerous little tails. some coquettishly allow these tails to droop all about their head; others twist them together into a band or bunch, covering the top of the head like a cap. no wonder that much time is spent in the preparation of so complex a head-gear; but then, on the other hand, when once made up it will last for several days. now as to the costume of these interesting semi-savages. their articles of clothing are two in number--the _sadik_ and the _simbre_. the former, which by many natives is considered quite sufficient, is a strip of cloth worn round the loins. the simbre is a piece of white stuff, about four yards long and three broad, which is worn much like a toga. as it is constantly coming loose, and every minute needing adjustment, it is an exceedingly troublesome though not ungraceful garment, keeping one hand of the wearer almost constantly employed. males and females wear the same attire, except that the latter indulge in a little more drapery, and often add a third article--a short tight jacket, called _kanezu_. simple as is the clothing of the malagasy, their food is not less simple. at every meal, rice and anana are the principal or only dishes. anana is a vegetable very much like spinach, of a by no means disagreeable flavour in itself, but not savoury when cooked with rancid fat. fish is sometimes eaten, but not often--for indolence is a great malagasy quality--by those who dwell on the borders of rivers or on the sea-shore; meat and poultry, though both are cheap, are eaten only on special occasions. the natives partake of two meals--one in the morning, the other in the evening. the rice and anana are washed down with _ranugang_, or rice-water, thus prepared: rice is boiled in a vessel, and purposely burned, until a crust forms at the bottom. the water is poured on, and allowed to boil. the water in colour resembles pale coffee, and in taste is abominable to a european palate. the natives, however, esteem it highly, and not only drink the water, but eat the crust. * * * * * one of the great ceremonies of madagascar, the royal bath-feast, is described by madame pfeiffer. it is celebrated on the malagasy new-year's day, and has some curious features. on the eve, all the high officers, nobles, and chiefs are invited to court; and assembling in a great hall, partake of a dish of rice, which is handed round to each guest with much solemnity that he may take a pinch with his fingers and eat. next day, all reassemble in the same place; and the queen steps behind a curtain, which hangs in a corner of the room, undresses, and submits to copious ablutions. assuming her clothes, she comes forward, holding in her hand an ox-horn that has been filled with water from her bath; and this she sprinkles over the assembled company--reserving a portion for the soldiers drawn up on parade beneath her window. throughout the country this day is an occasion of festivity, and dancing, singing, and feasting are kept up till a late hour. nor does the revel end then; it is prolonged for eight days. the people on the first day are accustomed to kill as many oxen as will supply them with meat for the whole period; and no man who possesses a herd, however small, fails to kill at least one for this annual celebration. the poor exchange rice, and tobacco, and several potatoes, for pieces of meat. these pieces are long thin strips; and being salted, and laid one upon another, they keep tolerably well until the eighth day. madame pfeiffer had an opportunity of witnessing the dances, but did not find them very interesting. some girls beat a little stick with all their might against a thick stem of bamboo; while others sang, or rather howled, at their highest and loudest pitch. then two of the ebony beauties stepped forward, and began to move slowly to and fro on a small space of ground, half lifting their arms, and turning their hands, first outwards, and then towards their sides. next, one of the men made his _debut_. he tripped about much in the same style as the dusky _danseuses_, only with greater energy; and each time he approached any of the women or girls, he made gestures expressive of his love and admiration. * * * * * our traveller obtained permission to enter into the interior of the island, and to visit antananarivo, { } the capital. as she approached it, she could see it picturesquely planted on a high hill that rose out of the broad and fertile inland plain; and after a pleasant journey through rich and beautiful scenery, she came upon the suburbs, which enclose it on all sides. the suburbs at first were villages; but they have gradually expanded until they have been formed into a compact aggregate. most of the houses are built of earth or clay; but those belonging to the city must, by royal decree, be constructed of planks, or at least of bamboo. they are all of a larger size than the dwellings of the villagers; are much cleaner, and kept in better condition. the roofs are very high and steep, with long poles reared at each end by way of ornament. many houses, and sometimes groups of three or four houses, are surrounded by low ramparts of earth, apparently for no other purpose than to separate the courtyards from the neighbouring tenements. the streets and squares are all very irregularly built: the houses are not placed in rows, but in clusters,--some at the foot of the hill, others on its slopes. the royal palace crowns the summit. madame pfeiffer expressing her surprise at the number of lightning-conductors that everywhere appeared, was informed that perhaps in no other part of the world were thunderstorms so frequent or so fatal. she was told that, at antananarivo, about three hundred people were killed by lightning every year. the interior of the town was in appearance exactly like one of the suburbs, except that the houses were built of planks or of bamboo. at the time of madame pfeiffer's visit, the sovereign of madagascar was queen ranavala, memorable for her sanguinary propensities, her hatred of europeans, and her persecution of the christian converts. it proves the extraordinary power of fascination which our traveller possessed, that she obtained from this feminine despot so many concessions--being allowed to travel about the island with comparative freedom, and being even admitted to the royal presence. the latter incident is thus described:-- towards four o'clock in the afternoon her bearers carried madame pfeiffer to the palace, over the door of which a great gilded eagle expands its wings. according to rule, in stepping across the threshold the visitor put her right foot foremost; and this ceremony she also observed on entering, through a second gateway, the spacious courtyard in front of the palace. here the queen was visible, being seated on a balcony on the first story, and madame pfeiffer and her attendants were directed to stand in a row in the courtyard opposite to her. under the balcony some soldiers were going through divers evolutions, which concluded, comically enough, by suddenly lifting up the right foot as if it had been stung by a wasp. the queen was attired in a wide silk simbre, and wore on her head a large golden crown. though she sat in the shade, a very ample umbrella of crimson silk--throughout the east a sign of royal dignity--was held over her head. she was of rather dark complexion, strongly and even sturdily built, and, though seventy-five years of age, remarkably healthy and active. on her right stood her son, prince rakoto; and on her left, her adopted son, prince ramboasalama. behind her were gathered nephews, nieces, and other relatives, and the dignitaries and grandees of her kingdom. the minister who had conducted madame pfeiffer and her companion--m. lambert, a french adventurer, who played a conspicuous part in the affairs of madagascar--addressed a short speech to the queen; after which the visitors had to bow thrice, and to repeat the words, "esaratsara tombokoc" (we salute you cordially); to which she replied, "esaratsara" (we salute you). they then turned to the left to salute king radama's tomb, which was close at hand, with three similar bows; afterwards returning to their former position in front of the balcony, and making three more. m. lambert next held up a gold piece of eighty francs value, and placed it in the hands of the minister who had introduced them. this gift, which is expected from every stranger when first presented, is called "monosina." the queen then asked m. lambert if he wished to put any question to her, or if he needed anything, and also addressed a remark or two to madame pfeiffer. the bowings and greetings were then resumed; obeisance was paid to king radama's monument; and the visitors, as they retired, were again cautioned not to put the left foot first over the threshold. the royal palace is (or was) a very large timber building, consisting of a ground-floor and two stories, surmounted by a singularly high-pitched roof. each story is surrounded by a broad gallery. the roof is supported on wooden pillars, eighty feet high, and rises forty feet above them, resting in the centre on a pillar not less than a hundred and twenty feet in height. all these columns are fashioned each from a single trunk; and when it is considered, says our authority, that the forests containing trees of sufficient size for this purpose lie fifty or sixty miles from the capital, that the roads are nowhere paved, and in some places are quite impassable, and that all the pillars are dragged to the capital without the help of a beast of burden or any single machine, and are afterwards wrought and set up with the simplest tools, the erection of this palace may justly be called a gigantic undertaking, and the palace itself ranked among the wonders of the world. the government of madagascar has always been draconian in its severity, and the penalty exacted for almost every offence is blood. some of the unfortunates are burned; others are hurled over a high rock; others buried alive; others scalded to death with boiling water; others killed with the spear; others sewn up alive in mats, and left to perish of hunger and corruption; and others beheaded. recourse is not unfrequently had to poison, which is used as a kind of ordeal or test. this is applicable to all classes; and as any one may accuse another, on depositing a certain sum of money,--and as, moreover, no accused person is allowed to defend himself,--the ordeal does not fall into disrepute for want of use. if the accused endures it without perishing, a third part of the deposit is awarded to him, a third part goes to the court, and the remainder is returned to the accuser. but if the accused die, his guilt is considered to have been established, and the accuser receives back the whole of his money. the poisoning process takes place as follows:-- the material employed is obtained from the kernel of a fruit as large as a peach, called the _tanghinia venenifera_. the lampi-tanghini, or person who administers the poison, announces to the accused the day on which the perilous dose is to be swallowed. for eight-and-forty hours before the prescribed time he is allowed to eat very little, and for the last twenty-four hours nothing at all. his friends accompany him to the poisoner's house. there he undresses, and takes oath that he has had no recourse to magic. the lampi-tanghini then scrapes away as much powder from the kernel with a knife as he judges necessary for the trial. before administering the dose, he asks the accused if he confesses his crime; which the accused never does, because under any circumstances he would have to swallow the poison. the said poison is spread upon three little pieces of skin, each about an inch in size, cut from the back of a plump fowl. these he rolls together, and administers to the supposed culprit. "in former days," says madame pfeiffer, "almost every person who was subjected to this ordeal died in great agony; but for the last ten years any one not condemned by the queen herself to take the tanghin, is allowed to make use of the following antidote. as soon as he has taken the poison, his friends make him drink rice-water in such quantities that his whole body sometimes swells visibly, and quick and violent vomiting is brought on. if the poisoned man be fortunate enough to get rid not only of the poison, but of the three little skins (which latter must be returned uninjured), he is declared innocent, and his relations carry him home in triumph, with songs and rejoicings. but if one of the pieces of skin should fail to reappear, or if it be at all injured, his life is forfeited, and he is executed with the spear, or by some other means." { } * * * * * during madame pfeiffer's stay at antananarivo a conspiracy broke out, provoked by the queen's cruelty. it failed, however, in its object; and those concerned in it were mercilessly punished. the christians became anew exposed to the suspicions and wrath of ranavala; and madame pfeiffer and her companions found themselves in a position of great peril. the royal council debated vehemently the question, whether they should be put to death? and this being answered in the affirmative, what death they should die? happily, prince rakoto interfered, pointing out that the murder of europeans would not be allowed to pass unavenged, but would bring down upon madagascar the fleets and armies of the great european powers. this argument finally prevailed; and madame pfeiffer and the other europeans, six in all, then in antananarivo, were ordered to quit it immediately. they were only too thankful to escape with their lives, and within an hour were on their way to tamatave, escorted by seventy malagasy soldiers. they had good cause to congratulate themselves on their escape, for on the very morning of their departure ten christians had been put to death with the most terrible tortures. the journey to tamatave was not without its dangers and difficulties, and madame pfeiffer, who had been attacked with fever, suffered severely. the escort purposely delayed them on the road; so that, instead of reaching the coast in eight days, the time actually occupied was three-and-fifty. this was the more serious, because the road ran through low-lying and malarious districts. in the most unhealthy spots, moreover, the travellers were left in wretched huts for a whole week, or even two weeks; and frequently, when madame pfeiffer was groaning in a violent excess of fever, the brutal soldiers dragged her from her miserable couch, and compelled her to continue her journey. at length, on the th of september, she arrived at tamatave; broken-down and unutterably weary and worn, but still alive. ill as she was, she gladly embarked on board a ship which was about to sail for the mauritius; and reaching that pleasant island on the nd, met with a hearty welcome from her friends--to whom, indeed, she was as one who had been dead and was alive again. the mental and physical sufferings she had undergone, combined with the peculiar effects of the fever, now brought on an illness of so serious a character that for long the doctors doubted whether her recovery was possible. on her sixtieth birthday, the th of october, they pronounced the brave lady out of danger; but, in fact, her constitution had received a fatal shock. the fever became intermittent in its attacks, but it never wholly left her; though she continued, with unabated energy and liveliness, to lay down plans for fresh expeditions. she had made all her preparations for a voyage to australia, when a return of her disease, in february , compelled her to renounce her intention, and to direct her steps homeward. early in the month of june she arrived in london, where she remained for a few weeks. thence she repaired to berlin. her strength was now declining day by day, though at first she seemed to regard her illness as only temporary, and against the increasing physical weakness her mind struggled with its usual activity. about september, she evinced a keen anxiety to behold her home once more,--evidently having arrived at a conviction that her end was near. she was carefully conveyed to vienna, and received into the house of her brother, charles reyer; where, at first, the influence of her native air had an invigorating effect. this gave way after a week or two, and her illness returned with augmented force. during the last days of her life, opiates were administered to relieve her sufferings; and in the night between the th and th of october she passed away peacefully, and apparently without pain,--leaving behind her the memory of a woman of matchless intrepidity, surprising energy, and heroic fixity of purpose. notes. { } since madame pfeiffer's time this mode of self-torture has been prohibited by the british government. { } that is, the "city of a thousand towns." { } we give madame pfeiffer's account, as an illustration of the old ways of madagascar society. but the poison-ordeal has of late been abandoned, owing to christian influence. (images generously made available by the internet archive.) the son of a servant by august strindberg author of "the inferno," "zones of the spirit," etc. translated by claud field with an introduction by henry vacher-burch g.p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press contents i. fear and hunger ii. breaking-in iii. away from home iv. intercourse with the lower classes v. contact with the upper classes vi. the school of the cross vii. first love viii. the spring thaw ix. with strangers x. character and destiny august strindberg as novelist _from the publication of "the son of a servant" to "the inferno"_ ( - ) a celebrated statesman is said to have described the biography of a cardinal as being like the judgment day. in reading august strindberg's autobiographical writings, as, for example, his _inferno_, and the book for which this study is a preface, we must remember that he portrays his own judgment day. and as his works have come but lately before the great british public, it may be well to consider what attitude should be adopted towards the amazing candour of his self-revelation. in most provinces of life other than the comprehension of our fellows, the art of understanding is making great progress. we comprehend new phenomena without the old strain upon our capacity for readjusting our point of view. but do we equally well understand our fellow-being whose way of life is not ours? we are patient towards new phases of philosophy, new discoveries in science, new sociological facts, observed in other lands; but in considering an abnormal type of man or woman, hasty judgment or a too contracted outlook is still liable to cloud the judgment. now, it is obvious that if we would understand any worker who has accomplished what his contemporaries could only attempt to do, we must have a sufficiently wide knowledge of his work. neither the inconsequent gossip attaching to such a personality, nor the chance perusal of a problem-play, affords an adequate basis for arriving at a true estimate of the man. few writers demand, to the same degree as august strindberg, those graces of judgment, patience, and reverence. and for this reason first of all: most of us live sheltered lives. they are few who stand in the heart of the storm made by europe's progress. especially is this true in southern europe, where tradition holds its secular sway, where such a moulding energy as constitutional practice exerts its influence over social life, where the aims and ends of human attainment are defined and sanctioned by a consciousness developing with the advancement of civilisation. there is often engendered under such conditions a nervous impatience towards those who, judged from behind the sheltered walls of orthodoxy, are more or less exposed to the criticism of their fellows. the fault lies in yielding to this impatience. the proof that august strindberg was of the few who must stand in the open, and suffer the full force of all the winds that blow, cannot now be attempted. our sole aim must be to enable the reader of _the son of a servant_ to take up a sympathetic standpoint. this book forms _part_ of the autobiography of a most gifted man, through whose life the fierce winds of europe's opinions blew into various expression. the second reason for the exercise of impartiality, is that strindberg's recent death has led to the circulation through europe of certain phrases which are liable to displace the balance of judgment in reviewing his life and work. there are passages in his writings, and phases of his autobiography, that raise questions of abnormal psychology. hence pathological terms are used to represent the whole man and his work. again, from the jargon of a prevalent nietzschianism a doctrine at once like and unlike the teaching of that solitary thinker descriptions of the superman are borrowed, and with these strindberg is labelled. or again, certain incidents in his domestic affairs are seized upon to prove him a decadent libertine. the facts of this book, _the son of a servant_, are true: strindberg lived them. his _inferno_, in like manner, is a transcript of a period of his life. and if these books are read as they should be read, they are neither more nor less than the records of the progress of a most gifted life along the dolorous way. the present volume is the record of the early years of strindberg's life, and the story is incomparably told. for the sympathetic reader it will represent the history of a temperament to which the world could not come in easy fashion, and for which circumstances had contrived a world where it would encounter at each step tremendous difficulties. we find in strindberg the consciousness of vast powers thwarted by neglect, by misunderstanding, and by the shackles of an ignominious parentage. he sets out on life as a viking, sailing the trackless seas that beat upon the shores of unknown lands, where he must take the sword to establish his rights of venture, and write fresh pages in some heimskringla of a later age. a calm reading of the book may induce us to suggest that this is often the fate of genius. the man of great endowments is made to walk where hardship lies on every side. and though a recognition of the hardness of the way is something, it must be borne in mind that while some are able to pass along it in serenity, others face it in tears, and others again in terrible revolt. revolt was the only possible attitude for the son of a servant. how true this is may be realised by recalling the fact that towards the end of the same year in which _the son of a servant_ appeared, viz., , our author published the second part of a series of stories entitled _marriage_, in which that relationship is subjected to criticism more intense than is to be found in any of the many volumes devoted to this subject in a generation eminently given to this form of criticism. side by side with this fact should be set the contents of one such story from his pen. here he has etched, with acid that bites deeper than that of the worker in metal, the story of a woman's pettiness and inhumanity towards the husband who loves her. by his art her weakness is made to dominate every detail of the domestic _ménage_, and what was once a woman now appears to be the spirit of neglect, whose habitation is garnished with dust and dead flowers. her great weakness calls to the man's pity, and we are told how, into this disorder, he brings the joy of christmastide, and the whispered words of life, like a wind from some flower-clad hill. the natural conclusion, as regards both his autobiographical works and his volume of stories, is this: that strindberg finds the ideal to be a scourge, and not a pegasus. and this is a distinction that sharply divides man from man, whether endowed for the attainment of saintship, for the apprehension of the vision, or with powers that enable him to wander far over the worlds of thought. had strindberg intended to produce some more finished work to qualify the opinion concerning his pessimism, he could have done no better than write the novel that comes next in the order of his works, _hemso folk_, which was given to the world in the year . it is the first of his novels to draw on the natural beauties of the rocky coast and many tiny islands which make up the splendour of the fjord whose crown is stockholm, and which, continuing north and south, provide fascinating retreats, still unspoilt and unexplored by the commercial agent. it may be noticed here that this northern land of faery has not long since found its way into english literature through a story by mr. algernon blackwood, in his interesting volume, _john silence_. the adequate description of this region was reserved for august strindberg, and among his prose writings there are none to compare with those that have been inspired by the islands and coast he delighted in. among them, _hemso folk_ ranks first. in this work he shows his mastery, not of self-portraiture, but of the portraiture of other men, and his characters are painted with a mastery of subject and material which in a sister art would cause one to think of velasquez. against a background of sea and sky stand the figures of a schoolmaster and a priest--the portraits of both depicted with the highest art,--and throughout the book may be heard the authentic speech of the soul of strindberg's north. he may truly be claimed to be most swedish here; but he may also with equal truth be claimed to be most universal, since _hemso folk_ is true for all time, and in all places. in the following year ( ) was published another volume of tales by strindberg, entitled _life on the skerries_, and again the sea, and the sun, and the life of men who commune with the great waters are the sources of his virile inspiration. other novels of a like kind were written later, but at this hour of his life he yielded to the command of the idea--a voice which called him more strongly than did the magnificence of nature, whose painter he could be when he had respite from the whirlwind. _tschandala_, his next book, was the fruit of a holiday in the country. this novel was written to show a man of uncommon powers of mind in the toils of inferior folk--the proletariat of soul bent on the ruin of the elect in soul. poverty keeps him in chains. he is forced to deal with neighbours of varying degrees of degradation. a landlady deceives her husband for the sake of a vagrant lover. this person attempts to subordinate the uncommon man; who, however, discovers that he can be dominated through his superstitious fears. he is enticed one night into a field, where the projections from a lantern, imagined as supernatural beings, so play upon his fears that he dies from fright. in this book we evidently have the experimental upsurging of his imagination: supposing himself the victim of a sordid environment, he can see with unveiled eyes what might happen to him. realistic in his apprehension of outward details, he sees the idea in its vaguest proportions. this creates, this informs his pictures of nature; this also makes his heaven and hell. inasmuch as a similar method is used by certain modern novelists, the curious phrase "a novel of ideas" has been coined. as though it were a surprising feature to find an idea expressed in novels! and not rarely such works are said to be lacking in warmth, because they are too full of thought. after _tschandala_ come two or three novels of distinctly controversial character--books of especial value in essaying an understanding of strindberg's mind. the pressure of ideas from many quarters of europe was again upon him, and caused him to undertake long and desperate pilgrimages. _in the offing_ and _to damascus_ are the suggestive titles of these books. seeing, however, that a detailed sketch of the evolution of strindberg's opinions is not at this moment practicable, we merely mention these works, and the years and . meanwhile our author has passed through two intervals in his life of a more peaceful character than was usually his lot. the first of these was spent among his favourite scenes in the vicinity of the gulf of bothnia, where he lived like a hermit, writing poetry and painting pictures. he might have become a painter of some note, had it not come so natural to him to use the pen. at any rate, during the time that he wielded the brush he put on canvas the scenes which he succeeded in reproducing so marvellously in his written works. the other period of respite was during a visit to ola hansson, a swedish writer of rare distinction, then living near berlin. the author of _sensitiva amorosa_ was the antithesis of strindberg. a consummate artist, with a wife of remarkable intellectual power, the two enfolded him in their peace, and he was able to give full expression to his creative faculty. strindberg now enters upon the period which culminates in the writing of _the inferno_. from the peace of ola hansson's home he set out on his wedding tour, and during the early part of it came over to england. in a remarkable communication to a danish man of letters, strindberg answers many questions concerning his personal tastes, among them several regarding his english predilections. we may imagine them present to him as he looks upon the sleeping city from london bridge, in the greyness of a sunday morning, after a journey from gravesend. his favourite english writer is dickens, and of his works the most admired is _little dorrit_. a novel written in the period described in _the son of a servant_, and which first brought him fame, was inspired by the reading of _david copperfield_! his favourite painter is turner. these little sidelights upon the personality of the man are very interesting, throwing into relief as they do the view of him adopted by the writer of the foregoing pages. london, however, he disliked, and a crisis in health compelled him to leave for paris, from which moment begins his journey through the "inferno." a play of strindberg's has been performed in paris--the height of his ambition. once attained, it was no longer to be desired; accordingly, he turned from the theatre to science. he takes from their hiding-place some chemical apparatus he had purchased long before. drawing the blinds of his room he bums pure sulphur until he believes that he has discovered in it the presence of carbon. his sentences are written in terse, swift style. a page or two of the book is turned over, and we find his pen obeying the impulse of his penetrating sight.... separation from his wife; the bells of christmas; his visit to a hospital, and the people he sees there, begin to occupy him. gratitude to the nursing sister, and the reaching forward of his mind into the realm of the alchemical significance of his chemical studies, arouse in him a spirit of mystical asceticism. pages of _the inferno_ might be cited to show their resemblance to documents which have come to us from the egyptian desert, or from the narrow cell of a recluse. theirs is the search for a spiritual union: his is the quest of a negation of self, that his science might be without fault. a notion of destiny is grafted upon his mysticism of science. he wants to be led, as did the ascetic, though for him the goal is lore hidden from mortal eyes. he now happens upon confirmation of his scientific curiosity, in the writings of an older chemist. then he meets with balzac's novel _séraphita_, and a new ecstasy is added to his outreaching towards the knowledge he aspires to. vivid temptations assail him; he materialises as objective personalities the powers that appear to place obstacles in the way of his researches. again we observe the same phenomena as in the soul of the monk, yet always with this difference: strindberg is the monk of science. curious little experiences--that others would brush into that great dust-bin, chance--are examined with a rare simplicity to see if they may hold significance for the order of his life. these details accumulate as we turn the pages of _the inferno_, and force one to the conclusion that they are akin to the material which we have only lately begun to study as phenomena peculiar to the psychology of the religious life. their summary inclusion under the heading of "abnormal psychology" will, however, lead to a shallow interpretation of strindberg. the voluntary isolation of himself from the relations of life and the world plays havoc with his health. soon he is established under a doctor's care in a little southern swedish town, with its memories of smugglers and pirates; and he immediately likens the doctor's house to a buddhist cloister. the combination is typically strindbergian! he begins to be haunted with the terrible suspicion that he is being plotted against. nature is exacting heavy dues from his overwrought system. after thirty days' treatment he leaves the establishment with the reflection that whom the lord loveth he chasteneth. dante wrote his divine comedy; strindberg his mortal comedy. there are three great stages in each, and the literary vehicle of their perilous journeyings is aptly chosen. readers of the wonderful florentine will recall the familiar words: "surge ai mortali per diverse foci la lucerna de mondo."[ ] and they have found deeper content in strindberg's self-discoveries. the first part of his _inferno_ tells of his purgatory; the second part closes with the poignant question, whither? if, for a moment, we step beyond the period of his life with which this study deals, we shall find him telling of his paradise in a mystery-play entitled _advent_, where he, too, had a starry vision of "un simplice lume," a simple flame that ingathers the many and scattered gleams of the universe's revelation. his guide through hell is swedenborg. once more the note is that of the anchorite; for at the outset of his acceptance of swedenborg's guidance he is tempted to believe that even his guide's spiritual teaching may weaken his belief in a god who chastens. he desires to deny himself the gratification of the sight of his little daughter, because he appears to consider her prattle, that breaks into the web of his contemplation, to be the instrument of a strange power. from step to step he goes until his faith is childlike as a peasant's. how he is hurled again into the depths of his own hell, the closing pages of his book will tell us. whatever views the reader may hold, it seems impossible that he should see in this mortal comedy the utterances of deranged genius. rather will his charity of judgment have led him to a better understanding of one who listened to the winds that blow through europe, and was buffeted by their violence. we may close this brief study by asking the question: what, then, is strindberg's legacy for the advancement of art, as found in this decade of his life? it will surely be seen that strindberg's realism is of a peculiarly personal kind. whatever his sympathy with zola may have been, or zola's with him, strindberg has never confounded journalism with art. he has also recognised in his novels that there is a difference between the function of the camera and the eye of the artist. more than this--and it is important if strindberg is to be understood--his realism has always been subservient to the idea. and it is this power that has essentially rendered strindberg's realism peculiarly personal; that is to say, incapable of being copied or forming a school. it can only be used by such as he who, standing in the maelstrom of ideas, is fashioned and attuned by the whirling storms, as they strive for complete expression. not always, however, is he subservient to their dominion. sometimes cast down from the high places whence the multitudinous voice can be heard, he may say and do that which raises fierce criticism. a patient study of strindberg will lay bare such matters; but their discovery must not blind our eyes to the truth that these are moments of insensitiveness towards, or rejection of, the majestic power which is ceaselessly sculpturing our highest western civilisation. henry vacher-burch. [ ] "there riseth up to mortals through diverse trials the light of the world." the son of a servant i fear and hunger in the third story of a large house near the clara church in stockholm, the son of the shipping agent and the servant-maid awoke to self-consciousness. the child's first impressions were, as he remembered afterwards, fear and hunger. he feared the darkness and blows, he feared to fall, to knock himself against something, or to go in the streets. he feared the fists of his brothers, the roughness of the servant-girl, the scolding of his grandmother, the rod of his mother, and his father's cane. he was afraid of the general's man-servant, who lived on the ground-floor, with his skull-cap and large hedge-scissors; he feared the landlord's deputy, when he played in the courtyard with the dust-bin; he feared the landlord, who was a magistrate. above him loomed a hierarchy of authorities wielding various rights, from the right of seniority of his brothers to the supreme tribunal of his father. and yet above his father was the deputy-landlord, who always threatened him with the landlord. this last was generally invisible, because he lived in the country, and perhaps, for that reason, was the most feared of all. but again, above all, even above the man-servant with the skull-cap, was the general, especially when he sallied forth in uniform wearing his plumed three-cornered hat. the child did not know what a king looked like, but he knew that the general went to the king. the servant-maids also used to tell stories of the king, and showed the child his picture. his mother generally prayed to god in the evening, but the child could form no distinct idea of god, except that he must certainly be higher than the king. this tendency to fear was probably not the child's own peculiarity, but due to the troubles which his parents had undergone shortly before his birth. and the troubles had been great. three children had been born before their marriage and john soon after it. probably his birth had not been desired, as his father had gone bankrupt just before, so that he came to the light in a now pillaged house, in which was only a bed, a table, and a couple of chairs. about the same time his father's brother had died in a state of enmity with him, because his father would not give up his wife, but, on the contrary, made the tie stronger by marriage. his father was of a reserved nature, which perhaps betokened a strong will. he was an aristocrat by birth and education. there was an old genealogical table which traced his descent to a noble family of the sixteenth century. his paternal ancestors were pastors from zemtland, of norwegian, possibly finnish blood. it had become mixed by emigration. his mother was of german birth, and belonged to a carpenter's family. his father was a grocer in stockholm, a captain of volunteers, a freemason, and adherent of karl johann. john's mother was a poor tailor's daughter, sent into domestic service by her step-father. she had become a waitress when john's father met her. she was democratic by instinct, but she looked up to her husband, because he was of "good family," and she loved him; but whether as deliverer, as husband, or as family-provider, one does not know, and it is difficult to decide. he addressed his man-servant and maid as "thou," and she called him "sir." in spite of his come-down in the world, he did not join the party of malcontents, but fortified himself with religious resignation, saying, "it is god's will," and lived a lonely life at home. but he still cherished the hope of being able to raise himself again. he was, however, fundamentally an aristocrat, even in his habits. his face was of an aristocratic type, beardless, thin-skinned, with hair like louis philippe. he wore glasses, always dressed elegantly, and liked clean linen. the man-servant who cleaned his boots had to wear gloves when doing so, because his hands were too dirty to be put into them. john's mother remained a democrat at heart. her dress was always simple but clean. she wished the children to be clean and tidy, nothing more. she lived on intimate terms with the servants, and punished a child, who had been rude to one of them, upon the bare accusation, without investigation or inquiry. she was always kind to the poor, and however scanty the fare might be at home, a beggar was never sent empty away. her old nurses, four in number, often came to see her, and were received as old friends. the storm of financial trouble had raged severely over the whole family, and its scattered members had crept together like frightened poultry, friends and foes alike, for they felt that they needed one another for mutual protection. an aunt rented two rooms in the house. she was the widow of a famous english discoverer and manufacturer, who had been ruined. she received a pension, on which she lived with two well-educated daughters. she was an aristocrat, having formerly possessed a splendid house, and conversed with celebrities. she loved her brother, though disapproving of his marriage, and had taken care of his children when the storm broke. she wore a lace cap, and the children kissed her hand. she taught them to sit straight on their chairs, to greet people politely, and to express themselves properly. her room had traces of bygone luxury, and contained gifts from many rich friends. it had cushioned rose-wood furniture with embroidered covers in the english style. it was adorned with the picture of her deceased husband dressed as a member of the academy of sciences and wearing the order of gustavus vasa. on the wall there hung a large oil-painting of her father in the uniform of a major of volunteers. this man the children always regarded as a king, for he wore many orders, which later on they knew were freemasonry insignia. the aunt drank tea and read english books. another room was occupied by john's mother's brother, a small trader in the new market, as well as by a cousin, the son of the deceased uncle, a student in the technological institute. in the nursery lived the grandmother. she was a stem old lady who mended hose and blouses, taught the abc, rocked the cradle, and pulled hair. she was religious, and went to early service in the clara church. in the winter she carried a lantern, for there were no gas-lamps at that time. she kept in her own place, and probably loved neither her son-in-law nor his sister. they were too polite for her. he treated her with respect, but not with love. john's father and mother, with seven children and two servants, occupied three rooms. the furniture mostly consisted of tables and beds. children lay on the ironing boards and the chairs, children in the cradles and the beds. the father had no room for himself, although he was constantly at home. he never accepted an invitation from his many business friends, because he could not return it. he never went to the restaurant or the theatre. he had a wound which he concealed and wished to heal. his recreation was the piano. one of the nieces came every other evening and then haydn's symphonies were played _à quatre mains_, later on mozart, but never anything modern. afterwards he had also another recreation as circumstances permitted. he cultivated flowers in window-boxes, but only pelargoniums. why pelargoniums? when john had grown older and his mother was dead, he fancied he always saw her standing by one. she was pale, she had had twelve confinements and suffered from lung-complaint. her face was like the transparent white leaves of the pelargonium with its crimson veins, which grow darker towards the pistil, where they seemed to form an almost black eye, like hers. the father appeared only at meal-times. he was melancholy, weary, strict, serious, but not hard. he seemed severer than he really was, because on his return home he always had to settle a number of things which he could not judge properly. besides, his name was always used to frighten the children. "i will tell papa that," signified a thrashing. it was not exactly a pleasant rôle which fell to his share. towards the mother he was always gentle. he kissed her after every meal and thanked her for the food. this accustomed the children, unjustly enough, to regard her as the giver of all that was good, and the father as the dispenser of all that was evil. they feared him. when the cry "father is coming!" was heard, all the children ran and hid themselves, or rushed to the nursery to be combed and washed. at the table there was deathly silence, and the father spoke only a little. the mother had a nervous temperament. she used to become easily excited, but soon quieted down again. she was relatively content with her life, for she had risen in the social scale, and had improved her position and that of her mother and brother. she drank her coffee in bed in the mornings, and had her nurses, two servants, and her mother to help her. probably she did not over-exert herself. but for the children she played the part of providence itself. she cut overgrown nails, tied up injured fingers, always comforted, quieted, and soothed when the father punished, although she was the official accuser. the children did not like her when she "sneaked," and she did not win their respect. she could be unjust, violent, and punish unseasonably on the bare accusation of a servant; but the children received food and comfort from her, therefore they loved her. the father, on the other hand, always remained a stranger, and was regarded rather as a foe than a friend. that is the thankless position of the father in the family--the provider for all, and the enemy of all. if he came home tired, hungry, and ill-humoured, found the floor only just scoured and the food ill-cooked, and ventured a remark, he received a curt reply. he lived in his own house as if on sufferance, and the children hid away from him. he was less content than his wife, for he had come down in the world, and was obliged to do without things to which he had formerly been accustomed. and he was not pleased when he saw those to whom he had given life and food discontented. but the family is a very imperfect arrangement. it is properly an institution for eating, washing, and ironing, and a very uneconomical one. it consists chiefly of preparations for meals, market-shopping, anxieties about bills, washing, ironing, starching, and scouring. such a lot of bustle for so few persons! the keeper of a restaurant, who serves hundreds, hardly does more. the education consisted of scolding, hair-pulling, and exhortations to obedience. the child heard only of his duties, nothing of his rights. everyone else's wishes carried weight; his were suppressed. he could begin nothing without doing wrong, go nowhere without being in the way, utter no word without disturbing someone. at last he did not dare to move. his highest duty and virtue was to sit on a chair and be quiet. it was always dinned into him that he had no will of his own, and so the foundation of a weak character was laid. later on the cry was, "what will people say?" and thus his will was broken, so that he could never be true to himself, but was forced to depend on the wavering opinions of others, except on the few occasions when he felt his energetic soul work independently of his will. the child was very sensitive. he wept so often that he received a special nickname for doing so. he felt the least remark keenly, and was in perpetual anxiety lest he should do something wrong. he was very awake to injustice, and while he had a high ideal for himself, he narrowly watched the failings of his brothers. when they were unpunished, he felt deeply injured; when they were undeservedly rewarded, his sense of justice suffered. he was accordingly considered envious. he then complained to his mother. sometimes she took his part, but generally she told him not to judge so severely. but they judged him severely, and demanded that he should judge himself severely. therefore he withdrew into himself and became bitter. his reserve and shyness grew on him. he hid himself if he received a word of praise, and took a pleasure in being overlooked. he began to be critical and to take a pleasure in self-torture; he was melancholy and boisterous by turns. his eldest brother was hysterical; if he became vexed during some game, he often had attacks of choking with convulsive laughter. this brother was the mother's favourite, and the second one the father's. in all families there are favourites; it is a fact that one child wins more sympathy than another. john was no one's favourite. he was aware of this, and it troubled him. but the grandmother saw it, and took his part; he read the abc with her and helped her to rock the cradle. but he was not content with this love; he wanted to win his mother; he tried to flatter her, but did it clumsily and was repulsed. strict discipline prevailed in the house; falsehood and disobedience were severely punished. little children often tell falsehoods because of defective memories. a child is asked, "did you do it?" it happened only two hours ago, and his memory does not reach back so far. since the act appeared an indifferent matter to the child, he paid it no attention. therefore little children can lie unconsciously, and this fact should be remembered. they also easily lie out of self-defence; they know that a "no" can free them from punishment, and a "yes" bring a thrashing. they can also lie in order to win an advantage. the earliest discovery of an awakening consciousness is that a well-directed "yes" or "no" is profitable to it. the ugliest feature of childish untruthfulness is when they accuse one another. they know that a misdeed must be visited by punishing someone or other, and a scapegoat has to be found. that is a great mistake in education. such punishment is pure revenge, and in such cases is itself a new wrong. the certainty that every misdeed will be punished makes the child afraid of being accused of it, and john was in a perpetual state of anxiety lest some such act should be discovered. one day, during the mid-day meal, his father examined his sister's wine-flask. it was empty. "who has drunk the wine?" he asked, looking round the circle. no one answered, but john blushed. "it is you, then," said his father. john, who had never noticed where the wine-flask was hidden, burst into tears and sobbed, "i didn't drink the wine." "then you lie too. when dinner is over, you will get something." the thought of what he would get when dinner was over, as well as the continued remarks about "john's secretiveness," caused his tears to flow without pause. they rose from the table. "come here," said his father, and went into the bedroom. his mother followed. "ask father for forgiveness," she said. his father had taken out the stick from behind the looking-glass. "dear papa, forgive me!" the innocent child exclaimed. but now it was too late. he had confessed the theft, and his mother assisted at the execution. he howled from rage and pain, but chiefly from a sense of humiliation. "ask papa now for forgiveness," said his mother. the child looked at her and despised her. he felt lonely, deserted by her to whom he had always fled to find comfort and compassion, but so seldom justice. "dear papa, forgive," he said, with compressed and lying lips. and then he stole out into the kitchen to louise the nursery-maid, who used to comb and wash him, and sobbed his grief out in her apron. "what have you done, john?" she asked sympathetically. "nothing," he answered. "i have done nothing." the mother came out. "what does john say?" she asked louise. "he says that he didn't do it." "is he lying still?" and john was fetched in again to be tortured into the admission of what he had never done. splendid, moral institution! sacred family! divinely appointed, unassailable, where citizens are to be educated in truth and virtue! thou art supposed to be the home of the virtues, where innocent children are tortured into their first falsehood, where wills are broken by tyranny, and self-respect killed by narrow egoism. family! thou art the home of all social evil, a charitable institution for comfortable women, an anchorage for house-fathers, and a hell for children. after this john lived in perpetual disquiet. he dared not confide in his mother, or louise, still less his brothers, and least of all his father. enemies everywhere! god he knew only through hymns. he was an atheist, as children are, but in the dark, like savages and animals, he feared evil spirits. "who drank the wine?" he asked himself; who was the guilty one for whom he suffered? new impressions and anxieties caused him to forget the question, but the unjust treatment remained in his memory. he had lost the confidence of his parents, the regard of his brothers and sisters, the favour of his aunt; his grandmother said nothing. perhaps she inferred his innocence on other grounds, for she did not scold him, and was silent. she had nothing to say. he felt himself disgraced--punished for lying, which was so abominated in the household, and for theft, a word which could not be mentioned, deprived of household rights, suspected and despised by his brothers because he had been caught. all these consequences, which were painful and real for him, sprang out of something which never existed--his guilt. * * * * * it was not actual poverty which reigned in the house, but there was overcrowding. baptisms, and burials followed each other in rapid succession. sometimes there were two baptisms without a burial between them. the food was carefully distributed, and was not exactly nourishing. they had meat only on sundays, but john grew sturdy and was tall for his age. he used now to be sent to play in the "court," a well-like, stone-paved area in which the sun never shone. the dust-bin which resembled an old bureau with a flap-cover and a coating of tar, but burst, stood on four legs by the wall. here slop-pails were emptied and rubbish thrown, and through the cracks a black stream flowed over the court. great rats lurked under the dust-bin and looked out now and then, scurrying off to hide themselves in the cellar. woodsheds and closets lined one side of the court. here there was dampness, darkness, and an evil smell. john's first attempt to scrape out the sand between the great paving-stones was frustrated by the irascible landlord's deputy. the latter had a son with whom john played, but never felt safe. the boy was inferior to him in physical strength and intelligence, but when disputes arose he used to appeal to his father. his superiority consisted in having an authority behind him. the baron on the ground-floor had a staircase with iron banisters. john liked playing on it, but all attempts to climb on the balustrade were hindered by the servant who rushed out. he was strictly forbidden to go out in the street. but when he looked through the doorway, and saw the churchyard gate, he heard the children playing there. he had no longing to be with them, for he feared children; looking down the street, he saw the clara lake and the drawbridges. that looked novel and mysterious, but he feared the water. on quiet winter evenings he had heard cries for help from drowning people. these, indeed, were often heard. as they were sitting by the lamp in the nursery, one of the servant-maids would say, "hush!" and all would listen while long, continuous cries would be heard.... "now someone is drowning," one of the girls said. they listened till all was still, and then told stories of others who had been drowned. the nursery looked towards the courtyard, and through the window one saw a zinc roof and a pair of attics in which stood a quantity of old disused furniture and other household stuff. this furniture, without any people to use it, had a weird effect. the servants said that the attics were haunted. what "haunted" meant they could not exactly say, only that it had something to do with dead men going about. thus are we all brought up by the lower classes. it is an involuntary revenge which they take by inoculating our children with superstitions which we have cast aside. perhaps this is what hinders development so much, while it somewhat obliterates the distinction between the classes. why does a mother let this most important duty slip from her hands--a mother who is supported by the father in order that she may educate her children? john's mother only occasionally said his evening prayer with him; generally it was the maidservant. the latter had taught him an old catholic prayer which ran as follows: "through our house an angel goes, in each hand a light he shows." the other rooms looked out on the clara churchyard. above the lime-trees the nave of the church rose like a mountain, and on the mountain sat the giant with a copper hat, who kept up a never-ceasing clamour in order to announce the flight of time. he sounded the quarter hours in soprano, and the hours in bass. he rang for early morning prayer with a tinkling sound, for matins at eight o'clock and vespers at seven. he rang thrice during the forenoon, and four times during the afternoon. he chimed all the hours from ten till four at night; he tolled in the middle of the week at funerals, and often, at the time i speak of, during the cholera epidemic. on sundays he rang so much that the whole family was nearly reduced to tears, and no one could hear what the other said. the chiming at night, when john lay awake, was weird; but worst of all was the ringing of an alarm when a fire broke out. when he heard the deep solemn boom in the middle of the night for the first time he shuddered feverishly and wept. on such occasions the household always awoke, and whisperings were heard: "there is a fire!"--"where?" they counted the strokes, and then went to sleep again; but he kept awake and wept. then his mother came upstairs, tucked him up, and said: "don't be afraid; god protects unfortunate people!" he had never thought that of god before. in the morning the servant-girls read in the papers that there had been a fire in soder, and that two people had been killed. "it was god's will," said the mother. his first awakening to consciousness was mixed with the pealing, chiming, and tolling of bells. all his first thoughts and impressions were accompanied by the ringing for funerals, and the first years of his life were counted out by strokes of the quarter. the effect on him was certainly not cheerful, even if it did not decidedly tell on his nervous system. but who can say? the first years are as important as the nine months which precede them. the recollections of childhood show how the senses first partly awaken and receive the most vivid impressions, how the feelings are moved by the lightest breath, how the faculty of observation first fastens on the most striking outward appearances and, later, on moral relations and qualities, justice and injustice, power and pity. these memories lie in confusion, unformed and undefined, like pictures in a thaumatrope. but when it is made to revolve, they melt together and form a picture, significant or insignificant as the case may be. one day the child sees splendid pictures of emperors and kings in blue and red uniforms, which the servant-girls hang up in the nursery. he sees another representing a building which flies in the air and is full of turks. another time he hears someone read in a newspaper how, in a distant land, they are firing cannon at towns and villages, and remembers many details--for instance, his mother weeping at hearing of poor fishermen driven out of their burning cottages with their children. these pictures and descriptions referred to czar nicholas and napoleon iii., the storming of sebastopol, and the bombardment of the coast of finland. on another occasion his father spends the whole day at home. all the tumblers in the house are placed on the window-ledges. they are filled with sand in which candles are inserted and lit at night. all the rooms are warm and bright. it is bright too in the clara school-house and in the church and the vicarage; the church is full of music. these are the illuminations to celebrate the recovery of king oscar. one day there is a great noise in the kitchen. the bell is rung and his mother called. there stands a man in uniform with a book in his hand and writes. the cook weeps, his mother supplicates and speaks loud, but the man with the helmet speaks still louder. it is the policeman! the cry goes all over the house, and all day long they talk of the police. his father is summoned to the police-station. will he be arrested? no; but he has to pay three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings, because the cook had emptied a utensil in the gutter in the daytime. one afternoon he sees them lighting the lamps in the street. a cousin draws his attention to the fact that they have no oil and no wicks, but only a metal burner. they are the first gas-lamps. for many nights he lies in bed, without getting up by day. he is tired and sleepy. a harsh-voiced man comes to the bed, and says that he must not lay his hands outside the coverlet. they give him evil-tasting stuff with a spoon; he eats nothing. there is whispering in the room, and his mother weeps. then he sits again at the window in the bedroom. bells are tolling the whole day long. green biers are carried over the churchyard. sometimes a dark mass of people stand round a black chest. gravediggers with their spades keep coming and going. he has to wear a copper plate suspended by a blue silk ribbon on his breast, and chew all day at a root. that is the cholera epidemic of . one day he goes a long way with one of the servants--so far that he becomes homesick and cries for his mother. the servant takes him into a house; they sit in a dark kitchen near a green water-butt. he thinks he will never see his home again. but they still go on, past ships and barges, past a gloomy brick house with long high walls behind which prisoners sit. he sees a new church, a new alley lined with trees, a dusty high-road along whose edges dandelions grow. now the servant carries him. at last they come to a great stone building hard by which is a yellow wooden house with a cross, surrounded by a large garden. they see limping, mournful-looking people dressed in white. they reach a great hall where are nothing but beds painted brown, with old women in them. the walls are whitewashed, the old women are white, and the beds are white. there is a very bad smell. they pass by a row of beds, and in the middle of the room stop at a bed on the right side. in it lies a woman younger than the rest with black curly hair confined by a night-cap. she lies half on her back; her face is emaciated, and she wears a white cloth over her head and ears. her thin hands are wrapped up in white bandages and her arms shake ceaselessly so that her knuckles knock against each other. when she sees the child, her arms and knees tremble violently, and she bursts into tears. she kisses his head, but the boy does not feel comfortable. he is shy, and not far from crying himself. "don't you know christina again?" she says; but he does not. then she dries her eyes and describes her sufferings to the servant, who is taking eatables out of a basket. the old women in white now begin to talk in an undertone, and christina begs the servant not to show what she has in the basket, for they are so envious. accordingly the servant pushes surreptitiously a yellow rix-dollar into the psalm-book on the table. the child finds the whole thing tedious. his heart says nothing to him; it does not tell him that he has drunk this woman's milk, which really belonged to another; it does not tell him that he had slept his best sleep on that shrunken bosom, that those shaking arms had cradled, carried, and dandled him; his heart says nothing, for the heart is only a muscle, which pumps blood indifferent as to the source it springs from. but after receiving her last fervent kisses, after bowing to the old women and the nurse, and breathing freely in the courtyard after inhaling the close air of the sick-ward, he becomes somehow conscious of a debt, which can only be paid by perpetual gratitude, a few eatables, and a rix-dollar slipped into a psalm-book, and he feels ashamed at being glad to get away from the brown-painted beds of the sufferers. it was his wet-nurse, who subsequently lay for fifteen years in the same bed, suffering from fits of cramp and wasting disease, till she died. then he received his portrait in a schoolboy's cap, sent back by the directors of the sabbatsberg infirmary, where it had hung for many years. during that time the growing youth had only once a year given her an hour of indescribable joy, and himself one of some uneasiness of conscience, by going to see her. although he had received from her inflammation in his blood, and cramp in his nerves, still he felt he owed her a debt, a representative debt. it was not a personal one, for she had only given him what she had been obliged to sell. the fact that she had been compelled to sell it was the sin of society, and as a member of society he felt himself in a certain degree guilty. sometimes the child went to the churchyard, where everything seemed strange. the vaults with the stone monuments bearing inscriptions and carved figures, the grass on which one might not step, the trees with leaves which one might not touch. one day his uncle plucked a leaf, but the police were instantly on the spot. the great building in the middle was unintelligible to him. people went in and out of it, and one heard singing and music, ringing and chiming. it was mysterious. at the east end was a window with a gilded eye. that was god's eye. he did not understand that, but at any rate it was a large eye which must see far. under the window was a grated cellar-opening. his uncle pointed out to him the polished coffins below. "here," he said, "lives clara the nun." who was she? he did not know, but supposed it must be a ghost. one day he stands in an enormous room and does not know where he is; but it is beautiful, everything in white and gold. music, as if from a hundred pianos, sounds over his head, but he cannot see the instrument or the person who plays it. there stand long rows of benches, and quite in front is a picture, probably of some bible story. two white-winged figures are kneeling, and near them are two large candlesticks. those are probably the angels with the two lights who go about our house. the people on the benches are bowed down as though they were sleeping. "take your caps off," says his uncle, and holds his hat before his face. the boys look round, and see close beside them a strange-looking seat on which are two men in grey mantles and hoods. they have iron chains on their hands and feet, and policemen stand by them. "those are thieves," whispers their uncle. all this oppresses the boy with a sense of weirdness, strangeness, and severity. his brothers also feel it, for they ask their uncle to go, and he complies. strange! such are the impressions made by that form of worship which was intended to symbolise the simple truths of christianity. but it was not like the mild teaching of christ. the sight of the thieves was the worst--in iron chains, and such coats! * * * * * one day, when the sun shines warmly, there is a great stir in the house. articles of furniture are moved from their place, drawers are emptied, clothes are thrown about everywhere. a morning or two after, a waggon comes to take away the things, and so the journey begins. some of the family start in a boat from "the red shop," others go in a cab. near the harbour there is a smell of oil, tar, and coal smoke; the freshly painted steamboats shine in gay colours and their flags flutter in the breeze; drays rattle past the long row of lime-trees; the yellow riding-school stands dusty and dirty near a woodshed. they are going on the water, but first they go to see their father in his office. john is astonished to find him looking cheerful and brisk, joking with the sunburnt steamer captains and laughing in a friendly, pleasant way. indeed, he seems quite youthful, and has a bow and arrows with which the captains amuse themselves by shooting at the window of the riding-school. the office is small, but they can go behind the green partition and drink a glass of porter behind a curtain. the clerks are attentive and polite when his father speaks to them. john had never before seen his father at work, but only known him in the character of a tired, hungry provider for his family, who preferred to live with nine persons in three rooms, than alone in two. he had only seen his father at leisure, eating and reading the paper when he came home in the evening, but never in his official capacity. he admired him, but he felt that he feared him now less, and thought that some day he might come to love him. he fears the water, but before he knows where he is he finds himself sitting in an oval room ornamented in white and gold, and containing red satin sofas. such a splendid room he has never seen before. but everything rattles and shakes. he looks out of a little window, and sees green banks, bluish-green waves, sloops carrying hay, and steamers passing by. it is like a panorama or something seen at a theatre. on the banks move small red and white houses, outside which stand green trees with a sprinkling of snow upon them; larger green meadows rush past with red cows standing in them, looking like christmas toys. the sun gets high, and now they reach trees with yellow foliage and brown caterpillars, bridges with sailing-boats flying flags, cottages with fowls pecking and dogs barking. the sun shines on rows of windows which lie on the ground, and old men and women go about with water-cans and rakes. then appear green trees again bending over the water, and yellow and white bath-houses; overhead a cannon-shot is fired; the rattling and shaking cease; the banks stand still; above him he sees a stone wall, men's coats and trousers and a multitude of boots. he is carried up some steps which have a gilded rail, and sees a very large castle. somebody says, "here the king lives." it was the castle of drottningholm--the most beautiful memory of his childhood, even including the fairy-tale books. their things are unpacked in a little white house on a hill, and now the children roll on the grass, on real green grass without dandelions, like that in the clara churchyard. it is so high and bright, and the woods and fiords are green and blue in the distance. the dust-bin is forgotten, the schoolroom with its foul atmosphere has disappeared, the melancholy church-bells sound no more, and the graves are far away. but in the evening a bell rings in a little belfry quite near at hand. with astonishment he sees the modest little bell which swings in the open air, and sends its sound far over the park and bay. he thinks of the terrible deep-toned bell in the tower at home, which seemed to him like a great black maw when he looked into it, as it swung, from below. in the evening, when he is tired and has been washed and put to bed, he hears how the silence seems to hum in his ears, and waits in vain to hear the strokes and chiming of the bell in the tower. the next morning he wakes to get up and play. he plays day after day for a whole week. he is in nobody's way, and everything is so peaceful. the little ones sleep in the nursery, and he is in the open air all day long. his father does not appear; but on saturday he comes out from the town and pinches the boys' cheeks because they have grown and become sunburnt. "he does not beat us now any more," thinks the child; but he does not trace this to the simple fact that here outside the city there is more room and the air is purer. the slimmer passes gloriously, as enchanting as a fairy-tale; through the poplar avenues run lackeys in silver-embroidered livery, on the water float sky-blue dragon-ships with real princes and princesses, on the roads roll golden chaises and purple-red coaches drawn by arab horses four-in-hand, and the whips are as long as the reins. then there is the king's castle with the polished floors, the gilt furniture, marble-tiled stoves and pictures; the park with its avenues like long lofty green churches, the fountains ornamented with unintelligible figures from story-books; the summer-theatre that remained a puzzle to the child, but was used as a maze; the gothic tower, always closed and mysterious, which had nothing else to do but to echo back the sound of voices. he is taken for a walk in the park by a cousin whom he calls "aunt." she is a well-dressed maiden just grown up, and carries a parasol. they come into a gloomy wood of sombre pines; here they wander for a while, ever farther. presently they hear a murmur of voices, music, and the clatter of plates and forks; they find themselves before a little castle; figures of dragons and snakes wind down from the roof-ridge, other figures of old men with yellow oval faces, black slanting eyes and pigtails, look from under them; letters which he cannot read, and which are unlike any others he has seen, run along the eaves. but below on the ground-floor of the castle royal personages sit at table by the open windows and eat from silver dishes and drink wine. "there sits the king," says his aunt. the child becomes alarmed, and looks round to see whether he has not trodden on the grass, or is not on the point of doing something wrong. he believes that the handsome king, who looks friendly, sees right through him, and he wants to go. but neither oscar i. nor the french field-marshals nor the russian generals trouble themselves about him, for they are just now discussing the peace of paris, which is to make an end of the war in the east. on the other hand, police-guards, looking like roused lions, are marching about, and of them he has an unpleasant recollection. he needs only to see one, and he feels immediately guilty and thinks of the fine of three rix-dollars and sixteen skillings. however, he has caught a glimpse of the highest form of authority--higher than that of his brother, his mother, his father, the deputy-landlord, the landlord, the general with the plumed helmet, and the police. on another occasion, again with his aunt, he passes a little house close to the castle. in a courtyard strewn with sand there stands a man in a panama hat and a summer suit. he has a black beard and looks strong. round him there runs a black horse held by a long cord. the man springs a rattle, cracks a whip, and fires shots. "that is the crown prince," says his aunt. he looked like any other man, and was dressed like his uncle yanne. another time, in the park, deep in the shade of some trees, a mounted officer meets them. he salutes the boy's aunt, makes his horse stop, talks to her, and asks his name. the boy answers, but somewhat shyly. the dark-visaged man with the kind eyes looks at him, and he hears a loud peal of laughter. then the rider disappears. it was the crown prince again. the crown prince had spoken to him! he felt elevated, and at the same time more sure of himself. the dangerous potentate had been quite pleasant. one day he learns that his father and aunt are old acquaintances of a gentleman who lives in the great castle and wears a three-cornered hat and a sabre. the castle thenceforward assumes a more friendly aspect. he is also acquainted with people in it, for the crown prince has spoken with him, and his father calls the chamberlain "thou." now he understands that the gorgeous lackeys are of inferior social rank to him, especially when he hears that the cook goes for walks with one of them in the evenings. he discovers that he is, at any rate, not on the lowest stair in the social scale. before he has had time to realise it, the fairy-tale is over. the dust-bin and the rats are again there, but the deputy-landlord does not use his authority any more when john wants to dig up stones, for john has spoken with the crown prince, and the family have been for a summer holiday. the boy has seen the splendour of the upper classes in the distance. he longs after it, as after a home, but the menial blood he has from his mother rebels against it. from instinct he reveres the upper classes, and thinks too much of them ever to be able to hope to reach them. he feels that he belongs neither to them nor to the menial class. that becomes one of the struggles in his life. ii breaking-in the storm of poverty was now over. the members of the family who had held together for mutual protection could now all go their own way. but the overcrowding and unhappy circumstances of the family continued. however, death weeded them out. black papers which had contained sweets distributed at the funeral were being continually gummed on the nursery walls. the mother constantly went about in a jacket; all the cousins and aunts had already been used up as sponsors, so that recourse had now to be made to the clerks, ships' captains, and restaurant-keepers. in spite of all, prosperity seemed gradually to return. since there was too little space, the family removed to one of the suburbs, and took a six-roomed house in the norrtullsgata. at the same time john entered the clara high school at the age of seven. it was a long way for short legs to go four times a day, but his father wished that the children should grow hardy. that was a laudable object, but so much unnecessary expenditure of muscular energy should have been compensated for by nourishing food. however, the household means did not allow of that, and the monotonous exercise of walking and carrying a heavy school-satchel provided no sufficient counterpoise to excessive brain-work. there was, consequently, a loss of moral and physical equilibrium and new struggles resulted. in winter the seven-year-old boy and his brothers are waked up at a.m. in pitch darkness. he has not been thoroughly rested, but still carries the fever of sleep in his limbs. his father, mother, younger brothers and sisters, and the servants are still asleep. he washes himself in cold water, drinks a cup of barley-coffee, eats a french roll, runs over the endings of the fourth declension in _rabe's grammar_, repeats a piece of "joseph sold by his brethren," and memorises the second article with its explanation. then the books are thrust in the satchel and they start. in the street it is still dark. every other oil-lantern sways on the rope in the cold wind, and the snow lies deep, not having been yet cleared away before the houses. a little quarrel arises among the brothers about the rate they are to march. only the bakers' carts and the police are moving. near the observatory the snow is so deep that their boots and trousers get wet through. in kungsbacken street they meet a baker and buy their breakfast, a french roll, which they usually eat on the way. in haymarket street he parts from his brothers, who go to a private school. when at last he reaches the corner of berg street the fatal clock in the clara church strikes the hour. fear lends wings to his feet, his satchel bangs against his back, his temples beat, his brain throbs. as he enters the churchyard gate he sees that the class-rooms are empty; it is too late! in the boy's case the duty of punctuality took the form of a given promise, a _force majeure,_ a stringent necessity from which nothing could release him. a ship-captain's bill of lading contains a clause to the effect that he binds himself to deliver the goods uninjured by such and such a date "if god wills." if god sends snow or storm, he is released from his bond. but for the boy there are no such conditions of exemption. he has neglected his duty, and will be punished: that is all. with a slow step he enters the hall. only the school porter is there, who laughs at him, and writes his name on the blackboard under the heading "late." a painful hour follows, and then loud cries are heard in the lower school, and the blows of a cane fall thickly. it is the headmaster, who has made an onslaught on the late-comers or takes his exercise on them. john bursts into tears and trembles all over--not from fear of pain but from a feeling of shame to think that he should be fallen upon like an animal doomed to slaughter, or a criminal. then the door opens. he starts up, but it is only the chamber-maid who comes in to trim the lamp. "good-day, john," she says. "you are too late; you are generally so punctual. how is hanna?" john tells her that hanna is well, and that the snow was very deep in the norrtullsgata. "good heavens! you have not come by norrtullsgata?" then the headmaster opens the door and enters. "well, you!" "you must not be angry with john, sir! he lives in norrtullsgata." "silence, karin!" says the headmaster, "and go.--well," he continues: "you live in the norrtullsgata. that is certainly a good way. but still you ought to look out for the time." then he turns and goes. john owed it to karin that he escaped a flogging, and to fate that hanna had chanced to be karin's fellow-servant at the headmaster's. personal influence had saved him from an injustice. and then the school and the teaching! has not enough been written about latin and the cane? perhaps! in later years he skipped all passages in books which dealt with reminiscences of school life, and avoided all books on that subject. when he grew up his worst nightmare, when he had eaten something indigestible at night or had a specially troublesome day, was to dream that he was back at school. the relation between pupil and teacher is such, that the former gets as one-sided a view of the latter as a child of its parent. the first teacher john had looked like the ogre in the story of tom thumb. he flogged continually, and said he would make the boys crawl on the floor and "beat them to pulp" if they did their exercises badly. he was not, however, really a bad fellow, and john and his school-fellows presented him with an album when he left stockholm. many thought well of him, and considered him a fine character. he ended as a gentleman farmer and the hero of an ostgothland idyll. another was regarded as a monster of malignity. he really seemed to beat the boys because he liked it. he would commence his lesson by saying, "bring the cane," and then try to find as many as he could who had an ill-prepared lesson. he finally committed suicide in consequence of a scathing newspaper article. half a year before that, john, then a student, had met him in uggelvikswald, and felt moved by his old teacher's complaints over the ingratitude of the world. a year previous he had received at christmas time a box of stones, sent from an old pupil in australia. but the colleagues of the stern teacher used to speak of him as a good-natured fool at whom they made jests. so many points of view, so many differing judgments! but to this day old boys of the clara school cannot meet each other without expressing their horror and indignation at his unmercifulness, although they all acknowledge that he was an excellent teacher. these men of the old school knew perhaps no better. they had themselves been brought up on those lines, and we, who learn to understand everything, are bound also to pardon everything. this, however, did not prevent the first period of school life from appearing to be a preparation for hell and not for life. the teachers seemed to be there only to torment, not to punish; our school life weighed upon us like an oppressive nightmare day and night; even having learned our lessons well before we left home did not save us. life seemed a penal institution for crimes committed before we were born, and therefore the boy always went about with a bad conscience. but he learned some social lessons. the clara school was a school for the children of the better classes, for the people of the district were well off. the boy wore leather breeches and greased leather boots which smelt of train-oil and blacking. therefore, those who had velvet jackets did not like sitting near him. he also noticed that the poorly dressed boys got more floggings than the well-dressed ones, and that pretty boys were let off altogether. if he had at that time studied psychology and æsthetics, he would have understood this, but he did not then. the examination day left a pleasant, unforgettable memory. the old dingy rooms were freshly scoured, the boys wore their best clothes, and the teachers frock-coats with white ties; the cane was put away, all punishments were suspended. it was a day of festival and jubilee, on which one could tread the floor of the torture-chambers without trembling. the change of places in each class, however, which had taken place in the morning, brought with it certain surprises, and those who had been put lower made certain comparisons and observations which did not always redound to the credit of the teacher. the school testimonials were also rather hastily drawn up, as was natural. but the holidays were at hand, and everything else was soon forgotten. at the conclusion, in the lower schoolroom, the teachers received the thanks of the archbishop, and the pupils were reproved and warned. the presence of the parents, especially the mothers, made the chilly rooms seem warm, and a sigh involuntarily rose in the boys' hearts, "why cannot it be always like to-day?" to some extent the sigh has been heard, and our present-day youth no longer look upon school as a penal institute, even if they do not recognise much use in the various branches of superfluous learning. john was certainly not a shining light in the school, but neither was he a mere good-for-nothing. on account of his precocity in learning he had been allowed to enter the school before the regulation age, and therefore he was always the youngest. although his report justified his promotion into a higher class, he was still kept a year in his present one. this was a severe pull-back in his development; his impatient spirit suffered from having to repeat old lessons for a whole year. he certainly gained much spare time, but his appetite for learning was dulled, and he felt himself neglected. at home and school alike he was the youngest, but only in years; in intelligence he was older than his school-fellows. his father seemed to have noticed his love for learning, and to have thought of letting him become a student. he heard him his lessons, for he himself had had an elementary education. but when the eight-year-old boy once came to him with a latin exercise, and asked for help, his father was obliged to confess that he did not know latin. the boy felt his superiority in this point, and it is not improbable that his father was conscious of it also. he removed john's elder brother, who had entered the school at the same time, abruptly from it, because the teacher one day had made the younger, as monitor, hear the elder his lessons. this was stupid on the part of the teacher, and it was wise of his father to prevent it. his mother was proud of his learning, and boasted of it to her friends. in the family the word "student" was often heard. at the students' congress in the fifties, stockholm was swarming with white caps. "think if you should wear a white cap some day," said his mother. when the students' concerts took place, they talked about it for days at a time. acquaintances from upsala sometimes came to stockholm and talked of the gay students' life there. a girl who had been in service in upsala called john "the student." in the midst of his terribly mysterious school life, in which the boy could discover no essential connection between latin grammar and real life, a new mysterious factor appeared for a short time and then disappeared again. the nine-year-old daughter of the headmaster came to the french lessons. she was purposely put on the last bench, in order not to be seen, and to look round was held to be a great misdemeanour. her presence, however, was felt in the class-room. the boy, and probably the whole class, fell in love. the lessons always went well when she was present; their ambition was spurred, and none of them wanted to be humiliated or flogged before her. she was, it is true, ugly, but well dressed. her gentle voice vibrated among the breaking voices of the boys, and even the teacher had a smile on his severe face when he spoke to her. how beautifully her name sounded when he called it out--one christian name among all the surnames. john's love found expression in a silent melancholy. he never spoke to her, and would never have dared to do it. he feared and longed for her. but if anyone had asked him what he wanted from her, he could not have told them. he wanted nothing from her. a kiss? no; in his family there was no kissing. to hold her? no! still less to possess her. possess? what should he do with her? he felt that he had a secret. this plagued him so that he suffered under it, and his whole life was overclouded. one day at home he seized a knife and said, "i will cut my throat." his mother thought he was ill. he could not tell her. he was then about nine years old. perhaps if there had been as many girls as boys in the school present in all the classes, probably innocent friendships would have been formed, the electricity would have been carried off, the madonna-worship brought within its proper limits, and wrong ideas of woman would not have followed him and his companions through life. * * * * * his father's contemplative turn of mind, his dislike of meeting people after his bankruptcy, the unfriendly verdict of public opinion regarding his originally illegal union with his wife, had induced him to retire to the norrtullsgata. here he had rented a house with a large garden, wide-stretching fields, with a pasture, stables, farmyard, and conservatory. he had always liked the occupations of a country life and agriculture. before this he had possessed a piece of land outside the town, but could not look after it. now he rented a garden for his own sake and the children's, whose education a little resembled that described in rousseau's _emile_. the house was separated from its neighbours by a long fence. the norrtullsgata was an avenue lined with trees which as yet had no pavement, and had been but little built upon. the principal traffic consisted of peasants and milk-carts on their way to the hay market. besides these there were also funerals moving slowly along to the "new churchyard," sledging parties to brunnsvik, and young people on their way to norrbucka or stallmastergarden. the garden which surrounded the little one-storied house was very spacious. long alleys with at least a hundred apple-trees and berry-bearing bushes crossed each other. here and there were thick bowers of lilac and jasmine, and a huge aged oak still stood in a corner. there was plenty of shade and space, and enough decay to make the place romantic. east of the garden rose a gravel-hill covered with maples, beeches, and ash-trees; on the summit of it stood a temple belonging to the last century. the back of the hill had been dug away in parts in an unsuccessful attempt to take away gravel, but it had picturesque little dells filled with osier and thorn bushes. from this side neither the street nor the house was visible. from here one obtained a view over bellevue, cedardalsberg, and lilljanskog. one saw only single scattered houses in the far distance, but on the other hand numberless gardens and drying-houses for tobacco. thus all the year round they enjoyed a country life, to which they had no objection. now the boy could study at first-hand the beauty and secrets of plant life, and his first spring there was a period of wonderful surprises. when the freshly turned earth lay black under the apple-tree's white and pink canopy, when the tulips blazed in oriental pomp of colour, it seemed to him as he went about in the garden as if he were assisting at a solemnity more even than at the school examination, or in church, the christmas festival itself not excepted. but he had also plenty of hard bodily exercise. the boys were sent with ships' scrapers to clear the moss from the trees; they weeded the ground, swept the paths, watered and hoed. in the stable there was a cow with calves; the hay-loft became a swimming school where they sprang from the beams, and they rode the horses to water. they had lively games on the hill, rolled down blocks of stone, climbed to the tops of the trees, and made expeditions. they explored the woods and bushes in the haga park, climbed up young trees in the ruins, caught bats, discovered edible wood-sorrel and ferns, and plundered birds' nests. soon they laid their bows and arrows aside, discovered gunpowder, and shot little birds on the hills. they came to be somewhat uncivilised. they found school more distasteful and the streets more hateful than ever. boys' books also helped in this process. _robinson crusoe_ formed an epoch in his life; the _discovery of america_, the _scalp-hunter_, and others aroused in him a sincere dislike of school-books. during the long summer holidays their wildness increased so much that their mother could no longer control the unruly boys. as an experiment they were sent at first to the swimming school in riddarholm, but it was so far that they wasted half the day on the road thither. finally, their father resolved to send the three eldest to a boarding-school in the country, to spend the rest of the summer there. iii away from home now he stands on the deck of a steamer far out at sea. he has had so much to look at on the journey that he has not felt any tedium. but now it is afternoon, which is always melancholy, like the beginning of old age. the shadows of the sun fall and alter everything without hiding everything, like the night. he begins to miss something. he has a feeling of emptiness, of being deserted, broken off. he wants to go home, but the consciousness that he cannot do so at once fills him with terror and despair and he weeps. when his brothers ask him why, he says he wants to go home to his mother. they laugh at him, but her image recurs to his mind, serious, mild, and smiling. he hears her last words at parting: "be obedient and respectful to all, take care of your clothes, and don't forget your evening prayer." he thinks how disobedient he has been to her, and wonders whether she may be ill. her image seems glorified, and draws him with unbreakable cords of longing. this feeling of loneliness and longing after his mother followed him all through his life. had he come perhaps too early and incomplete into the world? what held him so closely bound to his mother? to this question he found no answer either in books or in life. but the fact remained: he never became himself, was never liberated, never a complete individuality. he remained, as it were, a mistletoe, which could not grow except upon a tree; he was a climbing plant which must seek a support. he was naturally weak and timid, but he took part in all physical exercises; he was a good gymnast, could mount a horse when on the run, was skilled in the use of all sorts of weapons, was a bold shot, swimmer, and sailor, but only in order not to appear inferior to others. if no one watched him when bathing, he merely slipped into the water; but if anyone _was_ watching, he plunged into it, head-over-heels, from the roof of the bathing-shed. he was conscious of his timidity, and wished to conceal it. he never attacked his school-fellows, but if anyone attacked him, he would strike back even a stronger boy than himself. he seemed to have been born frightened, and lived in continual fear of life and of men. the ship steams out of the bay and there opens before them a blue stretch of sea without a shore. the novelty of the spectacle, the fresh wind, the liveliness of his brothers, cheer him up. it has just occurred to him that they have come eighteen miles by sea when the steamboat turns into the nykopingså river. when the gangway has been run out, there appears a middle-aged man with blond whiskers, who, after a short conversation with the captain, takes over charge of the boys. he looks friendly, and is cheerful. it is the parish clerk of vidala. on the shore there stands a waggon with a black mare, and soon they are above in the town and stop at a shopkeeper's house which is also an inn for the country people. it smells of herrings and small beer, and they get weary of waiting. the boy cries again. at last herr linden comes in a country cart with their baggage, and after many handshakes and a few glasses of beer they leave the town. fallow fields and hedges stretch in a long desolate perspective, and over some red roofs there rises the edge of a wood in the distance. the sun sets, and they have to drive for three miles through the dark wood. herr linden talks briskly in order to keep up their spirits. he tells them about their future school-fellows, the bathing-places, and strawberry-picking. john sleeps till they have reached an inn where there are drunken peasants. the horses are taken out and watered. then they continue their journey through dark woods. in one place they have to get down and climb up a hill. the horses steam with perspiration and snort, the peasants on the baggage-cart joke and drink, the parish clerk chats with them and tells funny stories. still they go on sleeping and waking, getting down and resting alternately. still there are more woods, which used to be haunted by robbers, black pine woods under the starry sky, cottages and hedges. the boy is quite alarmed, and approaches the unknown with trembling. at last they are on a level road; the day dawns, and the waggon stops before a red house. opposite it is a tall dark building--a church--once more a church. an old woman, as she appears to him, tall and thin, comes out, receives the boys, and conducts them into a large room on the ground-floor, where there is a cover-table. she has a sharp voice which does not sound friendly, and john is afraid. they eat in the gloom, but do not relish the unusual food, and one of them has to choke down tears. then they are led in the dark into an attic. no lamp is lit. the room is narrow; pallets and beds are laid across chairs and on the floor, and there is a terrible odor. there is a stirring in the beds, and one head rises, and then another. there are whispers and murmurs, but the new-comers can see no faces. the eldest brother gets a bed to himself, but john and the second brother lie foot to foot. it is a new thing for them, but they creep into bed and draw the blankets over them. his elder brother stretches himself out at his ease, but john protests against this encroachment. they push each other with their feet, and john is struck. he weeps at once. the eldest brother is already asleep. then there comes a voice from a corner on the ground: "lie still, you young devils, and don't fight!" "what do you say?" answers his brother, who is inclined to be impudent. the bass voice answers, "what do i say? i say--leave the youngster alone." "what have you to do with that?" "a good deal. come here, and i'll thrash you." "_you_ thrash _me_!" his brother stands up in his night-shirt. the owner of the bass voice comes towards him. all that one can see is a short sturdy figure with broad shoulders. a number of spectators sit upright in their beds. they fight, and the elder brother gets the worst of it. "no! don't hit him! don't hit him!" the small brother throws himself between the combatants. he could not see anyone of his own flesh and blood being beaten or suffering without feeling it in all his nerves. it was another instance of his want of independence and consciousness of the closeness of the blood-tie. then there is silence and dreamless sleep, which death is said to resemble, and therefore entices so many to premature rest. now there begins a new little section of life--an education without his parents, for the boy is out in the world among strangers. he is timid, and carefully avoids every occasion of being blamed. he attacks no one, but defends himself against bullies. there are, however, too many of them for the equilibrium to be maintained. justice is administered by the broad-shouldered boy mentioned above, who is humpbacked, and always takes the weaker one's part when unrighteously attacked. in the morning they do their lessons, bathe before dinner, and do manual labour in the afternoon. they weed the garden, fetch water from the spring, and keep the stable clean. it is their father's wish that the boys should do physical work, although they pay the usual fees. but john's obedience and conscientiousness do not suffice to render his life tolerable. his brothers incur all kinds of reprimands, and under them he also suffers much. he is keenly conscious of their solidarity, and is in this summer only as it were the third part of a person. there are no other punishments except detention, but even the reprimands disquiet him. manual labour makes him physically strong, but his nerves are just as sensitive as before. sometimes he pines for his mother, sometimes he is in extremely high spirits and indulges in risky amusements, such as piling up stones in a limestone quarry and lighting a fire at the bottom of it, or sliding down steep hills on a board. he is alternately timid and daring, overflowing with spirits or brooding, but without proper balance. the church stands on the opposite side of the way, and with its black roof and white walls throws a shadow across the summer-like picture. daily from his window he sees monumental crosses which rise above the churchyard wall. the church clock does not strike day and night as that in the clara church did, but in the evenings at six o'clock one of the boys is allowed to pull the bell-rope which hangs in the tower. it was a solemn moment when, for the first time, his turn came. he felt like a church official, and when he counted three times the three bell-strokes, he thought that god, the pastor, and the congregation would suffer harm if he rang one too many. on sundays the bigger boys were allowed to ring the bells. then john stood on the dark wooden staircase and wondered. in the course of the summer there arrived a black-bordered proclamation which caused great commotion when read aloud in church. king oscar was dead. many good things were reported of him, even if no one mourned him. and now the bells rang daily between twelve and one o'clock. in fact, church-bells seemed to follow him. the boys played in the churchyard among the graves and soon grew familiar with the church. on sundays they were all assembled in the organ-loft. when the parish clerk struck up the psalm, they took their places by the organ-stops, and when he gave them a sign, all the stops were drawn out and they marched into the choir. that always made a great impression on the congregation. but the fact of his having to come in such proximity to holy things, and of his handling the requisites of worship, etc., made him familiar with them, and his respect for them diminished. for instance, he did not find the lord's supper edifying when on saturday evening he had eaten some of the holy bread in the parish clerk's kitchen, where it was baked and stamped with the impression of a crucifix. the boys ate these pieces of bread, and called them wafers. once after the holy communion he and the churchwarden were offered the rest of the wine in the vestry. nevertheless, after he had been parted from his mother, and felt himself surrounded by unknown threatening powers, he felt a profound need of having recourse to some refuge and of keeping watch. he prayed his evening prayer with a fair amount of devotion; in the morning, when the sun shone, and he was well rested, he did not feel the need of it. one day when the church was being aired the boys were playing in it. in an access of high spirits they stormed the altar. but john, who was egged on to something more daring, ran up into the pulpit, reversed the hour-glass, and began to preach out of the bible. this made a great sensation. then he descended, and ran along the tops of the pews through the whole church. when he had reached the pew next to the altar, which belonged to a count's family, he stepped too heavily on the reading-desk, which fell with a crash to the ground. there was a panic, and all the boys rushed out of church. he stood alone and desolate. in other circumstances he would have run to his mother, acknowledged his fault, and implored her help. but she was not there. then he thought of god; he fell on his knees before the altar, and prayed through the paternoster. then, as though inspired with a thought from above, he arose calmed and strengthened, examined the desk, and found that its joints were not broken. he took a clamp, dovetailed the joints together, and, using his boot as a hammer, with a few well-directed blows repaired the desk. he tried it, and found it firm. then he went greatly relieved out of the church. "how simple!" he thought to himself, and felt ashamed of having prayed the lord's prayer. why? perhaps he felt dimly that in this obscure complex which we call the soul there lives a power which, summoned to self-defence at the hour of need, possesses a considerable power of extricating itself. he did not fall on his knees and thank god, and this showed that he did not believe it was he who had helped him. that obscure feeling of shame probably arose from the fact of his perceiving that he had crossed a river to fetch water, _i.e._, that his prayer had been superfluous. but this was only a passing moment of self-consciousness. he continued to be variable and capricious. moodiness, caprice, or _diables noirs,_ as the french call it, is a not completely explained phenomenon. the victim of them is like one possessed; he wants something, but does the opposite; he suffers from the desire to do himself an injury, and finds almost a pleasure in self-torment. it is a sickness of the soul and of the will, and former psychologists tried to explain it by the hypothesis of a duality in the brain, the two hemispheres of which, they thought, under certain conditions could operate independently each for itself and against the other. but this explanation has been rejected. many have observed the phenomenon of duplex personality, and goethe has handled this theme in _faust_. in capricious children who "do not know what they want," as the saying is, the nerve-tension ends in tears. they "beg for a whipping," and it is strange that on such occasions a slight chastisement restores the nervous equilibrium and is almost welcomed by the child, who is at once pacified, appeased, and not at all embittered by the punishment, which in its view must have been unjust. it really had asked for a beating as a medicine. but there is also another way of expelling the "black dog." one takes the child in one's arms so that it feels the magnetism of friendship and is quieted. that is the best way of all. john suffered from similar attacks of caprice. when some treat was proposed to him, a strawberry-picking expedition for example, he asked to be allowed to remain at home, though he knew he would be bored to death there. he would have gladly gone, but he insisted on remaining at home. another will stronger than his own commanded him to do so. the more they tried to persuade him, the stronger was his resistance. but then if someone came along jovially and with a jest seized him by the collar, and threw him into the haycart, he obeyed and was relieved to be thus liberated from the mysterious will that mastered him. generally speaking, he obeyed gladly and never wished to put himself forward or be prominent. so much of the slave was in his nature. his mother had served and obeyed in her youth, and as a waitress had been polite towards everyone. one sunday they were in the parsonage, where there were young girls. he liked them, but he feared them. all the children went out to pluck strawberries. someone suggested that they should collect the berries without eating them, in order to eat them at home with sugar. john plucked diligently and kept the agreement; he did not eat one, but honestly delivered up his share, though he saw others cheating. on their return home the berries were divided by the pastor's daughter, and the children pressed round her in order that each might get a full spoonful. john kept as far away as possible; he was forgotten and berryless. he had been passed over! full of the bitter consciousness of this, he went into the garden and concealed himself in an arbour. he felt himself to be the last and meanest. he did not weep, however, but was conscious of something hard and cold rising within, like a skeleton of steel. after he had passed the whole company under critical review, he found that he was the most honest, because he had not eaten a single strawberry outside; and then came the false inference--he had been passed over because he was better than the rest. the result was that he really regarded himself as such, and felt a deep satisfaction at having been overlooked. he had also a special skill in making himself invisible, or keeping concealed so as to be passed over. one evening his father brought home a peach. each child received a slice of the rare fruit, with the exception of john, and his otherwise just father did not notice it. he felt so proud at this new reminder of his gloomy destiny that later in the evening he boasted of it to his brothers. they did not believe him, regarding his story as improbable. the more improbable the better, he thought. he was also plagued by antipathies. one sunday in the country a cart full of boys came to the parish clerk's. a brown-complexioned boy with a mischievous and impudent face alighted from it. john ran away at the first sight of him, and hid himself in the attic. they found him out: the parish clerk cajoled him, but he remained sitting in his corner and listened to the children playing till the brown-complexioned boy had gone away. neither cold baths, wild games, nor hard physical labour could harden his sensitive nerves, which at certain moments became strung up to the highest possible pitch. he had a good memory, and learned his lessons well, especially practical subjects such as geography and natural science. he liked arithmetic, but hated geometry; a science which seemed to deal with unrealities disquieted him. it was not till later, when a book of land mensuration came into his hands and he had obtained an insight into the practical value of geometry, that the subject interested him. he then measured trees and houses, the garden and its avenues, and constructed cardboard models. he was now entering his tenth year. he was broad-shouldered, with a sunburnt complexion; his hair was fair, and hung over a sickly looking high and prominent forehead, which often formed a subject of conversation and caused his relatives to give him the nickname of "the professor." he was no more an automaton, but began to make his own observations and to draw inferences. he was approaching the time when he would be severed from his surroundings and go alone. solitude had to take for him the place of desert-wandering, for he had not a strong enough individuality to go his own way. his sympathies for men were doomed not to be reciprocated, because their thoughts did not keep pace with his. he was destined to go about and offer his heart to the first comer; but no one would take it, because it was strange to them, and so he would retire into himself, wounded, humbled, overlooked, and passed by. * * * * * the summer came to an end, and when the school-term began he returned to stockholm. the gloomy house by the clara churchyard seemed doubly depressing to him now, and when he saw the long row of class-rooms through which he must work his way in a fixed number of years in order to do laboriously the same through another row of class-rooms in the high school, life did not seem to him particularly inviting. at the same time his self-opinionatedness began to revolt against the lessons, and consequently he got bad reports. a term later, when he had been placed lower in his class, his father took him from the clara school and placed him in the jacob school. at the same time they left the norrtullsgata and took a suburban house in the stora grabergsgata near the sabbatsberg. iv intercourse with the lower classes christinenberg, so we will call the house, had a still more lonely situation than that in the norrtullsgata.[ ] the grabergsgata had no pavement. often for hours at a time one never saw more than a single pedestrian in it, and the noise of a passing cart was an event which brought people to their windows. the house stood in a courtyard with many trees, and resembled a country parsonage. it was surrounded by gardens and tobacco plantations; extensive fields with ponds stretched away to sabbatsberg. but their father rented no land here, so that the boys spent their time in loafing about. their playfellows now consisted of the children of poorer people, such as the miller's and the milkman's. their chief playground was the hill on which the mill stood, and the wings of the windmill were their playthings. the jacob school was attended by the poorer class of children. here john came in contact with the lower orders. the boys were ill dressed; they had sores on their noses, ugly features, and smelt bad. his own leather breeches and greased boots produced no bad effect here. in these surroundings, which pleased him, he felt more at his ease. he could be on more confidential terms with these boys than with the proud ones in the clara school. but many of these children were very good at their lessons, and the genius of the school was a peasant boy. at the same time there were so-called "louts" in the lower classes, and these generally did not get beyond the second class. he was now in the third, and did not come into contact with them, nor did they with those in the higher classes. these boys worked out of school, had black hands, and were as old as fourteen or fifteen. many of them were employed during the summer on the brig _carl johann_, and then appeared in autumn with tarry trousers, belts, and knives. they fought with chimney-sweeps and tobacco-binders, took drams, and visited restaurants and coffee-houses. these boys were liable to ceaseless examinations and expulsions and were generally regarded, but with great injustice, as a bad lot. many of them grew up to be respectable citizens, and one who had served on the "louts' brig" finally became an officer of the guard. he never ventured to talk of his sea voyages, but said that he used to shudder when he led the watch to relieve guard at nybrohanm, and saw the notorious brig lying there. one day john met a former school-fellow from the clara school, and tried to avoid him. but the latter came directly towards him, and asked him what school he was attending. "ah, yes," he said, on being told, "you are going to the louts' school." john felt that he had come down, but he had himself wished it. he did not stand above his companions, but felt himself at home with them, on friendly terms, and more comfortable than in the clara school, for here there was no pressure on him from above. he himself did not wish to climb up and press down others, but he suffered himself from being pressed down. he himself did not wish to ascend, but he felt a need that there should be none above him. but it annoyed him to feel that his old school-fellows thought that he had gone down. when at gymnastic displays he appeared among the grimy-looking troop of the jacobites, and met the bright files of the clara school in their handsome uniforms and clean faces, then he was conscious of a class difference, and when from the opposite camp the word "louts" was heard, then there was war in the air. the two schools fought sometimes, but john took no part in these encounters. he did not wish to see his old friends, and to show how he had come down. the examination day in the jacob school made a very different impression from that in the clara school. artisans, poorly clad old women, restaurant-keepers dressed up for the occasion, coach-men, and publicans formed the audience. and the speech of the school inspector was quite other than the flowery one of the archbishop. he read out the names of the idle and the stupid, scolded the parents because their children came too late or did not turn up at all, and the hall reechoed the sobs of poor mothers who were probably not at all to blame for the easily explained non-attendances, and who in their simplicity believed that they had bad sons. it was always the well-to-do citizens' sons who had had the leisure to devote themselves exclusively to their tasks, who were now greeted as patterns of virtue. in the moral teaching which the boy received he heard nothing of his rights, only of his duties. everything he was taught to regard as a favour; he lived by favour, ate by favour, and went as a favour to school. and in this poor children's school more and more was demanded of them. it was demanded from them, for instance, that they should have untorn clothes--but from whence were they to get them? remarks were made upon their hands because they had been blackened by contact with tar and pitch. there was demanded of them attention, good morals, politeness, _i.e._, mere impossibilities. the æsthetic susceptibilities of the teachers often led them to commit acts of injustice. near john sat a boy whose hair was never combed, who had a sore under his nose, and an evil-smelling flux from his ears. his hands were dirty, his clothes spotted and torn. he rarely knew his lessons, and was scolded and caned on the palms of his hands. one day a school-fellow accused him of bringing vermin into the class. he was then made to sit apart in a special place. he wept bitterly, ah! so bitterly, and then kept away from school. john was sent to look him up at his house. he lived in the undertakers' street. the painter's family lived with the grandmother and many small children in one room. when john went there he found george, the boy in question, holding on his knee, a little sister, who screamed violently. the grandmother carried a little one on her arm. the father and mother were away at work. in this room, which no one had time to clean, and which could not be cleaned, there was a smell of sulphur fumes from the coals and from the uncleanliness of the children. here the clothes were dried, food was cooked, oil-colours were rubbed, putty was kneaded. here were laid bare the grounds of george's immorality. "but," perhaps a moralist may object, "one is never so poor that one cannot keep oneself clean and tidy." _sancta simplicitas!_ as if to pay for sewing (when there was anything whole to sew), soap, clothes-washing, and time cost nothing. complete cleanliness and tidiness is the highest point to which the poor can attain; george could not, and was therefore cast out. some younger moralists believe they have made the discovery that the lower classes are more immoral than the higher. by "immoral" they mean that they do not keep social contracts so well as the upper classes. that is a mistake, if not something worse. in all cases, in which the lower classes are not compelled by necessity, they are more conscientious than the upper ones. they are more merciful towards their fellows, gentler to children, and especially more patient. how long have they allowed their toil to be exploited by the upper classes, till at last they begin to be impatient! moreover, the social laws have been kept as long as possible in a state of instability and uncertainty. why are they not clearly defined and printed like civil and divine laws? perhaps because an honestly written moral law would have to take some cognizance of rights as well as duties. john's revolt against the school-teaching increased. at home he learned all he could, but he neglected the school-lessons. the principal subjects taught in the school were now latin and greek, but the method of teaching was absurd. half a year was spent in explaining a campaign in _cornelius_. the teacher had a special method of confusing the subject by making the scholar analyse the "grammatical construction" of the sentence. but he never explained what this meant. it consisted in reading the words of the text in a certain order, but he did not say in which. it did not agree with the swedish translation, and when john had tried to grasp the connection, but failed, he preferred to be silent. he was obstinate, and when he was called upon to explain something he was silent, even when he knew his lesson. for as soon as he began to read, he was assailed with a storm of reproaches for the accent he put on the words, the pace at which he read, his voice, everything. "cannot you, do not you understand?" the teacher shouted, beside himself. the boy was silent, and looked at the pedant contemptuously. "are you dumb?" he remained silent. he was too old to be beaten; besides, this form of punishment was gradually being disused. he was therefore told to sit down. he could translate the text into swedish, but not in the way the teacher wished. that the teacher only permitted one way of translating seemed to him silly. he had already rushed through _cornelius_ in a few weeks, and this deliberate, unreasonable crawling when one could run, depressed him. he saw no sense in it. the same kind of thing happened in the history lessons. "now, john," the teacher would say, "tell me what you know about gustav i." the boy stands up, and his vagrant thoughts express themselves as follows: "what i know about gustav i. oh! a good deal. but i knew that when i was in the lowest class (he is now in the fourth), and the master knows it too. what is the good of repeating it all again?" "well! is that all you know?" he had not said a word about gustav i., and his school-fellows laughed. now he felt angry, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. how should he begin? gustav was born at lindholm, in the province of roslagen. yes, but he and the teacher knew that long ago. how stupid to oblige him to repeat it. "ah, well!" continues the teacher, "you don't know your lesson, you know nothing of gustav i." now he opens his mouth, and says curtly and decidedly: "yes, i know his history well." "if you do, why don't you answer?" the master's question seems to him a very stupid one, and now he will not answer. he drives away all thoughts about gustav i. and forces himself to think of other things, the maps on the wall, the lamp hanging from the ceiling. he pretends to be deaf. "sit down, you don't know your lesson," says the master. he sits down, and lets his thoughts wander where they will, after he has settled in his own mind that the master has told a falsehood. in this there was a kind of aphasia, an incapability or unwillingness to speak, which followed him for a long time through life till the reaction set in in the form of garrulousness, of incapacity to shut one's mouth, of an impulse to speak whatever came into his mind. he felt attracted to the natural sciences, and during the hour when the teacher showed coloured pictures of plants and trees the gloomy class-room seemed to be lighted up; and when the teacher read out of nilsson's _lectures on animal life_, he listened and impressed all on his memory. but his father observed that he was backward in his other subjects, especially in latin. still, john had to learn latin and greek. why? he was destined for a scholar's career. his father made inquiries into the matter. after hearing from the teacher of latin that the latter regarded his son as an idiot, his _amour propre_ must have been hurt, for he determined to send his son to a private school, where more practical methods of instruction were employed. indeed, he was so annoyed that he went so far in private as to praise john's intelligence and to say some severe things regarding his teacher. meanwhile, contact with the lower classes had aroused in the boy a decided dislike to the higher ones. in the jacob school a democratic spirit prevailed, at any rate among those of the same age. none of them avoided each other's society except from feelings of personal dislike. in the clara school, on the other hand, there were marked distinctions of class and birth. though in the jacob school the possession of money might have formed an aristocratic class, as a matter of fact none of them were rich. those who were obviously poor were treated by their companions sympathetically without condescension, although the beribboned school inspector and the academically educated teacher showed their aversion to them. john felt himself identified and friendly with his school-fellows; he sympathised with them, but was reserved towards those of the higher class. he avoided the main thoroughfares, and always went through the empty hollandergata or the poverty stricken badstugata. but his school-fellows' influence made him despise the peasants who lived here. that was the aristocratism of town-people, with which even the meanest and poorest city children are imbued. these angular figures in grey coats which swayed about on milk-carts or hay-waggons were regarded as fair butts for jests, as inferior beings whom to snowball was no injustice. to mount behind on their sledges was regarded as the boys' inherent privilege. a standing joke was to shout to them that their waggon-wheels were going round, and to make them get down to contemplate the wonder. but how should children, who see only the motley confusion of society, where the heaviest sinks and the lightest lies on the top, avoid regarding that which sinks as the worse of the two? some say we are all aristocrats by instinct. that is partly true, but it is none the less an evil tendency, and we should avoid giving way to it. the lower classes are really more democratic than the higher ones, for they do not want to mount up to them, but only to attain to a certain level; whence the assertion is commonly made that they wish to elevate themselves. since there was now no longer physical work to do at home, john lived exclusively an inner, unpractical life of imagination. he read everything which fell into his hands. on wednesday or saturday afternoon the eleven-year-old boy could be seen in a dressing-gown and cap which his father had given him, with a long tobacco-pipe in his mouth, his fingers stuck in his ears, and buried in a book, preferably one about indians. he had already read five different versions of _robinson crusoe_, and derived an incredible amount of delight from them. but in reading campe's edition he had, like all children, skipped the moralisings. why do all children hate moral applications? are they immoral by nature? "yes," answer modern moralists, "for they are still animals, and do not recognise social conventions." that is true, but the social law as taught to children informs them only of their duties, not of their rights; it is therefore unjust towards the child, and children hate injustice. besides this, he had arranged an herbarium, and made collections of insects and minerals. he had also read liljenblad's _flora_, which he had found in his father's bookcase. he liked this book better than the school botany, because it contained a quantity of information regarding the use of various plants, while the other spoke only of stamens and pistils. when his brothers deliberately disturbed him in reading, he would run at them and threaten to strike them. they said his nerves were overstrained. he dissolved the ties which bound him to the realities of life, he lived a dream-life in foreign lands and in his own thoughts, and was discontented with the grey monotony of everyday life and of his surroundings, which ever became more uncongenial to him. his father, however, would not leave him entirely to his own fancies, but gave him little commissions to perform, such as fetching the paper and carrying letters. these he looked upon as encroachments on his private life, and always performed them unwillingly. in the present day much is said about truth and truth-speaking as though it were a difficult matter, which deserved praise. but, apart from the question of praise, it is undoubtedly difficult to find out the real facts about anything. a person is not always what rumour reports him or her to be; a whole mass of public opinion may be false; behind each thought there lurks a passion; each judgment is coloured by prejudice. but the art of separating fact from fancy is extremely difficult, _e.g._, six newspaper reporters will describe a king's coronation robe as being of six different colours. new ideas do not find ready entrance into brains which work in a groove; elderly people believe only themselves, and the uneducated believe that they can trust their own eyes. this, however, owing to the frequency of optical illusions, is not the case. in john's home truth was revered. his father was in the habit of saying, "tell the truth, happen what may," and used at the same time to tell a story about himself. he had once promised a customer to send home a certain piece of goods by a given day. he forgot it, but must have had means of exculpating himself, for when the furious customer came into the office and overwhelmed him with reproaches, john's father humbly acknowledged his forgetfulness, asked for forgiveness, and declared himself ready to make good the loss. the result was that the customer was astonished, reached him his hand, and expressed his regard for him. people engaged in trade, he said, must not expect too much of each other. well! his father had a sound intelligence, and as an elderly man felt sure of his conclusions. john, who could never be without some occupation, had discovered that one could profitably spend some time in loitering on the high-road which led to and from school. he had once upon the hollandergata, which had no pavement, found an iron screw-nut. that pleased him, for it made an excellent sling-stone when tied to a string. after that he always walked in the middle of the street and picked up all the pieces of iron which he saw. since the streets were ill-paved and rapid driving was forbidden, the vehicles which passed through them had a great deal of rough usage. accordingly an observant passer-by could be sure of finding every day a couple of horse-shoe nails, a waggon-pin, or at any rate a screw-nut, and sometimes a horse-shoe. john's favourite find was screw-nuts which he had made his specialty. in the course of two months he had collected a considerable quantity of them. one evening he was playing with them when his father entered the room. "what have you there?" he asked in astonishment. "screw-nuts," john answered confidently. "where did you get them from?" "i found them." "found them? where?" "on the street." "in one place?" "no, in several--by walking down the middle of the street and looking about." "look here! i don't believe that. you are lying. come in here. i have something to say to you." the something was a caning. "will you confess now?" "i have found them on the street." the cane was again plied in order to make him "confess." what should he confess? pain, and fear that the scene would continue indefinitely, forced the following lie from him: "i have stolen them." "where?" now he did not know to which part of a carriage the screw-nuts belonged, but he guessed it was the under part. "under the carriages." "where?" his fancy suggested a place, where many carriages used to stand together. "by the timber-yard opposite the lane by the smith's." this specification of the place lent an air of probability to his story. his father was now certain that he had elicited the truth from him. he continued: "and how could you get them off merely with your fingers?" he had not expected this question, but his eye fell on his father's tool-box. "with a screw-driver." now one cannot take hold of nuts with a screw-driver, but his father was excited, and let himself be deceived. "but that is abominable! you are really a thief. suppose a policeman had come by." john thought for a moment of quieting him by telling him that the whole affair was made up, but the prospect of getting another caning and no supper held him mute. when he had gone to bed in the evening, and his mother had come and told him to say his evening prayer, he said in a pathetic tone and raising his hand: "may the deuce take me, if i have stolen the screw-nuts." his mother looked long at him, and then she said, "you should not swear so." the corporal punishment had sickened and humbled him; he was angry with god, his parents, and especially his brothers, who had not spoken up for him, though they knew the real state of the case. that evening he did not say his prayers, but he wished that the house would take fire without his having to light it. and then to be called a thief! from that time he was suspected, or rather his bad reputation was confirmed, and he felt long the sting of the memory of a charge of theft which he had not committed. another time he caught himself in a lie, but through an inadvertency which for a long time he could not explain. this incident is related for the consideration of parents. a school-fellow with his sister came one sunday morning in the early part of the year to him and asked him whether he would accompany them to the haga park. he said, "yes," but he must first ask his mother's permission. his father had gone out. "well, hurry up!" said his friend. he wanted to show his herbarium, but the other said, "let us go now." "very well, but i must first ask mother." his little brother then came in and wanted to play with his herbarium. he stopped the interruption and showed his friend his minerals. in the meantime he changed his blouse. then he took a piece of bread out of the cupboard. his mother came and greeted his friends, and talked of this and that domestic matter. john was in a hurry, begged his mother's permission, and took his friends into the garden to see the frog-pond. at last they went to the haga park. he felt quite sure that he had asked his mother's leave to do so. when his father came home, he asked john on his return, "where have you been?" "with friends to the haga park." "did you have leave from mother?" "yes." his mother denied it. john was dumb with astonishment. "ah, you are beginning to lie again." he was speechless. he was quite sure he had asked his mother's leave, especially as there was no reason to fear a refusal. he had fully meant to do it, but other matters had intervened; he had forgotten, but was willing to die, if he had told a lie. children as a rule are afraid to lie, but their memory is short, their impressions change quickly, and they confuse wishes and resolves with completed acts. meanwhile the boy long continued to believe that his mother had told a falsehood. but later, after frequent reflections on the incident, he came to think she had forgotten or not heard his request. later on still he began to suspect that his memory might have played him a trick. but he had been so often praised for his good memory, and there was only an interval of two or three hours between his going to the haga park and his return. his suspicions regarding his mother's truthfulness (and why should she not tell an untruth, since women so easily confuse fancies and facts?) were shortly afterwards confirmed. the family had bought a set of furniture--a great event. the boys just then happened to be going to their aunt's. their mother still wished to keep the novelty a secret and to surprise her sister on her next visit. therefore she asked the children not to speak of the matter. on their arrival at their aunt's, the latter asked at once: "has your mother bought the yellow furniture?" his brothers were silent, but john answered cheerfully, "no." on their return, as they sat at table, their mother asked, "well, did aunt ask about the furniture?" "yes." "what did you say?" "i said 'no,'" answered john. "so, then, you dared to lie," interrupted his father. "yes, mother said so," the boy answered. his mother turned pale, and his father was silent. this in itself was harmless enough, but, taken in connection with other things, not without significance. slight suspicions regarding the truthfulness of "others" woke in the boy's mind and made him begin to carry on a silent siege of adverse criticism. his coldness towards his father increased, he began to have a keen eye for instances of oppression, and to make small attempts at revolt. the children were marched to church every sunday; and the family had a key to their pew. the absurdly long services and incomprehensible sermons soon ceased to make any impression. before a system of heating was introduced, it was a perfect torture to sit in the pew in winter for two hours at a stretch with one's feet freezing; but still they were obliged to go, whether for their souls' good, or for the sake of discipline, or in order to have quiet in the house--who knows? his father personally was a theist, and preferred to read wallin's sermons to going to church. his mother began to incline towards pietism. one sunday the idea occurred to john, possibly in consequence of an imprudent bible exposition at school, which had touched upon freedom of the spirit, or something of the sort, not to go to church. he simply remained at home. at dinner, before his father came home, he declared to his brothers and sisters and aunts that no one could compel the conscience of another, and that therefore he did not go to church. this seemed original, and therefore for this once he escaped a caning, but was sent to church as before. * * * * * the social intercourse of the family, except with relatives, could not be large, because of the defective form of his father's marriage. but companions in misfortune draw together, and so intercourse was kept up with an old friend of their father's who also had contracted a _mésalliance_, and had therefore been repudiated by his family. he was a legal official. with him they met another family in the same circumstances owing to an irregular marriage. the children naturally knew nothing of the tragedy below the surface. there were children in both the other families, but john did not feel attracted to them. after the sufferings he had undergone at home and school, his shyness and unsociability had increased, and his residence on the outside of the town and in the country had given him a distaste for domestic life. he did not wish to learn dancing, and thought the boys silly who showed off before the girls. when his mother on one occasion told him to be polite to the latter, he asked, "why?" he had become critical, and asked this question about everything. during a country excursion he tried to rouse to rebellion the boys who carried the girls' shawls and parasols. "why should we be these girls' servants?" he said; but they did not listen to him. finally, he took such a dislike to going out that he pretended to be ill, or dirtied his clothes in order to be obliged to stay at home as a punishment. he was no longer a child, and therefore did not feel comfortable among the other children, but his elders still saw in him only a child. he remained solitary. when he was twelve years old, he was sent in the summer to another school kept by a parish clerk at mariefred. here there were many boarders, all of so-called illegitimate birth. since the parish clerk himself did not know much, he was not able to hear john his lessons. at the first examination in geometry, he found that john was sufficiently advanced to study best by himself. now he felt himself a grandee, and did his lessons alone. the parish clerk's garden adjoined the park of the lord of the manor, and here he took his walks free from imposed tasks and free from oversight. his wings grew, and he began to feel himself a man. in the course of the summer he fell in love with the twenty-year-old daughter of the inspector who often came to the parish clerk's. he never spoke to her, but used to spy out her walks, and often went near her house. the whole affair was only a silent worship of her beauty from a distance, without desire, and without hope. his feeling resembled a kind of secret trouble, and might as well have been directed towards anyone else, if girls had been numerous there. it was a madonna-worship which demanded nothing except to bring the object of his worship some great sacrifice, such as drowning himself in the water under her eyes. it was an obscure consciousness of his own inadequacy as a half man, who did not wish to live without being completed by his "better half." he continued to attend church-services, but they made no impression on him; he found them merely tedious. this summer formed an important stage in his development, for it broke the links with his home. none of his brothers were with him. he had accordingly no intermediary bond of flesh and blood with his mother. this made him more complete in himself, and hardened his nerves; but not all at once, for sometimes he had severe attacks of homesickness. his mother's image rose up in his mind in its usual ideal shape of protectiveness and mildness, as the source of warmth and the preserver. in summer, at the beginning of august, his eldest brother gustav was going to a school in paris, in order to complete his business studies and to learn the language. but previous to that, he was to spend a month in the country and say good-bye to his brother. the thought of the approaching parting, the reflected glory of the great town to which his brother was going, the memory of his brother's many heroic feats, the longing for home and the joy to see again someone of his own flesh and blood,--all combined to set john's emotion and imagination at work. during the week in which he expected his brother, he described him to a friend as a sort of superman to whom he looked up. and gustav certainly was, as a man, superior to him. he was a plucky, lively youth, two years older than john, with strong, dark features; he did not brood, and had an active temperament; he was sagacious, could keep silence when necessary, and strike when occasion demanded it. he understood economy, and was sparing of his money. "he was very wise," thought the dreaming john. he learned his lessons imperfectly, for he despised them, but he understood the art of life. john needed a hero to worship, and wished to form an ideal out of some other material than his own weak clay, round which his own aspirations might gather, and now he exercised his art for eight days. he prepared for his brother's arrival by painting him in glowing colours before his friends, praised him to the teacher, sought out playing-places with little surprises, contrived a spring-board at the bathing-place, and so on. on the day before his brother's arrival he went into the wood and plucked cloud-berries and blue-berries for him. he covered a table with white paper, on which he spread out the berries, yellow and blue alternately, and in the centre he arranged them in the shape of a large g, and surrounded the whole with flowers. his brother arrived, cast a hasty look at the design and ate the berries, but either did not notice the dexterously-contrived initial, or thought it a piece of childishness. as a matter of fact, in their family every ebullition of feeling was regarded as childish. then they went to bathe. the minute after gustav had taken off his shirt, he was in the water, and swam immediately out to the buoy. john admired him and would have gladly followed him, but this time it gave him more pleasure to think that his brother obtained the reputation of being a good swimmer, and that he was only second-best. at dinner gustav left a fat piece of bacon on his plate--a thing which no one before had ever dared to do. but he dared everything. in the evening, when the time came to ring the bells for church, john gave up his turn of ringing to gustav, who rang violently. john was frightened, as though the parish had been exposed to danger thereby, and half in alarm and half laughing, begged him to stop. "what the deuce does it matter?" said gustav. then he introduced him to his friend the big son of the carpenter, who was about fifteen. an intimacy at once sprang up between the two of equal age, and john's friend abandoned him as being too small. but john felt no bitterness, although the two elder ones jested at him, and went out alone together with their guns in their hands. he only wished to give, and he would have given his betrothed away, had he possessed one. he did actually inform his brother about the inspector's daughter, and the latter was pleased with her. but, instead of sighing behind the trees like john, gustav went straight up to her and spoke to her in an innocent boyish way. this was the most daring thing which john had ever seen done in his life, and he felt as if it had added a foot to his own stature. he became visibly greater, his weak soul caught a contagion of strength from his brother's strong nerves, and he identified himself with him. he felt as happy as if he had spoken with the girl himself. he made suggestions for excursions and boating expeditions and his brother carried them out. he discovered birds' nests and his brother climbed the trees and plundered them. but this lasted only for a week. on the last day before they were to leave, john said to gustav: "let us buy a fine bouquet for mother." "very well," replied his brother. they went to the nursery-man, and gustav gave the order that the bouquet should be a fine one. while it was being made up, he went into the garden and plucked fruit quite openly. john did not venture to touch anything. "eat," said his brother. no, he could not. when the bouquet was ready, john paid twenty-four shillings for it. not a sign came from gustav. then they parted. when john came home, he gave his mother the bouquet as from gustav, and she was touched. at supper-time the flowers attracted his father's attention. "gustav sent me those," said his mother. "he is always a kind boy," and john received a sad look because he was so cold-hearted. his father's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. john felt no bitterness. his youthful, enthusiastic love of sacrifice had found vent, the struggle against injustice had made him a self-tormentor, and he kept silent. he also said nothing when his father sent gustav a present of money, and with unusual warmth of expression said how deeply he had been touched by this graceful expression of affection. in fact, he kept silence regarding this incident during his whole life, even when he had occasion to feel bitterness. not till he had been over-powered and fallen in the dirty sand of life's arena, with a brutal foot placed upon his chest and not a hand raised to plead in his behalf, did he say anything about it. even then, it was not mentioned from a feeling of revenge, but as the self-defence of a dying man. [ ] gata = street. v. contact with the upper classes the private schools had been started in opposition to the terrorising sway of the public schools. since their existence depended on the goodwill of the pupils, the latter enjoyed great freedom, and were treated humanely. corporal punishment was forbidden, and the pupils were accustomed to express their thoughts, to ask questions, to defend themselves against charges, and, in a word, were treated as reasonable beings. here for the first time john felt that he had rights. if a teacher made a mistake in a matter of fact, the pupils were not obliged to echo him, and swear by his authority; he was corrected and spiritually lynched by the class who convinced him of his error. rational methods of teaching were also employed. few lessons were set to be done at home. cursory explanations in the languages themselves gave the pupils an idea of the object aimed at, _i.e._, to be able to translate. moreover, foreign teachers were appointed for modern languages, so that the ear became accustomed to the correct accent, and the pupils acquired some notion of the right pronunciation. a number of boys had come from the state schools into this one, and john also met here many of his old comrades from the clara school. he also found some of the teachers from both the clara and jacob schools. these cut quite a different figure here, and played quite another part. he understood now that they had been in the same hole as their victims, for they had had the headmaster and the school board over them. at last the pressure from above was relaxed, his will and his thoughts obtained a measure of freedom, and he had a feeling of happiness and well-being. at home he praised the school, thanked his parents for his liberation, and said that he preferred it to any former one. he forgot former acts of injustice, and became more gentle and unreserved in his behaviour. his mother began to admire his erudition. he learned five languages besides his own. his eldest brother was already in a place of business, and the second in paris. john received a kind of promotion at home and became a companion to his mother. he gave her information from books on history and natural history, and she, having had no education, listened with docility. but after she had listened awhile, whether it was that she wished to raise herself to his level, or that she really feared worldly knowledge, she would speak of the only knowledge which, she said, could make man happy. she spoke of christ; john knew all this very well, but she understood how to make a personal application. he was to beware of intellectual pride, and always to remain simple. the boy did not understand what she meant by "simple," and what she said about christ did not agree with the bible. there was something morbid in her point of view, and he thought he detected the dislike of the uncultured to culture. "why all this long school course," he asked himself, "if it was to be regarded as nothing in comparison with the mysterious doctrine of christ's atonement?" he knew also that his mother had caught up this talk from conversations with nurses, seamstresses, and old women, who went to the dissenting chapels. "strange," he thought, "that people like that should grasp the highest wisdom of which neither the priest in the church nor the teacher in the school had the least notion!" he began to think that these humble pietists had a good deal of spiritual pride, and that their way to wisdom was an imaginary short-cut. moreover, among his school-fellows there were sons of barons and counts, and, when in his stories out of school he mentioned noble titles, he was warned against pride. was he proud? very likely; but in school he did not seek the company of aristocrats, though he preferred looking at them rather than at the others, because their fine clothes, their handsome faces, and their polished finger-nails appealed to his æsthetic sense. he felt that they were of a different race and held a position which he would never reach, nor try to reach, for he did not venture to demand anything of life. but when, one day, a baron's son asked for his help in a lesson, he felt himself in this matter, at any rate, his equal or even his superior. he had thereby discovered that there was something which could set him by the side of the highest in society, and which he could obtain for himself, _i.e._, knowledge. in this school, because of the liberal spirit which was present, there prevailed a democratic tone, of which there had been no trace in the clara school. the sons of counts and barons, who were for the most part idle, had no advantage above the rest. the headmaster, who himself was a peasant's son from smaland, had no fear of the nobility, nor, on the other hand, had he any prejudice against them or wish to humiliate them. he addressed them all, small and big ones, familiarily, studied them individually, called them by their christian names, and took a personal interest in them. the daily intercourse of the townspeople's sons with those of the nobility led to their being on familiar terms with one another. there were no flatterers, except in the upper division, where the adolescent aristocrats came into class with their riding-whips and spurs, while a soldier held their horses outside. the precociously prudent boys, who had already an insight into the art of life, courted these youths, but their intercourse was for the most part superficial. in the autumn term some of the young grandees returned from their expeditions as supernumerary naval cadets. they then appeared in class with uniform and dirk. their fellows admired them, many envied them, but john, with the slave blood in his veins, was never presumptuous enough to think of rivalling them; he recognised their privileges, never dreamed of sharing them, guessed that he would meet with humiliations among them, and therefore never intruded into their circle. but he _did_ dream of reaching equal heights with theirs through merit and hard work. and when in the spring those who were leaving came into the classes to bid farewell to their teachers, when he saw their white students' caps, their free and easy manners and ways, then he noticed that they were also an object of admiration to the naval cadets. * * * * * in his family life there was now a certain degree of prosperity. they had gone back to the norrtullsgata, where it was more homely than the sabbatsberg, and the landlord's sons were his school-fellows. his father no longer rented a garden, and john busied himself for the most part with his books. he led the life of a well-to-do-youth. things were more cheerful at home; grown-up cousins and the clerks from his father's office came on sundays for visits, and john, in spite of his youth, made one of the company. he now wore a coat, took care of his personal appearance, and, as a promising scholar, was thought more highly of than one of his years would otherwise have been. he went for walks in the garden, but the berries and the apple-trees no longer tempted him. from time to time there came letters from his brother in paris. they were read aloud, and listened to with great attention. they were also read to friends and acquaintances, and that was a triumph for the family. at christmas his brother sent a photograph of himself in a french school uniform. that was the climax. john had now a brother who wore a uniform and spoke french! he exhibited the photograph in the school, and rose in the social scale thereby. the naval cadets were envious, and said it was not a proper uniform, for he had no dirk. but he had a "kepi," and shining buttons, and some gold lace on his collar. at home they had also stereoscopic pictures from paris to show, and they now seemed to live in paris. they were as familiar with the tuileries and the arc de triomphe as with the castle and statue of gustavus adolphus. the proverb that a father "lives in his children" really seemed to be justified. life now lay open before the youth; the pressure he had formerly been subjected to had diminished, and perhaps he would have traversed a smooth and easy path through life if a change of circumstances had not thrown him back. his mother had passed through twelve confinements, and consequently had become weak. now she was obliged to keep her bed, and only rose occasionally. she was more given to moods than before, and contradictions would set her cheek aflame. the previous christmas she had fallen into a violent altercation with her brother regarding the pietist preachers. while sitting at the dinner-table, the latter had expressed his preference for fredman's _epistles_ as exhibiting deeper powers of thought than the sermons of the pietists. john's mother took fire at this, and had an attack of hysteria. that was only a symptom. now, during the intervals when she got up, she began to mend the children's linen and clothes, and to clear out all the drawers. she often talked to john about religion and other high matters. one day she showed him some gold rings. "you boys will get these, when mamma is dead," she said. "which is mine?" asked john, without stopping to think about death. she showed him a plaited girl's ring with a heart. it made a deep impression on the boy, who had never possessed anything of gold, and he often thought of the ring. about that time a nurse was hired for the children. she was young and good-looking, taciturn, and smiled in a critical sort of way. she had served in a count's mansion in the tradgardsgatan, and probably thought that she had come into a poverty-stricken house. she was supposed to look after the children and the servant-maids, but was on almost intimate terms with the latter. there were now three servants--a housekeeper, a man-servant, and a girl from dalecarlia. the girls had their lovers, and a cheerful life went on in the great kitchen, where polished copper and tin vessels shone brightly. there was eating and drinking, and the boys were invited in. they were called "sir," and their health was drunk. only the man-servant was not there; he thought it was "vulgar" to live like that, while the mistress of the house was ill. the home seemed to be undergoing a process of dissolution, and john's father had had many difficulties with the servants since his mother had been obliged to keep her bed. but she remained the servants' friend till death, and took their side by instinct, but they abused her partiality. it was strictly forbidden to excite the patient, but the servants intrigued against each other, and against their master. one day john had melted lead in a silver spoon. the cook blabbed of it to his mother, who was excited and told his father. but his father was only-annoyed with the tell-tale. he went to john and said in a friendly way, as though he were compelled to make a complaint: "you should not melt lead in silver spoons. i don't care about the spoon; that can be repaired; but this devil of a cook has excited mother. don't tell the girls when you have done something stupid, but tell me, and we will put it right." he and his father were now friends for the first time, and he loved him for his condescension. one night his father's voice awoke him from sleep. he started up, and found it dark in the room. through the darkness he heard a deep trembling voice, "come to mother's death-bed!" it went through him like a flash of lightning. he froze and shivered while he dressed, the skin of his head felt ice-cold, his eyes were wide-open and streaming with tears, so that the flame of the lamp looked like a red bladder. then they stood round the sick-bed and wept for one, two, three hours. the night crept slowly onward. his mother was unconscious and knew no one. the death-struggle, with rattling in the throat, and cries for help, had commenced. the little ones were not aroused. john thought of all the sins which he had committed, and found no good deeds to counterbalance them. after three hours his tears ceased, and his thoughts began to take various directions. the process of dying was over. "how will it be," he asked himself, "when mother is no longer there?" nothing but emptiness and desolation, without comfort or compensation--a deep gloom of wretchedness in which he searched for some point of light. his eye fell on his mother's chest of drawers, on which stood a plaster statuette of linnæus with a flower in his hand. there was the only advantage which this boundless misfortune brought with it--he would get the ring. he saw it in imagination on his hand. "that is in memory of my mother," he would be able to say, and he would weep at the recollection of her, but he could not suppress the thought, "a gold ring looks fine after all." shame! who could entertain such thoughts at his mother's death-bed? a brain that was drunk with sleep? a child which had wept itself out? oh, no, an heir. was he more avaricious than others? had he a natural tendency to greed? no, for then he would never have related the matter, but he bore it in memory his whole life long; it kept on turning up, and when he thought of it in sleepless nights, and hours of weariness, he felt the flush mount into his cheeks. then he instituted an examination of himself and his conduct, and blamed himself as the meanest of all men. it was not till he was older and had come to know a great number of men, and studied the processes of thought, that he came to the conclusion that the brain is a strange thing which goes its own way, and there is a great similarity among men in the double life which they lead, the outward and the inward, the life of speech and that of thought. john was a compound of romanticism, pietism, realism, and naturalism. therefore he was never anything but a patchwork. he certainly did not exclusively think about the wretched ornament. the whole matter was only a momentary distraction of two minutes' duration after months of sorrow, and when at last there was stillness in the room, and his father said, "mother is dead," he was not to be comforted. he shrieked like one drowning. how can death bring such profound despair to those who hope to meet again? it must needs press hard on faith when the annihilation of personality takes place with such inflexible consistency before our eyes. john's father, who generally had the outward imperturbability of the icelander, was now softened. he took his sons by the hands and said: "god has visited us; we will now hold together like friends. men go about in their self-sufficiency, and believe they are enough for themselves; then comes a blow, and we see how _we_ all need one another. we will be sincere and considerate with each other." the boy's sorrow was for a moment relieved. he had found a friend, a strong, wise, manly friend whom he admired. white sheets were now hung up at the windows of the house in sign of mourning. "you need not go to school, if you don't want to," said his father. "if you don't want"--that was acknowledgment that he had a will of his own. then came aunts, cousins, relations, nurses, old servants, and all called down blessings on the dead. all offered their help in making the mourning clothes--there were four small and three elder children. young girls sat by the sickly light that fell through the sheeted windows and sewed, while they conversed in undertones. that was melancholy, and the period of mourning brought a whole chain of peculiar experiences with it. never had the boy been the object of so much sympathy, never had he felt so many warm hands stretched out, nor heard so many friendly words. on the next sunday his father read a sermon of wallin's on the text "our friend is not dead, but she sleeps." with what extraordinary faith he took these words literally, and how well he understood how to open the wounds and heal them again! "she is not dead, but she sleeps," he repeated cheerfully. the mother really slept there in the cold anteroom, and no one expected to see her awake. the time of burial approached; the place for the grave was bought. his father's sister-in-law helped to sew the suits of mourning; she sewed and sewed, the old mother of seven penniless children, the once rich burgher's wife, sewed for the children of the marriage which her husband had cursed. one day she stood up and asked her brother-in-law to speak with her privately. she whispered with him in a corner of the room. the two old people embraced each other and wept. then john's father told them that their mother would be laid in their uncle's family grave. this was a much-admired monument in the new churchyard, which consisted of an iron pillar surmounted by an urn. the boys knew that this was an honour for their mother, but they did not understand that by her burial there a family quarrel had been extinguished, and justice done after her death to a good and conscientious woman who had been despised because she became a mother before her marriage. now all was peace and reconciliation in the house, and they vied with one another in acts of friendliness. they looked frankly at each other, avoided anything that might cause disturbance, and anticipated each other's wishes. then came the day of the funeral. when the coffin had been screwed down and was carried through the hall, which was filled with mourners dressed in black, one of john's little sisters began to cry and flung herself in his arms. he took her up and pressed her to himself, as though he were her mother and wished to protect her. when he felt how her trembling little body clung close to him, he grew conscious of a strength which he had not felt for a long time. comfortless himself he could bestow comfort, and as he quieted the child he himself grew calm. the black coffin and the crowd of people had frightened her--that was all; for the smaller children hardly missed their mother; they did not weep for her, and had soon forgotten her. the tie between mother and child is not formed so quickly, but only through long personal acquaintance. john's real sense of loss hardly lasted for a quarter of a year. he mourned for her indeed a long time, but that was more because he wished to continue in that mood, though it was only an expression of his natural melancholy, which had taken the special form of mourning for his mother. after the funeral there followed a long summer of leisure and freedom. john occupied two rooms with his eldest brother, who did not return from business till the evening. his father was out the whole day, and when they met they were silent. they had laid aside enmity, but intimacy was impossible. john was now his own master; he came and went, and did what he liked. his father's housekeeper was sympathetic with him, and they never quarrelled. he avoided intercourse with his school-fellows, shut himself in his room, smoked, read, and meditated. he had always heard that knowledge was the best thing, a capital fund which could not be lost, and which afforded a footing, however low one might sink in the social scale. he had a mania for explaining and knowing everything. he had seen his eldest brother's drawings and heard them praised. in school he had drawn only geometrical figures. accordingly, he wished to draw, and in the christmas holidays he copied with furious diligence all his brother's drawings. the last in the collection was a horse. when he had finished it, and saw that it was unsatisfactory, he had done with drawing. all the children except john could play some instrument. he heard scales and practising on the piano, violin, and violoncello, so that music was spoiled for him and became a nuisance, like the church-bells had formerly been. he would have gladly played, but he did not wish to practise scales. he took pieces of music when no one was looking and played them--as might be supposed--very badly, but it pleased him. as a compensation for his vanity, he determined to learn technically the pieces which his sisters played, so that he surpassed them in the knowledge of musical technique. once they wanted someone to copy the music of the _zauberflöte_ arranged for a quartette. john offered to do so. "can you copy notes?" he was asked. "i'll try," he said. he practised copying for a couple of days, and then copied out the four parts. it was a long, tedious piece of work, and he nearly gave it up, but finally completed it. his copy was certainly inaccurate in places, but it was usable. he had no rest till he had learned to know all the varieties of plants included in the stockholm flora. when he had done so he dropped the subject. a botanical excursion afforded him no more interest; roamings through the country showed him nothing new. he could not find any plant which he did not know. he also knew the few minerals which were to be found, and had an entomological collection. he could distinguish birds by their notes, their feathers, and their eggs. but all these were only outward phenomena, mere names for things, which soon lost their interest. he wanted to reach what lay behind them. he used to be blamed for his destructiveness, for he broke toys, watches, and everything that fell into his hands. accidently he heard in the academy of sciences a lecture on chemistry and physics, accompanied by experiments. the unusual instruments and apparatus fascinated him. the professor was a magician, but one who explained how the miracles took place. this was a novelty for him, and he wished himself to penetrate these secrets. he talked with his father about his new hobby, and the latter, who had himself studied electricity in his youth, lent him books from his bookcase--fock's _physics_, girardin's _chemistry_, figuier's _discoveries and inventions_, and the _chemical technology_ of nyblæus. in the attic was also a galvanic battery constructed on the old daniellian copper and zinc system. this he got hold of when he was twelve years old, and made so many experiments with sulphuric acid as to ruin handkerchiefs, napkins, and clothes. after he had galvanised everything which seemed a suitable object, he laid this hobby also aside. during the summer he took up privately the study of chemistry with enthusiasm. but he did not wish to carry out the experiments described in the text-book; he wished to make discoveries. he had neither money nor any chemical apparatus, but that did not hinder him. he had a temperament which must carry out its projects in spite of every difficulty, and on the spot. this was still more the case, since he had become his own master, after his mother's death. when he played chess, he directed his plan of campaign against his opponent's king. he went on recklessly, without thinking of defending himself, sometimes gained the victory by sheer recklessness, but frequently also lost the game. "if i had had one move more, you would have been checkmated," he said on such occasions. "yes, but you hadn't, and therefore _you_ are checkmated," was the answer. when he wished to open a locked drawer, and the key was not at hand, he took the tongs and broke the lock, so that, together with its screws, it came loose from the wood. "why did you break the lock?" they asked. "because i wished to get at the drawer." this impetuosity revealed a certain pertinacity, but the latter only lasted while the fit was on him. for example: on one occasion he wished to make an electric machine. in the attic he found a spinning-wheel. from it he broke off whatever he did not need, and wanted to replace the wheel with a round pane of glass. he found a double window, and with a splinter of quartz cut a pane out. but it had to be round and have a whole in the middle. with a key he knocked off one splinter of glass after another, each not larger than a grain of sand, this took him several days, but at last he had made the pane round. but how was he to make a hole in it? he contrived a bow-drill. in order to get the bow, he broke an umbrella, took a piece of whale-bone out, and with that and a violin-string made his bow. then he rubbed the glass with the splinter of quartz, wetted it with turpentine, and bored. but he saw no result. then he lost patience and reflection, and tried to finish the job with a piece of cracking-coal. the pane of glass split in two. then he threw himself, weak, exhausted, hopeless, on the bed. his vexation was intensified by a consciousness of poverty. if he had only had money. he walked up and down before spolander's shop in the vesterlanggata and looked at the various sets of chemical apparatus there displayed. he would have gladly ascertained their price, but dared not go in. what would have been the good? his father gave him no money. when he had recovered from this failure, he wanted to make what no one has made hitherto, and no one can make--a machine to exhibit "perpetual motion." his father had told him that for a long time past a reward had been offered to anyone who should invent this impossibility. this tempted him. he constructed a waterfall with a "hero's fountain,"[ ] which worked a pump; the waterfall was to set the pump in motion, and the pump was to draw up the water again out of the "hero's fountain." he had again to make a raid on the attic. after he had broken everything possible in order to collect material, he began his work. a coffee-making machine had to serve as a pipe; a soda-water machine as a reservoir; a chest of drawers furnished planks and wood; a bird-cage, iron wire; and so on. the day of testing it came. then the housekeeper asked him if he would go with his brothers and sisters to their mother's grave. "no," he said, "he had no time." whether his conscience now smote him, and spoiled his work, or whether he was nervous--anyhow, it was a failure. then he took the whole apparatus, without trying to put right what was wrong in it, and hurled it against the tiled stove. there lay the work, on which so many useful things had been wasted, and a good while later on the ruin was discovered in the attic. he received a reproof, but that had no longer an effect on him. in order to have his revenge at home, where he was despised on account of his unfortunate experiments, he made some explosions with detonating gas, and contrived a leyden jar. for this he took the skin of a dead black cat which he had found on the observatory hill and brought home in his pocket-handkerchief. one night, when his eldest brother and he came home from a concert, they could find no matches, and did not wish to wake anyone. john hunted up some sulphuric acid and zinc, produced hydrogen, procured a flame by means of the electricity conductor, and lighted the lamp. this established his reputation as a scientific chemist. he also manufactured matches like those made at jönkoping. then he laid chemistry aside for a time. his father's bookshelves contained a small collection of books which were now at his disposal. here, besides the above-mentioned works on chemistry and physics, he found books on gardening, an illustrated natural history, meyer's _universum_, a german anatomical treatise with plates, an illustrated german history of napoleon, wallin's, franzen's, and tegner's poems, _don quixote_, frederika bremer's romances, etc. besides books about indians and the _thousand and one nights_, john had hitherto no acquaintance with pure literature. he had looked into some romances and found them tedious, especially as they had no illustrations. but after he had floundered about chemistry and natural science, he one day paid a visit to the bookcase. he looked into the poets; here he felt as though he were floating in the air and did not know where he was. he did not understand it. then he took frederika bremer's _pictures from daily life._ here he found domesticity and didacticism, and put them back. then he seized hold of a collection of tales and fairy stories called _der jungfrauenturm_. these dealt with unhappy love, and moved him. but most important of all was the circumstance that he felt himself an adult with these adult characters. he understood what they said, and observed that he was no longer a child. he, too, had been unhappy in love, had suffered and fought, but he was kept back in the prison of childhood. and now he first became aware that his soul was in prison. it had long been fledged, but they had clipped its wings and put it in a cage. now he sought his father and wished to talk with him as a comrade, but his father was reserved and brooded over his sorrow. in the autumn there came a new throw-back and check for him. he was ripe for the highest class, but was kept back in the school because he was too young. he was infuriated. for the second time he was held fast by the coat when he wished to jump. he felt like an omnibus-horse continually pressing forward and being as constantly held back. this lacerated his nerves, weakened his will-power, and laid the foundation for lack of courage in the future. he never dared to wish anything very keenly, for he had seen how often his wishes were checked. he wanted to be industrious and press on, but industry did not help him; he was too young. no, the school course was too long. it showed the goal in the distance, but set obstacles in the way of the runners. he had reckoned on being a student when he was fifteen, but had to wait till he was eighteen. in his last year, when he saw escape from his prison so near, another year of punishment was imposed upon him by a rule being passed that they were to remain in the highest class for two years. his childhood and youth had been extremely painful; the whole of life was spoiled for him, and he sought comfort in heaven. [ ] an artificial fountain of water, worked by pressure of air. vi. the school of the cross sorrow has the fortunate peculiarity that it preys upon itself. it dies of starvation. since it is essentially an interruption of habits, it can be replaced by new habits. constituting, as it does, a void, it is soon filled up by a real "horror vacui." a twenty-years' marriage had come to an end. a comrade in the battle against the difficulties of life was lost; a wife, at whose side her husband had lived, had gone and left behind an old celibate; the manager of the house had quitted her post. everything was in confusion. the small, black-dressed creatures, who moved everywhere like dark blots in the rooms and in the garden, kept the feeling of loss fresh. their father thought they felt forlorn and believed them defenceless. he often came home from his work in the afternoon and sat alone in a lime-tree arbour, which looked towards the street. he had his eldest daughter, a child of seven, on his knee, and the others played at his feet. john often watched the grey-haired man, with his melancholy, handsome features, sitting in the green twilight of the arbour. he could not comfort him, and did not seek his company any more. he saw the softening of the old man's nature, which he would not have thought possible before. he watched how his fixed gaze lingered on his little daughter as though in the childish lines of her face he would reconstruct in imagination the features of the dead. from his window john often watched this picture between the stems of the trees down the long vista of the avenue; it touched him deeply, but he began to fear for his father, who no longer seemed to be himself. six months had passed, when his father one autumn evening came home with a stranger. he was an elderly man of unusually cheerful aspect. he joked good-naturedly, was friendly and kindly towards children and servants, and had an irresistible way of making people laugh. he was an accountant, had been a school friend of john's father, and was now discovered to be living in a house close by. the two old men talked of their youthful recollections, which afforded material to fill the painful void john's father felt. his stern, set features relaxed, as he was obliged to laugh at his friend's witty and humorous remarks. after a week he and the whole family were laughing as only those can who have wept for a long time. their friend was a wit of the first water, and more, could play the violin and guitar, and sing bellman's[ ] songs. a new atmosphere seemed to pervade the house, new views of things sprang up, and the melancholy phantoms of the mourning period were dissipated. the accountant had also known trouble; he had lost his betrothed, and since then remained a bachelor. life had not been child's play for him, but he had taken things as they came. soon after john's brother gustav returned from paris in uniform, mixing french words with swedish in his talk, brisk and cheerful. his father received him with a kiss on the forehead, and was somewhat depressed again by the recollection that this son had not been at his mother's death-bed. but he soon cheered up again and the house grew lively. gustav entered his father's business, and the latter had someone now with whom he could talk on matters which interested him. one evening, late in autumn, after supper, when the accountant was present and the company sat together, john's father stood up and signified his wish to say a few words: "my boys and my friend," he began, and then announced his intention of giving his little children a new mother, adding that the time of youthful passion was past for him, and that only thoughts for the children had led to the resolve to make fräulein--his wife. she was the housekeeper. he made the announcement in a somewhat authoritative tone, as though he would say, "you have really nothing to do with it; however, i let you know." then the housekeeper was fetched to receive their congratulations, which were hearty on the part of the accountant, but of a somewhat mixed nature on the part of the three boys. two of them had rather an uncomfortable conscience on the matter, for they had strongly but innocently admired her; but the third, john, had latterly been on bad terms with her. which of them was most embarrassed would be difficult to decide. there ensued a long pause, during which the youths examined themselves, mentally settled their accounts, and thought of the possible consequences of this unexpected event. john must have been the first to realise what the situation demanded, for he went the same evening into the nursery straight to the housekeeper. it seemed dark before his eyes as he repeated the following speech, which he had hastily composed and learned by heart in his father's fashion: "since our relations with each other will hence-forward be on a different footing," he said, "allow me to ask you to forget the past and to be friends." this was a prudent utterance, sincerely meant, and had no _arrière pensée_ behind it. it was also a balancing of accounts with his father, and the expression of a wish to live harmoniously together for the future. at noon the next day john's father came up to his room, thanked him for his kindness towards the housekeeper, and, as a token of his pleasure at it, gave him a small present, but one which he had long desired. it was a chemical apparatus. john felt ashamed to take the present, and made little of his kindness. it was a natural result of his father's announcement, and a prudent thing to do, but his father and the housekeeper must have seen in it a good augury for their wedded happiness. they soon discovered their mistake, which was naturally laid at the boy's door. there is no doubt that the old man married again for his children's sake, but it is also certain that he loved the young woman. and why should he not? it is nobody's affair except that of the persons concerned, but it is a fact of constant occurrence, both that widowers marry again, however galling the bonds of matrimony may have been, and that they also feel they are committing a breach of trust against the dead. dying wives are generally tormented with the thought that the survivor will marry again. the two elder brothers took the affair lightly, and accommodated themselves to it. they regarded their father with veneration, and never doubted the rightness of what he did. they had never considered that fatherhood is an accident which may happen to anyone. but john doubted. he fell into endless disputes with his brothers, and criticised his father for becoming engaged before the expiration of the year of mourning. he conjured up his mother's shade, prophesied misery and ruin, and let himself go to unreasonable lengths. the brothers' argument was: "we have nothing to do with father's acts." "it was true," retorted john, "that it was not their business to judge; still, it concerned them deeply." "word-catcher!" they replied, not seeing the distinction. one evening, when john had come home from school, he saw the house lit up and heard music and talking. he went to his room in order to study. the servant came up and said that his father wished him to come down as there were guests present. "who?" asked john. "the new relations." john replied that he had no time. then one of his brothers appeared. he first abused john, then he begged him to come, saying that he ought to for his father's sake, even if it were only for a moment; he could soon go up again. john said he would consider the matter. at last he went down; he saw the room full of ladies and gentlemen: three aunts, a new grandmother, an uncle, a grandfather. the aunts were young girls. he made a bow in the centre of the room politely but stiffly. his father was vexed, but did not wish to show it. he asked john whether he would have a glass of punch. john took it. then the old man asked ironically whether he had really so much work for the school. john said "yes," and returned to his room. here it was cold and dark, and he could not work when the noise of music and dancing ascended to him. then the cook came up to fetch him to supper. he would not have any. hungry and angry he paced up and down the room. at intervals he wanted to go down where it was warm, light, and cheerful, and several times took hold of the door-handle. but he turned back again, for he was shy. timid as he was by nature, this last solitary summer had made him still more uncivilised. so he went hungry to bed, and considered himself the most unfortunate creature in the world. the next day his father came to his room and told him he had not been honest when he had asked the housekeeper's pardon. "pardon!" exclaimed john, "he had nothing to ask pardon for." but now his father wanted to humble him. "let him try," thought john to himself. for a time no obvious attempts were made in that direction, but john stiffened himself to meet them, when they should come. one evening his brother was reading by the lamp in the room upstairs. john asked, "what are you reading?" his brother showed him the title on the cover; there stood in old black-letter type on a yellow cover the famous title: _warning of a friend of youth against the most dangerous enemy of youth_. "have you read it?" asked gustav. john answered "yes," and drew back. after gustav had done reading, he put the book in his drawer and went downstairs. john opened the drawer and took out the mysterious work. his eyes glanced over the pages without venturing to fix on any particular spot. his knees trembled, his face became bloodless, his pulses froze. he was, then, condemned to death or lunacy at the age of twenty-five! his spinal marrow and his brain would disappear, his hair would fall out, his hands would tremble--it was horrible! and the cure was--christ! but christ could not heal the body, only the soul. the body was condemned to death at five-and-twenty; the only thing left was to save the soul from everlasting damnation. this was dr. kapff's famous pamphlet, which has driven so many youths into a lunatic asylum in order to increase the adherents of the protestant jesuits. such a dangerous work should have been prosecuted, confiscated, and burnt, or, at any rate, counteracted by more intelligent ones. one of the latter sort fell into john's hands later, and he did his best to circulate it, as it was excellent. the title was uncle palle's _advice to young sinners,_ and its authorship was attributed to the medical councillor, dr. westrand. it was a cheerfully written book, which took the matter lightly, and declared that the dangers of the evil habit had been exaggerated; it also gave practical advice and hygienic directions. but even to the present time kapff's absurd pamphlet is in vogue, and doctors are frequently visited by sinners, who with beating hearts make their confessions.[ ] for half a year john could find no word of comfort in his great trouble. he was, he thought, condemned to death; the only thing left was to lead a virtuous and religious life, till the fatal hour should strike. he hunted up his mother's pietistic books and read them. he considered himself merely as a criminal and humbled himself. when on the next day he passed through the street, he stepped off the pavement in order to make room for everyone he met. he wished to mortify himself, to suffer for the allotted period, and then to enter into the joy of his lord. one night he awoke and saw his brothers sitting by the lamplight. they were discussing the subject. he crept under the counterpane and put his fingers in his ears in order not to hear. but he heard all the same. he wished to spring up to confess, to beg for mercy and help, but dared not, to hear the confirmation of his death sentence. had he spoken, perhaps he would have obtained help and comfort, but he kept silence. he lay still, with perspiration breaking out, and prayed. wherever he went he saw the terrible word written in old black letters on a yellow ground, on the walls of the houses, on the carpets of the room. the chest of drawers in which the book lay contained the guillotine. every time his brother approached the drawer he trembled and ran away. for hours at a time he stood before the looking-glass in order to see if his eyes had sunk in, his hair had fallen out, and his skull was projecting. but he looked ruddy and healthy. he shut himself up in himself, was quiet and avoided all society. his father imagined that by this behaviour he wished to express his disapproval of the marriage; that he was proud, and wanted to humble him. but he was humbled already, and as he silently yielded to the pressure his father congratulated himself on the success of his strategy. this irritated the boy, and sometimes he revolted. now and then there arose a faint hope in him that his body might be saved. he went to the gymnasium, took cold baths, and ate little in the evening. through home-life, intercourse with school-fellows, and learning, he had developed a fairly complicated ego, and when he compared himself with the simpler egos of others, he felt superior. but now religion came and wanted to kill this ego. that was not so easy and the battle was fierce. he saw also that no one else denied himself. why, then, in heaven's name, should he do so? when his father's wedding-day came, he revolted. he did not go to kiss the bride like his brothers and sisters, but withdrew from the dancing to the toddy-drinkers, and got a little intoxicated. but a punishment was soon to follow on this, and his ego was to be broken. he became a collegian, but this gave him no joy. it came too late, like a debt that had been long due. he had had the pleasure of it beforehand. no one congratulated him, and he got no collegian's cap. why? did they want to humble him or did his father not wish to sec an outward sign of his learning? at last it was suggested that one of his aunts should embroider the college wreath on velvet, which could then be sewn on to an ordinary black cap. she embroidered an oak and laurel branch, but so badly that his fellow-students laughed at him. he was the only collegian for a long time who had not worn the proper cap. the only one--pointed at, and passed over! then his breakfast-money, which hitherto had been five öre, was reduced to four. this was an unnecessary cruelty, for they were not poor at home, and a boy ought to have more food. the consequence was that john had no breakfast at all, for he spent his weekly money in tobacco. he had a keen appetite and was always hungry. when there was salt cod-fish for dinner, he ate till his jaws were weary, but left the table hungry. did he then really get too little to eat? no; there are millions of working-men who have much less, but the stomachs of the upper classes must have become accustomed to stronger and more concentrated nourishment. his whole youth seemed to him in recollection a long fasting period. moreover, under the step-mother's rule the scale of diet was reduced, the food was inferior, and he could change his linen only once instead of twice a week. this was a sign that one of the lower classes was guiding the household. the youth was not proud in the sense that he despised the housekeeper's low birth, but the fact that she who had formerly been beneath him tried to oppress him, made him revolt--but now christianity came in and bade him turn the other cheek. he kept growing, and had to go about in clothes which he had outgrown. his comrades jeered at his short trousers. his school-books were old editions out of date, and this caused him much annoyance in the school. "so it is in my book," he would say to the teacher. "show me your book." then the teacher was scandalised, and told him to get the newest edition, which he never did. his shirt-sleeves reached only half-way down his arm and could not be buttoned. in the gymnasium, therefore, he always kept his jacket on. one day in his capacity as leader of the troop he was having a special lesson from the teacher of gymnastics. "take off your jackets, boys, we want to put our backs into it," said the instructor. all besides john did so. "well, are you ready?" "no, i am freezing," answered john. "you will soon be warm," said the instructor; "off with your jacket." he refused. the instructor came up to him in a friendly way and pulled at his sleeves. he resisted. the instructor looked at him. "what is this?" he said. "i ask you kindly and you won't oblige me. then go!" john wished to say something in his defence; he looked at the friendly man, with whom he had always been on good terms, with troubled eyes--but he kept silence and went. what depressed him was poverty imposed as a cruelty, not as a necessity. he complained to his brothers, but they said he should not be proud. difference of education had opened a gulf between him and them. they belonged to a different class of society, and ranged themselves with the father who was of their class and the one in power. another time he was given a jacket which had been altered from a blue frock-coat with bright buttons. his school-fellows laughed at him as though he were pretending to be a cadet, but this was the last idea in his mind, for he always plumed himself on being rather than seeming. this jacket cost him untold suffering. after this a systematic plan of humbling him was pursued. john was waked up early in the mornings to do domestic tasks before he went to school. he pleaded his school-work as an excuse, but it did not help him at all. "you learn so easily," he was told. this was quite unnecessary, as there was a man-servant, besides several other servants, in the house. he saw that it was merely meant as a chastisement. he hated his oppressors and they hated him. then there began a second course of discipline. he had to get up in the morning and drive his father to the town before he went to school, then return with the horse and trap, take out the horse, feed it, and sweep the stable. the same manoeuvre was repeated at noon. so, besides his school-work, he had domestic work and must drive twice daily to and from riddarholm. in later years he asked himself whether this had been done with forethought; whether his wise father saw that too much activity of brain was bad for him, and that physical work was necessary. or perhaps it was an economical regulation in order to save some of the man-servant's work time. physical exertion is certainly useful for boys, and should be commended to the consideration of all parents, but john could not perceive any beneficent intention in the matter, even though it may have existed. the whole affair seemed so dictated by malice and an intention to cause pain, that it was impossible for him to discover any good purpose in it, though it may have existed along with the bad one. in the summer holidays the driving out degenerated into stable-work. the horse had to be fed at stated hours, and john was obliged to stay at home in order not to miss them. his freedom was at an end. he felt the great change which had taken place in his circumstances, and attributed them to his stepmother. instead of being a free person who could dispose of his own time and thoughts, he had become a slave, to do service in return for his food. when he saw that his brothers were spared all such work, he became convinced that it was imposed on him out of malice. straw-cutting, room-sweeping, water-carrying, etc., are excellent exercises, but the motive spoiled everything. if his father had told him it was good for his health, he would have done it gladly, but now he hated it. he feared the dark, for he had been brought up like all children by the maid-servants, and he had to do violence to himself when he went up to the hay-loft every evening. he cursed it every time, but the horse was a good-natured beast with whom he sometimes talked. he was, moreover, fond of animals, and possessed canaries of which he took great care. he hated his domestic tasks because they were imposed upon him by the former housekeeper, who wished to revenge herself on him and to show him her superiority. he hated her, for the tasks were exacted from him as payment for his studies. he had seen through the reason why he was being prepared for a learned career. they boasted of him and his learning; he was not then being educated out of kindness. then he became obstinate, and on one occasion damaged the springs of the trap in driving. when they alighted at riddarhustorg, his father examined it. he observed that a spring was broken. "go to the smith's," he said. john was silent. "did you hear?" "yes, i heard." he had to go to the malargata, where the smith lived. the latter said it would take three hours to repair the damage. what was to be done? he must take the horse out, lead it home and return. but to lead a horse in harness, while wearing his collegian's cap, through the drottningsgata, perhaps to meet the boys by the observatory who envied him for his cap, or still worse, the pretty girls on the norrtullsgata who smiled at him--no! he would do anything rather than that. he then thought of leading the horse through the rorstrandsgata, but then he would have to pass karlberg, and here he knew the cadets. he remained in the courtyard, sitting on a log in the sunshine and cursed his lot. he thought of the summer holidays which he had spent in the country, of his friends who were now there, and measured his misfortune by that standard. but had he thought of his brothers who were now shut up for ten hours a day in the hot and gloomy office without hope of a single holiday, his meditations on his lot would have taken a different turn; but he did not do that. just now he would have willingly changed places with them. they, at any rate, earned their bread, and did not have to stay at home. they had a definite position, but he had not. why did his parents let him smell at the apple and then drag him away? he longed to get away--no matter where. he was in a false position, and he wished to get out of it, to be either above or below and not to be crushed between the wheels. accordingly, one day he asked his father for permission to leave the school. his father was astonished, and asked in a friendly way his reason. he replied that everything was spoiled for him, he was learning nothing, and wished to go out into life in order to work and earn his own living. "what do you want to be?" asked his father. he said he did not know, and then he wept. a few days later his father asked him whether he would like to be a cadet. a cadet! his eyes lighted up, but he did not know what to answer. to be a fine gentleman with a sword! his boldest dreams had never reached so far. "think over it," said his father. he thought about it the whole evening. if he accepted, he would now go in uniform to karlberg, where he had once bathed and been driven away by the cadets. to become an officer--that meant to get power; the girls would smile on him and no one would oppress him. he felt life grow brighter, the sense of oppression vanished from his breast and hope awoke. but it was too much for him. it neither suited him nor his surroundings. he did not wish to mount and to command; he wished only to escape the compulsion to blind obedience, the being watched and oppressed. the stoicism which asks nothing of life awoke in him. he declined the offer, saying it was too much for him. the mere thought that he could have been what perhaps all boys long to be, was enough for him. he renounced it, descended, and took up his chain again. when, later on, he became an egotistic pietist, he imagined that he had renounced the honour for christ's sake. that was not true, but, as a matter of fact, there was some asceticism in his sacrifice. he had, moreover, gained clearer insight into his parents' game; they wished to get honour through him. probably the cadet idea had been suggested by his stepmother. but there arose more serious occasions of contention. john thought that his younger brothers and sisters were worse dressed than before, and he had heard cries from the nursery. "ah!" he said to himself, "she beats them." now he kept a sharp look-out. one day he noticed that the servant teased his younger brother as he lay in bed. the little boy was angry and spat in her face. his step-mother wanted to interfere, but john intervened. he had now tasted blood. the matter was postponed till his father's return. after dinner the battle was to begin. john was ready. he felt that he represented his dead mother. then it began! after a formal report, his father took hold of pelle, and was about to beat him. "you must not beat him!" cried john in a threatening tone, and rushed towards his father as though he would have seized him by the collar. "what in heaven's name are you saying?" "you should not touch him. he is innocent." "come in here and let me talk to you; you are certainly mad," said his father. "yes, i will come," said the generally timid john, as though he were possessed. his father hesitated somewhat on hearing his confident tone, and his sound intelligence must have told him that there was something queer about the matter. "well, what have you to say to me?" asked his father, more quietly but still distrustfully. "i say that it is karin's fault; she did wrong, and if mother had lived----" that struck home. "what are you talking nonsense about your mother for? you have now a new mother. prove what you say. what has karin done?" that was just the trouble; he could not say it, for he feared by doing so to touch a sore point. he was silent. a thousand thoughts coursed through his mind. how should he express them? he struggled for utterance, and finally came out with a stupid saying which he had read somewhere in a school-book. "prove!" he said. "there are clear matters of fact which can neither be proved nor need to be proved." (how stupid! he thought to himself, but it was too late.) "now you are simply stupid," said his father. john was beaten, but he still wished to continue the conflict. a new repartee learned at school occurred to him. "if i am stupid, that is a natural fault, which no one has the right to reproach me with." "shame on you for talking such rubbish! go out and don't let me see you any more!" and he was put out. after this scene all punishments took place in john's absence. it was believed he would spring at their throats if he heard any cries, and that was probable enough. there was yet another method of humbling him--a hateful method which is often employed in families. it consisted of arresting his mental and moral growth by confining him to the society of his younger brothers and sisters. children are often obliged to play with their brothers and sisters whether they are congenial to them or not. that is tyranny. but to compel an elder child to go about with the younger ones is a crime against nature; it is the mutilation of a young growing tree. john had a younger brother, a delightful child of seven, who trusted everyone and worried no one. john loved him and took good care that he was not ill-treated. but to have intimate intercourse with such a young child, who did not understand the talk and conversation of its elders, was impossible. but now he was obliged to do so. on the first of may, when john had hoped to go out with his friends, his father said, as a matter of course, "take pelle and go with him to the zoölogical gardens, but take good care of him." there was no possibility of remonstrance. they went into the open plain, where they met some of his comrades, and john felt the presence of his little brother like a clog on his leg. he took care that no one hurt him, but he wished the little boy was at home. pelle talked at the top of his voice and pointed with his finger at passers-by; john corrected him, and as he felt his solidarity with him, felt ashamed on his account. why must he be ashamed because of a fault in etiquette which he had not himself committed? he became stiff, cold, and hard. the little boy wanted to see some sight but john would not go, and refused all his little brother's requests. then he felt ashamed of his hardness; he cursed his selfishness, he hated and despised himself, but could not get rid of his bad feelings. pelle understood nothing; he only looked troubled, resigned, patient, and gentle. "you are proud," said john to himself; "you are robbing the child of a pleasure." he felt remorseful, but soon afterwards hard again. at last the child asked him to buy some gingerbread nuts. john felt himself insulted by the request. suppose one of his fellow-collegians who sat in the restaurant and drank punch saw him buying gingerbread nuts! but he bought some, and stuffed them in his brother's pocket. then they went on. two cadets, john's acquaintances, came towards him. at this moment a little hand reached him a gingerbread nut--"here's one for you, john!" he pushed the little hand away, and simultaneously saw two blue faithful eyes looking up to him plaintively and questioningly. he felt as if he could weep, take the hurt child in his arms, and ask his forgiveness in order to melt the ice which had crystallised round his heart. he despised himself for having pushed his brother's hand away. they went home. he wished to shake the recollection of his misdeed from him, but could not. but he laid the blame of it partly at the door of those who had caused this sorry situation. he was too old to stand on the same level with the child, and too young to be able to condescend to it. his father, who had been rejuvenated by his marriage with a young wife, ventured to oppose john's learned authorities, and wished to humble him in this department also. after supper one evening, they were sitting at table, his father with his three papers, the _aftonbladet, allehanda_, and _post-tidningen_, and john with a school-book. presently his father stopped reading. "what are you reading?" he asked. "philosophy." a long pause. the boys always used to call logic "philosophy." "what is philosophy, really?" "the science of thought." "hm! must one learn how to think? let me see the book." he put his pince-nez on and read. then he said, "do you think the peasant members of the riks-dag"[ ] (he hated the peasants, but now used them for the purpose of his argument) "have learned philosophy? i don't, and yet they manage to corner the professors delightfully. you learn such a lot of useless stuff!" thus he dismissed philosophy. his father's parsimoniousness also sometimes placed john in very embarrassing situations. two of his friends offered during the holidays to give him lessons in mathematics. john asked his father's permission. "all right," he said, "as far as i am concerned." when the time came for them to receive an honorarium, his father was of the opinion that they were so rich that one could not give them money. "but one might make them a present," said john. "i won't give anything," was the answer. john felt ashamed for a whole year and realised for the first time the unpleasantness of a debt. his two friends gave at first gentle and then broad hints. he did not avoid them, but crawled after them in order to show his gratitude. he felt that they possessed a part of his soul and body; that he was their slave and could not be free. sometimes he made them promises, because he imagined he could fulfil them, but they could not be fulfilled, and the burden of the debt was increased by their being broken. it was a time of infinite torment, probably more bitter at the time than it seemed afterwards. another step in arresting his progress was the postponement of his confirmation. he learned theology at school, and could read the gospels in greek, but was not considered mature enough for confirmation. he felt the grinding-down process at home all the more because his position in the school was that of a free man. as a collegian he had acquired certain rights. he was not made to stand up in class, and went out when he wished without asking permission; he remained sitting when the teachers asked questions, and disputed with them. he was the youngest in the class but sat among the oldest and tallest. the teacher now played the part of a lecturer rather than of a mere hearer of lessons. the former ogre from the clara school had become an elderly man who expounded cicero's _de senectute_ and _de amicitia_ without troubling himself much about the commentaries. in reading virgil, he dwelt on the meeting of Æneas and dido, enlarged on the topic of love, lost the thread of his discourse, and became melancholy. (the boys found out that about this time he had been wooing an old spinster.) he no longer assumed a lofty tone, and was magnanimous enough to admit a mistake he had made (he was weak in latin) and to acknowledge that he was not an authority in that subject. from this he drew the moral that no one should come to school without preparation, however clever he might be. this produced a great effect upon the boys. he won more credit as a man than he lost as a teacher. john, being well up in the natural sciences, was the only one out of his class elected to be a member of the "society of friends of science." he was now thrown with school-fellows in the highest class, who the next year would become students. he had to give a lecture, and talked about it at home. he wrote an essay on the air, and read it to the members. after the lecture, the members went into a restaurant in the haymarket and drank punch. john was modest before the big fellows, but felt quite at his ease. it was the first time he had been lifted out of the companionship of those of his own age. others related improper anecdotes; he shyly related a harmless one. later on, some of the members visited him and took away some of his best plants and chemical apparatus. by an accident john found a new friend in the school. when he was top of the first class the principal came in one day with a tall fellow in a frock-coat, with a beard, and wearing a pince-nez. "here, john!" he said, "take charge of this youth; he is freshly come from the country, and show him round." the wearer of the pince-nez looked down disdainfully at the boy in the jacket. they sat next each other; john took the book and whispered to him; the other, however, knew nothing, but talked about cards and cafés. one day john played with his friend's pince-nez and broke the spring. his friend was vexed. john promised to have it repaired, and took the pince-nez home. it weighed upon his mind, for he did not know whence he should get the money in order to have it mended. then he determined to mend it himself. he took out the screws, bored holes in an old clock-spring, but did not succeed. his friend jogged his memory; john was in despair. his father would never pay for it. his friend said, "i will have it repaired, and you must pay." the repair cost fifty öre. on monday john handed over twelve coppers, and promised to pay the rest the following monday. his friend smelt a rat. "that is your breakfast-money," he said; "do you get only twelve coppers a week?" john blushed and begged him to take the money. the next monday he handed over the remainder. his friend resisted, but he pressed it on him. the two continued together as school-fellows till they went to the university at upsala and afterwards. john's friend had a cheerful temperament and took the world as it came. he did not argue much with john, but always made him laugh. in contrast to his dreary home, john found the school a cheerful refuge from domestic tyranny. but this caused him to lead a double life, which was bound to produce moral dislocation. [ ] famous swedish poet. [ ] in a later work, _legends_ ( ), strindberg says: "when i wrote that youthful confession (_the son of a servant_) the liberal tendency of that period seems to have induced me to use too bright colours, with the pardonable object of freeing from fear young men who have fallen into precocious sin." [ ] the swedish parliament. vii first love if the character of a man is the stereotyped rôle which he plays in the comedy of social life, john at this time had no character, _i.e._, he was quite sincere. he sought, but found nothing, and could not remain in any fixed groove. his coarse nature, which flung off all fetters that were imposed upon it, could not adapt itself; and his brain, which was a revolutionary's from birth, could not work automatically. he was a mirror which threw back all the rays which struck it, a compendium of various experiences, of changing impressions, and full of contradictory elements. he possessed a will which worked by fits and starts and with fanatical energy; but he really did not will anything deeply; he was a fatalist, and believed in destiny; he was sanguine, and hoped all things. hard as ice at home, he was sometimes sensitive to the point of sentimentality; he would give his last shirt to a poor man, and could weep at the sight of injustice. he was a pietist, and as sincere an one as is possible for anyone who tries to adopt an old-world point of view. his home-life, where everything threatened his intellectual and personal liberty, compelled him to be this. in the school he was a cheerful worldling, not at all sentimental, and easy to get on with. here he felt he was being educated for society and possessed rights. at home he was like an edible vegetable, cultivated for the use of the family, and had no rights. he was also a pietist from spiritual pride, as all pietists are. beskow, the repentant lieutenant, had come home from his pilgrimage to the grave of christ. his _journal_ was read at home by john's step-mother, who inclined to pietism. beskow made pietism gentlemanly, and brought it into fashion, and a considerable portion of the lower classes followed this fashion. pietism was then what spiritualism is now--a presumably higher knowledge of hidden things. it was therefore eagerly taken up by all women and uncultivated people, and finally found acceptance at court. did all this spring from some universal spiritual need? was the period so hopelessly reactionary that one had to be a pessimist? no! the king led a jovial life in ulriksdal, and gave society a bright and liberal tone. strong agitations were going on in the political world, especially regarding representation in parliament. the dano-german war aroused attention to what was going on beyond our boundaries; the volunteer movement awoke town and country with drums and music; the new opposition papers, _dagens nyheter_ and the powerful _sondags-nisse_, were vent-holes for the confined steam which must find an outlet; railways were constructed everywhere, and brought remote and sparsely inhabited places into connection with the great motor nerve-centres. it was no melancholy age of decadence, but, on the contrary, a youthful season of hope and awakening. whence then, came this strong breath of pietism? perhaps it was a short-cut for those who were destitute of culture, by which they saved themselves from the pressure of knowledge from above; there was a certain democratic element in it, since all high and low had thereby access to a certain kind of wisdom which abolished class-distinctions. now, when the privileges of birth were nearing their end, the privileges of culture asserted themselves, and were felt to be oppressive. but it was believed that they could be nullified at a stroke through pietism. john became a pietist from many motives. bankrupt on earth, since he was doomed to die at twenty-five without spinal marrow or a nose, he made heaven the object of his search. melancholy by nature, but full of activity, he loved what was melancholy. tired of text-books, which contained no living water because they did not come into contact with life, he found more nourishment in a religion which did so at every turn. besides this, there was the personal motive, that his stepmother, aware of his superiority in culture, wished to climb above him on the jacob's ladder of religion. she conversed with his eldest brother on the highest subjects, and when john was near, he was obliged to hear how they despised his worldly wisdom. this irritated him, and he determined to catch up with them in religion. moreover, his mother had left a written message behind in which she warned him against intellectual pride. the end was that he went regularly every sunday to church, and the house was flooded with pietistic writings. his step-mother and eldest brother used to go over afterwards in memory the sermons they had heard in church. one sunday after service john wrote out from memory the whole sermon which they admired. he could not deny himself the pleasure of presenting it to his step-mother. but his present was not received with equal pleasure; it was a blow for her. however, she did not yield a hair-breadth. "god's word should be written in the heart and not on paper," she said. it was not a bad retort, but john believed he detected pride in it. she considered herself further on in the way of holiness than he, and as already a child of god. he began to race with her, and frequented the pietist meetings. but his attendance was frowned upon, for he had not yet been confirmed, and was not therefore ripe for heaven. john continued religious discussions with his elder brother; he maintained that christ had declared that even children belonged to the kingdom of heaven. the subject was hotly contested. john cited norbeck's _theology_, but that was rejected without being looked at. he also quoted krummacher, thomas à kempis, and all the pietists on his side. but it was no use. "it must be so," was the reply. "how?" he asked. "as i have it, and as you cannot get it." "as i!" there we have the formula of the pietists--self-righteousness. one day john said that all men were god's children. "impossible!" was the reply; "then there would be no difficulty in being saved. are all going to be saved?" "certainly!" he replied. "god is love and wishes no one's destruction." "if all are going to be saved, what is the use of chastising oneself?" "yes, that is just what i question." "you are then a sceptic, a hypocrite?" "quite possibly they all are." john now wished to take heaven by storm, to become a child of god, and perhaps by doing so defeat his rivals. his step-mother was not consistent. she went to the theatre and was fond of dancing. one saturday evening in summer it was announced that the whole family would make an excursion into the country the next day--sunday. all were expected to go. john considered it a sin, did not want to go, and wished to use the opportunity and seek in solitude the saviour whom he had not yet found. according to what he had been told, conversion should come like a flash of lightning, and be accompanied by the conviction that one was a child of god, and then one had peace. while his father was reading his paper in the evening, john begged permission to remain at home the next day. "why?" his father asked in a friendly tone. john was silent. he felt ashamed to say. "if your religious conviction forbids you to go, obey your conscience." his step-mother was defeated. she had to desecrate the sabbath, not he. the others went. john went to the bethlehem church to hear rosenius. it was a weird, gloomy place, and the men in the congregation looked as if they had reached the fatal twenty-fifth year, and lost their spinal marrow. they had leaden-grey faces and sunken eyes. was it possible that dr. kapff had frightened them all into religion? it seemed strange. rosenius looked like peace itself, and beamed with heavenly joy. he confessed that he had been an old sinner, but christ had cleansed him, and now he was happy. he looked happy. is it possible that there is such a thing as a happy man? why, then, are not all pietists? in the afternoon john read à kempis and krummacher. then he went out to the haga park and prayed the whole length of the norrtullsgata that jesus would seek him. in the haga park there sat little groups of families picnicking, with the children playing about. is it possible that all these must go to hell? he thought. yes, certainly. "nonsense!" answered his intelligence. but it is so. a carriage full of excursionists passed by: and these are all condemned already! but they seemed to be amusing themselves, at any rate. the cheerfulness of other people made him still more depressed, and he felt a terrible loneliness in the midst of the crowd. wearied with his thoughts, he went home as depressed as a poet who has looked for a thought without being able to find one. he laid down on his bed and wished he was dead. in the evening his brothers and sisters came home joyful and noisy, and asked him if he had had a good time. "yes," he said. "and you?" they gave him details of the excursion, and each time he envied them he felt a stab in his heart. his step-mother did not look at him, for she had broken the sabbath. that was his comfort. he must by this time soon have detected his self-deceit and thrown it off, but a new powerful element entered into his life, which stirred up his asceticism into fanaticism, till it exploded and disappeared. his life during these years was not so uniformly monotonous as it appeared in retrospect later on, when there were enough dark points to give a grey colouring to the whole. his boyhood, generally speaking, was darkened by his being treated as a child when arrived at puberty, the uninteresting character of his school-work, his expectation of death at twenty-five, the uncultivated minds of those around him, and the impossibility of being understood. his step-mother had brought three young girls, her sisters, into the house. they soon made friends with the step-sons, and they all took walks, played games, and made sledging excursions together. the girls tried to bring about a reconciliation between john and his step-mother. they acknowledged their sister's faults before him, and this pacified him so that he laid aside his hatred. the grandmother also played the part of a mediator, and finally revealed herself as a decided friend of john's. but a fatal chance robbed him of this friend also. his father's sister had not welcomed the new marriage, and, as a consequence, had broken off communications with her brother. this vexed the old man very much. all intercourse ceased between the families. it was, of course, pride on his sister's part. but one day john met her daughter, an elegantly-dressed girl, older than himself, on the street. she was eager to hear something of the new marriage, and walked with john along the drottningsgata. when he got home, his grandmother rebuked him sharply for not having saluted her when she passed, but, of course, she added, he had been in too grand company to take notice of an old woman! he protested his innocence, but in vain. since he had only a few friends, the loss of her friendship was painful to him. one summer he spent with his step-mother at one of her relatives', a farmer in Östergötland. here he was treated like a gentleman, and lived on friendly terms with his step-mother. but it did not last long, and soon the flames of strife were stirred up again between them. and thus it went on, up and down, and to and fro. about this time, at the age of fifteen, he first fell in love, if it really was love, and not rather friendship. can friendship commence and continue between members of opposite sexes? only apparently, for the sexes are born enemies and remain always opposed to each other. positive and negative streams of electricity are mutually hostile, but seek their complement in each other. friendship can exist only between persons with similar interests and points of view. man and woman by the conventions of society are born with different interests and different points of view. therefore a friendship between the sexes can arise only in marriage where the interests are the same. this, however, can be only so long as the wife devotes her whole interest to the family for which the husband works. as soon as she gives herself to some object outside the family, the agreement is broken, for man and wife then have separate interests, and then there is an end to friendship. therefore purely spiritual marriages are impossible, for they lead to the slavery of the man, and consequently to the speedy dissolution of the marriage. the fifteen-year old boy fell in love with a woman of thirty. he could truthfully assert that his love was entirely ideal. how came he to love her? as generally is the case, from many motives, not from one only. she was the landlord's daughter, and had, as such, a superior position; the house was well-appointed and always open for visitors. she was cultivated, admired, managed the house, and spoke familiarly to her mother; she could play the hostess and lead the conversation; she was always surrounded by men who courted her. she was also emancipated without being a man-hater; she smoked and drank, but was not without taste. she was engaged to a man whom her father hated and did not wish to have for his son-in-law. her _fiancé_ stayed abroad and wrote seldom. among the visitors to this hotel were a district judge, a man of letters, students, clerics, and townsmen who all hovered about her. john's father admired her, his step-mother feared her, his brothers courted her. john kept in the background and observed her. it was a long time before she discovered him. one evening, after she had set all the hearts around her aflame, she came exhausted into the room in which john sat. "heavens! how tired i am!" she said to herself, and threw herself on a sofa. john made a movement and she saw him. he had to say something. "are you so unhappy, although you are always laughing? you are certainly not as unhappy as i am." she looked at the boy; they began a conversation and became friends. he felt lifted up. from that time forward she preferred his conversation to that of others. he felt embarrassed when she left a circle of grown men to sit down near him. he questioned her regarding her spiritual condition, and made remarks on it which showed that he had observed keenly and reflected much. he became her conscience. once, when she had jested too freely, she came to the youth to be punished. that was a kind of flagellation as pleasant as a caress. at last her admirers began to tease her about him. "can you imagine it," she said one evening, "they declare i am in love with you!" "they always say that of two persons of opposite sexes who are friends." "do you believe there can be a friendship between man and woman?" "yes, i am sure of it," he answered. "thanks," she said, and reached him her hand. "how could i, who am twice as old as you, who am sick and ugly, be in love with you? besides, i am engaged." after this she assumed an air of superiority and became motherly. this made a deep impression on him; and when later on she was rallied on account of her liking for him, she felt herself almost embarrassed, banished all other feelings except that of motherliness, and began to labour for his conversion, for she also was a pietist. they both attended a french conversation class, and had long walks home together, during which they spoke french. it was easier to speak of delicate matters in a foreign tongue. he also wrote french essays, which she corrected. his father's admiration for the old maid lessened, and his step-mother did not like this french conversation, which she did not understand. his elder brother's prerogative of talking french was also neutralised thereby. this vexed his father, so that one day he said to john, that it was impolite to speak a foreign language before those who did not understand it, and that he could not understand that fräulein x., who was otherwise so cultivated, could commit such a _bêtise_. but, he added, cultivation of the heart was not gained by book-learning. they no longer endured her presence in the house, and she was "persecuted." at last her family left the house altogether, so that now there was little intercourse with them. the day after their removal, john felt lacerated. he could not live without her daily companionship, without this support which had lifted him out of the society of those of his own age to that of his elders. to make himself ridiculous by seeking her as a lover--that he could not do. the only thing left was to write to her. they now opened a correspondence, which lasted for a year. his step-mother's sister, who idolised the clever, bright spinster, conveyed the letters secretly. they wrote in french, so that their letters might remain unintelligible if discovered; besides, they could express themselves more freely in this medium. their letters treated of all kinds of subjects. they wrote about christ, the battle against sin, about life, death and love, friendship and scepticism. although she was a pietist, she was familiar with free-thinkers, and suffered from doubts on all kinds of subjects. john was alternately her stern preceptor and her reprimanded son. one or two translations of john's french essays will give some idea of the chaotic state of the minds of both. _is man's life a life of sorrow_? "man's life is a battle from beginning to end. we are all born into this wretched life under conditions which are full of trouble and grief. childhood to begin with has its little cares and disagreeables; youth has its great temptations, on the victorious resistance to which the whole subsequent life depends; mature life has anxieties about the means of existence and the fulfilment of duties; finally, old age has its thorns in the flesh, and its frailty. what are all enjoyments and all joys, which are regarded by so many men as the highest good in life? beautiful illusions! life is a ceaseless struggle with failures and misfortunes, a struggle which ends only in death. "but we will consider the matter from another side. is there no reason to be joyful and contented? i have a home and parents who care for my future; i live in fairly favourable circumstances, and have good health--ought i not then to be contented and happy? yes, and yet i am not. look at the poor labourer, who, when his day's work is done, returns to his simple cottage where poverty reigns; he is happy and even joyful. he would be made glad by a trifle which i despise. i envy thee, happy man, who hast true joy! "but i am melancholy. why? 'you are discontented,' you answer. no, certainly not; i am quite contented with my lot and ask for nothing. well, what is it then? ah! now i know; i am not contented with myself and my heart, which is full of anger and malice. away from me, evil thoughts! i will, with god's help, be happy and contented. for one is happy only when one is at peace with oneself, one's heart, and one's conscience." john's friend did not approve of his self-contentment, but asserted in contradiction to the last sentence, that one ought to remain discontented with life. she wrote: "we are not happy till our consciousness tells us that we have sought and found the only good physician, who can heal the wounds of all hearts, and when we are ready to follow his advice with sincerity." this assertion, together with long conversations, caused the rapid conversion of the youth to the true faith, _i.e._, that of his friend, and gave occasion for the following effusion in which he expressed his idea of faith and works: _no happiness without virtue; no virtue without religion_. "what is happiness? most worldlings regard the possession of great wealth and worldly goods, happiness, because they afford them the means of satisfying their sinful desires and passions. others who are not so exacting find happiness in a mere sense of well-being, in health, and domestic felicity. others, again, who do not expect worldly happiness at all, and who are poor, and enjoy but scanty food earned by hard work, are yet contented with their lot, and even happy. they can even think 'how happy i am in comparison with the rich, who are never contented.' meanwhile, _are_ they really happy, because they are contented? no, there is no happiness without virtue. no one is happy except the man who leads a really virtuous life. well, but there are many really virtuous men. there are men who have never fallen into gross sin, who are modest and retiring, who injure no one, who are placable, who fulfil their duties conscientiously, and who are even religious. they go to church every sunday, they honour god and his holy word, but yet they have not been born again of the holy spirit. now, are they happy, since they are virtuous? there is no virtue without _real religion_. these virtuous worldlings are, as a matter of fact, much worse than the most wicked men. they slumber in the security of mere morality. they think themselves better than other men, and righteous in the eyes of the most holy. these pharisees, full of self-love, think to win everlasting salvation by their good deeds. but what are our good deeds before a holy god? sin, and nothing but sin. these self-righteous men are the hardest of all to convert, because they think they need no mediator, since they wish to win heaven by their deeds. an 'old sinner,' on the other hand, once he is awakened, can realise his sinfulness and feel his need of a saviour. true happiness consists in having 'peace in the heart with god through jesus christ.' one can find no peace till one confesses that one is the chief of sinners, and flies to the saviour. how foolish of us to push such happiness away! we all know where it is to be found, but instead of seeking it, seek unhappiness, under the pretence of seeking happiness." under this his friend wrote: "very well written." they were her own thoughts, or, at any rate, her own words which she had read. but sometimes doubt worried him, and he examined himself carefully. he wrote as follows on a subject which he had himself chosen: _egotism is the mainspring of all our actions_ "people commonly say, 'so-and-so is so kind and benevolent towards his neighbours; he is virtuous, and all that he does springs from compassion and love of the true and right.' very well, open your heart and examine it. you meet a beggar in the street; the first thought that occurs to you is certainly as follows: 'how unfortunate this man is; i will do a good deed and help him.' you pity him and give him a coin. but haven't you some thought of this kind?--'oh, how beautiful it is to be benevolent and compassionate; it does one's heart good to give alms to a poor man.' what is the real motive of your action? is it really love or compassion? then your dear 'ego' gets up and condemns you. you did it for your own sake, in order to set at rest _your_ heart and to placate _your_ conscience. "it was for some time my intention to be a preacher, certainly a good intention. but what was my motive? was it to serve my redeemer, and to work for him, or only out of love to him? no, i was cowardly, and i wished to escape my burden and lighten my cross, and avoid the great temptations which met me everywhere. i feared men--that was the motive. the times alter. i saw that i could not lead a life in christ in the society of companions to whose godless speeches i must daily listen, and so i chose another path in life where i could be independent, or at any rate----" here the essay broke off, uncorrected. other essays deal with the creator, and seem to have been influenced by rousseau, extracts from whose works were contained in staaff's _french reading book_. they mention, for example, flocks and nightingales, which the writer had never seen or heard. he and his friend also had long discussions regarding their relation to one another. was it love or friendship? but she loved another man, of whom she scarcely ever spoke. john noticed nothing in her but her eyes, which were deep and expressive. he danced with her once, but never again. the tie between them was certainly only friendship, and her soul and body were virile enough to permit of a friendship existing and continuing. a spiritual marriage can take place only between those who are more or less sexless, and there is always something abnormal about it. the best marriages, _i.e._, those which fulfil their real object the best, are precisely those which are "_mal assortis_." antipathy, dissimilarity of views, hate, contempt, can accompany true love. diverse intelligences and characters can produce the best endowed children, who inherit the qualities of both. * * * * * in the meantime his confirmation approached. it had been postponed as long as possible, in order to keep him back among the children. but the confirmation itself was to be used as a means of humiliating him. his father, at the same time that he announced his decision that it should take place, expressed the hope that the preparation for it might melt the ice round john's heart. so john found himself again among lower-class children. he felt sympathy with them, but did not love them, nor could nor would be on intimate terms with them. his education had alienated him from them, as it had alienated him from his family. he was again a school-boy, had to learn by heart, stand up when questioned, and be scolded along with the rest. the assistant pastor, who taught them, was a pietist. he looked as though he had an infectious disease or had read dr. kapff. he was severe, merciless, emotionless, without a word of grace or comfort. choleric, irritable, nervous, this young rustic was petted by the ladies. he made an impression by dint of perpetual repetition. he preached threateningly, cursed the theatre and every kind of amusement. john and his friend resolved to alter their lives, and not to dance, go to the theatre, or joke any more. he now infused a strong dash of pietism into his essays, and avoided his companions in order not to hear their frivolous stories. "why, you are a pietist!" one of his school-fellows said one day to him. "yes, i am," he answered. he would not deny his redeemer. the school grew intolerable to him. he suffered martyrdom there, and feared the enticements of the world, of which he was already in some degree conscious. he considered himself already a man, wished to go into the world and work, earn his own living and marry. among his other dreams he formed a strange resolve, which was, however, not without its reasons; he resolved to find a branch of work which was easy to learn, would soon provide him with a maintenance, and give him a place where he would not be the last, nor need he stand especially high--a certain subordinate place which would let him combine an active life in the open air with adequate pecuniary profit. the opportunity for plenty of exercise in the open air was perhaps the principal reason why he wished to be a subaltern in a cavalry regiment, in order to escape the fatal twenty-fifth year, the terrors of which the pastor had described. the prospect of wearing a uniform and riding a horse may also have had something to do with it. he had already renounced the cadet uniform, but man is a strange creature. his friend strongly dissuaded him from taking such a step; she described soldiers as the worst kind of men in existence. he stood firm, however, and said that his faith in christ would preserve him from all moral contagion, yes! he would preach christ to the soldiers and purify them all. then he went to his father. the latter regarded the whole matter as a freak of imagination, and exhorted him to be ready for his approaching final examination, which would open the whole world to him. a son had been born to his step-mother. john instinctively hated him as a rival to whom his younger brothers and sisters would have to yield. but the influence of his friend and of pietism was so strong over him, that by way of mortifying himself he tried to love the newcomer. he carried him on his arm and rocked him. "nobody saw you do it," said his step-mother later on, when he adduced this as a proof of his goodwill. exactly so; he did it in secret, as he did not wish to gain credit for it, or perhaps he was ashamed of it. he had made the sacrifice sincerely; when it became disagreeable, he gave it up. the confirmation took place, after countless exhortations in the dimly-lit chancel, and a long series of discourses on the passion of christ and self-mortification, so that they were wrought up to a most exalted mood. after the catechising, he scolded his friend whom he had seen laughing. on the day on which they were to receive the holy communion, the senior pastor gave a discourse. it was the well-meaning counsel of a shrewd old man to the young; it was cheering and comforting, and did not contain threats or denunciations of past sins. sometimes during the sermon john felt the words fall like balm on his wounded heart, and was convinced that the old man was right. but in the act of communion, he did not get the spiritual impression he had hoped for. the organ played and the choir sang, "o lamb of god, have mercy upon us!" the boys and girls wept and half-fainted as though they were witnessing an execution. but john had become too familiar with sacred things in the parish-clerk's school. the matter seemed to him driven to the verge of absurdity. his faith was ripe for falling. and it fell. * * * * * he now wore a high hat, and succeeded to his elder brother's cast-off clothes. now his friend with the pince-nez took him in hand. he had not deserted him during his pietistic period. he treated the matter lightly and good-humouredly, with a certain admiration of john's asceticism and firm faith. but now he intervened. he took him for a mid-day walk, pointed out by name the actors they saw at the corner of the regeringsgata, and the officers who were reviewing the troops. john was still shy, and had no self-reliance. it was about twelve o'clock, the time for going to the gymnasium. john's friend said, "come along! we will have lunch in the 'three cups.'" "no," said john, "we ought to go to the greek class." "ah! we will dispense with greek to-day." it would be the first time he cut it, thought john, and he might take a little scolding for once. "but i have no money," he said. "that does not matter; you are my guest;" his friend seemed hurt. they entered the restaurant. an appetising odour of beefsteaks greeted them; the waiter received their coats and hung up their hats. "bring the bill of fare, waiter," said his friend in a confident tone, for he was accustomed to take his meals here. "will you have beefsteak?" "yes," answered john; he had tasted beefsteak only twice in his life. his friend ordered butter, cheese, brandy and beer, and without asking, filled john's glass with brandy. "but i don't know whether i ought to," said john. "have you never drunk it before?" "no." "oh, well, go ahead! it tastes good." he drank. ah! his body glowed, his eyes watered, and the room swam in a light mist; but he felt an access of strength, his thoughts worked freely, new ideas rose in his mind, and the gloomy past seemed brighter. then came the juicy beefsteak. that was something like eating! his friend ate bread, butter, and cheese with it. john said, "what will the restaurant-keeper say?" his friend laughed, as if he were an elderly uncle. "eat away; the bill will be just the same." "but butter and cheese with beef-steak! that is too luxurious! but it tastes good all the same." john felt as though he had never eaten before. then he drank beer. "is each of us to drink half a bottle?" he asked his friend. "you are really mad!" but at any rate it was a meal,--and not such an empty enjoyment either, as anæmic ascetics assert. no, it is a real enjoyment to feel strong blood flowing into one's half-empty veins, strengthening the nerves for the battle of life. it is an enjoyment to feel vanished virile strength return, and the relaxed sinews of almost perished will-power braced up again. hope awoke, and the mist in the room became a rosy cloud, while his friend depicted for him the future as it is imagined by youthful friendship. these youthful illusions about life, from whence do they come? from superabundance of energy, people say. but ordinary intelligence, which has seen so many childish hopes blighted, ought to be able to infer the absurdity of expecting a realisation of the dreams of youth. john had not learned to expect from life anything more than freedom from tyranny and the means of existence. that would be enough for him. he was no aladdin and did not believe in luck. he had plenty of power, but did not know it. his friend had to discover him to himself. "you should come and amuse yourself with us," he said, "and not sit in a corner at home." "yes, but that costs money, and i don't get any." "give lessons." "lessons! what? do you think i could give lessons?" "you know a lot. you would not find it difficult to get pupils." he knew a lot! that was a recognition or a piece of flattery, as the pietists call it, and it fell on fertile soil. "yes, but i have no acquaintances or connections." "tell the headmaster! i did the same!" john hardly dared to believe that he could get the chance of earning money. but he felt strange when he heard that others could, and compared himself with them. _they_ certainly had luck. his friend urged him on, and soon he obtained a post as teacher in a girls' school. now his self-esteem awoke. the servants at home called him mr. john, and the teachers in the school addressed the class as "gentlemen." at the same time he altered his course of study at school. he had for a long time, but in vain, asked his father to let him give up greek. he did it now on his own responsibility, and his father first heard of it at the examination. in its place he substituted mathematics, after he had learned that a latin scholar had the right to dispense with a testamur in that subject. moreover, he neglected latin, intending to revise it all a month before the examination. during the lessons he read french, german, and english novels. the questions were asked each pupil in turn, and he sat with his book in his hand till the questions came and he could be ready for them. modern languages and natural science were now his special subjects. teaching his juniors was a new and dangerous retrograde movement for him, but he was paid for it. naturally, the boys who required extra lessons were those with a certain dislike of learning. it was hard work for his active brain to accommodate himself to them. they were impossible pupils, and did not know how to attend. he thought they were obstinate. the truth was they lacked the will-power to become attentive. such boys are wrongly regarded as stupid. they are, on the contrary, wide awake. their thoughts are concerned with realities, and they seem already to have seen through the absurdity of the subjects they are taught. many of them became useful citizens when they grew up, and many more would have become so if they had not been compelled by their parents to do violence to their natures and to continue their studies. now ensued a new conflict with his lady friend against his altered demeanour. she warned him against his other friend who, she said, flattered him, and against young girls of whom he spoke enthusiastically. she was jealous. she reminded him of christ, but john was distracted by other subjects, and withdrew from her society. he now led an active and enjoyable life. he took part in evening concerts, sang in a quartette, drank punch, and flirted moderately with waitresses. all this time religion was in abeyance, and only a weak echo of piety and asceticism remained. he prayed out of habit, but without hoping for an answer, since he had so long sought the divine friendship which people say is so easily found, if one but knocks lightly at the door of grace. truth to say, he was not very anxious to be taken at his word. if the crucified had opened the door and bidden him enter, he would not have rejoiced. his flesh was too young and sound to wish to be mortified. viii the spring thaw the school educates, not the family. the family is too narrow; its aims are too petty, selfish, and anti-social. in the case of a second marriage, such abnormal relations are set up, that the only justification of the family comes to an end. the children of a deceased mother should simply be taken away, if the father marries again. this would best conduce to the interests of all parties, not least to those of the father, who perhaps is the one who suffers most in a second marriage. in the family there is only one (or two) ruling wills without appeal; therefore justice is impossible. in the school, on the other hand, there is a continual watchful jury, which rigorously judges boys as well as teachers. the boys become more moral; brutality is tamed; social instincts awaken; they begin to see that individual interests must be generally furthered by means of compromises. there cannot be tyranny, for there usually are enough to form parties and to revolt. a teacher who is badly treated by a pupil can soonest obtain justice by appealing to the other pupils. moreover, about this time there was much to arouse their sympathy in great universal interests. during the danish-german war of a fund was raised in the school for the purchase of war-telegrams. these were fastened on the blackboard and read with great interest by both teachers and pupils. they gave rise to familiar talks and reflections on the part of the teachers regarding the origin and cause of the war. they were naturally all one-sidedly scandinavian, and the question was judged from the point of view of the students' union. seeds of hatred towards russia and germany for some future war were sown, and at the burial of the popular teacher of gymnastics, lieutenant betzholtz, this reached a fanatical pitch. the year of the reform bill,[ ] , approached. the teacher of history, a man of kindliness and fine feeling, and an aristocrat of high birth, tried to interest the pupils in the subject. the class had divided into opposite parties, and the son of a speaker in the upper house, a count s., universally popular, was the chief of the opposition against reform. he was sprung from an old german family of knightly descent; was poor, and lived on familiar terms with his classmates, but had a keen consciousness of his high birth. battles more in sport than in earnest took place in the class, and tables and forms were thrown about indiscriminately. the reform bill passed. count s. remained away from the class. the history teacher spoke with emotion of the sacrifice which the nobility had laid upon the altar of the fatherland by renouncing their privileges. the good man did not know yet that privileges are not rights, but advantages which have been seized and which can be recovered like other property, even by illegal means. the teacher bade the class to be modest over their victory and not to insult the defeated party. the young count on his return to the class was received with elaborate courtesy, but his feelings so overcame him at the sight of the involuntary elevation of so many pupils of humble birth, that he burst into tears and had to leave the class again. john understood nothing of politics. as a topic of general interest, they were naturally banished from family discussions, where only topics of private interest were regarded, and that in a very one-sided way. sons were so brought up that they might remain sons their whole lives long, without any regard to the fact that some day they might be fathers. but john already possessed the lower-class instinct which told him, with regard to the reform bill, that now an injustice had been done away with, and that the higher scale had been lowered, in order that it might be easier for the lower one to rise to the same level. he was, as might be expected, a liberal, but since the king was a liberal, he was also a royalist. parallel with the strong reactionary stream of pietism ran that of the new rationalism, but in the opposite direction. christianity, which, at the close of the preceding century, had been declared to be mythical, was again received into favour, and as it enjoyed state protection, the liberals could not prevent themselves being reinoculated by its teaching. but in strauss's _life of christ_ had made a new breach, and even in sweden fresh water trickled into the stagnant streams. the book was made the subject of legal action, but upon it as a foundation the whole work of the new reformation was built up by self-appointed reformers, as is always the case. pastor cramer had the honour of being the first. as early as he published his _farewell to the church_, a popular but scientific criticism of the new testament. he set the seal of sincerity on his belief by seceding from the state church and resigning his office. his book produced a great effect, and although ingell's writings had more vogue among the theologians, they did not reach the younger generation. in the same year appeared rydberg's _the last athenian_. the influence of this book was hindered by the fact that it was hailed as a literary success, and transplanted to the neutral territory of belles-lettres. ryllberg's _the bible doctrine of christ_ made a deeper impression. renan's _life of jesus_ in ignell's translation had taken young and old by storm, and was read in the schools along with cramer, which was not the case with _the bible doctrine of christ_. and by boström's attack on the _doctrine of hell_ ( ), the door was opened to rationalism or "free-thought," as it was called. boström's really insignificant work had a great effect, because of his fame as a professor at upsala and former teacher in the royal family. the courageous man risked his reputation, a risk which no one incurred after him, when it was no longer considered an honour to be a free-thinker or to labour for the freedom and the right of thinking. in short, everything was in train, and it needed only a breath to blow down john's faith like a house of cards. a young engineer crossed his path. he was a lodger in the house of john's female friend. he watched john a long while before he made any approaches. john felt respect for him, for he had a good head, and was also somewhat jealous. john's friend prepared him for the acquaintance he was likely to make, and at the same time warned him. she said the engineer was an interesting man of great ability, but dangerous. it was not long before john met him. he hailed from wermland, was strongly built, with coarse, honest features, and a childlike laugh, when he did laugh, which occurred rarely. they were soon on familiar terms. the first evening only a slight skirmish took place on the question of faith and knowledge. "faith must kill reason," said john (echoing krummacher). "no," replied his friend. "reason is a divine gift, which raises man above the brutes. shall man lower himself to the level of the brutes by throwing away this divine gift?" "there are things," said john (echoing norbeck), "which we can very well believe, without demanding a proof for them. we believe the calendar, for example, without possessing a scientific knowledge of the movement of the planets." "yes," answered his friend, "we believe it, because our reason does not revolt against it." "but," said john, "in galileo's time they revolted against the idea that the earth revolves round the sun. 'he is possessed by a spirit of contradiction,' they said, 'and wishes to be thought original.'" "we don't live in galileo's age," returned his friend, "and the enlightened reason of our time rejects the deity of christ and everlasting punishment." "we won't dispute about these things," said john. "why not?" "they are out of the reach of reason." "just what i said two years ago when i was a believer." "you have been----a pietist?" "yes." "hm! and now you have peace?" "yes, i have peace." "how is that?" "i learned through a preacher to realise the spirit of true christianity." "you are a christian then?" "yes, i acknowledge christ." "but you don't believe that he was god?" "he never said so himself. he called himself god's son, and we are all god's sons." john's lady friend interrupted the conversation, which was a type of many others in the year . john's curiosity was aroused. there were then, he said to himself, men who did not believe in christ and yet had peace. mere criticism would not have disturbed his old ideas of god; the "horror vacui" held him back, till theodore parker fell into his hands. sermons without christ and hell were what he wanted. and fine sermons they were. it must be confessed that he read them in extreme haste, as he was anxious that his friends and relatives should enjoy them that he might escape their censures. he could not distinguish between the disapproval of others and his own bad conscience, and was so accustomed to consider others right that he fell into conflict with himself. but in his mind the doctrine of christ the judge, the election of grace, the punishments of the last day, all collapsed, as though they had been tottering for a long time. he was astonished at the rapidity of their disappearance. it was as though he laid aside clothes he had outgrown and put on new ones. one sunday morning he went with the engineer to the haga park. it was spring. the hazel bushes were in bloom, and the anemones were opening. the weather was fairly clear, the air soft and mild after a night's rain. he and his friend discussed the freedom of the will. the pietists had a very wavering conception of the matter. no one had, they said, the power to become a child of god of his own free will. the holy spirit must seek one, and thus it was a matter of predestination. john wished to be converted but he could not. he had learned to pray, "lord, create in me a new will." but how could he be held responsible for his evil will? yes, he could, answered the pietist, through the fall, for when man endowed with free will chose the evil, his posterity inherited his evil will, which became perpetually evil and ceased to be free. man could be delivered from this evil will only through christ and the gracious work of the holy spirit. the new birth, however, did not depend upon his own will, but on the grace of god. thus he was not free and at the same time was responsible! therein lay the false inference. both the engineer and john were nature worshippers. what is this nature worship which in our days is regarded as so hostile to culture? a relapse into barbarism, say some; a healthy reaction against over-culture, say others. when a man has discovered society to be an institution based on error and injustice, when he perceives that, in exchange for petty advantages society suppresses too forcibly every natural impulse and desire, when he has seen through the illusion that he is a demi-god and a child of god, and regards himself more as a kind of animal--then he flees from society, which is built on the assumption of the divine origin of man, and takes refuge with nature. here he feels in his proper environment as an animal, sees himself as a detail in the picture, and beholds his origin--the earth and the meadow. he sees the interdependence of all creation as if in a summary--the mountains becoming earth, the sea becoming rain, the plain which is a mountain crumbled, the woods which are the children of the mountains and the water. he sees the ocean of air which man and all creatures breathe, he hears the birds which live on the insects, he sees the insects which fertilise the plants, he sees the mammalia which supply man with nourishment, and he feels at home. and in our time, when all things are seen from the scientific point of view, a lonely hour with nature, where we can see the whole evolution-history in living pictures, can be the only substitute for divine worship. but our optimistic evolutionists prefer a meeting in a large hall where they can launch their denunciations against this same society which they admire and despise. they praise it as the highest stage of development, but wish to overthrow it, because it is irreconcilable with the true happiness of the animal. they wish to reconstruct and develop it, say some. but their reconstruction involves the destruction of all existing arrangements. do not these people recognise that society as it exists is a case of miscarriage in evolution, and is itself simultaneously hostile to culture and to nature? society, like everything else, is a natural product, they say, and civilisation is nature. yes, but it is degenerate nature, nature on the down-grade, since it works against its own object--happiness. it was, however, the engineer, john's leader, and a nature-worshipper like himself, who revealed to him the defects of civilised society, and prepared the way for his reception of the new views of man's origin. darwin's _origin of species_ had appeared as early as , but its influence had not yet penetrated far, much less had it been able to fertilise other minds.[ ] moleschott's influence was then in the ascendant, and materialism was the watchword of the day. armed with this and with his geology, the engineer pulled to pieces the mosaic story of the creation. he still spoke of the creator, for he was a theist and saw god's wisdom and goodness reflected in his works. while they were walking in the park, the church bells in the city began to ring. john stood still and listened. there were the terrible bells of the clara church, which rang through his melancholy childhood; the bells of the adolf-fredrik, which had frightened him to the bleeding breast of the crucified, and the bells of st. john's, which, on saturdays, when he was in the jacob school, had announced the end of the week. a gentle south wind bore the sound of the bells thither from the city, and it echoed like a warning under the high firs. "are you going to church?" asked his friend. "no," answered john, "i am not going to church any more." "follow your conscience," said the engineer. it was the first time that john had remained away from church. he determined to defy his father's command and his own conscience. he got excited, inveighed against religion and domestic tyranny, and talked of the church of god in nature; he spoke with enthusiasm of the new gospel which proclaimed salvation, happiness, and life to all. but suddenly he became silent. "you have a bad conscience," said his friend. "yes," answered john; "one should either not do what one repents of, or not repent of what one does." "the latter is the better course." "but i repent all the same. i repent a good deed, for it would be wrong to play the hypocrite in this old idol-temple. my new conscience tells me that i am wrong. i can find no more peace." and that was true. his new ego revolted against this old one, and they lived in discord, like an unhappy married couple, during the whole of his later life, without being able to get a separation. the reaction in his mind against his old views, which he felt should be eradicated, broke out violently. the fear of hell had disappeared, renunciation seemed silly, and the youth's nature demanded its rights. the result was a new code of morality, which he formulated for himself in the following fashion: what does not hurt any of my fellow-men is permitted to me. he felt that the domestic pressure at home did him harm, and no one else any good, and revolted against it. he now showed his real feelings to his parents, who had never shown him love, but insisted on his being grateful, because they had given him his legal rights as a matter of favour, and accompanied by humiliations. they were antipathetic to him, and he was cold to them. to their ceaseless attacks on free-thinking he gave frank and perhaps somewhat impertinent answers. his half-annihilated will began to stir, and he saw that he was entitled to make demands of life. the engineer was regarded as john's seducer, and was anathematised. but he was open to the influence of john's lady friend, who had formed a friendship with his step-mother. the engineer was not of a radical turn of mind; he had accepted theodore parker's compromise, and still believed in christian self-denial. one should, he said, be amiable and patient, follow christ's example, and so forth. urged on by john's lady friend, for whom he had a concealed tenderness, and alarmed by the consequences of his own teaching, he wrote john the following letter. it was inspired by fear of the fire which he had kindled, by regard for the lady, and by sincere conviction: "to my friend john,--how joyfully we greet the spring when it appears, to intoxicate us with its wealth of verdure and its divine freshness! the birds begin their light and cheerful melodies, and the anemones peep shyly forth under the whispering branches of the pines----" "it is strange," thought john, "that this unsophisticated man, who talks so simply and sincerely, should write in such a stilted style. it rings false." the letter continued: "what breast, whether old or young, does not expand in order to inhale the fresh perfumes of the spring, which spread heavenly peace in each heart, accompanied by a longing which seems like a foretaste of god and of his love? at such a time can any malice remain in our hearts? can we not forgive? ah yes, we must, when we see how the caressing rays of the spring sun have kissed away the icy cover from nature and our hearts. just as we expect to see the ground, freed from snow, grow green again, so we long to see the warmth of a kindly heart manifest itself in loving deeds, and peace and happiness spread through all nature----" "forgive?" thought john. "yes, certainly he would, if they would only alter their behaviour and let him be free. but _they_ did not forgive him. with what right did they demand forbearance on his part? it must be mutual." "john," went on the letter, "you think you have attained to a higher conception of god through the study of nature and through reason than when you believed in the deity of christ and the bible, but you do not realise the tendency of your own thoughts. you think that a true thought can of itself ennoble a man, but in your better moments you see that it cannot. you have only grasped the shadow which the light throws, but not the chief matter, not the light itself. when you held your former views you could pass over a fault in one of your fellow-men, you could take a charitable view of an action in spite of appearances, but how is it with you now? you are violent and bitter against a loving mother; you condemn and are discontented with the actions of a tender, experienced, grey-headed father----" (as a matter of fact, when he held his former views, john could not pardon a fault in anyone, least of all in himself. sometimes, indeed, he did pardon others; but that was stupid, that was lax morality. a loving mother, forsooth! yes, very loving! how did his friend axel come to think so? and a tender father? but why should he not judge his actions? in self-defence one must meet hardness with hardness, and no more turn the left cheek when the right cheek is smitten.) "formerly you were an unassuming, amiable child, but now you are an egotistical, conceited youth----" ("unassuming!" yes, and that was why he had been trampled down, but now he was going to assert his just claims. "conceited!" ha! the teacher felt himself outstripped by his ungrateful pupil.) "the warm tears of your mother flow over her cheeks----" ("mother!" he had no mother, and his stepmother only cried when she was angry! who the deuce had composed the letter?) "--when she thinks in solitude about your hard heart----" (what the dickens has she to do with my heart when she has the housekeeping and seven children to look after?) "--your unhappy spiritual condition----" (that's humbug! my soul has never felt so fresh and lively as now.) "--and your father's heart is nearly breaking with grief and anxiety----" (that's a lie. he is himself a theist and follows wallin; besides, he has no time to think about me. he knows that i am industrious and honest, and not immoral. indeed, he praised me only a day or two ago.) "you do not notice your mother's sad looks----" (there are other reasons for that, for her marriage is not a happy one.) "--nor do you regard the loving warnings of your father. you are like a crevasse above the snow-line, in which the kiss of the spring sun cannot melt the snow, nor turn a single atom of ice into a drop of water----" (the writer must have been reading romances. as a matter of fact john was generally yielding towards his school-fellows. but towards his domestic enemies he had become cold. that was their fault.) "what can your friends think of your new religion, when it produces such evil fruit? they will curse it, and your views give them the right to do so----" (not the right, but the occasion.) "they will hate the mean scoundrel who has instilled the hellish poison of his teaching into your innocent heart----" (there we have it! the mean scoundrel!) "show now by your actions that you have grasped the truth better than heretofore. try to be forbearing----" (that's the step-mother!) "pass over the defects and failings of your fellow-men with love and gentleness----" (no, he would not! they had tortured him into lying; they had snuffed about in his soul, and uprooted good seeds as though they were weeds; they wished to stifle his personality, which had just as good a right to exist as their own; they had never been forbearing with his faults, why should he be so with theirs? because christ had said.... that had become a matter of complete indifference, and had no application to him now. for the rest, he did not bother about those at home, but shut himself up in himself. they were unsympathetic to him, and could not obtain his sympathy. that was the whole thing in a nutshell. they had faults and wanted him to pardon them. very well, he did so, if they would only leave him in peace!) "learn to be grateful to your parents, who spare no pains in promoting your true welfare and happiness (hm!), and that this may be brought about through love to god your creator, who has caused you to be born in this improving (hm! hm!) environment, for obtaining peace and blessedness is the prayer of your anxious but hopeful "axel." "i have had enough of father confessors and inquisitors," thought john; he had escaped and felt himself free. they stretched their claws after him, but he was beyond their reach. his friend's letter was insincere and artificial; "the hands were the hands of esau." he returned no answer to it, but broke off all intercourse with both his friends. they called him ungrateful. a person who insists on gratitude is worse than a creditor, for he first makes a present on which he plumes himself, and then sends in the account--an account which can never be paid, for a service done in return does not seem to extinguish the debt of gratitude; it is a mortgage on a man's soul, a debt which cannot be paid, and which stretches over the whole subsequent life. accept a service from your friend, and he will expect you to falsify your opinion of him and to praise his own evil deeds, and those of his wife and children. but gratitude is a deep feeling which honours a man and at the same time humiliates him. would that a time may come when it will not be necessary to fetter ourselves with gratitude for a benefit, which perhaps is a mere duty. john felt ashamed of the breach with his friends, but they hindered and oppressed him. after all, what had they given him in social intercourse which he had not given back? fritz, as his friend with the pince-nez was called, was a prudent man of the world. these two epithets "prudent" and "man of the world" had a bad significance at that time. to be prudent in a romantic period, when all were a little cracked, and to be cracked was considered a mark of the upper classes, was almost synonymous with being bad. to be a man of the world when all attempted, as well as they could, to deceive themselves in religion, was considered still worse. fritz was prudent. he wished to lead his own life in a pleasant way and to make a career for himself. he therefore sought the acquaintance of those in good social position. that was prudent, because they had power and money. why should he not seek them? how did he come to make friends with john? perhaps through a sort of animal sympathy, perhaps through long habit. john could not do any special service for him except to whisper answers to him in the class and to lend him books. for fritz did not learn his lessons, and spent in punch the money which was intended for books. now when he saw that john was inwardly purified, and that his outer man was presentable, he introduced him to his own coterie. this was a little circle of young fellows, some of them rich and some of them of good rank belonging to the same class as john. the latter was a little shy at first, but soon stood on a good footing with them. one day, at drill time, fritz told him that he had been invited to a ball. "i to a ball? are you mad? i would certainly be out of place there." "you are a good-looking fellow, and will have luck with the girls." hm! that was a new point of view with regard to himself. should he go? what would they say at home, where he got nothing but blame? he went to the ball. it was in a middle-class house. some of the girls were anæmic; others red as berries. john liked best the pale ones who had black or blue rings round their eyes. they looked so suffering and pining, and cast yearning glances towards him. there was one among them deathly pale, whose dark eyes were deep-set and burning, and whose lips were so dark that her mouth looked almost like a black streak. she made an impression on him, but he did not venture to approach her, as she already had an admirer. so he satisfied himself with a less dazzling, softer, and gentler girl. he felt quite comfortable at the ball and in intercourse with strangers, without seeing the critical eyes of any relative. but he found it very difficult to talk with the girls. "what shall i say to them?" he asked fritz. "can't you talk nonsense with them? say 'it is fine weather. do you like dancing? do you skate?' one must learn to be versatile." john went and soon exhausted his repertoire of conversation. his palate became dry, and at the third dance he got tired of it. he felt in a rage with himself and was silent. "isn't dancing amusing?" asked fritz. "cheer up, old coffin-polisher!" "yes, dancing is all right, if one only had not to talk. i don't know what to say." so it was, as a matter of fact. he liked the girls, and dancing with them seemed manly, but as to talking with them!--he felt as though he were dealing with another kind of the species _homo_, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. he secretly admired his gentle little partner, and would have liked her for a wife. his fondness for reflection and his everlasting criticism of his thoughts had robbed him of the power of being simple and direct. when he talked with a girl, he heard his own voice and words and criticised them. this made the whole ball seem tedious. and then the girls? what was it really that they lacked? they had the same education as himself; they learned history and modern languages, read icelandic, studied algebra, etc. they had accordingly the same culture, and yet he could not talk with them. "well, talk nonsense with them," said fritz. but he could not. besides, he had a higher opinion of them. he wanted to give up the balls altogether, since he had no success, but he was taken there in spite of himself. it flattered him to be invited, and flattery has always something pleasant about it. one day he was paying a visit to an aristocratic family. the son of the house was a cadet. here he met two actresses. with them he felt he could speak. they danced with him but did not answer him. so he listened to fritz's conversation. the latter said strange things in elegant phrases, and the girls were delighted with him. that, then, was the way to get on with them! the balls were followed by serenades and "punch evenings." john had a great longing for strong drinks; they seemed to him like concentrated liquid nourishment. the first time he was intoxicated was at a students' supper at djurgårdsbrunn. he felt happy, joyful, strong, and mild, but far from mad. he talked nonsense, saw pictures on the plates and made jokes. this behaviour made him for the moment like his elder brother, who, though deeply melancholy in his youth, had a certain reputation afterwards as a comic actor. they had both played at acting in the attic; but john was embarrassed; he acted badly and was only successful when he was given the part of some high personage to play. as a comic actor he was impossible. about this time there entered two new factors into his development--art and literature. john had found in his father's bookcase lenstrom's _Æsthetics_, boije's _dictionary of painters,_ and oulibischeff's _life of mozart_, besides the authors previously mentioned. through the scattering of the family of a deceased relative, a large number of books came into the house, which increased john's knowledge of belles-lettres. among them were several copies of talis qualis's poems, which he did not enjoy; he found no pleasure in strandberg's translation of byron's _don juan_, for he hated descriptive poetry; he always skipped verse quotations when they occurred in books. tasso's _jerusalem delivered_, in kullberg's translation, he found tedious; karl von zeipel's _tales_, impossible. sir walter scott's novels were too long, especially the descriptions. he therefore did not understand at first the greatness of zola, when many years later he read his elaborate descriptions; the perusal of lessing's _laokoön_ had already convinced him that such descriptions cannot convey an adequate impression of the whole. dickens infused life even into inanimate objects and harmonised the scenery and situations with the characters. that he understood better. he thought eugène sue's _wandering jew_ magnificent; he did not regard it as a novel; for novels, he thought, were only to be found in lending libraries. this, on the other hand, was a historical poem of universal interest, whose socialistic teaching he quickly imbibed. alexandre dumas's works seemed to him like the boys' books about indians. these he did not care for now; he wanted books with some serious purpose. he swallowed shakespeare whole, in hagberg's translation. but he had always found it hard to read plays where the eye must jump from the names of the _dramatis personæ_, to the text. he was disappointed in _hamlet_, of which he had expected much, and the comedies seemed to him sheer nonsense. john could not endure poetry. it seemed to him artificial and untrue. men did not speak like that, and they seldom thought so beautifully. once he was asked to write a verse in fanny's album. "you can screw yourself up to do that," said his friend. john sat up at night, but only managed to hammer out two lines. besides, he did not know what to say. one could not expose one's feelings to common observation. fritz offered his help, and together they produced six or eight rhyming lines, for which snoilsky's _a christmas eve in rome_ supplied the motive. "genius" often formed the subject of their discussions. their teacher used to say "geniuses" ranked above all else, like "excellencies." john thought much about this, and believed that it was possible without high birth, without money, and without a career to get on the same level as excellencies. but what a genius was he did not know. once in a weak moment he said to his lady friend that he would rather be a genius than a child of god, and received a sharp reproof from her. another time he told fritz that he would like to be a professor, as they can dress like scarecrows and behave as they like without losing respect. but when someone else asked him what he wished to be, he said, "a clergyman"; for all peasants' sons can be that, and it seemed a suitable calling for him also. after he had become a free-thinker, he wished to take a university degree. but he did not wish to be a teacher on any account. in the theatre _hamlet_ made a deeper impression on him than offenbach's operas, which were then being acted. who is this hamlet who first saw the footlights in the era of john iii., and has still remained fresh? he is a figure which has been much exploited and used for many purposes. john forthwith determined to use him for his own. the curtain rises to the sound of cheerful music, showing the king and his court in glittering array. then there enters the pale youth in mourning garb and opposes his step-father. ah! he has a step-father. "that is as bad as having a stepmother," thought john. "that's the man for me!" and then they try to oppress him and squeeze sympathy out of him for the tyrant. the youth's ego revolts, but his will is paralysed; he threatens, but he cannot strike. anyhow, he chastises his mother--a pity that it was not his step-father. but now he goes about with pangs of conscience. good! good! he is sick with too much thought, he gropes in his in-side, inspects his actions till they dissolve into nothing. and he loves another's betrothed; that resembles john's life completely. he begins to doubt whether he is an exception after all. that, then, is a common story in life! very well! he did not need then to worry about himself, but he had lost his consciousness of originality. the conclusion, which had been mangled, was unimpressive, but was partly redeemed by the fine speech of horatio. john did not observe the unpardonable mistake of the adapter in omitting the part of fortinbras, but horatio, who was intended to form a contrast to hamlet, was no contrast. he is as great a coward as the latter, and says only "yes" and "no." fortinbras was the man of action, the conqueror, the claimant to the throne, but he does not appear, and the play ends in gloom and desolation. but it is fine to lament one's destiny, and to see it lamented. at first hamlet was only the step-son; later on he becomes the introspective brooder, and lastly the son, the sacrifice to family tyranny. schwarz had represented him as the visionary and idealist who could not reconcile himself to reality, and satisfied contemporary taste accordingly. a future matter-of-fact generation, to whom the romantic appears simply ridiculous, may very likely see the part of hamlet, like that of don quixote, taken by a comic actor. youths like hamlet have been for a long time the subject of ridicule, for a new generation has secretly sprung up, a generation which thinks without seeing visions, and acts accordingly. the neutral territory of belles-lettres and the theatre, where morality has nothing to say, and the unrealities of the drama with its reconstruction of a better world than the present, were taken by john as something more than mere imagination. he confused poetry and reality, while he fancied that life outside his parent's house was ideal and that the future was a garden of eden. the prospect of soon going to the university of upsala seemed to him like a flight into liberty. there one might be ill-dressed, poor, and still a student, _i.e._, a member of the higher classes; one could sing and drink, come home intoxicated, and fight with the police without losing one's reputation. that is an ideal land! how had he found that out? from the students' songs which he sang with his brother. but he did not know that these songs reflected the views of the aristocracy; that they were listened to, piece by piece, by princes and future kings; that the heroes of them were men of family. he did not consider that borrowing was not so dangerous, when there was a rich aunt in the background; that the examination was not so hard if one had a bishop for an uncle; and that the breaking of a window had not got to be too dearly paid for if one moved in good society. but, at any rate, his thoughts were busy with the future; his hopes revived, and the fatal twenty-fifth year did not loom so ominously before him. about this time the volunteer movement was at its height. it was a happy idea which gave sweden a larger army than she had hitherto had-- , men instead of , . john went in for it energetically, wore a uniform, drilled, and learned to shoot. he came thereby into contact with young men of other classes of society. in his company there were apprentices, shop attendants, office clerks, and young artists who had not yet achieved fame. he liked them, but they remained distant. he sought to approach them, but they did not receive him. they had their own language, which he did not understand. now he noticed how his education had separated him from the companions of his childhood. they took for granted that he was proud. but, as a matter of fact, he looked up to them in some things. they were frank, fearless, independent, and pecuniarily better circumstanced than himself, for they always had money. accompanying the troops on long marches had a soothing effect on him. he was not born to command, and obeyed gladly, if the person who commanded did not betray pride or imperiousness. he had no ambition to become a corporal, for then he would have had to think, and what was still worse, decide for others. he remained a slave by nature and inclination, but he was sensitive to the injustice of tyrants, and observed them narrowly. at one important manoeuvre he could not help expostulating with regard to certain blunders committed, _e.g._, that the infantry of the guard should be ranged up at a landing-place against the cannon of the fleet which covered the barges on which they were standing. the cannon played about their ears from a short distance, but they remained unmoved. he expostulated and swore, but obeyed, for he had determined beforehand to do so. on one occasion, while they were halting at tyreso, he wrestled in sport with a comrade. the captain of the company stepped forward and forbade such rough play. john answered sharply that they were off duty, and that they were playing. "yes, but play may become earnest," said the captain. "that depends on us," answered john, and obeyed. but he thought him fussy for interfering in such trifles, and believed that he noticed a certain dislike in his superior towards himself. the former was called "magister," because he wrote for the papers, but he was not even a student. "there it is," he thought, "he wants to humiliate me." and from that time he watched him closely. their mutual antipathy lasted through their lives. the volunteer movement was in the first place the result of the danish-german war, and, though transitory, was in some degree advantageous. it kept the young men occupied, and did away, to a certain extent, with the military prestige of the army, as the lower classes discovered that soldiering was not such a difficult matter after all. the insight thus gained caused a widespread resistance to the introduction of the prussian system of compulsory service which was much mooted at the time, since oscar ii., when visiting berlin, had expressed to the emperor william his hope that swedish and prussian troops would once more be brothers-in-arms. [ ] see _encyclopedia britannica_, art. "sweden." [ ] in strindberg wrote: "i keep my bible christianity for private use, to tame my somewhat barbarised nature--barbarised by the veterinary philosophy of darwinism, in which, as a student. i was educated."--_tal till svenska nationen_. ix with strangers one of his bold dreams had been fulfilled: he had found a situation for the summer. why had he not found one sooner? he had not dared to hope for it, and, therefore, had never sought it, from fear of meeting with a refusal. a disappointed hope was the worst thing he could imagine. but now, all at once, fortune shook her cornucopia over him; the post he had obtained was in the finest situation that he knew--the stockholm archipelago--on the most beautiful of all the islands, sotaskär. he now liked aristocrats. his step-mother's ill-treatment of him, his relations' perpetual watching to discover arrogance in him, where there was only superiority of intelligence, generosity, and self-sacrifice, the attempts of his volunteer comrades to oppress him, had driven him out of the class to which he naturally belonged. he did not think or feel any more as they did; he had another religion, and another view of life. the well-regulated behaviour and confident bearing of his aristocratic friends satisfied his æsthetic sense; his education had brought him nearer to them, and alienated him from the lower classes. the aristocrats seemed to him less proud than the middle class. they did not oppress, but prized culture and talent; they were democratic in their behaviour towards him, for they treated him as an equal, whereas his own relatives regarded him as a subordinate and inferior. fritz, for example, who was the son of a miller in the country, visited at the house of a lord-in-waiting, and played in a comedy with his sons before the director of the theatre royal, who offered him an engagement. no one asked whose son he was. but when fritz came to a dance at john's house, he was carefully inspected behind and before, and great satisfaction was caused when some relative imparted the information that his father had once been a miller's servant. john had become aristocratic in his views, without, however, ceasing to sympathise with the lower classes, and since about the year the nobility were fairly liberal in politics, condescending and popular for the time, he let himself be duped. fritz began to give him instructions how he should behave. one should not be cringing, he said, but be yielding; should not say all that one thought, for no one wished to know that; it was good if one could say polite things, without indulging in too gross flattery; one should converse, but not argue, above all things not dispute, for one never got the best of it. fritz was certainly a wise youth. john thought the advice terribly hard, but stored it up in his mind. what he wanted to get was a salary, and perhaps the chance of a tour abroad to rome or paris with his pupils; that was the most he hoped for from his noble friends, and what he intended to aim at. one sunday he visited the wife of the baron, his future employer, as she was in the town. she seemed like the portrait of a mediæval lady; she had an aquiline nose, great brown eyes, and curled hair, which hung over her temples. she was somewhat sentimental, talked in a drawling manner, and with a nasal twang. john did not think her aristocratic, and the house was a poorer one than his own home, but they had, besides, an estate and a castle. however, she pleased him, for she had a certain resemblance to his mother. she examined him, talked with him, and let her ball of wool fall. john sprang up and gave it to her, with a self-satisfied air which seemed to say, "i can do that, for i have often picked up ladies' handkerchiefs." her opinion of him after the examination was a favourable one, and he was engaged. on the morning of the day on which they were to leave the city he called again. the royal secretary, for so the gentleman of the house was called, was standing in his shirt-sleeves before the mirror and tying his cravat. he looked proud and melancholy, and his greeting was curt and cold. john took a seat uninvited, and tried to commence a conversation, but was not particularly successful in keeping it up, especially as the secretary turned his back to him, and gave only short answers. "he is not an aristocrat," thought john; "he is a boor." the two were antipathetic to each other, as two members of the lower class, who looked askance at each other in their clamber laboriously upwards. the carriage was before the door; the coachman was in livery, and stood with his hat in his hand. the secretary asked john whether he would sit in the carriage or on the box, but in such a tone that john determined to be polite and to accept the invitation to sit on the box. so he sat next the coachman. as the whip cracked, and the horses started, he had only one thought, "away from home! out into the world!" at the first halting-place john got down from the box and went to the carriage window. he asked in an easy, polite, perhaps somewhat confidential tone, how his employers were. the baron answered curtly, in a tone in a way which cut off all attempts at a nearer approach. what did that mean? they took their seats again. john lighted a cigar, and offered the coachman one. the latter, however, whispered in reply that he dared not smoke on the box. he then pumped the coachman, but cautiously, regarding the baron's friends, and so on. towards evening they reached the estate. the house stood on a wooded hill, and was a white stone building with outside blinds. the roof was flat, and its rounded comers gave the building a somewhat italian aspect, but the blinds, with their white and red borders, were elegance itself. john, with his three pupils, was installed in one wing, which consisted of an isolated building with two rooms; the other of which was occupied by the coachman. after eight days john discovered that he was a servant, and in a very unpleasant position. his father's man-servant had a better room all to himself; and for several hours of the day was master of his own person and thoughts. but john was not. night and day he had to be with the boys, teach them, and play and bathe with them. if he allowed himself a moment's liberty, and was seen about, he was at once asked, "where are the children?" he lived in perpetual anxiety lest some accident should happen to them. he was responsible for the behaviour of four persons--his own and that of his three pupils. every criticism of them struck him. he had no companion of his own age with whom he could converse. the steward was almost the whole day at work, and hardly ever visible. but there were two compensations: the scenery and the sense of being free from the bondage in his parent's house. the baroness treated him confidentially, almost in a motherly way; she liked discussing literature with him. at such times he felt on the same level with her, and superior to her in point of erudition, but as soon as the secretary came home he sank to the position of children's nurse again. the scenery of the islands had for him a greater charm than the banks of the mälar, and his magic recollections of drottningholm faded. in the past year he had climbed up a hill in tyreso with the volunteer sharpshooters. it was covered with a thick fir-wood. they crawled through bilberry and juniper bushes till they reached a steep, rocky plateau. from this they viewed a panorama which thrilled him with delight: water and islands, water and islands stretched away into infinite distance. although born in stockholm he had never seen the islands, and did not know where he was. the view made a deep impression on him, as if he had rediscovered a land which had appeared to him in his fairest dreams or in a former existence--in which he believed, but about which he knew nothing. the troop of sharpshooters drew off into the wood, but john remained upon the height and worshipped--that is the right word. the attacking troop approached and fired; the bullets whistled about his ears; he hid himself, but he could not go away. that was his land-scape and proper environment--barren, rugged gray rocks surrounding wide stormy bays, and the endless sea in the distance as a background. he remained faithful to this love, which could not be explained by the fact that it was his first love. neither the alps of switzerland, nor the olive groves of the mediterranean, nor the steep coast of normandy, could dethrone this rival from his heart. now he was in paradise, though rather too deep in it; the shore of sotaskär consisted of green pasturage overshadowed by oaks, and the bay opened out to the fjord in the far distance. the water was pure and salt; that was something new. in one of his excursions with his rifle, the dogs, and the boys, he came one fine sunny day down to the water's edge. on the other side of the bay stood a castle, a large, old-fashioned stone edifice. he had discovered that his employer only rented the estate. "who lives in the castle?" he asked the boys. "uncle wilhelm," they answered. "what is his title?" "baron x." "do you never go there?" "oh, yes; sometimes." so there was a castle here with a baron! john's walks now regularly took the direction of the shore, from which he could see the castle. it was surrounded by a park and garden. at home they had no garden. one fine day the baroness told him that he must accompany the boys on the morrow to the baron's, and remain there for the day. she and her husband would stay at home; "he would therefore represent the house," she added jestingly. then he asked what he was to wear. he could go in his summer suit, she said, take his black coat on his arm, and change for dinner in the little tapestry-room on the ground floor. he asked whether he should wear gloves. she laughed, "no, he needed no gloves." he dreamt the whole night about the baron, the castle, and the tapestry-room. in the morning a hay-waggon came to the house to fetch them. he did not like this; it reminded him of the parish clerk's school. and so they went off. they came to a long avenue of lime trees, drove into the courtyard, and stopped before the castle. it was a real castle, and looked as if it had been built in the middle ages. from an arbour there came the well-known click of a draught-board. a middle-aged gentleman in an ill-fitting, holland suit came out. his face was not aristocratic, but rather of the middle-class type, with a seaman's beard of a gray-yellow colour. he also wore earrings. john held his hat in his hand and introduced himself. the baron greeted him in a friendly way, and bade him enter the arbour. here stood a table with a draught-board, by which sat a little old man who was very amiable in his manner. he was introduced as the pastor of a small town. john was given a glass of brandy, and asked about the stockholm news. since he was familiar with theatrical gossip and similar things, he was listened to with greater attention. "there it is," he thought, "the real aristocrats are much more democratic than the sham ones." "oh!" said the baron. "pardon me, mr.----, i did not catch the name. yes, that is it. are you related to oscar strindberg?" "he is my father." "good heavens! is it possible? he is an old friend of mine from my youthful days, when i was pilot on the strengnas." john did not believe his ears. the baron had been pilot on a steamer! yes, indeed, he had. but he wished to hear about his friend oscar. john looked around him, and asked himself if this really was the baron. the baroness now appeared; she was as simple and friendly as the baron. the bell rang for dinner. "now we will get something to drink," said the baron. "come along." john at first made a vain attempt to put on his frock-coat behind a door in the hall, but finally succeeded, as the baroness had said that he ought to wear it. then they entered the dining-hall. yes, that was a real castle; the floor was paved with stone, the ceiling was of carved wood; the window-niches were so deep that they seemed to form little rooms; the fire place could hold a barrow-load of wood; there was a three-footed piano, and the walls were covered with dark paintings. john felt quite at home during dinner. in the afternoon he played with the baron, and drank toddy. all the courteous usages he had expected were in evidence, and he was well pleased with the day when it was over. as he went down the long avenue, he turned round and contemplated the castle. it looked now less stately and almost poverty stricken. it pleased him all the better, though it had been more romantic to look at it as a fairy-tale castle from the other shore. now he had nothing more to which he could look up. but he himself, on the other hand, was no more below. perhaps, after all, it is better to have something to which one _can_ look up. when he came home, he was examined by the baroness. "how did he like the baron?" john answered that he was pleasant and condescending. he was also prudent enough to say nothing of the baron's friendship with his father. "they will learn it anyhow," he thought. meanwhile he already felt more at home, and was no more so timid. one day he borrowed a horse, but he rode it so roughly that he was not allowed to borrow one again. then he hired one from a peasant. it looked so fine to sit high on a horse and gallop; he felt his strength grow at the same time. his illusions were dispelled, but to feel on the same level with those about him, without wishing to pull anyone down, that had something soothing about it. he wrote a boasting letter to his brother at home, but received an answer calculated to set him down. since he was quite alone, and had no one with whom he could talk, he wrote letters in diary-form to his friend fritz. the latter had obtained a post with a merchant by the mälar lake, where there were young girls, music, and good eating. john sometimes wished to be in his place. in his diary-letter he tried to idealise the realities around him, and succeeded in arousing his friend's envy. the story of the baron's acquaintance with john's father spread, and the baroness felt herself bound to speak ill of her brother. john had, nevertheless, intelligence enough to perceive that here there was something to do with the tragedy of an estate in tail. since he had nothing to do with the matter, he took no trouble to inquire into it. during a visit which john paid to the pastor's house, the assistant pastor happened to hear of his idea of being a pastor himself. since the senior pastor, on account of old age and weakness, no longer preached, his assistant was john's only acquaintance. the assistant found the work heavy, so he was very glad to come across young students who wished to make their debuts as preachers. he asked john whether he would preach. upon john's objecting that he was not a student yet, he answered, "no matter." john said he would consider. the assistant did not let him consider long. he said that many students and collegians had preached here before, and that the church had a certain fame since the actor knut almlöf had preached here in his youth. john had seen him act as menelaus in _the beautiful helen_, and admired him. he consented to his friend's request, began to search for a text, borrowed some homilies, and promised to have his trial sermon ready by friday. so, then, only a year after his confirmation, he would preach in the pulpit, and the baron and the ladies and gentlemen would sit as devout hearers! so soon at the goal, without a clerical examination--yes, even without his final college examination! they would lend him a gown and bands; he would pray the lord's prayer and read the commandments! his head began to swell, and he walked home feeling a foot taller, with the full consciousness that he was no longer a boy. but as he came home he began to think seriously. he was a free-thinker. is it honourable to play the hypocrite? no, no. but must he then give up the sermon? that would be too great a sacrifice. he felt ambitious, and perhaps he would be able to sow some seeds of free-thought, which would spring up later. yes, but it was dishonest. with his old egotistic morality he always regarded the motive of the actor, not the beneficial or injurious effect of the action. it was profitable for him to preach; it would not hurt others to hear something new and true. but it was not honest. he could not get away from that objection. he took the baroness into his confidence. "do you believe that preachers believe all they say?" she asked. that was the preachers' affair, but john could not act a double part. finally, he walked to the assistant pastor's house, and consulted him. it vexed the assistant to have to hear about it. "well," he said, "but you believe in god, i suppose?" "yes, certainly i do." "very well! don't speak of christ. bishop wallin never mentioned the name of christ in his sermons. but don't bother any more. i don't want to hear about it." "i will do my best," said john, glad to have saved his honesty and his prospect of distinction at the same time. they had a glass of wine, and the matter was settled. there was something intoxicating for him in sitting over his books and homilies, and in hearing the baron ask for him, and the servant answer: "the tutor is writing his sermon." he had to expound the text: "jesus said, now is the son of man glorified, and god is glorified in him. if god be glorified in him, god shall glorify him in himself, and shall straightway glorify him." that was all. he turned the sentence this way and that, but could find no meaning in it. "it is obscure," he thought. but it touched the most delicate point--the deity of christ. if he had the courage to explain away that, he would certainly have done something important. the prospect enticed him, and with theodore parker's help he composed a prose poem on christ as the son of god, and then put forward very cautiously the assertion that we are all god's sons, but that christ is his chosen and beloved son, whose teaching we must obey. but that was only the introduction, and the gospel is read after the introduction. about what, then, should he preach? he had already pacified his conscience by plainly stating his views regarding the deity of christ. he glowed with excitement, his courage grew, and he felt that he had a mission to fulfil. he would draw his sword against dogmas, against the doctrine of election and pietism. when he came to the place where, after reading the text, he ought to have said, "the text we have read gives us occasion for a short time to consider the following subject," he wrote: "since the text of the day gives no further occasion for remark, we will, for a short time, consider what is of greater importance." and so he dealt with god's work in conversion. he made two attacks: one on the custom of preaching from the text, and the second against the church's teaching on the subject of grace. first he spoke of conversion as a serious matter, which required a sacrifice, and depended on the free-will of man (he was not quite clear about that). he ignored the doctrine of election, and finally flung open for all the doors of the kingdom of heaven: "come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden." "to-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." that is the gospel of christ for all, and no one is to believe that the key of heaven is committed to him (that was a hit at the pietists), but that the doors of grace are open for all without exception. he was very much in earnest, and felt like a missionary. on friday he betook himself to the church, and read certain passages of his sermon from the pulpit. he chose the most harmless ones. then he repeated the prayers, while the assistant pastor stood under the choir gallery and called to him, "louder! slower!" he was approved, and they had a glass of wine together. on sunday the church was full of people. john put on his gown and bands in the vestry. for a moment he felt it comical, but then was seized with anxiety. he prayed to the only true god for help, now that he was to draw the sword against age-long error, and when the last notes of the organ were silent, he entered the pulpit with confidence. everything went well. but when he came to the place, "since the text of the day gives no occasion for remark," and saw a movement among the faces of the congregation, which looked like so many white blurs, he trembled. but only for a moment. then he plucked up courage and read his sermon in a fairly strong and confident voice. when he neared the end, he was so moved by the beautiful truths which he proclaimed, that he could scarcely see the writing on the paper for tears. he took a long breath, and read through all the prayers, till the organ began and he left the pulpit. the pastor thanked him, but said one should not wander from the text; it would be a bad look-out if the church consistory heard of it. but he hoped no one had noticed it. he had no fault to find with the contents of the sermon. they had dinner at the pastor's house, played and danced with the girls, and john was the hero of the day. the girls said, "it was a very fine sermon, for it was so short." he had read much too fast, and had left out a prayer. in the autumn john returned with the boys to the town, in order to live with them and look after their school-work. they went to the clara school, so that, like a crab, he felt he was going backwards. the same school, the same headmaster, the same malicious latin teacher. john worked conscientiously with his pupils, heard their lessons, and could swear that they had been properly learned. none the less, in the report books which they took home, and which their father read, it was stated that such and such lessons had not been learned. "that is a lie," said john. "well, but it is written here," answered the boys' father. it was hard work, and he was preparing at the same time for his own examination. in the autumn holidays they went back to the country. they sat by the stove and cracked nuts, a whole sackful, and read the _frithiof saga, axel_, and _children of the lord's supper_.[ ] the evenings were intolerably long. but john discovered a new steward, who was treated almost like a servant. this provoked john to make friends with him, and in his room they brewed punch and played cards. the baroness ventured to remark that the steward was not a suitable friend for john. "why not?" asked the latter. "he has no education." "that is not so dangerous." she also said that she preferred that the tutor should spend his time with the family in the evening, or, at any rate, stay in the boys' room. he chose the latter, for it was very stuffy in the drawing-room, and he was tired of the reading aloud and the conversation. he now stayed in his own and the boys' room. the steward came there, and they played their game of cards. the boys asked to be allowed to take a hand. why should they not? john had played whist at home with his father and brothers, and the innocent recreation had been regarded as a means of education for teaching self-discipline, carefulness, attention, and fairness; he had never played for money; each dishonest trick was immediately exposed, untimely exultation at a victory silenced, sulkiness at a defeat ridiculed. at that time the boys' parents made no objections, for they were glad that the youngsters were occupied. but they did not like their being on intimate terms with the steward. john had, in the summer, formed a little military troop from his pupils and the workmen's children, and drilled them in the open air. but the baroness forbade this close intercourse with the latter. "each class should keep to itself," she said. but john could not understand why that should be, since in the year class distinctions had been done away with. in the meantime a storm was brewing, and a mere trifle was the occasion of its outbreak. one morning the baron was storming about a pair of his driving-gloves which had disappeared. he suspected his eldest boy. the latter denied having taken them, and accused the steward, specifying the time when he said he had taken them. the steward was called. "you have taken my driving-gloves, sir! what is the meaning of this?" said the baron. "no, sir, i have not." "what! hugo says you did." john, who happened to be present, stepped forward unsolicited, and said, "then hugo lies. he himself has had the gloves." "what do you say?" said the baron, motioning to the steward to go. "i say the truth." "what do you mean, sir, by accusing my son in the presence of a servant?" "mr. x. is not a servant, and, besides, he is innocent." "yes, very innocent--playing cards together and drinking with the boys! that's a nice business, eh?" "why did you not mention it before? then you would have found out that i do not drink with the boys." "'you,' you d--d hobbledehoy! what do you mean by calling me 'you.'" "mr. secretary can look for another 'hobbledehoy' to teach his boys, since mr. secretary is too covetous to engage a grown person." so saying, john departed. on the next day they were to return to the town, for the christmas holidays were at an end. so he would have to go home again--back into hell, to be despised and oppressed, and it would be a thousand times worse after he had boasted of his new situation, and compared it with his parents' house to the disadvantage of the latter. he wept for anger, but after such an insult there was no retreat. he was summoned to the baroness, but said she must wait awhile. then a messenger came again for him. in a sullen mood he went up to her. she was quite mild, and asked him to stay some days with them till they had found another tutor. he promised, since she had asked him so pressingly. she said she would drive with the boys into the town. the sleigh came to the door, and the baron stood by, and said, "you can sit on the box." "i know my place," said john. at the first halting-place the baroness asked him to get into the sleigh, but he would not. they stayed in the town eight days. in the meanwhile john had written a somewhat arrogant letter, in an independent tone, home, which did not please his father, although he had flattered him in it. "i think you should have first asked if you could come home," he said. in that he was right. but john had never thought otherwise of his parents' house than of an hotel, where he could get board and lodging without paying. so he was home again. through an incomprehensible simplicity he had let himself be persuaded to continue to go through his former pupils' school-work with them, though he received nothing for it. one evening fitz wanted to take him to a café. "no," said john, "i must give some lessons." "where?" "to the secretary's boys." "what! haven't you done with them yet?" "no, i have promised to help them till they get a new teacher." "what do you get for it?" "what do i get? i have had board and lodging." "yes, but what do you get now, when you don't board and lodge with them?" "hm! i didn't think of that." "you are a lunatic--teaching rich peoples' children gratis. well, you come along with me, and don't cross their threshold again." john had a struggle with himself on the pavement. "but i promised them." "you should not promise. come now and write a letter withdrawing your offer." "i must go and take leave of them." "it is not necessary. they promised you a present at christmas, but you got nothing; and now you let yourself be treated like a servant. come now and write." he was dragged to the café. the waitress brought paper and ink, and, at his friend's dictation, he wrote a letter to the effect that, in consequence of his approaching examination, he would have no more leisure for teaching. he was free! "but i feel ashamed," he said. "why?" "because i have been impolite." "rubbish! waitress, bring half a punch." [ ] three poems by tegner--the last translated by longfellow. x character and destiny about this time the free-thought movement was at its height. after preaching his sermon, john believed it was his mission and duty to spread and champion the new doctrines. he therefore began to stay away from prayers, and stayed behind when the rest of the class went to the prayer-room. the headmaster came in and wished to drive him, and those who had remained with him, out. john answered that his religion forbade him to take part in an alien form of worship. the headmaster said one must observe law and order. john answered that jews were excused attendance at prayers. the headmaster then asked him for the sake of example and their former friendship to be present. john yielded. but he and those who shared his views did not take part in the singing of the psalms. then the headmaster was infuriated, and gave them a scolding; he especially singled out john, and upbraided him. john's answer was to organise a strike. he and those who shared his views came regularly so late to school that prayers were over when they entered. if they happened to come too early, they remained in the corridor and waited, sitting on the wooden boxes and chatting with the teachers. in order to humble the rebels, the headmaster hit upon the idea, at the close of prayers, when the whole school was assembled, to open the doors and call them in. these then defiled past with an impudent air and under a hail of reproaches through the prayer-room without remaining there. finally, they became quite used to enter of their own accord, and take their scolding as they walked through the room. the headmaster conceived a spite against john, and seemed to have the intention of making him fail in his examination. john, on the other hand, worked day and night in order to be sure of succeeding. his theological lessons degenerated into arguments with his teacher. the latter was a pastor and theist, and tolerant of objections, but he soon got tired of them, and told john to answer according to the text-book. "how many persons are in the godhead?" he asked. "one," answered john. "what does norbeck say?" "norbeck says three!" "well, then, you say three, too!" at home things went on quietly. john was left alone. they saw that he was lost, and that it was too late for any effectual interference. one sunday his father made an attempt in the old style, but john was not at a loss for an answer. "why don't you go to church any more?" his father asked. "what should i do there?" "a good sermon can always do one some good." "i can make sermons myself." and there was an end of it. the pietists had a special prayer offered for john in the bethlehem church after they had seen him one sunday morning in volunteer uniform. in may, , he passed his final examination. strange things came to light on that occasion. great fellows with beards and pince-nez called the malay peninsula siberia, and believed that india was arabia. some candidates obtained a testimonial in french who pronounced "en" like "y," and could not conjugate the auxiliary verbs. it was incredible. john believed he had been stronger in latin three years before this. in history everyone of them would have failed, if they had not known the questions beforehand. they had read too much and learned too little. the examination closed with a prayer which a free-thinker was obliged to offer. he repeated the lord's prayer stammeringly, and this was wrongly attributed to his supposed state of excitement. in the evening john was taken by his companions to storkyrkobrinken, where they bought him a student's white cap, for he had no money. then he went to his father's office to give him the good news. he met him in the hall. "well! have you passed?" said his father. "yes." "and already bought the cap." "i got it on credit." "go to the cashier, and have it paid for." so they parted. no congratulation! no pressure of the hand! that was his father's icelandic nature which could not give vent to any expressions of tenderness. john came home as they were all sitting at supper. he was in a merry mood, and had drunk punch. but his spirits were soon damped. all were silent. his brothers and sisters did not congratulate him. then he became out of humour and silent also. he left the table and went to rejoin his comrades in the town. there there was joy, childish, exaggerated joy, and all too great hopes. during the summer he remained at home and gave lessons. with the money earned he hoped to go in the autumn to the university at upsala. theology attracted him no more. he had done with it, and, moreover, it went against his conscience to take the ordination vow. in the autumn he went to upsala. old margaret packed his box, and put in cooking utensils, and a knife and fork. then she obliged him to borrow fifteen kronas[ ] from her. from his father he got a case of cigars, and an exhortation to help himself. he himself had eighty kronas, which he had earned by giving lessons, and with which he must manage to get through his first term at the university. the world stood open for him; he had the ticket of admission in his hand. he had nothing to do but to enter. only that! * * * * * "a man's character is his destiny." that was then a common and favourite proverb. now that john had to go into the world, he employed much time in attempting to cast his horoscope from his own character, which he thought was already fully formed. people generally bestow the name of "a character" on a man who has sought and found a position, taken up a rôle, excogitated certain principles of behaviour, and acts accordingly in an automatic way. a man with a so-called character is often a simple piece of mechanism; he has often only one point of view for the extremely complicated relationships of life; he has determined to cherish perpetually certain fixed opinions of certain matters; and in order not to be accused of "lack of character," he never changes his opinion, however foolish or absurd it may be. consequently, a man with a character is generally a very ordinary individual, and what may be called a little stupid. "character" and automaton seem often synonymous. dickens's famous characters are puppets, and the characters on the stage must be automata. a well-drawn character is synonymous with a caricature. john had formed the habit of "proving himself" in the christian fashion, and asked himself whether he had such a character as befitted a man who wished to make his way in the world. in the first place, he was revengeful. a boy had once openly said, by the clara churchyard, that john's father had stood in the pillory. that was an insult to the whole family. since john was weaker than his opponent, he caused his elder brother to execute vengeance with him on the culprit, by bombarding him with snowballs. they carried out their revenge so thoroughly, that they thrashed the culprit's younger brother who was innocent. so he must be revengeful. that was a serious charge. he began to consider the matter more closely. had he revenged himself on his father or his step-mother for the injustice they had done him? no; he forgot all, and kept out of the way. had he revenged himself on his school teachers by sending them boxes full of stones at christmas? no. was he really so severe towards others, and so hair-splitting in his judgment of their conduct towards him? not at all; he was easy to get on with, was credulous, and could be led by the nose in every kind of way, provided he did not detect any tyrannous wish to oppress in the other party. by various promises of exchange his school-fellows had cajoled away from him his herbarium, his collection of beetles, his chemical apparatus, his adventure books. had he abused or dunned them for payment? no; he felt ashamed on their account, but let them be. at the end of one vacation the father of a boy whom john had been teaching forgot to pay him. he felt ashamed to remind him, and it was not till half a year had elapsed, that, at the instigation of his own father, he demanded payment. it was a peculiar trait of john's character, that he identified himself with others, suffered for them, and felt ashamed on their behalf. if he had lived in the middle ages, he would have been marked with the stigmata. if one of his brothers did something vulgar or stupid, john felt ashamed for him. in church he once heard a boys' choir sing terribly out of tune. he hid himself in the pew with a feeling of vicarious shame. once he fought with a school-fellow, and gave him a violent blow on the chest, but when he saw the boy's face distorted with pain, he burst into tears and reached him his hand. if anyone asked him to do something which he was very unwilling to do, he suffered on behalf of the one with whose request he could not comply. he was cowardly, and could let no one go away unheard for fear of causing discontent. he was still afraid of the dark, of dogs, horses, and strangers. but he could also be courageous if necessary, as he had shown by rebelling in school, when the matter concerned his final examination, and by opposing his father. "a man without religion is an animal," say the old copybooks. now that it has been discovered that animals are the most religious of creatures, and that he who has knowledge does not need religion, the practical efficacy of the latter has been much reduced. by placing the source of his strength outside himself, he had lost strength and faith in himself. religion had devoured his ego. he prayed always, and at all hours, when he was in need. he prayed at school when he was asked questions; at the card-table when the cards were dealt out. religion had spoilt him, for it had educated him for heaven instead of earth; family life had ruined him by educating him for the family instead of for society; and school had educated him for the university instead of for life. he was irresolute and weak. when he bought tobacco, he asked his friend what sort he should buy. thus he fell into his friends' power. the consciousness of being popular drove away his fear of the unknown, and friendship strengthened him. he was a prey to capricious moods. one day, when he was a tutor in the country, he came into the town in order to visit fritz. when he got there he did not proceed any further, but remained at home, debating with himself whether he should go to fritz or not. he knew that his friend expected him, and he himself much wished to see him. but he did not go. the next day he returned to the country, and wrote a melancholy letter to his friend, in which he tried to explain himself. but fritz was angry, and did not understand caprices. in all his weakness he sometimes was aware of enormous resources of strength, which made himself believe himself capable of anything. when he was twelve his brother brought home a french boys' book from paris. john said, "we will translate that, and bring it out at christmas." they did translate it, but as they did not know what further steps to take, the matter dropped. an italian grammar fell into his hands, and he learned italian. when he was a tutor in the country, as there was no tailor there, he undertook to alter a pair of trousers. he opened the seams, altered and stitched the trousers, and ironed them with the great stable key. he also mended his boots. when he heard his sisters and brothers play in a quartette, he was never satisfied with the performance. he would have liked to jump up, to snatch the instruments from them, and to show them how they ought to play. john had learned to speak the truth. like all children, he lied in his defence or in answer to impertinent questions, but he found a brutal enjoyment, during a conversation, when people were trying to conceal the truth, to say exactly what all thought. at a ball, where he was very taciturn, a lady asked him if he liked dancing. "no, not at all," he answered. "well, then, why do you dance?" "because i am obliged to." he had stolen apples, like all boys, and that did not trouble him; he made no secret of it. it was a prescriptive right. in the school he had never done any real mischief. once, on the last day before the close of the term, he and some other boys had broken off some clothes-pegs and torn up some old exercise-books. he was the only one seized on the occasion. it was a mere outbreak of animal spirits, and was not taken seriously. now, when he was passing his own character under review, he collected other people's judgments on himself, and was astonished at the diversity of opinion displayed. his father considered him hard; his step-mother, malicious; his brothers, eccentric. every servant-maid in the house had a different opinion of him; one of them liked him, and thought that his parents treated him ill; his lady friend thought him emotional; the engineer regarded him as an amiable child, and fritz considered him melancholy and self-willed. his aunts believed he had a good heart; his grandmother that he had character; the girl he loved idolised him; his teachers did not know what to make of him. towards those who treated him roughly, he was rough; towards his friends, friendly. john asked himself whether it was he that was so many-sided, or the opinions about him. was he false? did he behave to some differently from what he did to others? "yes," said his step-mother. when she heard anything good about him, she always declared that he was acting a part. yes, but all acted parts! his step-mother was friendly towards her husband, hard towards her step-children, soft towards her own child, humble towards the landlord, imperious towards the servants, polite to the powerful, rough to the weak. that was the "law of accommodation," of which john was as yet unaware. it was a trait in human nature, a tendency to adapt oneself--to be a lion towards enemies, and a lamb towards friends,--which rested on calculation. but when is one true, and when is one false? and where is to be found the central "ego,"--the core of character? the "ego" was a complex of impulses and desires, some of which were to be restrained, and others unfettered. john's individuality was a fairly rich but chaotic complex; he was a cross of two entirely different strains of blood, with a good deal of book-learning, and a variety of experience. he had not yet found what rôle he was to play, nor his position in life, and therefore continued to be characterless. he had not yet determined which of his impulses must be restrained, and how much of his "ego" must be sacrificed for the society into which he was preparing to enter. if he had really been able to view himself objectively, he would have found that most of the words he spoke were borrowed from books or from school-fellows, his gestures from teachers and friends, his behaviour from relatives, his temperament from his mother and wet-nurse, his tastes from his father, perhaps from his grandfather. his face had no resemblance to that of his father or mother. since he had not seen his grand-parents, he could not judge whether there was any resemblance to them. what, then, had he of his own? nothing. but he had two fundamental characteristics, which largely determined his life and his destiny. the first was doubt. he did not receive ideas without criticism, but developed and combined them. therefore he could not be an automaton, nor find a place in ordered society. the second was--sensitiveness to pressure. he always tried to lessen this last, in the first place, by raising his own level; in the second, by criticising what was above him, in order to observe that it was not so high after all, nor so much worth striving after. so he stepped out into life--in order to develop himself, and still ever to remain as he was! [ ] a krona is worth about twenty-seven cents. from page images provided by the internet archive children's library. pictures of sweden by hans christian andersen author of "the improvisatore," &c. london: richard bentley, new burlington street. . contents. introduction trollhÄtta the bird phoenix kinnakulla grandmother the prison-cells beggar-boys vadstene the puppet-showman the "skjÄrgaards" stockholm diurgaerden a story upsala sala the mute book the zÄther dale the midsummer festival in lacksand faith and knowledge in the forest fahlun what the straws said the poet's symbol the dal-elv danemora the swine poetry's california * * * * * introduction. we travel. * * * * * it is a delightful spring: the birds warble, but you do not understand their song? well, hear it in a free translation. "get on my back," says the stork, our green island's sacred bird, "and i will carry thee over the sound. sweden also has fresh and fragrant beech woods, green meadows and corn-fields. in scania, with the flowering apple-trees behind the peasant's house, you will think that you are still in denmark." "fly with me," says the swallow; "i fly over holland's mountain ridge, where the beech-trees cease to grow; i fly further towards the north than the stork. you shall see the vegetable mould pass over into rocky ground; see snug, neat towns, old churches and mansions, where all is good and comfortable, where the family stand in a circle around the table and say grace at meals, where the least of the children says a prayer, and, morning and evening, sings a psalm. i have heard it, i have seen it, when little, from my nest under the eaves." "come with me! come with me!" screams the restless sea-gull, and flies in an expecting circle. "come with me to the skjärgaards, where rocky isles by thousands, with fir and pine, lie like flower-beds along the coast; where the fishermen draw the well-filled nets!" "rest thee between our extended wings," sing the wild swans. "let us bear thee up to the great lakes, the perpetually roaring elvs (rivers), that rush on with arrowy swiftness; where the oak forest has long ceased, and the birch-tree becomes stunted. rest thee between our extended wings: we fly up to sulitelma, the island's eye, as the mountain is called; we fly from the vernal green valley, up over the snow-drifts, to the mountain's top, whence thou canst see the north sea, on yonder side of norway. "we fly to jemteland, where the rocky mountains are high and blue; where the foss roars and rushes; where the torches are lighted as _budstikke_[a] to announce that the ferryman is expected. up to the deep, cold-running waters, where the midsummer sun does not set; where the rosy hue of eve is that of morn." [footnote a: a chip of wood in the form of a halberd, circulated for the purpose of convening the inhabitants of a district in sweden and norway.] that is the birds' song. shall we lay it to heart? shall we accompany them?--at least a part of the way. we will not sit upon the stork's back, or between the swans' wings. we will go forward with steam, and with horses--yes, also on our own legs, and glance now and then from reality, over the fence into the region of thought, which is always our near neighbour-land; pluck a flower or a leaf, to be placed in the note-book--for it sprung out during our journey's flight: we fly and we sing. sweden, thou glorious land! sweden, where, in ancient times, the sacred gods came from asia's mountains! land that still retains rays of their lustre, which streams from the flowers in the name of "linnaeus;" which beams for thy chivalrous men from charles the twelfth's banner; which sounds from the obelisk on the field of lutzen! sweden, thou land of deep feeling, of heart-felt songs! home of the limpid elvs, where the wild swans sing in the gleam of the northern lights! thou land, on whose deep, still lakes scandinavia's fairy builds her colonnades, and leads her battling, shadowy host over the icy mirror! glorious sweden! with thy fragrant linnaeus, with jenny's soul-enlivening songs! to thee will we fly with the stork and the swallow, with the restless sea-gull and the wild swans. thy birch-woods exhale refreshing fragrance under their sober, bending branches; on the tree's white stem the harp shall hang: the north's summer wind shall whistle therein! trollhÄtta. * * * * * who did we meet at trollhätta? it is a strange story, and we will relate it. we landed at the first sluice, and stood as it were in a garden laid out in the english style. the broad walks are covered with gravel, and rise in short terraces between the sunlit greensward: it is charming, delightful here, but by no means imposing. if one desires to be excited in this manner, one must go a little higher up to the older sluices, which deep and narrow have burst through the hard rock. it looks magnificent, and the water in its dark bed far below is lashed into foam. up here one overlooks both elv and valley; the bank of the river on the other side, rises in green undulating hills, grouped with leafy trees and red-painted wooden houses, which are bounded by rocks and pine forests. steam-boats and sailing vessels ascend through the sluices; the water itself is the attendant spirit that must bear them up above the rock, and from the forest itself it buzzes, roars and rattles. the din of trollhätta falls mingles with the noise from the saw-mills and smithies. "in three hours we shall be through the sluices," said the captain: "in that time you will see the falls. we shall meet again at the inn up here." we went from the path through the forest: a whole flock of bare-headed boys surrounded us. they would all be our guides; the one screamed longer than the other, and every one gave his contradictory explanation, how high the water stood, and how high it did not stand, or could stand. there was also a great difference of opinion amongst the learned. we soon stopped on a ling-covered rock, a dizzying terrace. before us, but far below, was the roaring water, the hell fall, and over this again, fall after fall, the rich, rapid, rushing elv--the outlet of the largest lake in sweden. what a sight! what a foaming and roaring, above--below! it is like the waves of the sea, but of effervescing champagne--of boiling milk. the water rushes round two rocky islands at the top so that the spray rises like meadow dew. below, the water is more compressed, then hurries down again, shoots forward and returns in circles like smooth water, and then rolls darting its long sea-like fall into the hell fall. what a tempest rages in the deep--what a sight! words cannot express it! nor could our screaming little guides. they stood mute; and when they again began with their explanations and stories, they did not come far, for an old gentleman whom none of us had noticed (but he was now amongst us), made himself heard above the noise, with his singularly sounding voice. he knew all the particulars about the place, and about former days, as if they had been of yesterday. "here, on the rocky holms," said he, "it was that the warriors in the heathen times, as they are called, decided their disputes. the warrior stärkodder dwelt in this district, and liked the pretty girl ogn right well; but she was fonder of hergrimmer, and therefore he was challenged by stärkodder to combat here by the falls, and met his death; but ogn sprung towards them, took her bridegroom's bloody sword, and thrust it into her own heart. thus stärkodder did not gain her. then there passed a hundred years, and again a hundred years: the forests were then thick and closely grown; wolves and bears prowled here summer and winter; the place was infested with malignant robbers, whose hiding-place no one could find. it was yonder, by the fall before top island, on the norwegian side--there was their cave: now it has fallen in! the cliff there overhangs it!" "yes, the tailor's cliff!" shouted all the boys. "it fell in the year !" "fell!" said the old man, as if in astonishment that any one but himself could know it. "everything will fall once, and the tailor directly." the robbers had placed him upon the cliff and demanded that if he would be liberated from them, his ransom should be that he should sew a suit of clothes up there; and he tried it; but at the first stitch, as he drew the thread out, he became giddy and fell down into the gushing water, and thus the rock got the name of 'the tailor's cliff.' one day the robbers caught a young girl, and she betrayed them, for she kindled a fire in the cavern. the smoke was seen, the caverns discovered, and the robbers imprisoned and executed. that outside there is called 'the thieves' fall,' and down there under the water is another cave, the elv rushes in there and returns boiling; one can see it well up here, one hears it too, but it can be heard better under the bergman's loft. and we went on and on, along the fall, towards top island, continuously on smooth paths covered with saw-dust, to polham's sluice. a cleft had been made in the rock for the first intended sluice-work, which was not finished, but whereby art has created the most imposing of all trollhätta's falls; the hurrying water falling here perpendicularly into the black deep. the side of the rock is here placed in connection with top island by means of a light iron bridge, which appears as if thrown over the abyss. we venture on to the rocking bridge over the streaming, whirling water, and then stand on the little cliff island, between firs and pines, that shoot forth from the crevices. before us darts a sea of waves, which are broken by the rebound against the stone block where we stand, bathing us with the fine spray. the torrent flows on each side, as if shot out from a gigantic cannon, fall after fall: we look out over them all, and are filled with the harmonic sound, which since time began, has ever been the same. "no one can ever get to the island there," said one of our party, pointing to the large island above the topmost fall. "i however know one!" said the old man, and nodded with a peculiar smile. "yes, my grandfather could!" said one of the boys, "scarcely any one besides has crossed during a hundred years. the cross that is set up over there was placed there by my grandfather. it had been a severe winter, the whole of lake venern was frozen; the ice dammed up the outlet, and for many hours there was a dry bottom. grandfather has told about it: he went over with two others, placed the cross up, and returned. but then there was such a thundering and cracking noise, just as if it were cannons. the ice broke up and the elv came over the fields and forest. it is true, every word i say!" one of the travellers cited tegner: "vildt göta stortade från fjallen, hemsk trollet från sat toppfall röt! men snillet kom och sprängt stod hallen, med skeppen i sitt sköt!" "poor mountain sprite," he continued, "thy power and glory recede! man flies over thee--thou mayst go and learn of him." the garrulous old man made a grimace, and muttered something to himself--but we were just by the bridge before the inn. the steam-boat glided through the opened way, every one hastened to get on board, and it directly shot away above the fall, just as if no fall existed. "and that can be done!" said the old man. he knew nothing at all about steam-boats, had never before that day seen such a thing, and accordingly he was sometimes up and sometimes down, and stood by the machinery and stared at the whole construction, as if he were counting all the pins and screws. the course of the canal appeared to him to be something quite new; the plan of it and the guide-books were quite foreign objects to him: he turned them and turned them--for read i do not think he could. but he knew all the particulars about the country--that is to say, from olden times. i heard that he did not sleep at all the whole night. he studied the passage of the steam-boat; and when we in the morning ascended the sluice terraces from lake venern, higher and higher from lake to lake, away over the high-plain--higher, continually higher--he was in such activity that it appeared as if it could not be greater--and then we reached motala. the swedish author tjörnerös relates of himself, that when a child he once asked what it was that ticked in the clock, and they answered him that it was one named "_bloodless_." what brought the child's pulse to beat with feverish throbs and the hair on his head to rise, also exercised its power in motala, over the old man from trollhätta. we now went through the great manufactory in motala. what ticks in the clock, beats here with strong strokes of the hammer. it is _bloodless_, who drank life from human thought and thereby got limbs of metals, stone and wood; it is _bloodless_, who by human thought gained strength, which man himself does not physically possess. _bloodless_ reigns in motala, and through the large foundries and factories he extends his hard limbs, whose joints and parts consist of wheel within wheel, chains, bars, and thick iron wires. enter, and see how the glowing iron masses are formed into long bars. _bloodless_ spins the glowing bar! see how the shears cut into the heavy metal plates; they cut as quietly and as softly as if the plates were paper. here where he hammers, the sparks fly from the anvil. see how he breaks the thick iron bars; he breaks them into lengths; it is as if it were a stick of sealing-wax that is broken. the long iron bars rattle before your feet; iron plates are planed into shavings; before you rolls the large wheel, and above your head runs living wire--long heavy wire! there is a hammering and buzzing, and if you look around in the large open yard, amongst great up-turned copper boilers, for steam-boats and locomotives, _bloodless_ also here stretches out one of his fathom-long fingers, and hauls away. everything is living; man alone stands and is silenced by--_stop!_ the perspiration oozes out of one's fingers'-ends: one turns and turns, bows, and knows not one's self, from pure respect for the human thought which here has iron limbs. and yet the large iron hammer goes on continually with its heavy strokes: it is as if it said: "banco, banco! many thousand dollars; banco, pure gain! banco! banco!"--hear it, as i heard it; see, as i saw! the old gentleman from trollhätta walked up and down in full contemplation; bent and swung himself about; crept on his knees, and stuck his head into corners and between the machines, for he would know everything so exactly; he would see the screw in the propelling vessels, understand their mechanism and effect under water--and the water itself poured like hail-drops down his forehead. he fell unconscious, backwards into my arms, or else he would have been drawn into the machinery, and been crushed: he looked at me, and pressed my hand. "and all this goes on naturally," said he; "simply and comprehensibly. ships go against the wind, and against the stream, sail higher than forests and mountains. the water must raise, steam must drive them!" "yes," said i. "yes," said he, and again _yes_, with a sigh which i did not then understand; but, months after, i understood it, and i will at once make a spring to that time, and we are again at trollhätta. i came here in the autumn, on my return home; stayed some days in this mighty piece of nature, where busy human life forces its way more and more in, and, by degrees, transforms the picturesque to the useful manufactory. trollhätta must do her work; saw beams, drive mills, hammer and break to pieces: one building grows up by the side of the other, and in half a century hence here will be a city. but that was not the story. i came, as i have said, here again in the autumn. i found the same rushing and roaring, the same din, the same rising and sinking in the sluices, the same chattering boys who conducted fresh travellers to the hell fall, to the iron-bridge island, and to the inn. i sat here, and turned over the leaves of books, collected here through a series of years, in which travellers have inscribed their names, feelings and thoughts at trollhätta--almost always the same astonishment, expressed in different languages, though generally in latin: _veni, vidi, obstupui_. one has written: "i have seen nature's master-piece pervade that of art;" another cannot say what he saw, and what he saw he cannot say. a mine owner and manufacturer, full of the doctrine of utility, has written: "seen with the greatest pleasure this useful work for us in värmeland, trollhätta." the wife of a dean from scania expresses herself thus. she has kept to the family, and only signed in the remembrance book, as to the effect of her feelings at trollhätta. "god grant my brother-in-law fortune, for he has understanding!" some few have added witticisms to the others' feelings; yet as a pearl on this heap of writing shines tegner's poem, written by himself in the book on the th of june, : "gotha kom i dans från seves fjallar, &c." i looked up from the book and who should stand before me, just about to depart again, but the old man from trollhätta! whilst i had wandered about, right up to the shores of siljan, he had continually made voyages on the canal; seen the sluices and manufactories, studied steam in all its possible powers of service, and spoke about a projected railway in sweden, between the hjalmar and venern. he had, however, never yet seen a railway, and i described to him these extended roads, which sometimes rise like ramparts, sometimes like towering bridges, and at times like halls of miles in length, cut through rocks. i also spoke of america and england. "one takes breakfast in london, and the same day one drinks tea in edinburgh." "that i can do!" said the man, and in as cool a tone as if no one but himself could do it, "i can also," said i; "and i have done it." "and who are you, then?" he asked. "a common traveller," i replied; "a traveller who pays for his conveyance. and who are you?" the man sighed. "you do not know me: my time is past; my power is nothing! _bloodless_ is stronger than i!" and he was gone. i then understood who he was. well, in what humour must a poor mountain sprite be, who only comes up every hundred years to see how things go forward here on the earth! it was the mountain sprite and no other, for in our time every intelligent person is considerably wiser; and i looked with a sort of proud feeling on the present generation, on the gushing, rushing, whirling wheel, the heavy blows of the hammer, the shears that cut so softly through the metal plates, the thick iron bars that were broken like sticks of sealing-wax, and the music to which the heart's pulsations vibrate: "banco, banco, a hundred thousand banco!" and all by steam--by mind and spirit. it was evening. i stood on the heights of trollhätta's old sluices, and saw the ships with outspread sails glide away through the meadows like spectres, large and white. the sluice gates were opened with a ponderous and crashing sound, like that related of the copper gates of the secret council in germany. the evening was so still that trollhätta's fall was as audible in the deep stillness, as if it were a chorus from a hundred water-mills--ever one and the same tone. in one, however, there sounded a mightier crash that seemed to pass sheer through the earth; and yet with all this the endless silence of nature was felt. suddenly a large bird flew out from the trees, far in the forest, down towards the falls. was it the mountain sprite?--we will imagine so, for it is the most interesting fancy. the bird phoenix. * * * * * in the garden of paradise, under the tree of knowledge, stood a hedge of roses. in the first rose a bird was hatched; its flight was like that of light, its colours beautiful, its song magnificent. but when eve plucked the fruit of knowledge, when she and adam were driven from the garden of paradise, a spark from the avenging angel's flaming sword fell into the bird's nest and kindled it. the bird died in the flames, but from the red egg there flew a new one--the only one--the ever only bird phoenix. the legend states that it takes up its abode in arabia; that every hundred years it burns itself up in its nest, and that a new phoenix, the only one in the world, flies out from the red egg. the bird hovers around us, rapid as the light, beautiful in colour, glorious in song. when the mother sits by the child's cradle, it is by the pillow, and with its wings flutters a glory around the child's head. it flies through the chamber of contentment, and there is the sun's radiance within:--the poor chest of drawers is odoriferous with violets. but the bird phoenix is not alone arabia's bird: it flutters in the rays of the northern lights on lapland's icy plains; it hops amongst the yellow flowers in greenland's short summer. under fahlun's copper rocks, in england's coal mines, it flies like a powdered moth over the hymn-book in the pious workman's hands. it sails on the lotus-leaf down the sacred waters of the ganges, and the eyes of the hindoo girl glisten on seeing it. the bird phoenix! dost thou not know it? the bird of paradise, song's sacred swan! it sat on the car of thespis, like a croaking raven, and flapped its black, dregs-besmeared wings; over iceland's minstrel-harp glided the swan's red, sounding bill. it sat on shakspeare's shoulder like odin's raven, and whispered in his ear: "immortality!" it flew at the minstrel competition, through wartzburg's knightly halls. the bird phoenix! dost thou not know it? it sang the marseillaise for thee, and thou didst kiss the plume that fell from its wing: it came in the lustre of paradise, and thou perhaps didst turn thyself away to some poor sparrow that sat with merest tinsel on its wings. the bird of paradise! regenerated every century, bred in flames, dead in flames; thy image set in gold hangs in the saloons of the rich, even though thou fliest often astray and alone. "the bird phoenix in arabia"--is but a legend. in the garden of paradise, when thou wast bred under the tree of knowledge, in the first rose, our lord kissed thee and gave thee thy proper name--poetry. kinnakulla. * * * * * kinnakulla, sweden's hanging gardens! thee will we visit. we stand by the lowest terrace in a plenitude of flowers and verdure; the ancient village church leans its grey pointed wooden tower, as if it would fall; it produces an effect in the landscape: we would not even be without that large flock of birds, which just now chance to fly away over the mountain forest. the high road leads up the mountain with short palings on either side, between which we see extensive plains with hops, wild roses, corn-fields, and delightful beech woods, such as are not to be found in any other place in sweden. the ivy winds itself around old trees and stones--even to the withered trunk green leaves are lent. we look out over the flat, extended woody plain, to the sunlit church-tower of maristad, which shines like a white sail on the dark green sea: we look out over the venern lake, but cannot see its further shore. skjärgaardens' wood-crowned rocks lie like a wreath down in the lake; the steam-boat comes--see! down by the cliff under the red-roofed mansions, where the beech and walnut trees grow in the garden. the travellers land; they wander under shady trees away over that pretty light green meadow, which is enwreathed by gardens and woods: no english park has a finer verdure than the meadows near hellekis. they go up to "the grottos," as they call the projecting masses of red stone higher up, which, being thoroughly kneaded with petrifactions, project from the declivity of the earth, and remind one of the mouldering colossal tombs in the campagna of rome. some are smooth and rounded off by the streaming of the water, others bear the moss of ages, grass and flowers, nay, even tall trees. the travellers go from the forest road up to the top of kinnakulla, where a stone is raised as the goal of their wanderings. the traveller reads in his guide-book about the rocky strata of kinnakulla: "at the bottom is found sandstone, then alum-stone, then limestone, and above this red-stone, higher still slate, and lastly, trap." and, now that he has seen this, he descends again, and goes on board. he has seen kinnakulla:--yes, the stony rock here, amidst the swelling verdure, showed him one heavy, thick stone finger, and most of the travellers think that they are like the devil, if they lay hold upon one finger, they have the body--but it is not always so. the least visited side of kinnakulla is just the most characteristic, and thither will we go. the road still leads us a long way on this side of the mountain, step by step downwards, in long terraces of rich fields: further down, the slate-stone peers forth in flat layers, a green moss upon it, and it looks like threadbare patches in the green velvet carpet. the high road leads over an extent of ground where the slate-stone lies like a firm floor. in the campagna of rome, one would say it is a piece of _via appia_, or antique road; but it is kinnakulla's naked skin and bones that we pass over. the peasant's house is composed of large slate-stones, and the roof is covered with them; one sees nothing of wood except that of the door, and above it, of the large painted shield, which states to what regiment the soldier belongs who got this house and plot of ground in lieu of pay. we cast another glance over venern, to lockö's old palace, to the town of lendkjobing, and are again near verdant fields and noble trees, that cast their shadows over blomberg, where, in the garden, the poet geier's spirit seeks the flower of kinnakulla in his grand-daughter, little anna. the plain expands here behind kinnakulla; it extends for miles around, towards the horizon. a shower stands in the heavens; the wind has increased: see how the rain falls to the ground like a darkening veil. the branches of the trees lash one another like penitential dryades. old husaby church lies near us, yonder; though the shower lashes the high walls, which alone stand, of the old catholic bishop's palace. crows and ravens fly through the long glass-less windows, which time has made larger; the rain pours down the crevices in the old grey walls, as if they were now to be loosened stone from stone: but the church stands--old husaby church--so grey and venerable, with its thick walls, its small windows, and its three spires stuck against each other, and standing, like nuts, in a cluster. the old trees in the churchyard cast their shade over ancient graves. where is the district's "old mortality," who weeds the grass, and explains the ancient memorials? large granite stones are laid here in the form of coffins, ornamented with rude carvings from the times of catholicism. the old church-door creaks in the hinges. we stand within its walls, where the vaulted roof was filled for centuries with the fragrance of incense, with monks, and with the song of the choristers. now it is still and mute here: the old men in their monastic dresses have passed into their graves; the blooming boys that swung the censer are in their graves; the congregation--many generations--all in their graves; but the church still stands the same. the moth-eaten, dusty cowls, and the bishops' mantle, from the days of the cloister, hang in the old oak presses; and old manuscripts, half eaten up by the rats, lie strewed about on the shelves in the sacristy. in the left aisle of the church there still stands, and has stood time out of mind, a carved image of wood, painted in various colours which are still strong: it is the virgin mary with the child jesus. fresh flower wreaths are hung around hers and the child's head; fragrant garlands are twined around the pedestal, as festive as on madonna's birthday feast in the times of popery. the young folks who have been confirmed, have this day, on receiving the sacrament for the first time, ornamented this old image--nay, even set the priest's name in flowers upon the altar; and he has, to our astonishment, let it remain there. the image of madonna seems to have become young by the fresh wreaths: the fragrant flowers here have a power like that of poetry--they bring back the days of past centuries to our own times. it is as if the extinguished glory around the head shone again; the flowers exhale perfume: it is as if incense again streamed through the aisles of the church--it shines around the altar as if the consecrated tapers were lighted--it is a sunbeam through the window. the sky without has become clear: we drive again in under cleven, the barren side of kinnakulla: it is a rocky wall, different from almost all the others. the red stone blocks lie, strata on strata, forming fortifications with embrasures, projecting wings and round towers; but shaken, split and fallen in ruins--it is an architectural fantastic freak of nature. a brook falls gushing down from one of the highest points of the cleven, and drives a little mill. it looks like a plaything which the mountain sprite had placed there and forgotten. large masses of fallen stone blocks lie dispersed round about; nature has spread them in the forms of carved cornices. the most significant way of describing kinnakulla's rocky wall is to call it the ruins of a mile-long hindostanee temple: these rocks might be easily transformed by the hammer into sacred places like the ghaut mountains at ellara. if a brahmin were to come to kinnakulla's rocky wall, he would recognise the temple of cailasa, and find in the clefts and crevices whole representations from ramagena and mahabharata. if one should then speak to him in a sort of gibberish--no matter what, only that, by the help of brockhaus's "conversation-lexicon" one might mingle therein the names of some of the indian spectacles:--sakantala, vikramerivati, uttaram ramatscheritram, &c.--the brahmin would be completely mystified, and write in his note-book: "kinnakulla is the remains of a temple, like those we have in ellara; and the inhabitants themselves know the most considerable works in our oldest sanscrit literature, and speak in an extremely spiritual manner about them." but no brahmin comes to the high rocky walls--not to speak of the company from the steam-boat, who are already far over the lake venern. they have seen wood-crowned kinnakulla, sweden's hanging gardens--and we also have now seen them. grandmother. * * * * * grandmother is so old, she has so many wrinkles, and her hair is quite white; but her eyes! they shine like two stars, nay, they are much finer--they are so mild, so blissful to look into. and then she knows the most amusing stories, and she has a gown with large, large flowers on it, and it is of such thick silk that it actually rustles. grandmother knows so much, for she has lived long before father and mother--that is quite sure. grandmother has a psalm-book with thick silver clasps, and in that book she often reads. in the middle of it lies a rose, which is quite flat and dry; but it is not so pretty as the roses she has in the glass, yet she smiles the kindliest to it, nay, even tears come into her eyes! why does grandmother look thus on the withered flower in the old book? do you know why? every time that grandmother's tears fall on the withered flower the colours become fresher; the rose then swells and the whole room is filled with fragrance; the walls sink as if they were but mists; and round about, it is the green, the delightful grove, where the sun shines between the leaves. and grandmother--yes, she is quite young; she is a beautiful girl, with yellow hair, with round red cheeks, pretty and charming--no rose is fresher. yet the eyes, the mild, blissful eyes,--yes, they are still grandmother's! by her side sits a man, young and strong: he presents the rose to her and she smiles. yet grandmother does not smile so,--yes; the smile comes,--he is gone.--many thoughts and many forms go past! that handsome man is gone; the rose lies in the psalm-book, and grandmother,--yes, she again sits like an old woman, and looks on the withered rose that lies in the book. now grandmother is dead! she sat in the arm-chair, and told a long, long, sweet story. "and now it is ended!" said she, "and i am quite tired: let me now sleep a little!" and so she laid her head back to rest. she drew her breath, she slept, but it became more and more still; and her face was so full of peace and happiness--it was as if the sun's rays passed over it. she smiled, and then they said that she was dead. she was laid in the black coffin; she lay swathed in the white linen: she was so pretty, and yet the eyes were closed--but all the wrinkles were gone. she lay with a smile around her mouth: her hair was so silvery white, so venerable, one was not at all afraid to look on the dead, for it was the sweet, benign grandmother. and the psalm-book was laid in the coffin under her head (she herself had requested it), and the rose lay in the old book--and then they buried grandmother. on the grave, close under the church-wall, they planted a rose-tree, and it became full of roses, and the nightingale sang over it, and the organ in the church played the finest psalms that were in the book under the dead one's head. and the moon shone straight down on the grave--but the dead was not there: every child could go quietly in the night-time and pluck a rose there by the churchyard-wall. the dead know more than all we living know--the dead know the awe we should feel at something so strange as their coming to us. the dead are better than us all, and therefore they do not come. there is earth over the coffin, there is earth within it; the psalm-book with its leaves is dust the rose with all its recollections has gone to dust. but above it bloom new roses, above is sings the nightingale, and the organ plays:--we think of the old grandmother with the mild, eternally young eyes. eyes can never die! ours shall once again see her young, and beautiful, as when she for the first time kissed the fresh red rose which is now dust in the grave. the prison-cells. * * * * * by separation from other men, by solitary confinement, in continual silence, the criminal is to be punished and amended; therefore were prison-cells contrived. in sweden there were several, and new ones have been built. i visited one for the first time in mariestad. this building lies close outside the town, by a running water, and in a beautiful landscape. it resembles a large white-washed summer residence, window above window. but we soon discover that the stillness of the grave rests over it. it is as if no one dwelt here, or like a deserted mansion in the time of the plague. the gates in the walls are locked: one of them is opened for us: the gaoler stands with his bunch of keys: the yard is empty, but clean--even the grass weeded away between the stone paving. we enter the waiting-room, where the prisoner is received: we are shown the bathing-room, into which he is first led. we now ascend a flight of stairs, and are in a large hall, extending the whole length and breadth of the building. galleries run along the floors, and between these the priest has his pulpit, where he preaches on sundays to an invisible congregation. all the doors facing the gallery are half opened: the prisoners hear the priest, but cannot see him, nor he them. the whole is a well-built machine--a nightmare for the spirit. in the door of every cell there is fixed a glass, about the size of the eye: a slide covers it, and the gaoler can, unobserved by the prisoner, see everything he does; but he must come gently, noiselessly, for the prisoner's ear is wonderfully quickened by solitude. i turned the slide quite softly, and looked into the closed space, when the prisoner's eye immediately met mine. it is airy, clean, and light within the cell, but the window is placed so high that it is impossible to look out of it. a high stool, made fast to a sort of table, and a hammock, which can be hung upon hooks under the ceiling, and covered with a quilt, compose the whole furniture. several cells were opened for us. in one of these was a young, and extremely pretty girl. she had lain down in her hammock, but sprang out directly the door was opened, and her first employment was to lift her hammock down, and roll it together. on the little table stood a pitcher with water, and by it lay the remains of some oatmeal cakes, besides the bible and some psalms. in the cell close by sat a child's murderess. i saw her only through the little glass in the door. she had had heard our footsteps; heard us speak; but she sat still, squeezed up into the corner by the door, as if she would hide herself as much as possible: her back was bent, her head almost on a level with her lap, and her hands folded over it. they said this unfortunate creature was very young. two brothers sat here in two different cells: they were punished for horse stealing; the one was still quite a boy. in one cell was a poor servant girl. they said: "she has no place of resort, and without a situation, and therefore she is placed here." i thought i had not heard rightly, and repeated my question, "why she was here," but got the same answer. still i would rather believe that i had misunderstood what was said--it would otherwise be abominable. outside, in the free sunshine, it is the busy day; in here it is always midnight's stillness. the spider that weaves its web down the wall, the swallow which perhaps flies a single time close under the panes there high up in the wall--even the stranger's footstep in the gallery, as he passes the cell-doors, is an event in that mute, solitary life, where the prisoners' thoughts are wrapped up in themselves. one must read of the martyr-filled prisons of the inquisition, of the crowds chained together in the bagnes, of the hot, lead chambers of venice, and the black, wet gulf of the wells--be thoroughly shaken by these pictures of misery, that we may with a quieter pulsation of the heart wander through the gallery of the prison-cells. here is light, here is air;--here it is more humane. where the sunbeam shines mildly in on the prisoner, there also will the radiance of god shine into the heart. beggar-boys. * * * * * the painter callot--who does not know the name, at least from hoffmann's "in callot's manner?"--has given a few excellent pictures of italian beggars. one of these is a fellow, on whom the one rag lashes the other: he carries his huge bundle and a large flag with the inscription, "capitano de baroni." one does not think that there can in reality be found such a wandering rag-shop, and we confess that in italy itself we have not seen any such; for the beggar-boy there, whose whole clothing often consists only of a waistcoat, has in it not sufficient costume for such rags. but we see it in the north. by the canal road between the venern and vigen, on the bare, dry rocky plain there stood, like beauty's thistles in that poor landscape, a couple of beggar-boys, so ragged, so tattered, so picturesquely dirty, that we thought we had callot's originals before us, or that it was an arrangement of some industrious parents, who would awaken the traveller's attention and benevolence. nature does not form such things: there was something so bold in the hanging on of the rags, that each boy instantly became a capitano de baroni. the younger of the two had something round him that had certainly once been the jacket of a very corpulent man, for it reached almost to the boy's ancles; the whole hung fast by a piece of the sleeve and a single brace, made from the seam of what was now the rest of the lining. it was very difficult to see the transition from jacket to trowsers, the rags glided so into one another. the whole clothing was arranged so as to give him an air-bath: there were draught holes on all sides and ends; a yellow linen clout fastened to the nethermost regions seemed as if it were to signify a shirt. a very large straw hat, that had certainly been driven over several times, was stuck sideways on his head, and allowed the boy's wiry, flaxen hair to grow freely through the opening where the crown should have been: the naked brown shoulder and upper part of the arm, which was just as brown, were the prettiest of the whole. the other boy had only a pair of trowsers on. they were also ragged, but the rags were bound fast into the pockets with packthread; one string round the ancles, one under the knee, and another round about the waist. he, however, kept together what he had, and that is always respectable. "be off!" shouted the captain, from the vessel; and the boy with the tied-up rags turned round, and we--yes, we saw nothing but packthread, in bows, genteel bows. the front part of the boy only was covered: he had only the foreparts of trowsers--the rest was packthread, the bare, naked packthread. vadstene. * * * * * in sweden, it is not only in the country, but even in several of the provincial towns, that one sees whole houses of grass turf or with roofs of grass turf; and some are so low that one might easily spring up to the roof, and sit on the fresh greensward. in the early spring, whilst the fields are still covered with snow, but which is melted on the roof, the latter affords the first announcement of spring, with the young sprouting grass where the sparrow twitters: "spring comes!" between motala and vadstene, close by the high road, stands a grass-turf house--one of the most picturesque. it has but one window, broader than it is high, and a wild rose branch forms the curtain outside. we see it in the spring. the roof is so delightfully fresh with grass, it has quite the tint of velvet; and close to it is the chimney, nay, even a cherry-tree grows out of its side, now full of flowers: the wind shakes the leaves down on a little lamb that is tethered to the chimney. it is the only lamb of the family. the old dame who lives here, lifts it up to its place herself in the morning and lifts it down again in the evening, to give it a place in the room. the roof can just bear the little lamb, but not more--this is an experience and a certainty. last autumn--and at that time the grass turf roofs are covered with flowers, mostly blue and yellow, the swedish colours--there grew here a flower of a rare kind. it shone in the eyes of the old professor, who on his botanical tour came past here. the professor was quickly up on the roof, and just as quick was one of his booted legs through it, and so was the other leg, and then half of the professor himself--that part where the head does not sit; and as the house had no ceiling, his legs hovered right over the old dame's head, and that in very close contact. but now the roof is again whole; the fresh grass grows where learning sank; the little lamb bleats up there, and the old dame stands beneath, in the low doorway, with folded hands, with a smile on her mouth, rich in remembrances, legends and songs, rich in her only lamb on which the cherry-tree strews its flower-blossoms in the warm spring sun. as a background to this picture lies the vettern--the bottomless lake as the commonalty believe--with its transparent water, its sea-like waves, and in calm, with "hegring," or fata morgana on its steel-like surface. we see vadstene palace and town, "the city of the dead," as a swedish author has called it--sweden's herculaneum, reminiscence's city. the grass-turf house must be our box, whence we see the rich mementos pass before us--memorials from the chronicle of saints, the chronicle of kings and the love songs that still live with the old dame, who stands in her low house there, where the lamb crops the grass on the roof. we hear her, and we see with her eyes; we go from the grass-turf house up to the town, to the other grass-turf houses, where poor women sit and make lace, once the celebrated work of the rich nuns here in the cloister's wealthy time. how still, solitary and grass-grown are these streets! we stop by an old wall, mouldy-green for centuries already. within it stood the cloister; now there is but one of its wings remaining. there, within that now poor garden still bloom saint bridget's leek, and once ran flowers. king john and the abbess, ana gylte, wandered one evening there, and the king cunningly asked: "if the maidens in the cloister were never tempted by love?" and the abbess answered, as she pointed to a bird that just then flew over them: "it may happen! one cannot prevent the bird from flying over the garden; but one may surely prevent it from building its nest there!" thus thought the pious abbess, and there have been sisters who thought and acted like her. but it is quite as sure that in the same garden there stood a pear-tree, called the tree of death; and the legend says of it, that whoever approached and plucked its fruit would soon die. red and yellow pears weighed down its branches to the ground. the trunk was unusually large; the grass grew high around it, and many a morning hour was it seen trodden down. who had been here during the night? a storm arose one evening from the lake, and the next morning the large tree was found thrown down; the trunk was broken, and out from it there rolled infants' bones--the white bones of murdered children lay shining in the grass. the pious but love-sick sister ingrid, this vadstene's heloise, writes to her heart's beloved, axel nilsun--for the chronicles have preserved it for us:-- "broderne og systarne leka paa spil, drikke vin och dansa med hvarandra i tradgården!" (the brothers and sisters amuse themselves in play, drink wine and dance with one another in the garden). these words may explain to us the history of the pear-tree: one is led to think of the orgies of the nun-phantoms in "robert le diable," the daughters of sin on consecrated ground. but "judge not, lest ye be judged," said the purest and best of men that was born of woman. we will read sister ingrid's letter, sent secretly to him she truly loved. in it lies the history of many, clear and human to us:-- "jag djerfues for ingen utan for dig allena bekänna, att jag formår ilia ånda mit ave maria eller läsa mit paternoster, utan du kommer mig ichågen. ja i sjelfa messen kommer mig fore dit täckleliga ansigte och vart kårliga omgange. jag tycker jag kan icke skifta mig for n genann an menniska, jungfru maria, st. birgitta och himmelens härskaror skalla kanske straffe mig hårfar? men du vet det val, hjertans käraste att jag med fri vilja och uppsät aldrig dissa reglar samtykt. mine foräldrer hafva väl min kropp i dette fangelset insatt, men hjertät kan intet så snart från verlden ater kalles!" (i dare not confess to any other than to thee, that i am not able to repeat my ave maria or read my paternoster, without calling thee to mind. nay, even in the mass itself thy comely face appears, and our affectionate intercourse recurs to me. it seems to me that i cannot confess to any other human being--the virgin mary, st. bridget, and the whole host of heaven will perhaps punish me for it. but thou knowest well, my heart's beloved, that i have never consented with my free-will to these rules. my parents, it is true, have placed my body in this prison, but the heart cannot so soon be weaned from the world). how touching is the distress of young hearts! it offers itself to us from the mouldy parchment, it resounds in old songs. beg the grey-haired old dame in the grass turf-house to sing to thee of the young, heavy sorrow, of the saving angel--and the angel came in many shapes. you will hear the song of the cloister robbery; of herr carl who was sick to death; when the young nun entered the corpse chamber, sat down by his feet and whispered how sincerely she had loved him, and the knight rose from his bier and bore her away to marriage and pleasure in copenhagen. and all the nuns of the cloister sang: "christ grant that such an angel were to come, and take both me and thee!" the old dame will also sing for thee of the beautiful ogda and oluf tyste; and at once the cloister is revived in its splendour, the bells ring, stone houses arise--they even rise from the waters of the vettern: the little town becomes churches and towers. the streets are crowded with great, with sober, well-dressed persons. down the stairs of the town hall descends with a sword by his side and in fur-lined cloak, the most wealthy citizen of vadstene, the merchant michael. by his side is his young, beautiful daughter agda, richly-dressed and happy; youth in beauty, youth in mind. all eyes are turned on the rich man--and yet forget him for her, the beautiful. life's best blessings await her; her thoughts soar upwards, her mind aspires; her future is happiness! these were the thoughts of the many--and amongst the many there was one who saw her as romeo saw juliet, as adam saw eve in the garden of paradise. that one was oluf, the handsomest young man, but poor as agda was rich. and he must conceal his love; but as only he lived in it, only he knew of it; so he became mute and still, and after months had passed away, the town's folk called him oluf tyste (oluf the silent). nights and days he combated his love; nights and days he suffered inexpressible torment; but at last--one dew-drop or one sunbeam alone is necessary for the ripe rose to open its leaves--he must tell it to agda. and she listened to his words, was terrified, and sprang away; but the thought remained with him, and the heart went after the thought and stayed there; she returned his love strongly and truly, but in modesty and honour; and therefore poor oluf came to the rich merchant and sought his daughter's hand. but michael shut the bolts of his door and his heart too. he would neither listen to tears nor supplications, but only to his own will; and as little agda also kept firm to her will, her father placed her in vadstene cloister. and oluf was obliged to submit, as it is recorded in the old song, that they cast "----den svarta muld alt öfver skön agdas arm."[b] [footnote b: the black mould over the beautiful agda's arm.] she was dead to him and the world. but one night, in tempestuous weather, whilst the rain streamed down, oluf tyste came to the cloister wall, threw his rope-ladder over it, and however high the vettern lifted its waves, oluf and little agda flew away over its fathomless depths that autumn night. early in the morning the nuns missed little agda. what a screaming and shouting--the cloister is disgraced! the abbess and michael the merchant swore that vengeance and death should reach the fugitives. lindkjöping's severe bishop, hans brask, fulminated his ban over them, but they were already across the waters of the vettern; they had reached the shores of the venern, they were on kinnakulla, with one of oluf's friends, who owned the delightful hellekis. here their marriage was to be celebrated. the guests were invited, and a monk from the neighbouring cloister of husaby, was fetched to marry them. then came the messenger with the bishop's excommunication, and this--but not the marriage ceremony--was read to them. all turned away from them terrified. the owner of the house, the friend of oluf's youth, pointed to the open door and bade them depart instantly. oluf only requested a car and horse wherewith to convey away his exhausted agda; but they threw sticks and stones after them, and oluf was obliged to bear his poor bride in his arms far into the forest. heavy and bitter was their wandering. at last, however, they found a home: it was in guldkroken, in west gothland. an honest old couple gave them shelter and a place by the hearth: they stayed there till christmas, and on that holy eve there was to be a real christmas festival. the guests were invited, the furmenty set forth; and now came the clergyman of the parish to say prayers; but whilst he spoke he recognised oluf and agda, and the prayer became a curse upon the two. anxiety and terror came over all; they drove the excommunicated pair out of the house, out into the biting frost, where the wolves went in flocks, and the bear was no stranger. and oluf felled wood in the forest, and kindled a fire to frighten away the noxious animals and keep life in agda--he thought that she must die. but just then she was stronger of the two. "our lord is almighty and gracious; he will not leave us!" said she. "he has one here on the earth, one who can save us, one, who has proved like us, what it is to wander amongst enemies and wild animals. it is the king--gustavus vasa! he has languished like us!--gone astray in dalecarlia in the deep snow! he has suffered, tried, knows it--he can and he will help us!" the king was in vadstene. he had called together the representatives of the kingdom there. he dwelt in the cloister itself, even there where little agda, if the king did not grant her pardon, must suffer what the angry abbess dared to advise: penance and a painful death awaited her. through forests and by untrodden paths, in storm and snow, oluf and agda came to vadstene. they were seen: some showed fear, others insulted and threatened them. the guard of the cloister made the sign of the cross on seeing the two sinners, who dared to ask admission to the king. "i will receive and hear all," was his royal message, and the two lovers fell trembling at his feet. and the king looked mildly on them; and as he long had had the intention to humiliate the proud bishop of lindkjöping, the moment was not unfavourable to them; the king listened to the relation of their lives and sufferings, and gave them his word, that the excommunication should be annulled. he then placed their hands one in the other, and said that the priest should also do the same soon; and he promised them his royal protection and favour. and old michael, the merchant, who feared the king's anger, with which he was threatened, became so mild and gentle, that he, as the king commanded, not only opened his house and his arms to oluf and agda, but displayed all his riches on the wedding-day of the young couple. the marriage ceremony took place in the cloister church, whither the king himself led the bride, and where, by his command, all the nuns were obliged to be present, in order to give still more ecclesiastical pomp to the festival. and many a heart there silently recalled the old song about the cloister robbery and looked at oluf tyste: "krist gif en sadan angel kom, tog båd mig och dig!"[c] [footnote c: christ grant that such an angel were to come, and take both me and thee!] the sun now shines through the open cloister-gate. let truth shine into our hearts; let us likewise acknowledge the cloister's share of god's influence. every cell was not quite a prison, where the imprisoned bird flew in despair against the window-pane; here sometimes was sunshine from god in the heart and mind, from hence also went out comfort and blessings. if the dead could rise from their graves they would bear witness thereof: if we saw them in the moonlight lift the tombstone and step forth towards the cloister, they would say: "blessed be these walls!" if we saw them in the sunlight hovering in the rainbow's gleam, they would say: "blessed be these walls!" how changed the rich, mighty vadstene cloister, where the first daughters of the land were nuns, where the young nobles of the land wore the monk's cowl. hither they made pilgrimages from italy, from spain: from far distant lands, in snow and cold, the pilgrim came barefooted to the cloister door. pious men and women bore the corpse of st. bridget hither in their hands from rome, and all the church-bells in all the lands and towns they passed through, tolled when they came. we go towards the cloister--the remains of the old ruin. we enter st. bridget's cell--it still stands unchanged. it is low, small and narrow: four diminutive frames form the whole window, but one can look from it out over the whole garden, and far away over the vettern. we see the same beautiful landscape that the fair saint saw as a frame around her god, whilst she read her morning and evening prayers. in the tile-stone of the floor there is engraved a rosary: before it, on her bare knees, she said a pater-noster at every pearl there pointed out. here is no chimney--no hearth, no place for it. cold and solitary it is, and was, here where the world's most far-famed woman dwelt, she who by her own sagacity, and by her contemporaries was raised to the throne of female saints. from this poor cell we enter one still meaner, one still more narrow and cold, where the faint light of day struggles in through a long crevice in the wall. glass there never was here: the wind blows in here. who was she who once dwelt in this cell? in our times they have arranged light, warm chambers close by: a whole range opens into the broad passage. we hear merry songs; laughter we hear, and weeping: strange figures nod to us from these chambers. who are these? the rich cloister of st. bridget's, whence kings made pilgrimages, is now sweden's mad-house. and here the numerous travellers write their names on the wall. we hasten from the hideous scene into the splendid cloister church,--the blue church, as it is called, from the blue stones of which the walls are built--and here, where the large stones of the floor cover great men, abbesses and queens, only one monument is noticeable, that of a knightly figure carved in stone, which stands aloft before the altar. it is that of the insane duke magnus. is it not as if he stepped forth from amongst the dead, and announced that such afflicted creatures were to be where st. bridget once ruled? pace lightly over the floor! thy foot treads on the graves of the pious: the flat, modest stone here in the corner covers the dust of the noble queen philippa. she, that mighty england's daughter, the great-hearted, the immortal woman, who with wisdom and courage defended her consort's throne, that consort who rudely and barbarously cast her off! vadstene's cloister gave her shelter--the grave here gave her rest. we seek one grave. it is not known--it is forgotten, as she was in her lifetime. who was she? the cloistered sister elizabeth, daughter of the holstein count, and once the bride of king hakon of norway. sweet creature! she proudly--but not with unbecoming pride--advanced in her bridal dress, and with her court ladies, up to her royal consort. then came king valdemar, who by force and fraud stopped the voyage, and induced hakon to marry margaret, then eleven years of age, who thereby got the crown of norway. elizabeth was sent to vadstene cloister, where her will was not asked. afterwards when margaret--who justly occupies a great place in the history of scandinavia, but only comparatively a small one in the hearts--sat on the throne, powerful and respected, visited the then flourishing vadstene, where the abbess of the cloister was st. bridget's grand-daughter, her childhood's friend, margaret kissed every monk on the cheek. the legend is well known about him, the handsomest, who thereupon blushed. she kissed every nun on the hand, and also elizabeth, her, whom she would only see here. whose heart throbbed loudest at that kiss? poor elizabeth, thy grave is forgotten, but not the wrong thou didst suffer. we now enter the sacristy. here, under a double coffin lid, rests an age's holiest saint in the north, vadstene cloister's diadem and lustre--st. bridget. on the night she was born, says the legend, there appeared a beaming cloud in the heavens, and on it stood a majestic virgin, who said: "of birger is born a daughter whose admirable voice shall be heard over the whole world." this delicate and singular child grew up in the castle of her father, knight brake. visions and revelations appeared to her, and these increased when she, only thirteen years of age, was married to the rich ulf gudmundsen, and became the mother of many children. "thou shalt be my bride and my agent," she heard christ say, and every one of her actions was, as she averred, according to his announcement. after this she went to niddaros, to st. oluf's holy shrine: she then went to germany, france, spain and rome. sometimes honoured and sometimes mocked, she travelled, even to cyprus and palestine. conscious of approaching death, she again reached rome, where her last revelation was, that she should rest in vadstene, and that this cloister especially should be sanctified by god's love. the splendour of the northern lights does not extend so far around the earth as the glory of this fair saint, who now is but a legend. we bend with silent, serious thoughts before the mouldering remains in the coffin here--those of st. bridget and her daughter st. catherine; but even of these the remembrance will be extinguished. there is a tradition amongst the people, that in the time of the reformation the real remains were carried off to a cloister in poland, but this is not certainly known. vadstene, at least, is not the repository of st. bridget and her daughter's dust. vadstene was once great and glorious. great was the cloister's power, as st. bridget saw it in the prospect of death. where is now the cloister's might? it reposes under the tomb-stones--the graves alone speak of it. here, under our feet, only a few steps from the church door, is a stone in which are carved fourteen rings: they announce that fourteen farms were given to the cloister, in order that he who moulders here might have this place, fourteen feet within the church door. it was boa johnson grip, a great sinner; but the cloister's power was greater than that of all sinners: the stone on his grave records it with no ordinary significance of language. gustavus, the first vasa, was the sun--the ruling power: the brightness of the cloister star must needs pale before him. there yet stands a stone outline of vadstene's rich palace which he erected, with towers and spires, close by the cloister. at a far distance on the vettern, it looks as if it still stood in all its splendour; near, in moonlight nights, it appears the same unchanged edifice, for the fathom-thick walls yet remain; the carvings over the windows and gates stand forth in light and shade, and the moat round about, which is only separated from the vettern by the narrow carriage road, takes the reflection of the immense building as a mirrored image. we now stand before it in daylight. not a pane of glass is to be found in it; planks and old doors are nailed fast to the window frames; the balls alone still stand on the two towers, broad, heavy, and resembling colossal toadstools. the iron spire of the one still towers aloft in the air; the other spire is bent: like the hands on a sun-dial it shows the time--the time that is gone. the other two balls are half fallen down; lambs frisk about between the beams, and the space below is used as a cow-stall. the arms over the gateway have neither spot nor blemish: they seem as if carved yesterday; the walls are firm, and the stairs look like new. in the palace yard, far above the gateway, the great folding door was opened, whence once the minstrels stepped out and played a welcome greeting from the balcony, but even this is broken down: we go through the spacious kitchen, from whose white walls, a sketch of vadstene palace, ships, and flowering trees, in red chalk, still attract the eye. here where they cooked and roasted, is now a large empty space: even the chimney is gone; and from the ceiling where thick, heavy beams of timber have been placed close to one another, there hangs the dust-covered cobweb, as if the whole were a mass of dark grey dropping stones. we walk from hall to hall, and the wooden shutters are opened to admit daylight. all is vast, lofty, spacious, and adorned with antique chimney-pieces, and from every window there is a charming prospect over the clear, deep vettern. in one of the chambers in the ground floor sat the insane duke magnus, (whose stone image we lately saw conspicuous in the church) horrified at having signed his own brother's death-warrant; dreamingly in love with the portrait of scotland's queen, mary stuart; paying court to her and expecting to see the ship, with her, glide over the sea towards vadstene. and she came--he thought she came--in the form of a mermaid, raising herself aloft on the water: she nodded and called to him, and the unfortunate duke sprang out of the window down to her. we gazed out of this window, and below it we saw the deep moat in which he sank. we enter the yeoman's hall, and the council hall, where, in the recesses of the windows, on each side, are painted yeomen in strange dresses, half dalecarlians and half roman warriors. in this once rich saloon, svanta steenson sture knelt to sweden's queen, catherine léjonhufved: she was svanta sture's love, before gustavus vasa's will made her his queen. the lovers met here: the walls are silent as to what they said, when the door was opened and the king entered, and saw the kneeling sture, and asked what it meant. margaret answered craftily and hastily: "he demands my sister martha's hand in marriage!" and the king gave svanta sture the bride the queen had asked for him. we are now in the royal bridal chamber, whither king gustavus led his third consort. catherine steenbock, also another's bride, the bride of the knight gustavus. it is a sad story. gustavus of the three roses, was in his youth honoured by the king, who sent him on a mission to the emperor charles the fifth. he returned adorned with the emperor's costly golden chain--young, handsome, joyous and richly clad, he returned home, and knew well how to relate the magnificence and charms of foreign lands: young and old listened to him with admiration, but young catherine most of all. through him the world in her eyes became twice as large, rich, and beautiful; they became dear to each other, and their parents blessed their love. the love-pledge was to be drunk,--when there came a message from the king, that the young knight must, without delay, again bear a letter and greeting to the emperor charles. the betrothed pair separated with heavy hearts, but with a promise of mutual inviolable troth. the king then invited catherine's parents to come to vadstene palace. catherine was obliged to accompany them; here king gustavus saw her for the first time, and the old man fell in love with her. christmas was kept with great hilarity; there were song and harp in these halls, and the king himself played the lute. when the time came for departure, the king said to catherine's mother, that he would marry the young girl. "but she is the bride of the knight gustavus!" stammered the mother. "young hearts soon forget their sorrows," thought the king. the mother thought so likewise, and as there chanced to come a letter the same day and hour from the young knight gustavus, fra steenbock committed it to the flames. all the letters that came afterwards and all the letters that catherine wrote, were burnt by her mother, and doubts and evil reports were whispered to catherine, that she was forgotten abroad by her young lover. but catherine was secure and firm in her belief of him. in the spring her parents made known to her the king's proposal, and praised her good fortune. she answered seriously and determinedly, "no!" and when they repeated to her that it should and must happen, she repeatedly screamed in the greatest anguish, "no no!" and sank exhausted at her father and mother's feet, and humbly prayed them not to force her. and the mother wrote to the king that all was going on well, but that her child was bashful. the king now announced his visit to torpe, where her parents, the steenbocks, dwelt. the king was received with rejoicing and feasting, but catherine had disappeared and the king himself was the successful one who found her. she sat dissolved in tears under the wild rose tree, where she had bidden farewell to her heart's beloved. there was merry song and joyous life in the old mansion; catherine alone was sorrowful and silent. her mother had brought her all her jewels and ornaments, but she wore none of them: she had put on her simplest dress, but in this she only fascinated the old king the more, and he would have that their betrothal should take place before he departed. fra steenbock wrested the knight gustavus's ring from catherine's finger, and whispered in her ear: "it will cost the friend of thy youth his life and fortune; the king can do everything!" and the parents led her to king gustavus, showed him that the ring was from the maiden's hand; and the king placed his own golden ring on her finger in the other's stead. in the month of august the flag waved from the mast of the royal yacht which bore the young queen over the vettern. princes and knights, in costly robes, stood by the shore, music played, and the people shouted. catherine made her entry into vadstene palace. the nuptials were celebrated the following day, and the walls were hung with silk and velvet, with cloth of gold and silver! it was a festival and rejoicing. poor catherine! in november, the knight gustavus of the three roses, returned home. his prudent, noble mother, christina gyldenstjerne, met him at the frontiers of the kingdom, prepared him, consoled him, and soothed his mind: she accompanied him by slow stages to vadstene, where they were both invited by the king to remain during the christmas festival. they accepted the invitation, but the knight gustavus was not to be moved to come to the king's table or any other place where the queen was to be found. the christmas approached. one sunday evening, gustavus was disconsolate; the knight was long sleepless, and at daybreak he went into the church, to the tomb of his ancestress, st. bridget. there he saw, at a few paces from him, a female kneeling before philippa's tomb. it was the queen he saw; their eyes met, and gustavus hastened away. she then mentioned his name, begged him to stay, and commanded him to do so. "i command it, gustavus!" said she; "the queen commands it." and she spoke to him; they conversed together, and it became clear to them both what had been done against them and with them; and she showed him a withered rose which she kept in her bosom, and she bent towards him and gave him a kiss, the last--their eternal leave-taking--and then they separated. he died shortly afterwards, but catherine was stronger, yet not strong enough for her heart's deep sorrow. here, in the bed-chamber, in uneasy dreams, says the story, she betrayed in sleep the constant thought of her heart, her youth's love, to the king, saying: "gustavus i love dearly; but the rose--i shall never forget." from a secret door we walk out on to the open rampart, where the sheep now graze; the cattle are driven into one of the ruined towers. we see the palace-yard, and look from it up to a window. come, thou birch-wood's thrush, and warble thy lays; sing, whilst we recal the bitterness of love in the rude--the chivalrous ages. under that window there stood, one cold winter's night, wrapped in his white cloak, the young count john of east friesland. his brother had married gustavus vasa's eldest daughter, and departed with her to his home: wherever they came on their journey, there was mirth and feasting, but the most splendid was at vadstene palace. cecilia, the king's younger daughter, had accompanied her sister hither, and was here, as everywhere, the first, the most beautiful in the chase as well as at the tournament. the winter began directly on their arrival at vadstene; the cold was severe, and the vettern frozen over. one day, cecilia rode out on the ice and it broke; her brother, prince erik, came galloping to her aid. john, of east friesland, was already there, and begged erik to dismount, as he would, being on horseback, break the ice still more. erik would not listen to him, and as john saw that there was no time for dispute, he dragged erik from the horse, sprang into the water himself, and saved cecilia. prince erik was furious with wrath, and no one could appease him. cecilia lay long in a fever, and during its continuance, her love for him who had saved her life increased. she recovered, and they understood each other, but the day of separation approached. it was on the night previous that john, in his white cloak, ascended from stone to stone, holding by his silk ladder, until he at length entered the window; here they would converse for hours in all modesty and honour, speak about his return and their nuptials the following year; and whilst they sat there the door was hewn down with axes. prince erik entered, and raised the murderous weapon to slay the young lord of east friesland, when cecilia threw herself between them. but erik commanded his menials to seize the lover, whom they put in irons and cast into a low, dark hole, that cold frosty night, and the next day, without even giving him a morsel of bread or a drop of water, he was thrown on to a peasant's sledge, and dragged before the king to receive judgment. erik himself cast his sister's fair name and fame into slander's babbling pool, and high dames and citizens' wives washed unspotted innocence in calumny's impure waters. it is only when the large wooden shutters of the saloons are opened, that the sunbeams stray in here; the dust accumulates in their twisted pillars, and is only just disturbed by the draught of air. in here is a warehouse for corn. great fat rats make their nests in these halls. the spider spins mourning banners under the beams. this is vadstene palace! we are filled with sad thoughts. we turn our eyes from this place towards the lowly house with the grass-turf roof, where the little lamb crops the grass under the cherry-tree, which strews its fragrant leaves over it. our thoughts descend from the rich cloister, from the proud palace, to the grassy turf, and the sun fades away over the grassy turf, and the old dame goes to sleep under the grassy turf, below which lie the mighty memorials of vadstene. the puppet-showman. * * * * * there was an elderly man on the steam-boat, with such a contented face that, if it did not lie, he must be the happiest man on earth. that he indeed said he was: i heard it from his own mouth. he was a dane, consequently my countryman, and was a travelling theatrical manager. he had the whole _corps dramatique_ with him; they lay in a large chest--he was a puppet showman. his innate good-humour, said he, had been tried by a polytechnic candidate,[d] and from this experiment on his patience he had become completely happy. i did not understand him at the moment, but he soon laid the whole case clearly before me; and here it is. [footnote d: one who has passed his examination at a polytechnic school.] "it was in slagelse," said he, "that i gave a representation at the parsonage, and had a brilliant house and a brilliant company of spectators, all young persons, unconfirmed, except a few old ladies. then there came a person dressed in black, having the appearance of a student: he sat down amongst the others, laughed quite at the proper time, and applauded quite correctly; that was an unusual spectator! "i was bent on ascertaining who he was, and then i heard that he was a candidate from the polytechnic school, who had been sent out to instruct people in the provinces. at eight o'clock my representation was over; the children were to go early to bed, and one must think of the convenience of the public. "at nine o'clock the candidate began his lectures and experiments, and now _i_ was one of _his_ auditory. "it was remarkable to hear and look at! the chief part of it went over my head and into the parson's, as one says. can it be possible, thought i, that we human beings can find out such things? in that case, we must also be able to hold out longer, before we are put into the earth. it was merely small miracles that he performed, and yet all as easy as an old stocking--quite from nature. in the time of moses and the prophets, such a polytechnic candidate would have been one of the wise men of the land, and in the middle ages he would have been burnt. i could not sleep the whole night, and as i gave a representation the next evening, and the candidate was there again, i got into a real merry humour. "i have heard of an actor, who when playing the lovers' parts, only thought of one of the spectators; he played for _her_ alone, and forgot all the rest of the house; the polytechnic candidate was my _her_, my only spectator, for whom i played. and when the performance was over, all the puppets were called forward, and i was invited by the polytechnic candidate to take a glass of wine with him; and he spoke about my comedy, and i of his science; and i believe we each derived equal pleasure from the other. but yet i had the advantage, for there was so much in his performance that he could not account for: as for instance, that a piece of iron which falls through a spiral line, becomes magnetic,--well, how is that? the spirit comes over it, but whence does it come from? it is just as with the human beings of this world, i think; our lord lets them fall through the spiral line of time, and the spirit comes over them--and there stands a napoleon, a luther, or a similar person. "'all nature is a series of miracles,' said the candidate, 'but we are so accustomed to them that we call them things of every-day life.' and he spoke and he explained, so that it seemed at last as if he lifted my scull, and i honestly confessed, that if i were not an old fellow, i would go directly to the polytechnic school, and learn to examine the world in the summer, although i was one of the happiest of men. "'one of the happiest!' said he, and it was just as if he tasted it. 'are you happy?' 'yes!' said i, 'i am happy, and i am welcome in all the towns i come to with my company! there is certainly one wish, that comes now and then like a night-mare, which rides on my good-humour, and that is to be a theatrical manager for a living company--a company of real men and women.' "'you wish to have your puppets animated; you would have them become real actors and actresses,' said he, 'and yourself be the manager? you then think that you would be perfectly happy?' "now he did not think so, but i thought so; and we talked for and against; and we were just as near in our opinions as before. but we clinked our glasses together, and the wine was very good; but there was witchcraft in it, or else the short and the long of the story would be--that i was intoxicated. "that i was not; my eyes were quite clear; it was as if there was sunshine in the room, and it shone out of the face of the polytechnic candidate, so that i began to think of the old gods in my youth, and when they went about in the world. and i told him so, and then he smiled, and i durst have sworn that he was a disguised god, or one of the family!--and he was so--my first wish was to be fulfilled: the puppets become living beings and i the manager of men and women. we drank that it should be so! he put all my puppets in the wooden chest, fastened it on my back, and then let me fall through a spiral line. i can still hear how i came down, slap! i lay on the floor, that is quite sure and certain, and the whole company sprang out of the chest. the spirit had come over us all together; all the puppets had become excellent artists--they said so themselves--and i was the manager. everything was in order for the first representation; the whole company must speak with me, and the public also. the female dancer said, that if she did not stand on one leg, the house would be in an uproar: she was master of the whole and would be treated as such. "she who played the queen, would also be treated as a queen when off the stage, or else she should get out of practice, and he who was employed to come in with a letter made himself as important as the first lover. 'for,' said he, 'the small are of just as much importance as the great, in an artistic whole.' then the hero demanded that the whole of his part should only be retorts on making his exit, for these the public applauded; the prima donna would only play in a red light, for that suited her best--she would not be blue: they were all like flies in a bottle, and i was also in the bottle--for i was the manager. i lost my breath, my head was quite dizzy! i was as miserable as a man can be; it was a new race of beings i had come amongst; i wished that i had them altogether again in the chest, that i had never been a manager: i told them that they were in fact only puppets, and so they beat me to death. that was my feeling! "i lay on the bed in my chamber; but how i had come there from the polytechnic candidate, he must know best--for i do not. the moon shone in on the floor where the puppet-chest lay upset, and all the puppets spread about--great and small, the whole lot. but i was not floored! i sprang out of bed, and threw them all into the chest; some on their heads, and some on their legs; i smacked the lid down and sat myself upon it: it was worth painting, can't you conceive it? i can! 'now you shall be there!' said i, 'and i will never more wish that you may become flesh and blood!' i was so glad; i was the happiest man alive--the polytechnic candidate had tried me! i sat in perfect bliss, and fell asleep on the chest; and in the morning--it was, properly speaking, at noon, for i slept so very long that morning--i sat there still, happy and edified--i saw that my previous and only wish had been stupid. i inquired for the polytechnic candidate, but he was gone, like the greek and roman gods. "and from that time i have been the happiest man alive. i am a fortunate manager; my company does not argue with me, neither does the public; they are amused to their heart's content, and i can myself put all my pieces nicely together. i take the best parts out of all sorts of comedies that i choose, and no one troubles himself about it. pieces that are now despised at the large theatres, but which thirty years ago the public ran to see, and cried over--those pieces i now make use of. i now present them before the young folks; and the young folks--they cry just as their fathers and mothers used to do. i give 'johanna montfakon' and 'dyveke,' but abbreviated; for the little folks do not like long, twaddling love-stories. they must have it unfortunate--but it must be brief. now that i have travelled through denmark, both to the right and left, i know everybody and am known again. now i have come to sweden, and if i am successful and gain much money, i will be a scandinavian, if the humour hold; and this i tell you, as you are my countryman." and i, as his countryman, naturally tell it again--only for the sake of telling it. the "skjÄrgaards." * * * * * the canal voyage through sweden goes at first constantly upwards, through elvs and lakes, forests and rocky land. from the heights we look down on vast extents of forest-land and large waters, and by degrees the vessel sinks again down through mountain torrents. at mem we are again down by the salt fiord: a solitary tower raises its head between the remains of low, thick walls--it is the ruins of stegeberg. the coast is covered to a great extent with dark, melancholy forests, which enclose small grass-grown valleys. the screaming sea-gulls fly around our vessel; we are by the baltic; we feel the fresh sea-breeze: it blows as in the times of the ancient heroes, when the sea-kings, sons of high-born fathers, exercised their deeds here. the same sea's surface then appeared to them as now to us, with its numberless isles, which lie strewed about here in the water by thousands along the whole coast. the depth of water between the rocky isles and the solid land is that we call "the skjärgaards:" their waters flow into each other with varying splendour. we see it in the sunshine, and it is like a large english landscape garden; but the greensward plain is here the deep sea, the flower-beds in it are rocks and reefs, rich in firs and pines, oaks and bushes. mark how, when the wind blows from the east, and the sea breaks over sunken rocks and is dashed back again in spray from the cliffs, your limbs feel--even through the ship on which you stand--the power of the sea: you are lifted as if by supernatural hands. we rush on against wind and sea, as if it were the sea-god's snorting horse that bore us; from skjärgaard to skjärgaard. the signal-gun is fired, and the pilot comes from that solitary wooden house. sometimes we look upon the open sea, sometimes we glide again in between dark, stony islands; they lie like gigantic monsters in the water: one has the form of the tortoise's arched shell, another has the elephant's back and rough grey colour. mouldering, light grey rocks indicate that the wind and weather past centuries has lashed over them. we now approach larger rocky islands, and the huge, grey, broken rocks of the main land, where dwarfish pine woods grow in a continual combat with the blast; the skjärgaards sometimes become only a narrow canal, sometimes an extensive lake strewed with small islets, all of stone, and often only a mere block of stone, to which a single little fir-tree clings fast: screaming sea-gulls flutter around the land-marks that are set up; and now we see a single farm-house, whose red-painted sides shine forth from the dark background. a group of cows lies basking in the sun on the stony surface, near a little smiling pasture, which appears to have been cultivated here or cut out of a meadow in scania. how solitary must it not be to live on that little island! ask the boy who sits there by the cattle, he will be able to tell us. "it is lively and merry here," says he. "the day is so long and light, the seal sits out there on the stone and barks in the early morning hour, and all the steamers from the canal must pass here. i know them all; and when the sun goes down in the evening, it is a whole history to look into the clouds over the land: there stand mountains with palaces, in silver and in gold, in red and in blue; sailing dragons with golden crowns, or an old giant with a beard down to his waist--altogether of clouds, and they are always changing. "the storms come on in the autumn, and then there is often much anxiety when father is out to help ships in distress; but one becomes, as it were, a new being. "in winter the ice is locked fast and firm, and we drive from island to island and to the main land; and if the bear or the wolf pays us a visit we take his skin for a winter covering: it is warm in the room there, and they read and tell stories about old times!" yes, old time, how thou dost unfold thyself with remembrances of these very skjärgaards--old time which belonged to the brave. these waters, these rocky isles and strands, saw heroes more greatly active than actively good: they swung the axe to give the mortal blow, or as they called it, "the whining jetteqvinde."[e] [footnote e: giantess.] here came the vikings with their ships: on the headland yonder they levied provisions; the grazing cattle were slaughtered and borne away. ye mouldering cliffs, had ye but a tongue, ye might tell us about the duels with the two-handed sword--about the deeds of the giants. ye saw the hero hew with the sword, and cast the javelin: his left hand was as cunning as his right the sword moved so quickly in the air that there seemed to be three. ye saw him, when he in all his martial array sprang forwards and backwards, higher than he himself was tall, and if he sprang into the sea he swam like a whale. ye saw the two combatants: the one darted his javelin, the other caught it in the air, and cast it back again, so that it pierced through shield and man down into the earth. ye saw warriors with sharp swords and angry hearts; the sword was struck downwards so as to cut the knee, out the combatant sprang into the air, and the sword whizzed under his feet. mighty sagas from the olden times! mouldering rocks, could ye but tell us of these things! ye, deep waters, bore the vikings' ships, and when the strong in battle lifted the iron anchor and cast it against the enemy's vessel, so that the planks were rent asunder, ye poured your dark heavy seas into the hold, so that the bark sank. the wild _berserk_ who with naked breast stood against his enemy's blows, mad as a dog, howling like a bear, tearing his shield asunder, rushing to the bottom of the sea here, and fetching up stones, which ordinary men could not raise--history peoples these waters, these cliffs for us! a future poet will conjure them to this scandinavian archipelago, chisel the true forms out of the old sagas, the bold, the rude, the greatness and imperfections of the time, in their habits as they lived. they rise again for us on yonder island, where the wind is whistling through the young fir wood. the house is of beams, roofed with bark; the smoke from the fire on the broad stone in the hall, whirls through the air-hole, near which stands the cask of mead; the cushions lie on the bench before the closed bedsteads; deer-skins hang over the balk walls, ornamented with shields, helmets, and armour. effigies of gods, carved, on wooden poles, stand before the high seat where the noble viking sits, a high-born father's youngest son, great in fame, but still greater in deeds; the skjalds (bards) and foster-brothers sit nearest to him. they defended the coasts of their countrymen, and the pious women; they fetched wheat and honey from england, they went to the white sea for sables and furs--their adventures are related in song. we see the old man ride in rich clothing, with gloves sewn with golden thread, and with a hat brought from garderige; we see the youth with a golden fillet around his brow; we see him at the _thing_; we see him in battle and in play, where the best is he that can cut off the other's eyebrows without scratching the skin, or causing a wink with the eyes, on pain of losing his station. the woman sits in the log-house at her loom, and in the late moonlight nights the spirits of the fallen come and sit down around the fire, where they shake the wet, dripping clothes; but the serf sleeps in the ashes, and on the kitchen bench, and dreams that he dips his bread in the fat soup, and licks his fingers. thou future poet, thou wilt call forth the vanished forms from the sagas, thou wilt people these islands, and let us glide past these reminiscences of the olden time with the mind full of them; clearly and truly wilt thou let us glide, as we now with the power of steam fly past that firmly standing scenery, the swelling sea, rocks and reefs, the main land, and wood-grown islands. we are already past braavigen, where numberless ships from the northern kingdoms lay, when upsala's king, sigurd ring, came, challenged by harald hildetand, who, old and grey, feared to die on a sick bed, and would fall in battle; and the mainland thundered like the plains of marathon beneath the tramp of horses' hoofs during the battle:[f] bards and female warriors surrounded the danish king. the blind old man raised himself high in his chariot, gave his horse free rein, and hewed his way. odin himself had due reverence paid to hildetand's bones; and the pile was kindled, and the king laid on it, and sigurd conjured all to cast gold and weapons, the most valuable they possessed, into the fire; and the bards sang to it, and the female warriors struck the spears on the bright shields. upsala's lord, sigurd ring, became king of sweden and denmark: so says the saga, which sounded over the land and water from these coasts. [footnote f: the battle of braavalla.] the memorials of olden times pass swiftly through our thoughts; we fly past the scene of manly exercises and great deeds in the olden times--the ship cleaves the mighty waters with its iron paddles, from skjärgaard to skjärgaard. stockholm. * * * * * we cast runes[g] here on the paper, and from the white ground the picture of birger jarl's six hundred years old city rises before thee. [footnote g: "to cast runes" was, in the olden time, to exercise witchcraft. when the apple, with ciphers cut in it, rolled into the maiden's lap, her heart and mind were infatuated.] the runes roll, you see! wood-grown rocky isles appear in the light, grey morning mist; numberless flocks of wild birds build their nests in safety here, where the fresh waters of the mälaren rush into the salt sea. the viking's ship comes; king agna stands by the prow--he brings as booty the king of finland's daughter. the oak-tree spreads its branches over their bridal chamber; at daybreak the oak-tree bears king agna, hanged in his long golden chain: that is the bride's work, and the ship sails away again with her and the rescued fins. the clouds drive past--the years too. hunters and fishermen erect themselves huts;--it is again deserted here, where the sea-birds alone have their homes. what is it that so frightens these numberless flocks? the wild duck and sea-gull fly screaming about, there is a hammering and driving of piles. oluf skötkonge has large beams bored down into the ground, and strong iron chains fastened across the stream: "thou art caught, oluf haraldson,[h] caught with the ships and crews, with which thou didst devastate the royal city sigtuna; thou canst not escape from the closed mälar lake!" [footnote h: afterwards called saint oluf.] it is but the work of one night; the same night when oluf hakonson, with iron and with fire, burst his onward way through the stubborn ground; before the day breaks the waters of the mälar roll there; the norwegian prince, oluf sailed through the royal channel he had cut in the east. the stockades, where the iron chains hang, must bear the defences; the citizens from the burnt-down sigtuna erect themselves a bulwark here, and build their new, little town on stock-holms.[i] [footnote i: stock, signifies bulks, or beams; holms, i.e. islets, or river islands; hence stockholm.] the clouds go, and the years go! do you see how the gables grow? there rise towers and forts. birger jarl makes the town of stockholm a fortress; the warders stand with bow and arrow on the walls, reconnoitring over lake and fjord, over brunkaberg sand-ridge. there were the sand-ridge slopes upwards from rörstrand's lake they build clara cloister, and between it and the town a street springs up: several more appear; they form an extensive city, which soon becomes the place of contest for different partisans, where ladelaas's sons plant the banner, and where the german albrecht's retainers burn the swedes alive within its walls. stockholm is, however, the heart of the kingdom: that the danes know well; that the swedes know too, and there is strife and bloody combating. blood flows by the executioner's hand, denmark's christian the second, sweden's executioner, stands in the market-place. roll, ye runes! see over brunkaberg sand-ridge, where the swedish people conquered the danish host, there they raise the may-pole: it is midsummer-eve--gustavus vasa makes his entry into stockholm. around the may-pole there grow fruit and kitchen-gardens, houses and streets; they vanish in flames, they rise again; that gloomy fortress towards the tower is transformed into a palace, and the city stands magnificently with towers and draw-bridges. there grows a town by itself on the sand-ridge, a third springs up on the rock towards the south; the old walls fall at gustavus adolphus's command; the three towns are one, large and extensive, picturesquely varied with old stone houses, wooden shops, and grass-roofed huts; the sun shines on the brass balls of the towers, and a forest of masts stands in that secure harbour. rays of beauty shoot forth into the world from versailles' painted divinity; they reach the mälar's strand into tessin's[j] palace, where art and science are invited as guests with the king, gustavus the third, whose effigy cast in bronze is raised on the strand before the splendid palace--it is in our times. the acacia shades the palace's high terrace on whose broad balustrades flowers send forth their perfume from saxon porcelain; variegated silk curtains hang half-way down before the large glass windows; the floors are polished smooth as a mirror, and under the arch yonder, where the roses grow by the wall, the endymion of greece lives eternally in marble. as a guard of honour here, stand fogelberg's odin, and sergei's amor and psyche. [footnote j: the architect tessin.] we now descend the broad, royal staircase, and before it, where, in by-gone times, oluf skötkonge stretched the iron chains across the mouth of the mälar lake, there is now a splendid bridge with shops above and the streamparterre below: there we see the little steamer 'nocken,'[k] steering its way, filled with passengers from diurgarden to the streamparterre. and what is the streamparterre? the neapolitans would tell us: it is in miniature--quite in miniature--the stockholmers' "villa reale." the hamburgers would say: it is in miniature--quite in miniature--the stockholmers' "jungfernstieg." [footnote k: the water-sprite.] it is a very little semi-circular island, on which the arches of the bridge rest; a garden full of flowers and trees, which we overlook from the high parapet of the bridge. ladies and gentlemen promenade there; musicians play, families sit there in groups, and take refreshments in the vaulted halls under the bridge, and look out between the green trees over the open water, to the houses and mansions, and also to the woods and rocks: we forget that we are in the midst of the city. it is the bridge here that unites stockholm with nordmalen, where the greatest part of the fashionable world live, in two long berlin-like streets; yet amongst all the great houses we will only visit one, and that is the theatre. we will go on the stage itself--it has an historical signification. here, by the third side-scene from the stage-lights, to the right, as we look down towards the audience, gustavus the third was assassinated at a masquerade; and he was borne into that little chamber there, close by the scene, whilst all the outlets were closed, and the motley group of harlequins, polichinellos, wild men, gods and goddesses with unmasked faces, pale and terrified crept together; the dancing ballet-farce had become a real tragedy. this theatre is jenny lind's childhood's home. here she has sung in the choruses when a little girl; here she first made her appearance in public, and was cheeringly encouraged when a child; here, poor and sorrowful, she has shed tears, when her voice left her, and sent up pious prayers to her maker. from hence the world's nightingale flew out over distant lands, and proclaimed the purity and holiness of art. how beautiful it is to look out from the window up here, to look over the water and the streamparterre to that great, magnificent palace, to ladegaards land, with the large barracks, to skipholmen and the rocks that rise straight up from the water, with södermalm's gardens, villas, streets, and church cupolas between the green trees: the ships lie there together, so many and so close, with their waving flags. the beautiful, that a poet's eye sees, the world may also see! roll, ye runes! there sketches the whole varied prospect; a rainbow extends its arch like a frame around it. only see! it is sunset, the sky becomes cloudy over södermalm, the grey sky becomes darker and darker--a pitch-dark ground--and on it rests a double rainbow. the houses are illumined by so strong a sunlight that the walls seem transparent; the linden-trees in the gardens, which have lately put forth their leaves, appear like fresh, young woods; the long, narrow windows in the gothic buildings on the island shine as if it were a festal illumination, and between the dark firs there falls a lustre from the panes behind them as of a thousand flames, as if the trees were covered with flickering--christmas lights; the colours of the rainbow become stronger and stronger, the background darker and darker, and the white sun-lit sea-gulls fly past. the rainbow has placed one foot high up on södermalm's churchyard. where the rainbow touches the earth, there lie treasures buried, is a popular belief here. the rainbow rests on a grave up there: stagnalius rests here, sweden's most gifted singer, so young and so unhappy; and in the same grave lies nicander, he who sang about king enzio, and of "lejonet i oken;"[l] who sang with a bleeding heart: the fresh vine-leaf cooled the wound and killed the singer. peace be with his dust--may his songs live for ever! we go to your grave where the rainbow points. the view from here is splendid. the houses rise terrace-like in the steep, paved streets; the foot-passengers can, however, shorten the way by going through narrow lanes, and up steps made of thick beams, and always with a prospect downwards of the water, of the rocks and green trees! it is delightful to dwell here, it is healthy to dwell here, but it is not genteel, as it is by brunkaberg's sand-ridge, yet it will become so: stockholm's "strada balbi" will one day arise on södermalm's rocky ground. [footnote l: "the lion in the desert;" i.e. napoleon.] we stand up here. what other city in the world has a better prospect over the salt fjord, over the fresh lake, over towers, cupolas, heaped-up houses, and a palace, which king enzio himself might have built, and round about the dark, gloomy forests with oaks, pines and firs, so scandinavian, dreaming in the declining sun? it is twilight; the night comes on, the lamps are lighted in the city below, the stars are kindled in the firmament above, and the tower of redderholm's church rises aloft towards the starry space. the stars shine through there; it is as if cut in lace, but every thread is of cast-iron and of the thickness of beams. we go down there, and in there, in the stilly eve.--a world of spirits reigns within. see, in the vaulted isles, on carved wooden horses, sits armour, that was once borne by magnus ladelaas, christian the second, and charles the ninth. a thousand flags that once waved to the peal of music and the clang of arms, to the darted javelin and the cannon's roar, moulder away here: they hang in long rags from the staff, and the staves lie cast aside, where the flag has long since become dust. almost all the kings of sweden slumber in silver and copper coffins within these walls. from the altar aisle we look through the open-grated door, in between piled-up drums and hanging flags: here is preserved a bloody tunic, and in the coffin are the remains of gustavus adolphus. who is that dead opposite neighbour in the chapel, across there in the other side-aisle of the church? there, below a glass lid, lies a dress shot through, and on the floor stands a pair of long, thick boots--they belonged to the hero-king, the wanderer, charles xii., whose realm is now this narrow coffin. how sacred it is here under this vaulted roof! the mightiest men of centuries are gathered together here, perishable as these moth-eaten flags--mute and yet so eloquent. and without there is life and activity: the world goes on in its old course; generations change in the old houses; the houses change--yet stockholm is always the heart of sweden, birger's city, whose features are continually renewed, continually beautified. diurgaerden. * * * * * diurgaerden is a large piece of land made into a garden by our lord himself. come with us over there. we are still in the city, but before the palace lie the broad hewn stone stairs, leading down to the water, where the dalkulls--i.e., the dalecarlian women--stand and ring with metal bells. on board! here are boats enough to choose amongst, all with wheels, which the dalkulls turn. in coarse white linen, red stockings, with green heels, and singularly thick-soled shoes, with the upper-leather right up the shin-bone, stands the dalkull; she has ornamented the boat, that now shoots away, with green branches. houses and streets rise and unfold themselves; churches and gardens start forth; they stand on södermalm high above the tops of the ships' masts. the scenery reminds one of the bhosphorus and pera; the motley dress of the dalkulls is quite oriental--and listen! the wind bears melancholy skalmeie tones out to us. two poor dalecarlians are playing music on the quay; they are the same drawn-out, melancholy tones that are played by the bulgarian musicians in the streets of pera. we stept out, and are in the diurgarden. what a crowd of equipages pass in rows through the broad avenue! and what a throng of well-dressed pedestrians of all classes! one thinks of the garden of the villa borghese, when, at the time of the wine feast, the roman people and strangers take the air there. we are in the borghese garden; we are by the bosphorus, and yet far in the north. the pine-tree rises large and free; the birch droops its branches, as the weeping willow alone has power to do--and what magnificently grand oaks! the pine-trees themselves are mighty trees, beautiful to the painter's eye; splendid green grass plains lie stretched before us, and the fiord rolls its green, deep waters close past, as if it were a river. large ships with swelling sails, the one high above the other, steamers and boats, come and go in varied numbers. come! let us up to byström's villa; it lies on the stony cliff up there, where the large oak-trees stand in their stubborn grandeur: we see from here the whole tripartite city, södermalm, nordmalm and the island with that huge palace. it is delightful, the building here on this rock, and the building stands, and that almost entirely of marble, a "casa santa d'italia," as if borne through the air here in the north. the walls within are painted in the pompeian style, but heavy: there is nothing genial. round about stand large marble figures by byström, which have not, however, the soul of antiquity. madonna is encumbered by her heavy marble drapery, the girl with the flower-garland is an ugly young thing, and on seeing hero with the weeping cupid, one thinks of a _pose_ arranged by a ballet-master. let us, however, see what is pretty. the little cupid-seller is pretty, and the stone is made as flexible as life in the waists of the bathing-women. one of them, as she steps out, feels the water with her feet, and we feel, with her, a sensation that the water is cold. the coolness of the marble-hall realizes this feeling. let us go out into the sunshine, and up to the neighbouring cliff, which rises above the mansions and houses. here the wild roses shoot forth from the crevices in the rock; the sunbeams fall prettily between the splendid pines and the graceful birches, upon the high grass before the colossal bronze bust of bellmann. this place was the favourite one of that scandinavian improvisatore. here he lay in the grass, composed and sang his anacreontic songs, and here, in the summer-time, his annual festival is held. we will raise his altar here in the red evening sunlight. it is a flaming bowl, raised high on the jolly tun, and it is wreathed with roses. morits tries his hunting-horn, that which was oberon's horn in the inn-parlour, and everything danced, from ulla to "mutter paa toppen:"[m] they stamped with their feet and clapped their hands, and clinked the pewter lid of the ale-tankard; "hej kara sjæl! fukta din aske!" (hey! dear soul! moisten your clay). [footnote m: the landlady of an alehouse.] a teniers' picture became animated, and still lives in song. morits blows the horn on bellmann's place around the flowing bowl, and whole crowds dance in a circle, young and old; the carriages too, horses and waggons, filled bottles and clattering tankards: the bellmann dithyrambic clangs melodiously; humour and low life, sadness--and amongst others, about "----hur ögat gret ved de cypresser, som ströddes."[n] [footnote n: how the eyes wept by the cypresses that were strewn around.] painter, seize thy brush and palette and paint the maenade--but not her who treads the winebag, whilst her hair flutters in the wind, and she sings ecstatic songs. no, but the maenade that ascends from bellmann's steaming bowl is the punch's anadyomene--she, with the high heels to the red shoes, with rosettes on her gown and with fluttering veil and mantilla--fluttering, far too fluttering! she plucks the rose of poetry from her breast and sets it in the ale-can's spout; clinks with the lid, sings about the clang of the hunting horn, about breeches and old shoes and all manner of stuff. yet we are sensible that he is a true poet; we see two human eyes shining, that announce to us the human heart's sadness and hope. a story. * * * * * all the apple-trees in the garden had sprung out. they had made haste to get blossoms before they got green leaves; and all the ducklings were out in the yard--and the cat too! he was, so to speak, permeated by the sunshine; he licked it from his own paws; and if one looked towards the fields, one saw the corn standing so charmingly green! and there was such a twittering and chirping amongst all the small birds, just as if it were a great feast. and that one might indeed say it was, for it was sunday. the bells rang, and people in their best clothes went to church, and looked so pleased. yes, there was something so pleasant in everything: it was indeed so fine and warm a day, that one might well say: "our lord is certainly unspeakably good towards us poor mortals!" but the clergyman stood in the pulpit in the church, and spoke so loud and so angrily! he said that mankind was so wicked, and that god would punish them for it, and that when they died, the wicked went down into hell, where they would burn for ever; and he said that their worm would never die, and their fire never be extinguished, nor would they ever get rest and peace! it was terrible to hear, and he said it so determinedly. he described hell to them as a pestilential hole, where all the filthiness of the world flowed together. there was no air except the hot, sulphurous flames; there was no bottom; they sank and sank into everlasting silence! it was terrible, only to hear about it; but the clergyman said it right honestly out of his heart, and all the people in the church were quite terrified. but all the little birds outside the church sang so pleasantly, and so pleased, and the sun shone so warm:--it was as if every little flower said: "god is so wondrous good to us altogether!" yes, outside it was not at all as the clergyman preached. in the evening, when it was bed-time, the clergyman saw his wife sit so still and thoughtful. "what ails you?" said he to her. "what ails me?" she replied; "what ails me is, that i cannot collect my thoughts rightly--that i cannot rightly understand what you said; that there were so many wicked, and that they should burn eternally!--eternally, alas, how long! i am but a sinful being; but i could not bear the thought in my heart to allow even the worst sinner to burn for ever. and how then should our lord permit it? he who is so wondrously good, and who knows how evil comes both from without and within. no, i cannot believe it, though you say it." * * * * * it was autumn. the leaves fell from the trees; the grave, severe clergyman sat by the bedside of a dying person; a pious believer closed her eyes--it was the clergyman's own wife. "if any one find peace in the grave, and grace from god, then it is thou," said the clergyman, and he folded her hands, and read a psalm over the dead body. and she was borne to the grave: two heavy tears trickled down that stern man's cheeks; and it was still and vacant in the parsonage; the sunshine within was extinguished:--she was gone. it was night. a cold wind blew over the clergyman's head; he opened his eyes, and it was just as if the moon shone into his room. but the moon did not shine. it was a figure which stood before his bed--he saw the spirit of his deceased wife. she looked on him so singularly afflicted; it seemed as though she would say something. the man raised himself half erect in bed, and stretched his arms out towards her. "not even to thee is granted everlasting peace. thou dost suffer; thou, the best, the most pious!" and the dead bent her head in confirmation of his words, and laid her hand on her breast. "and can i procure you peace in the grave?" "yes!" it sounded in his ear. "and how?" "give me a hair, but a single hair of the head of that sinner, whose fire will never be quenched; that sinner whom god will cast down into hell, to everlasting torment." "yes; so easily thou canst be liberated, thou pure, thou pious one!" said he. "then follow me," said the dead; "it is so granted us. thou canst be by my side, wheresoever thy thoughts will. invisible to mankind, we stand in their most secret places; but thou must point with a sure hand to the one destined to eternal punishment, and ere the cock crow he must be found." and swift, as if borne on the wings of thought, they were in the great city, and the names of the dying sinners shone from the walls of the houses in letters of fire: "arrogance, avarice, drunkenness, voluptuousness;" in short, sin's whole seven-coloured arch. "yes, in there, as i thought it, as i knew it," said the clergyman, "are housed those condemned to eternal fire." and they stood before the splendidly-illumined portico, where the broad stairs were covered with carpets and flowers, and the music of the dance sounded through the festal saloons. the porter stood there in silk and velvet, with a large silver-headed stick. "_our_ ball can match with the king's," said he, and turned towards the crowd in the street--his magnificent thoughts were visible in his whole person. "poor devils! who stare in at the portico, you are altogether ragamuffins, compared to me!" "arrogance," said the dead; "dost thou see him?" "him!" repeated the clergyman; "he is a simpleton--a fool only, and will not be condemned to eternal fire and torment." "a fool only," sounded through the whole house of arrogance. and they flew into the four bare walls of avarice, where skinny, meagre, shivering with cold, hungry and thirsty, the old man clung fast with all his thoughts to his gold. they saw how he, as in a fever, sprang from his wretched pallet, and took a loose stone out of the wall. there lay gold coins in a stocking-foot; he fumbled at his ragged tunic, in which gold coins were sewed fast, and his moist fingers trembled. "he is ill: it is insanity; encircled by fear and evil dreams." and they flew away in haste, and stood by the criminals' wooden couch, where they slept side by side in long rows. one of them started up from his sleep like a wild animal, and uttered a hideous scream: he struck his companion with his sharp elbow, and the latter turned sleepily round. "hold your tongue, you beast, and sleep! this is your way every night! every night!" he repeated; "yes, you come every night, howling and choking me! i have done one thing or another in a passion; i was born with a passionate temper, and it has brought me in here a second time; but if i have done wrong, so have i also got my punishment. but one thing i have not confessed. when i last went out from here, and passed by my master's farm, one thing and another boiled up in me, and i directly stroked a lucifer against the wall: it came a little too near the thatch, and everything was burnt--hot-headedness came over it, just as it comes over me, i helped to save the cattle and furniture. nothing living was burnt, except a flock of pigeons: they flew into the flames, and the yard dog. i had not thought of the dog. i could hear it howl, and that howl i always hear yet, when i would sleep; and if i do get to sleep, the dog comes also--so large and hairy! he lies down on me, howls, and strangles me! do but hear what i am telling you. snore--yes, that you can--snore the whole night through, and i not even a quarter of an hour!" and the blood shone from the eyes of the fiery one; he fell on his companion, and struck him in the face with his clenched fist. "angry mads has become mad again!" resounded on all sides, and the other rascals seized hold of him, wrestled with him, and bent him double, so that his head was forced between his legs, where they bound it fast, so that the blood was nearly springing out of his eyes, and all the pores. "you will kill him!" said the clergyman,--"poor unfortunate!" and as he stretched his hands out over him, who had already suffered too severely, in order to prevent further mischief, the scene changed. they flew through rich halls, and through poor chambers; voluptuousness and envy, all mortal sins strode past them. a recording angel read their sin and their defence; this was assuredly little for god, for god reads the heart; he knows perfectly the evil that comes within it and from without, he, grace, all-loving kindness. the hand of the clergyman trembled: he did not venture to stretch it out, to pluck a hair from the sinner's head. and the tears streamed down from his eyes, like the waters of _grace_ and love, which quenched the eternal fire of hell. the cock then crowed. "merciful god! thou wilt grant her that peace in the grave which i have not been able to redeem." "that i now have!" said the dead; "it was thy hard words, thy dark, human belief of god and his creatures, which drove me to thee! learn to know mankind; even in the bad there is a part of god--a part that will conquer and quench the fire of hell." and a kiss was pressed on the clergyman's lips:--it shone around him. god's clear, bright sun shone into the chamber, where his wife, living, mild, and affectionate, awoke him from a dream, sent from god! upsala. * * * * * it is commonly said, that memory is a young girl with light blue eyes. most poets say so; but we cannot always agree with most poets. to us memory comes in quite different forms, all according to that land, or that town to which she belongs. italy sends her as a charming mignon, with black eyes and a melancholy smile, singing bellini's soft, touching songs. from scotland memory's sprite appears as a powerful lad with bare knees; the plaid hangs over his shoulder, the thistle-flower is fixed on his cap; burns's songs then fill the air like the heath-lark's song, and scotland's wild thistle flowers beautifully fragrant as the fresh rose. but now for memory's sprite from sweden, from upsala. he comes thence in the form of a student--at least, he wears the upsala student's white cap with the black rim. to us it points out its home, as the phrygian cap denotes ganymede. it was in the year , that the danish students travelled to upsala. young hearts met together; eyes sparkled: they laughed, they sang. young hearts are the future--the conquering future--in the beautiful, true and good; it is so good that brothers should know and love each other. friendship's meeting is still annually remembered in the palace-yard of upsala, before the monument of gustavus vasa--by the hurra! for denmark, in warm-hearted compliment to me. two summers afterwards, the visit was returned. the swedish students came to copenhagen, and that they might there be known amongst the multitude, the upsala students wore a white cap with a black rim: this cap is accordingly a memorial,--the sign of friendship's bridge over that river of blood which once flowed between kindred nations. when one meets in heart and spirit, a blissful seed is then sown. memory's sprite, come to us! we know thee by the cap from upsala: be thou our guide, and from our more southern home, after years and days, we will make the voyage over again, quicker than if we flew in doctor faustus' magic cloak. we are in stockholm: we stand on the ridderholm where the steamers lie alongside the bulwarks: one of them sends forth clouds of thick smoke from its chimney; the deck is crowded with passengers, and the white cap with the black rim is not wanting. we are off to upsala; the paddles strike the waters of the mälar, and we shoot away from the picturesque city of stockholm. the whole voyage, direct to upsala, is a kaleidescope on a large scale. it is true, there is nothing of the magical in the scenery, but landscape gives place to landscape, and clouds and sunshine refresh their variegated beauty. the mälar lake curves, is compressed, and widens again: it is as if one passed from lake to lake through narrow canals and broad rivers. sometimes it appears as if the lake ended in small rivulets between dark pines and rocks, when suddenly another large lake, surrounded by corn fields and meadows, opens itself to view: the light-green linden trees, which have just unfolded their leaves, shine forth before the dark grey rocks. again a new lake opens before us, with islets, trees and red painted houses, and during the whole voyage there is a lively arrival and departure of passengers, in flat bottomed boats, which are nearly upset in the billowy wake of the vessel. it appears most dangerous opposite to sigtuna, sweden's old royal city: the lake is broad here; the waves rise as if they were the waters of the ocean; the boats rock--it is fearful to look at! but here there must be a calm; and sigtuna, that little interesting town where the old towers stand in ruins, like outposts along the rocks, reflects itself in the water. we fly past! and now we are in tyris rivulet! part of a meadow is flooded; a herd of horses become shy from the snorting of the steamer's engine; they dash through the water in the meadow, and it spurts up all over them. it glitters there between the trees on the declivity: the upsala students lie encamped there, and exercise themselves in the use of arms. the rivulet forms a bay, and the high plain extends itself. we see old upsala's hills; we see upsala's city with its church, which, like notre dame, raises its stony arms towards heaven. the university rises to the view, in appearance half palace and half barracks, and there aloft, on the greensward-clothed bank, stands the old red-painted huge palace with its towers. we stop at the bulwark near the arched bridge, and so go on shore. whither wilt thou conduct us first, thou our guide with the white-and-black student's cap? shall we go up to the palace, or to linnaeus's garden! or shall we go to the church-yard where the nettles grow over geier's and törnro's graves? no, but to the young and the living upsala's life--the students. thou tellest us about them; we hear the heart's pulsations, and our hearts beat in sympathy! in the first year of the war between denmark and the insurgents, many a brave upsala student left his quiet, comfortable home, and entered the ranks with his danish brothers. the upsala students gave up their most joyous festival--the may-day festival--and the money they at other times used to contribute annually towards the celebration thereof, they sent to the danes, after the sum had been increased by concerts which were given in stockholm and vesteraas. that circumstance will not be forgotten in denmark. upsala student, thou art dear to us by thy disposition! thou art dear to us from thy lively jests! we will mention a trait thereof. in upsala, it had become the fashion to be hegelianers--that is to say, always to interweave hegel's philosophical terms in conversation. in order to put down this practice, a few clever fellows took upon themselves the task of hammering some of the most difficult technical words into the memory of a humorous and commonly drunken country innkeeper, at whose house many a _sexa_ was often held; and the man spoke hegelianic in his mellow hours, and the effect was so absurd, that the employment of philosophical scraps in his speech was ridiculed, understood, and the nuisance abandoned. beautiful songs resound as we approach: we hear swedish, norwegian and danish. the melody's varied beacon makes known to us where upsala's students are assembled. the song proceeds from the assembly-room--from the tavern saloon, and like serenades in the silent evening, when a young friend departs, or a dear guest is honoured. glorious melodies! ye enthral, so that we forget that the sun goes down, and the moon rises. "herre min gud hvad din månen lyser se, hvilken glands ut ofver land och stad!" is now sung, and we see: "högt opp i slottet hvarenda ruta blixtrar some vore den en ädelsten."[o] [footnote o: lord, my god, how thy moon shines! see what lustre over land and city! high up in the palace every pane glistens as if it were a gem.] up thither then is our way! lead us, memory's sprite, into the palace, the courteous governor of upland's dwelling; mild glances greet us; we see dear beings in a happy circle, and all the leading characters of upsala. we again see him whose cunning quickened our perceptions as to the mysteries of vegetable life, so that even the toad-stool is unveiled to us as a building more artfully constructed than the labyrinths of the olden time. we see "the flowers'" singer, he who led us to "the island of bliss;" we meet with him whose popular lays are borne on melodies into the world; his wife by his side. that quiet, gentle woman with those faithful eyes is the daughter of frithiof's bard; we see noble men and women, ladies of the high nobility, with sounding and significant family names with _silver_ and _lilies_,--_stars_ and _swords_. hark! listen to that lively song. gunnar wennerberg, gluntarra's poet and composer, sings his songs with boronees,[p] and they acquire a dramatic life and reality. [footnote p: gluntarra duets, by gunnar wennerberg.] how spiritual and enjoyable! one becomes happy here, one feels proud of the age one lives in, happy in being distant from the horrible tragedies that history speaks of within these walls. we can hear about them when the song is silent, when those friendly forms disappear, and the festal lights are extinguished: from the pages of history that tale resounds with a clang of horror. it was in those times, which the many still call poetic--the romantic middle ages--that bards sang of its most brilliant periods, and covered with the radiance of their genius the sanguinary gulf of brutality and superstition. terror seizes us in upsala's palace: we stand in the vaulted hall, the wax tapers burn from the walls, and king erik the fourteenth sits with saul's dark despondency, with cain's wild looks. niels sture occupies his thoughts, the recollection of injustice exercised against him lashes his conscience with scourges and scorpions, as deadly terrible as they are revealed to us in the page of history. king erik the fourteenth, whose gloomy distrust often amounted to insanity, thought that the nobility aimed at his life. his favourite, goran persson, found it to his advantage to strengthen him in this belief. he hated most the popularly favoured race of the stures, and of them, the light-haired niels sture in particular; for erik thought that he had read in the stars that a man with light hair should hurl him from the throne; and as the swedish general after the lost battle of svarteaa, laid the blame on niels sture, erik directly believed it, yet dared not to act as he desired, but even gave niels sture royal presents. yet because he was again accused by one single person of having checked the advance of the swedish army at bähüs, erik invited him to his palace at svartsjö, gave him an honourable place at his royal table, and let him depart in apparent good faith for stockholm, where, on his arrival, the heralds were ordered to proclaim in the streets: "niels sture is a traitor to his country!" there goran persson and the german retainers seized him, and sat him by force on the executioner's most miserable hack; struck him in the face so that the blood streamed down, placed a tarred straw crown on his head, and fastened a paper with derisive words, on the saddle before him. they then let a row of hired beggar-boys and old fish-wives go in couples before, and to the tail of the horse they bound two fir-trees, the roots of which dragged on the ground and swept the street after the traitor. niels sture exclaimed that he had not deserved this treatment from his king and he begged the groom, who went by his side, and had served him in the field of battle, to attest the truth like an honest man; when they all shouted aloud, that he suffered innocently, and had acted like a true swede. but the procession was driven forward through the streets without stopping, and at night niels sture was conducted to prison. king erik sits in his royal palace: he orders the torches and candles to be lighted, but they are of no avail--his thoughts' scorpions sting his soul. "i have again liberated niels sture," he mutters; "i have had placards put up at every street-corner, and let the heralds proclaim that no one shall dare to speak otherwise than well of niels sture! i have sent him on an honourable mission to a foreign court, in order to sue for me in marriage! he has had reparation enough made to him; but never will he, nor his mighty race, forget the derision and shame i have made him suffer. they will all betray me--kill me!" and king erik commands that all sture's kindred shall be made prisoners. king erik sits in his royal palace: the sun shines, but not into the king's heart. niels sture enters the chamber with an answer of consent from the royal bride, and the king shakes him by the hand, making fair promises--and the following evening niels sture is a prisoner in upsala palace. king erik's gloomy mind is disturbed; he has no rest; he has no peace, between fear and distrust. he hurries away to upsala palace; he will make all straight and just again by marrying niels sture's sister. kneeling, he begs her imprisoned father's consent, and obtains it; but in the very moment, the spirit of distrust is again upon him, and he cries in his insanity: "but you will not forgive me the shame i brought on niels!" at the same time, goran persson announced that king erik's brother, john, had escaped from his prison, and that a revolt was breaking out. and erik ran, with a sharp dagger into niels sture's prison. "art thou there, traitor to thy country!" he shouted, and thrust the dagger into shire's arm; and sture drew it out again, wiped off the blood, kissed the hilt, and returned the weapon to the king, saying: "be lenient with me, sire; i have not deserved your disfavour." erik laughed aloud. "ho! ho! do but hear the villain! how he can pray for himself!" and the king's halberdier stuck his lance through niels sture's eye, and thus gave him his death. sture's blood cleaves to upsala palace--to king erik always and everlastingly. no church masses can absolve his soul from that base crime. let us now go to the church. a little flight of stairs in the side aisle leads us up to a vaulted chamber, where kings' crowns and sceptres, taken from the coffins of the dead, are deposited in wooden closets. here, in the corner, hangs niels sture's blood-covered clothes and knight's hat, on the outside of which a small silk glove is fastened. it was his betrothed one's dainty glove--that which he, knight-like, always bore. o, barbarous era! highly vaunted as you are in song, retreat, like the storm-cloud, and be poetically beautiful to all who do not see thee in thy true light. we descend from the little chamber, from the gold and silver of the dead, and wander in the church's aisles. the cold marble tombs, with shields of arms and names, awaken other, milder thoughts. the walls shine brightly, and with varied hues, in the great chapel behind the high altar. the fresco paintings present to us the most eventful circumstances of gustavus vasa's life. here his clay moulders, with that of his three consorts. yonder, a work in marble, by sargel, solicits our attention: it adorns the burial-chapel of the de geers; and here, in the centre aisle, under that flat stone, rests linnaeus. in the side chapel, is his monument, erected by _amici_ and _discipuli_: a sufficient sum was quickly raised for its erection, and the king, gustavus the third, himself brought his royal gift. the projector of the subscription then explained to him, that the purposed inscription was, that the monument was erected only by friends and disciples, and king gustavus answered: "and am not i also one of linnaeus's disciples?" the monument was raised, and a hall built in the botanical garden, under splendid trees. there stands his bust; but the remembrance of himself, his home, his own little garden--where is it most vivid? lead us thither. on yonder side of fyri's rivulet, where the street forms a declivity, where red-painted, wooden houses boast their living grass roofs, as fresh as if they were planted terraces, lies linnaeus's garden. we stand within it. how solitary! how overgrown! tall nettles shoot up between the old, untrimmed, rank hedges. no water-plants appear more in that little, dried-up basin; the hedges that were formerly clipped, put forth fresh leaves without being checked by the gardener's shears. it was between these hedges that linnaeus at times saw his own double--that optical illusion which presents the express image of a second self--from the hat to the boots. where a great man has lived and worked, the place itself becomes, as it were, a part and parcel of him: the whole, as well as a part, has mirrored itself in his eye; it has entered into his soul, and become linked with it and the whole world. we enter the orangeries: they are now transformed into assembly-rooms; the blooming winter-garden has disappeared; but the walls yet show a sort of herbarium. they are hung round with the portraits of learned swedes--herbarium from the garden of science and knowledge. unknown faces--and, to the stranger, the greatest part are unknown names--meet us here. one portrait amongst the many attracts our attention: it looks singular; it is the half-length figure of an old man in a shirt, lying in his bed. it is that of the learned theologian, oedmann, who after he had been compelled to keep his bed by a fever, found himself so comfortable in it, that he continued to lie there during the remainder of his long life, and was not to be induced to get up. even when the next house was burning, they were obliged to carry him out in his bed into the street. death and cold were his two bugbears. the cold would kill him, was his opinion; and so, when the students came with their essays and treatises, the manuscripts were warmed at the stove before he read them. the windows of his room were never opened, so that there was a suffocating and impure air in his dwelling. he had a writing-desk on the bed; books and manuscripts lay in confusion round about; dishes, plates, and pots stood here or there, as the convenience of the moment dictated, and his only companion was a deaf and dumb laughter. she sat still in a corner by the window, wrapped up in herself, and staring before her, as if she were a figure that had flown out of the frame around the dark, mouldy canvas, which had once shown a picture on the wall. here, in the room, in this impure atmosphere, the old man lived happily, and reached his seventieth year, occupied with the translation of travels in africa. this tainted atmosphere, in which he lay, became, to his conceit, the dromedary's high back, which lifted him aloft in the burning sun; the long, hanging-down cobwebs were the palm-trees' waving banners, and the caravan went over rivers to the wild bushmen. old oedmann was with the hunters, chasing the elephants in the midst of the thick reeds; the agile tiger-cat sprang past, and the serpents shone like garlands around the boughs of the trees: there was excitement, there was danger--and yet he lay so comfortably in his good and beloved bed in upsala. one winter's day, it happened that a dalecarlian peasant mistook the house, and came into oedmann's chamber in his snow-covered skin cloak, and with his beard full of ice. oedmann shouted to him to go his way, but the peasant was deaf, and therefore stepped quite close up to the bed. he was the personification of winter himself, and oedmann fell ill from this visit: it was his only sickness during the many years he lay here as a polypus, grown fast, and where he was painted, as we see his portrait in the assembly-room. from the hall of learning we will go to its burial-place--that is to say, its open burial-place--the great library. we wander from hall to hall, up stairs and down stairs. along the shelves, behind them and round about, stand books, those petrifactions of the mind, which might again be vivified by spirit. here lives a kind-hearted and mild old man, the librarian, professor schröder. he smiles and nods as he hears how memory's sprite takes his place here as guide, and tells of and shows, as we see, tegner's copy and translation of ochlenschloeger's "hakon jarl and palnatoke." we see vadstene cloister's library, in thick hog's leather bindings, and think of the fair hands of the nuns that have borne them, the pious, mild eyes that conjured the spirit out of the dead letters. here is the celebrated codex argentius, the translation of the "four evangelists."[q] gold and silver letters glisten from the red parchment leaves. we see ancient icelandic manuscripts, from de la gardie's refined french saloon, and thauberg's japanese manuscripts. by merely looking at these books, their bindings and names, one at last becomes, as it were, quite worm-eaten in spirit, and longs to be out in the free air--and we are there; by upsala's ancient hills. thither do thou lead us, remembrance's elf, out of the city, out on the far extended plain, where denmark's church stands--the church that was erected from the booty which the swedes gained in the war against the danes. we follow the broad high road: it leads us close past upsala's old hills--odin's, thor's and freia's graves, as they are called. [footnote q: a gothic translation of the four evangelists, and ascribed to the moesogothic archbishop ulphilas.] there once stood ancient upsala, here now are but a few peasants' farms. the low church, built of granite blocks, dates from a very remote age; it stands on the remains of the heathen temple. each of the hills is a little mountain, yet each was raised by human hands. letters an ell long, and whole names, are cut deep in the thin greensward, which the new sprouting grass gradually fills up. the old housewife, from the peasant's cot close by the hill, brings the silver-bound horn, a gift of charles john xiv., filled with mead. the wanderer empties the horn to the memory of the olden time, for sweden, and for the heart's constant thoughts--young love! yes, thy toast is drunk here, and many a beauteous rose has been remembered here with a heartfelt hurra! and years after, when the same wanderer again stood here, she, the blooming rose, had been laid in the earth; the spring roses had strown their leaves over her coffined clay; the sweet music of her lips sounded but in memory; the smile in her eyes and around her mouth, was gone like the sunbeams, which then shone on upsala's hills. her name in the greensward is grown over; she herself is in the earth, and it is closed above her; but the hill here, closed for a thousand years, is open. through the passage which is dug deep into the hills, we come to the funereal urns which contain the bones of youthful kindred; the dust of kings, the gods of the earth. the old housewife, from the peasant's cot, has lighted half a hundred wax candles and placed them in rows in the otherwise pitchy-dark, stone-paved passage. it shines so festally in here over the bones of the olden time's mighty ones, bones that are now charred and burnt to ashes. and whose were they? thou world's power and glory, thou world's posthumous fame--dust, dust like beauty's rose, laid in the dark earth, where no light shines; thy memorials are but a name, the name but a sound. away hence, and up on the hill where the wind blows, the sun shines, and the eye looks over the green plain, to the sunlit, dear upsala, the student's city. sala. * * * * * sweden's great king, germany's preserver, gustavus adolphus, founded sala. the little wood, close by, still preserves legends of the heroic king's youthful love--of his meeting here with ebba brahe. sala's silver mines are the largest, the deepest, and oldest in sweden: they reach to the depth of one hundred and seventy fathoms, consequently they are almost as deep as the baltic. this of itself is enough to awaken an interest for a little town; but what is its appearance? "sala," says the guide-book, "lies in a valley, in a flat, and not very pleasant district." and so truly it is: it was not very attractive approaching it our way, and the high road led directly into the town, which is without any distinctive character. it consists of a long street with what we may term a nucleus and a few fibres. the nucleus is the market-place, and the fibres are the few lanes diverging from it. the long street--that is to say, long in a little town--is quite without passengers; no one comes out from the doors, no one is to be seen at the windows. it was therefore with pleased surprise that i at length descried a human being: it was at an ironmonger's, where there hung a paper of pins, a handkerchief and two tea-pots in the window. there i saw a solitary shop-boy, standing quite still, but leaning over the counter and looking out of the open door. he certainly wrote in his journal, if he had one, in the evening: "to-day a traveller drove through the town; who he was, god knows, for i don't!"--yes, that was what the shop-boy's face said, and an honest face it was. in the inn at which i arrived, there was the same grave-like stillness as in the street. the gate was certainly closed, but all the inner doors were wide open; the farm-yard cock stood uplifted in the middle of the traveller's room and crowed, in order to show that there was somebody at home. the house, however, was quite picturesque: it had an open balcony, from which one might look out upon the yard, for it would have been far too lively had it been facing the street. there hung the old sign and creaked in the wind, as if to show that it at least was alive. i saw it from my window; i saw also how the grass in the street had got the mastery over the pavement. the sun shone brightly, but shone as into the bachelor's solitary room, and on the old maid's balsams in the flower-pots. it was as still as a scotch sunday--and yet it was a tuesday. one was disposed for young's "night thoughts." i looked out from the balcony into the neighbouring yard: there was not a soul to be seen, but children had been playing there. there was a little garden made of dry sticks: they were stuck down in the soft soil and had been watered; a broken pan, which had certainly served by way of watering-pot, lay there still. the sticks signified roses and geraniums. it had been a delightful garden--alas, yes! we great, grown-up men--we play just so: we make ourselves a garden with what we call love's roses and friendship's geraniums; we water them with our tears and with our heart's blood; and yet they are, and remain, dry sticks without root. it was a gloomy thought; i felt it, and in order to get the dry sticks in my thoughts to blossom, i went out. i wandered in the fibres and in the long threads--that is to say, in the small lanes--and in the great street; and here was more life than i dared to expect. i met a herd of cattle returning or going--which i know not--for they were without a herdsman. the shop-boy still stood behind the counter, leaned over it and greeted me; the stranger took his hat off again--that was my day's employment in sala. pardon me, thou silent town, which gustavus adolphus built, where his young heart felt the first emotions of love, and where the silver lies in the deep shafts--that is to say, outside the town, "in a flat, and not very pleasant district." i knew no one in the town; i had no one to be my guide, so i accompanied the cows, and came to the churchyard. the cows went past, but i stepped over the stile, and stood amongst the graves, where the grass grew high, and almost all the tombstones lay with worn-out inscriptions. on a few only the date of the year was legible. "anno"--yes, what then? and who rested here? everything on the stone was erased--blotted out like the earthly life of those mortals that here were earth in earth. what life's dream have ye dead played here in silent sala? the setting sun shone over the graves; not a leaf moved on the trees; all was still--still as death--in the city of the silver-mines, of which this traveller's reminiscence is but a frame around the shop-boy who leaned over the counter. the mute book. * * * * * by the high road into the forest there stood a solitary farm-house. our way lay right through the farm-yard; the sun shone; all the windows were open; there was life and bustle within, but in the yard, in an arbour of flowering lilacs, there stood an open coffin. the corpse had been placed out here, and it was to be buried that forenoon. no one stood by and wept over that dead man; no one hung sorrowfully over him; his face was covered with a white cloth, and under his head there lay a large, thick book, every leaf of which was a whole sheet of grey paper, and between each lay withered flowers, deposited and forgotten--a whole herbarium, gathered in different places. he himself had requested that it should be laid in the grave with him. a chapter of his life was blended with every flower. "who is that dead man?" we asked, and the answer was: "the old student from upsala. they say he was once very clever; he knew the learned languages, could sing and write verses too; but then there was something that went wrong, and so he gave both his thoughts and himself up to drinking spirits, and as his health suffered by it, he came out here into the country, where they paid for his board and lodging. "he was as gentle as a child, when the dark humour did not come over him, for then he was strong, and ran about in the forest like a hunted deer; but when we got him home, we persuaded him to look into the book with the dry plants. then he would sit the whole day and look at one plant, and then at another, and many a time the tears ran down his cheeks. god knows what he then thought! but he begged that he might have the book with him in his coffin; and now it lies there, and the lid will soon be fastened down, and then he will take his peaceful rest in the grave!" they raised the winding-sheet. there was peace in the face of the dead: a sunbeam fell on it; a swallow in its arrowy flight, darted into the new-made arbour, and in its flight circled twittering over the dead man's head. how strange it is!--we all assuredly know it--to take out old letters from the days of our youth and read them: a whole life, as it were, then rises up with all its hopes, and all its troubles. how many of those with whom we, in their time, lived so devotedly, are now even as the dead to us, and yet they still live! but we have not thought of them for many years--them whom we once thought we should always cling to, and share our mutual joys and sorrows with. the withered oak-leaf in the book here, is a memorial of the friend--the friend of his school-days--the friend for life. he fixed this leaf on the student's cap in the green wood, when the vow of friendship was concluded for the whole of life. where does he now live? the leaf is preserved; friendship forgotten. here is a foreign conservatory-plant, too fine for the gardens of the north--it looks as if there still were fragrance in these leaves!--_she_ gave it to him--she, the young lady of that noble garden. here is the marsh-lotus which he himself has plucked and watered with salt tears--the marsh-lotus from the fresh waters. and here is a nettle: what does its leaf say? what did he think on plucking it--on preserving it? here are lilies of the valley from the woodland solitudes; here are honeysuckle leaves from the village ale-house flower-pot; and here the bare, sharp blade of grass. the flowering lilac bends its fresh, fragrant clusters over the dead man's head; the swallow again flies past; "quivit! quivit!" now the men come with nails and hammer; the lid is placed over the corpse, whose head rests on the mute-book--preserved--forgotten! the zÄther dale. * * * * * everything was in order, the carriage examined, even a whip with a good lash was not forgotten. "two whips would be best," said the ironmonger, who sold it, and the ironmonger was a man of experience, which travellers often are not. a whole bag full of "slanter"--that is, copper coins of small value--stood before us for bridge-money, for beggars, for shepherd's boys, or whoever might open the many field-gates for us that obstructed our progress. but we had to do this ourselves, for the rain pattered down and lashed the ground; no one had any desire to come out in such weather. the rushes in the marsh bent and waved; it was a real rain feast for them, and it whistled from the tops of the rushes: "we drink with our feet, we drink with our heads, we drink with the whole body, and yet we stand on one leg, hurra! we drink with the bending willow, with the dripping flowers on the bank; their cups run over--the marsh marigold, that fine lady, can bear it better! hurra! it is a feast! it pours, it pours; we whistle and we sing; it is our own song. tomorrow the frogs will croak the same after us and say, 'it is quite new!'" and the rushes waved, and the rain pattered down with a splashing noise--it was fine weather to travel in to zäther dale, and to see its far-famed beauties. the whip-lash now came off the whip; it was fastened on again, and again, and every time it was shorter, so that at last there was not a lash, nor was there any handle, for the handle went after the lash--or sailed after it--as the road was quite navigable, and gave one a vivid idea of the beginning of the deluge. one poor jade now drew too much, the other drew too little, and one of the splinter bars broke; well, by all that is vexatious, that was a fine drive! the leather apron in front had a deep pond in its folds with an outlet into one's lap. now one of the linch-pins came out; now the twisting of the rope harness became loose, and the cross-strap was tired of holding any longer. glorious inn in zäther, how i now long more for thee than thy far-famed dale. and the horses went slower, and the rain fell faster, and so--yes, so we were not yet in zäther. patience, thou lank spider, that in the ante-chamber quietly dost spin thy web over the expectant's foot, spin my eyelids close in a sleep as still as the horse's pace! patience? no, she was not with us in the carriage to zäther. but to the inn, by the road side, close to the far-famed valley, i got at length, towards evening. and everything was flowing in the yard, chaotically mingled; manure and farming implements, staves and straw. the poultry sat there washed to shadows, or at least like stuck-up hens' skins with feathers on, and even the ducks crept close up to the wet wall, sated with the wet. the stable-man was cross, the girl still more so; it was difficult to get them to bestir themselves: the steps were crooked, the floor sloping and but just washed, sand strewn thickly on it, and the air was damp and cold. but without, scarcely twenty paces from the inn, on the other side of the road, lay the celebrated valley, a garden made by nature herself, and whose charm consists of trees and bushes, wells and purling brooks. it was a long hollow; i saw the tops of the trees looming up, and the rain drew its thick veil over it. the whole of that long evening did i sit and look upon it during that shower of showers. it was as if the venern, the vettern and a few more lakes ran through an immense sieve from the clouds. i had ordered something to eat and drink, but i got nothing. they ran up and they ran down; there was a hissing sound of roasting by the hearth; the girls chattered, the men drank "sup,"[r] strangers came, were shown into their rooms, and got both roast and boiled. several hours had passed, when i made a forcible appeal to the girl, and she answered phlegmatically: "why, sir, you sit there and write without stopping, so you cannot have time to eat." [footnote r: swedish, _sup_. danish, _snaps_. german, _schnaps_. english, _drams_.] it was a long evening, "but the evening passed!" it had become quite still in the inn; all the travellers, except myself, had again departed, certainly in order to find better quarters for the night at hedemore or brunbeck. i had seen, through the half-open door into the dirty tap-room, a couple of fellows playing with greasy cards; a huge dog lay under the table and glared with its large red eyes; the kitchen was deserted; the rooms too; the floor was wet, the storm rattled, the rain beat against the windows--"and now to bed! said i." i slept an hour, perhaps two, and was awakened by a loud bawling from the high road. i started up: it was twilight, the night at that period is not darker--it was about one o'clock. i heard the door shaken roughly; a deep manly voice shouted aloud, and there was a hammering with a cudgel against the planks of the yard-gate. was it an intoxicated or a mad man that was to be let in? the gate was now opened, but many words were not exchanged. i heard a woman scream at the top of her voice from terror. there was now a great bustling about; they ran across the yard in wooden shoes; the bellowing of cattle and the rough voices of men were mingled together. i sat on the edge of the bed. out or in! what was to be done? i looked from the window; in the road there was nothing to be seen, and it still rained. all at once some one came up stairs with heavy footsteps: he opened the door of the room adjoining mine--now he stood still! i listened--a large iron bolt fastened my door. the stranger now walked across the floor, now he shook my door, and then kicked against it with a heavy foot, and whilst all this was passing, the rain beat against the windows, and the blast made them rattle. "are there any travellers here?" shouted a voice; "the house is on fire!" i now dressed myself and hastened out of the room and down the stairs. there was no smoke to be seen, but when i reached the yard, i saw that the whole building--a long and extensive one of wood--was enveloped in flames and clouds of smoke. the fire had originated in the baking oven, which no one had looked to; a traveller, who accidently came past, saw it, called out and hammered at the door: and the women screamed, and the cattle bellowed, when the fire stuck its red tongue into them. now came the fire-engine and the flames were extinguished. by this time it was morning. i stood in the road, scarcely a hundred steps from the far-famed dale. "one may as well spring into it as walk into it!" and i sprang into it; and the rain poured down, and the water flowed--the whole dale was a well. the trees turned their leaves the wrong side out, purely because of the pouring rain, and they said, as the rushes did the day before: "we drink with our heads, we drink with our feet, and we drink with the whole body, and yet stand on our legs, hurra! it rains, and it pours; we whistle and we sing; it is our own song--and it is quite new!" yes, that the rushes also sang yesterday--but it was the same, ever the same. i looked and looked, and all i know of the beauty of zäther dale is, that she had washed herself! the midsummer festival in lacksand. * * * * * lacksand lay on the other side of the dal-elv which the road now led us over for the third or fourth time. the picturesque bell-tower of red painted beams, erected at a distance from the church, rose above the tall trees on the clayey declivity: old willows hung gracefully over the rapid stream. the floating bridge rocked under us--nay, it even sank a little, so that the water splashed under the horse's hoofs; but these bridges have such qualities! the iron chains that held it rattled, the planks creaked, the boards splashed, the water rose, and murmured and roared, and so we got over where the road slants upwards towards the town. close opposite here the last year's may-pole still stood with withered flowers. how many hands that bound these flowers are now withered in the grave? it is far prettier to go up on the sloping bank along the elv, than to follow the straight high-road into the town. the path conducts us, between pasture fields and leaf trees, up to the parsonage, where we passed the evening with the friendly family. the clergyman himself was but lately dead, and his relatives were all in mourning. there was something about the young daughter--i knew not myself what it was--but i was led to think of the delicate flax flower, too delicate for the short northern summer. they spoke about the midsummer festival the next day, and of the winter season here, when the swans, often more than thirty at a time, sit (motionless themselves) on the elv, and utter strange, mournful tones. they always come in pairs, they said, two and two, and thus they also fly away again. if one of them dies, its partner always remains a long time after all the others are gone; lingers, laments, and then flies away alone and solitary. when i left the parsonage in the evening, the moon, in its first quarter, was up. the may-pole was raised; the little steamer, 'prince augustus,' with several small vessels in tow, came over the siljan lake and into the elv; a musician sprang on shore, and began to play dances under the tall wreathed may-pole. and there was soon a merry circle around it--all so happy, as if the whole of life were but a delightful summer night. next morning was the midsummer festival. it was sunday, the th of june, and a beautiful sunshiny day it was. the most picturesque sight at the festival is to see the people from the different parishes coming in crowds, in large boats over siljan's lake, and landing on its shores. we drove out to the landing-place, barkedale, and before we got out of the town, we met whole troops coming from there, as well as from the mountains. close by the town of lacksand, there is a row of low wooden shops on both sides of the way, which only get their interior light through the doorway. they form a whole street, and serve as stables for the parishioners, but also--and it was particularly the case that morning--to go into and arrange their finery. almost all the shops or sheds were filled with peasant women, who were anxiously busy about their dresses, careful to get them into the right folds, and in the mean time peeped continually out of the door to see who came past. the number of arriving church-goers increased; men, women, and children, old and young, even infants; for at the midsummer festival no one stays at home to take care of them, and so of course they must come too--all must go to church. what a dazzling army of colours! fiery red and grass green aprons meet our gaze. the dress of the women is a black skirt, red bodice, and white sleeves: all of them had a psalm-book wrapped in the folded silk pocket-handkerchief. the little girls were entirely in yellow, and with red aprons; the very least were in turkish-yellow clothes. the men were dressed in black coats, like our paletôts, embroidered with red woollen cord; a red band with a tassel hung down from the large black hat; with dark knee breeches, and blue stockings, with red leather gaiters--in short, there was a dazzling richness of colour, and that, too, on a bright sunny morning in the forest road. this road led down a steep to the lake, which was smooth and blue. twelve or fourteen long boats, in form like gondolas, were already drawn up on the flat strand, which here is covered with large stones. these stones served the persons who landed, as bridges; the boats were laid alongside them, and the people clambered up, and went and bore each other on land. there certainly were at least a thousand persons on the strand; and far out on the lake, one could see ten or twelve boats more coming, some with sixteen oars, others with twenty, nay, even with four-and-twenty, rowed by men and women, and every boat decked out with green branches. these, and the varied clothes, gave to the whole an appearance of something so festal, so fantastically rich, as one would hardly think the north possessed. the boats came nearer, all crammed full of living freight; but they came silently, without noise or talking, and rowed up to the declivity of the forest. the boats were drawn up on the sand: it was a fine subject for a painter, particularly one point--the way up the slope, where the whole mass moved on between the trees and bushes. the most prominent figures there, were two ragged urchins, clothed entirely in bright yellow, each with a skin bundle on his shoulders. they were from gagne, the poorest parish in dalecarlia. there was also a lame man with his blind wife: i thought of the fable of my childhood, of the lame and the blind man: the lame man lent his eyes, and the blind his legs, and so they reached the town. and we also reached the town and the church, and thither they all thronged: they said there were above five thousand persons assembled there. the church-service began at five o'clock. the pulpit and organ were ornamented with flowering lilacs; children sat with lilac-flowers and branches of birch; the little ones had each a piece of oat-cake, which they enjoyed. there was the sacrament for the young persons who had been confirmed; there was organ-playing and psalm-singing; but there was a terrible screaming of children, and the sound of heavy footsteps; the clumsy, iron-shod dal shoes tramped loudly upon the stone floor. all the church pews, the gallery pews, and the centre aisle were quite filled with people. in the side aisle one saw various groups--playing children, and pious old folks: by the sacristy there sat a young mother giving suck to her child--she was a living image of the madonna herself. the first impression of the whole was striking, but only the first--there was too much that disturbed. the screaming of children, and the noise of persons walking were heard above the singing, and besides that, there was an insupportable smell of garlic: almost all the congregation had small bunches of garlic with them, of which they ate as they sat. i could not bear it, and went out into the churchyard: here--as it always is in nature--it was affecting, it was holy. the church door stood open; the tones of the organ, and the voices of the psalm-singers were wafted out here in the bright sunlight, by the open lake: the many who could not find a place in the church, stood outside, and sang with the congregation from the psalm-book: round about on the monuments, which are almost all of cast-iron, there sat mothers suckling their infants--the fountain of life flowed over death and the grave. a young peasant stood and read the inscription on a grave: "ach hur södt al hafve lefvet, ach hur skjöut al kunne döe!"[s] [footnote s: "how sweet to live--how beautiful to die!"] beautiful christian, scriptural language, verses certainly taken from the psalm-book, were read on the graves; they were all read, for the service lasted several hours. this, however, can never be good for devotion. the crowd at length streamed from the church; the fiery-red and grass-green aprons glittered; but the mass of human beings became thicker, and closer, and pressed forward. the white head-dresses, the white band over the forehead, and the white sleeves, were the prevailing colours--it looked like a long procession in catholic countries. there was again life and motion on the road; the over-filled boats again rowed away; one waggon drove off after the other; but yet there were people left behind. married and unmarried men stood in groups in the broad street of lacksand, from the church up to the inn. i was staying there, and i must acknowledge that my danish tongue sounded quite foreign to them all. i then tried the swedish, and the girl at the inn assured me that she understood me better than she had understood the frenchman, who the year before had spoken french to her. as i sit in my room, my hostess's grand-daughter, a nice little child, comes in, and is pleased to see my parti-coloured carpet-bag, my scotch plaid, and the red leather lining of the portmanteau. i directly cut out for her, from a sheet of white paper, a turkish mosque, with minarets and open windows, and away she runs with it--so happy, so happy! shortly after, i heard much loud talking in the yard, and i had a presentiment that it was concerning what i had cut out; i therefore stepped softly out into the balcony, and saw the grandmother standing below, and with beaming face, holding my clipped-out paper at arm's length. a whole crowd of dalecarlians, men and women, stood around, all in artistic ecstacy over my work; but the little girl--the sweet little child--screamed, and stretched out her hands after her lawful property, which she was not permitted to keep, as it was too fine. i sneaked in again, yet, of course, highly flattered and cheered; but a moment after there was a knocking at my door: it was the grandmother, my hostess, who came with a whole plate full of spice-nuts. "i bake the best in all dalecarlia," said she; "but they are of the old fashion, from my grandmother's time. you cut out so well, sir, should you not be able to cut me out some new fashions?" and i sat the whole of midsummer night, and clipped fashions for spice-nuts. nutcrackers with knights' boots, windmills which were both mill and miller--but in slippers, and with the door in the stomach--and ballet-dancers that pointed with one leg towards the seven stars. grandmother got them, but she turned the ballet-dancers up and down; the legs went too high for her; she thought that they had one leg and three arms. "they will be new fashions," said she; "but they are difficult." faith and knowledge. * * * * * truth can never be at variance with truth, science can never militate against faith: we naturally speak of them both in their purity: they respond to and they strengthen man's most glorious thought: _immortality_. and yet you may say, "i was more peaceful, i was safer when, as a child, i closed my eyes on my mother's breast and slept without thought or care, wrapping myself up simply in faith." this prescience, this compound of understanding in everything, this entering of the one link into the other from eternity to eternity, tears away from me a support--my confidence in prayer; that which is, as it were, the wings wherewith to fly to my god! if it be loosened, then i fall powerless in the dust, without consolation or hope. i bend my energies, it is true, towards attaining the great and glorious light of knowledge, but it appears to me that therein is human arrogance: it is, as one should say, "i will be as wise as god." "that you shall be!" said the serpent to our first parents when it would seduce them to eat of the tree of knowledge. through my understanding i must acknowledge the truth of what the astronomer teaches and proves. i see the wonderful, eternal omniscience of god in the whole creation of the world--in the great and in the small, where the one attaches itself to the other, is joined with the other, in an endless harmonious entireness; and i tremble in my greatest need and sorrow. what can my prayer change, where everything is law, from eternity to eternity? you tremble as you see the almighty, who reveals himself in all loving-kindness--that creator, according to man's expression, whose understanding and heart are one--you tremble when you know that he has elected you to immortality. i know it in the faith, in the holy, eternal words of the bible. knowledge lays itself like a stone over my grave, but my faith is that which breaks it. now, thus it is! the smallest flower preaches from its green stalk, in the name of knowledge--_immortality_. hear it! the beautiful also bears proofs of immortality, and with the conviction of faith and knowledge, the immortal will not tremble in his greatest need; the wings of prayer will not droop: you will believe in the eternal laws of love, as you believe in the laws of sense. when the child gathers flowers in the fields and brings us the whole handful, where one is erect and the other hangs the head, thrown as it were among one another, then it is that we see the beauty in every one by itself--that harmony in colour and in form, which pleases our eye so well. we arrange them instinctively, and every single beauty is blended together in one entire beauteous group. we do not look at the flower, but on the whole bouquet. the beauty of harmony is an instinct in us; it lies in our eyes and in our ears, those bridges between our soul and the creation around us--in all our senses there is such a divine, such an entire and perfect stream in our whole being, a striving after the harmonious, as it shows itself in all created things, even in the pulsations of the air, made visible in chladni's figures. in the bible we find the expression: "god in spirit and in truth,"--and hence we most significantly find an expression for the admission of what we call a feeling of the beautiful; for what else is this revelation of god but spirit and truth? and just as our own soul shines out of the eye and the fine movement around the mouth, so does the created image shine forth from god in spirit and truth. there is harmonious beauty from the smallest leaf and flower to the large, swelling bouquet, from our earth itself to the numberless globes in the firmamental space--as far as the eye sees, as far as science ventures, all, small and great, is beauty and harmony. but if we turn to mankind, for whom we have the highest, the holiest expression; "created in god's image," man, who is able to comprehend and admit in himself all god's creation, the harmony in the harmony then seems to be defective, for at our birth we are all equal! as creatures we have equally "no right to demand;" yet how differently god has granted us abilities! some few so immensely great, others so mean! at our birth god places us in our homes and positions; and to how many of us are allotted the hardest struggles! we are placed _there_, introduced _there_--how many may not say justly: "it were better for me that i had never been born!" human life, consequently--the highest here on the earth--does not come under the laws of harmonious beauty: it is inconceivable, it is an injustice, and thus cannot take place. the defect of harmony in life lies in this:--that we only see a small part thereof, namely, existence here on the earth: there must be a life to come--an immortality. that, the smallest flower preaches to us, as does all that is created in beauty and harmony. if our existence ceased with death here, then the most perfect work of god was not perfect; god was not justice and love, as everything in nature and revelation affirms; and if we be referred to the whole of mankind, as that wherein harmony will reveal itself, then our whole actions and endeavours are but as the labours of the coral-insect: mankind becomes but a monument of greatness to the creator: he would then only have raised his _glory_, not shown his greatest _love_. loving-kindness is not self-love. we are immortal! in this rich consciousness we are raised towards god, fundamentally sure, that whatever happens to us, is for our good. our earthly eye is only able to reach to a certain boundary in space; our soul's eye also has but a limited scope; but beyond _that,_ the same laws of loving-kindness must reign, as here. the prescience of eternal omniscience cannot alarm us; we human beings can apprehend the notion thereof in ourselves. we know perfectly what development must take place in the different seasons of the year; the time for flowers and for fruits; what kinds will come forth and thrive; the time of maturity, when the storms must prevail, and when it is the rainy season. thus must god, in an infinitely greater degree, have the same knowledge of the whole created globes of his universe, as of our earth and the human race here. he must know when that development, that flowering in the human race ordained by himself, shall come to pass; when the powers of intellect, of full development, are to reign; and under these characters, come to a maturity of development, men will become mighty, driving wheels--every one be the eternal god's likeness indeed. history shows us these things: joint enters into joint, in the world of spirits, as well as in the materially created world; the eye of wisdom--the all-seeing eye--encompasses the whole! and should we then not be able, in our heart's distress, to pray to this father with confidence--to pray as the saviour prayed: "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as i will, but as thou wilt." these last words we do not forget! and our prayer will be granted, if it be for our good; or if it be not, then let us, as the child here, that in its trouble comes to its earthly father, and does not get its wish fulfilled, but is refreshed by mild words, and the affectionate language of reason, so that the eye weeps, which thereby mitigates sorrow, and the child's pain is soothed. this, will prayer also grant us: the eye will be filled with tears, but the heart will be full of consolation! and who has penetrated so deeply into the ways of the soul, that he dare deny that prayer is the wings that bear thee to that sphere of inspiration whence god will extend to thee the olive-branch of help and grace? by walking with open eyes in the path of knowledge, we see the glory of the annunciation. the wisdom of generations is but a span on the high pillar of revelation, above which sits the almighty; but this short span will grow through eternity, in faith and with faith. knowledge is like a chemical test that pronounces the gold pure! in the forest * * * * * we are a long way over the elv. we have left the corn-fields behind, and have just come into the forest, where we halt at that small inn, which is ornamented over the doors and windows with green branches for the midsummer festival. the whole kitchen is hung round with branches of birch and the berries of the mountain-ash: the oat-cakes hang on long poles under the ceiling; the berries are suspended above the head of the old woman who is just scouring her brass kettle bright. the tap-room, where the peasant sits and carouse, is just as finely hung round with green. midsummer raises its leafy arbour everywhere, yet it is most flush in the forest--it extends for miles around. our road goes for miles through that forest, without seeing a house, or the possibility of meeting travellers, driving, riding or walking. come! the ostler puts fresh horses to the carriage; come with us into the large woody desert: we have a regular trodden way to travel, the air is clear, here is summer's warmth and the fragrance of birch and lime. it is an up and down hill road, always bending, and so, ever changing, but yet always forest scenery--the close, thick forest. we pass small lakes, which lie so still and deep, as if they concealed night and sleep under their dark, glassy surfaces. we are now on a forest plain, where only charred stumps of trees are to be seen: this long tract is black, burnt, and deserted--not a bird flies over it. tall, hanging birches now greet us again; a squirrel springs playfully across the road, and up into the tree; we cast our eye searchingly over the wood-grown mountain-side, which slopes so far, far forward; but not a trace of a house is to be seen: nowhere does that blueish smoke-cloud rise, that shows us, here are fellow-men. the sun shines warm; the flies dance around the horses, settle on them, fly off again, and dance, as though it were to qualify themselves for resting and being still. they perhaps think: "nothing is going on without us: there is no life while we are doing nothing." they think, as many persons think, and do not remember that time's horses always fly onward with us! how solitary it is here!--so delightfully solitary! one is so entirely alone with god and one's self. as the sunlight streams forth over the earth, and over the extensive solitary forests, so does god's spirit stream over and into mankind; ideas and thoughts unfold themselves--endless, inexhaustible, as he is--as the magnet which apportions its powers to the steel, and itself loses nothing thereby. as our journey through the forest-scenery here along the extended solitary road, so, travelling on the great high-road of thought, ideas pass through our head. strange, rich caravans pass by from the works of poets, from the home of memory, strange and novel--for capricious fancy gives birth to them at the moment. there comes a procession of pious children with waving flags and joyous songs; there come dancing moenades, the blood's wild bacchantes. the sun pours down hot in the open forest: it is as if the southern summer had laid itself up here to rest in scandinavian forest-solitude, and sought itself out a glade where it might lie in the sun's hot beams and sleep: hence this stillness, as if it were night. not a bird is heard to twitter, not a pine-tree moves: of what does the southern summer dream here in the north, amongst pines and fragrant birches? in the writings of the olden time, from the classic soil of the south, are _sagas_ of mighty fairies who, in the skins of swans, flew towards the north, to the hyperborean's land, to the east of the north wind; up there, in the deep, still lakes, they bathed themselves, and acquired a renewed form. we are in the forest by these deep lakes; we see swans in flocks fly over us, and swim upon the rapid elv and on the still waters. the forests, we perceive, continue to extend further towards the west and the north, and are more dense as we proceed: the carriage-roads cease, and one can only pursue one's way along the outskirts by the solitary path, and on horseback. the saga, from the time of the plague (a.d., ), here impresses itself on the mind, when the pestilence passed through the land, and transformed cultivated fields and towns--nay, whole parishes, into barren fields and wild forests. deserted and forgotten, overgrown with moss, grass, and bushes, churches stood for years far in the forest; no one knew of their existence, until, in a later century, a huntsman lost himself here: his arrow rebounded from the green wall, the moss of which he loosened, and the church was found. the wood-cutter felled the trees for fuel; his axe struck against the overgrown wall, and it gave way to the blow; the fir-planks fell, and the church, from the time of the pestilence, was discovered; the sun again shone bright through the openings of the doors and windows, on the brass candelabra and the altar, where the communion-cup still stood. the cuckoo came, sat there, and sang: "many, many years shalt thou live!" woodland solitude! what images dost thou not present to our thoughts! woodland solitude! through thy vaulted halls people now pass in the summer-time with cattle and domestic utensils; children and old men go to the solitary pasture where echo dwells, where the national song springs forth with the wild mountain flower! dost thou see the procession?--paint it if thou canst! the broad wooden cart laden high with chests and barrels, with jars and with crockery. the bright copper kettle and the tin dish shine in the sun. the old grandmother sits at the top of the load and holds her spinning-wheel, which completes the pyramid. the father drives the horse, the mother carries the youngest child on her back, sewed up in a skin, and the procession moves on step by step. the cattle are driven by the half-grown children: they have stuck a birch branch between one of the cows' horns, but she does not appear to be proud of her finery, she goes the same quiet pace as the others and lashes the saucy flies with her tail. if the night becomes cold on this solitary pasture, there is fuel enough here--the tree falls of itself from old age and lies and rots. but take especial care of the fire fear the fire-spirit in the forest desert! he comes from the unextinguishable pile--he comes from the thunder-cloud, riding on the blue lightning's flame, which kindles the thick, dry moss of the earth: trees and bushes are kindled, the flames run from tree to tree--it is like a snow-storm of fire! the flame leaps to the tops of the trees--what a crackling and roaring, as if it were the ocean in its course! the birds fly upward in flocks, and fall down suffocated by the smoke; the animals flee, or, encircled by the fire, are consumed in it! hear their cries and roars of agony! the howling of the wolf and the bear, dos't thou know it? a calm, rainy-day, and the forest-plains themselves, alone are able to confine the fiery sea, and the burnt forest stands charred, with black trunks and black stumps of trees, as we saw them here in the forest by the broad high-road. on this road we continue to travel, but it becomes worse and worse; it is, properly speaking, no road at all, but it is about to become one. large stones lie half dug up, and we drive past them; large trees are cast down, and obstruct our way, and therefore we must descend from the carriage. the horses are taken out, and the peasants help to lift and push the carriage forward over ditches and opened paths. the sun now ceases to shine; some few rain-drops fall, and now it is a steady rain. but how it causes the birch to shed its fragrance! at a distance there are huts erected, of loose trunks of trees and fresh green boughs, and in each there is a large fire burning. see where the blue smoke curls through the green leafy roof; peasants are within at work, hammering and forging; here they have their meals. they are now laying a mine in order to blast a rock, and the rain falls faster and faster, and the pine and birch emit a finer fragrance. it is delightful in the forest. fahlun. * * * * * we made our way at length out of the forest, and saw a town before us enveloped in thick smoke, having a similar appearance to most of the english manufacturing towns, save that the smoke was greenish--it was the town fahlun. the road now went downwards between large banks, formed by the dross deposited here from the smelting furnaces, and which looks like burnt-out hardened lava. no sprout or shrub was to be seen, not a blade of grass peeped forth by the way-side, not a bird flew past, but a strong sulphurous smell, as from among the craters in solfatara, filled the air. the copper roof of the church shone with corrosive green. long straight streets now appeared in view. it was as deathly still here as if sickness and disease had lain within these dark wooden houses, and frightened the inhabitants from coming abroad; yet sickness and disease come but to few here, for when the plague raged in sweden, the rich and powerful of the land hastened to fahlun, whose sulphureous air was the most healthy. an ochre-yellow water runs through the brook, between the houses; the smoke from the mines and smelting furnaces has imparted its tinge to them; it has even penetrated into the church, whose slender pillars are dark from the fumes of the copper. there chanced to come on a thunder-storm when we arrived, but its roaring and the lightning's flashes harmonized well with this town, which appears as if it were built on the edge of a crater. we went to see the copper mine which gives the whole district the name of "stora kopparberget," (the great copper mountain). according to the legend, its riches were discovered by two goats which were fighting--they struck the ground with their horns and some copper ore adhered to them. from the solitary red-ochre street we wandered over the great heaps of burnt-out dross and fragments of stone, accumulated to whole ramparts and hills. the fire shone from the smelting furnaces with green, yellow and red tongues of flame under a blue-green smoke; half-naked, black-smeared fellows threw out large glowing masses of fire, so that the sparks flew around and about:--one was reminded of schiller's "fridolin." the thick sulphureous smoke poured forth from the heaps of cleansed ore, under which the fire was in full activity, and the wind drove it across the road which we must pass. in smoke, and impregnated with smoke, stood building after building: three buildings had been strangely thrown, as it were, by one another: earth and stone-heaps, as if they were unfinished works of defence, extended around. scaffolding, and long wooden bridges, had been erected there; large wheels turned round; long and heavy iron chains were in continual motion. we stood before an immense gulf, called "stora stöten," (the great mine). it had formerly three entrances, but they fell in and now there is but one. this immense sunken gulf now appears like a vast valley: the many openings below, to the shafts of the mine, look, from above, like the sand-martin's dark nest-holes in the declivities of the shore: there were a few wooden huts down there. some strangers in miners' dresses, with their guide, each carrying a lighted fir-torch, appeared at the bottom, and disappeared again in one of the dark holes. from within the dark wooden houses, in which great water-wheels turned, issued some of the workmen. they came from the dizzying gulf--from narrow, deep wells: they stood in their wooden shoes two and two, on the edge of the tun which, attached to heavy chains, is hoisted up, singing and swinging the tun on all sides: they came up merry enough. habit makes one daring. they told us that, during the passage upwards, it often happened that one or another, from pure wantonness, stepped quite out of the tun, and sat himself between the loose stones on the projecting piece of rock, whilst they fired and blasted the rock below so that it shook again, and the stones about him thundered down. should one expostulate with him on his fool-hardiness, he would answer with the usual witticism here: "i have never before killed myself." one descends into some of the shafts by a sort of machinery, which looks as if they had placed two iron ladders against each other, each having a rocking movement, so that by treading on the ascending-step on the one side and then on the other, which goes upwards, one gradually ascends, and by going on the downward sinking-step one gets by degrees to the bottom. they said it was very easy, only one must step boldly, so that the foot should not come between and get crushed; and then one must remember that there is no railing or balustrade here, and directly outside these stairs there is the deep abyss into which one may fall headlong. the deepest shaft has a perpendicular depth of more than a hundred and ninety fathoms, but for this there is no danger, they say, only one must not be dizzy, nor get alarmed. one of the workmen, who had come up, descended with a lighted pine-branch as a torch: the flame illumined the dark rocky wall, and by degrees became only a faint streak of light which soon vanished. we were told that a few days before, five or six schoolboys had unobserved stolen in here, and amused themselves by going from step to step on these machine-like rocking stairs, in pitchy darkness, but at last they knew not rightly which way to go, up or down, and had then begun to shout and scream lustily. they escaped luckily that bout. by one of the large openings, called "fat mads," there are rich copper mines, but which have not yet been worked. a building stands above it: it was at the bottom of this that they found, in the year , the corpse of a young miner. it appeared as if he had fallen down that very day, so unchanged did the body seem--but no one knew him. an old woman then stepped forward and burst into tears: the deceased was her bridegroom, who had disappeared forty nine years ago. she stood there old and wrinkled; he was young as when they had met for the last time nearly half a century before.[t] [footnote t: in another mine they found, in the year , a corpse perfectly fresh, and almost with the appearance of one asleep; but his clothes, and the ancient copper coins found on him, bore witness that it was two hundred years since he had perished there.] we went to "the plant house," as it is called, where the vitriolated liquid is crystallized to sulphate of copper. it grew up long sticks placed upright in the boiling water, resembling long pieces of grass-green sugar. the steam was pungent, and the air in here penetrated our tongues--it was just as if one had a corroded spoon in one's mouth. it was really a luxury to come out again, even into the rarefied copper smoke, under the open sky. steaming, burnt-out, and herbless as the district is on this side of the town, it is just as refreshing, green, and fertile on the opposite side of fahlun. tall leafy trees grow close to the farthest houses. one is directly in the fresh pine and birch forests, thence to the lake and to the distant blueish mountain sides near zäther. the people here can tell you and show you memorials of engelbrekt and his dalecarlians' deeds, and of gustavus vasa's adventurous wanderings. but we will remain here in this smoke-enveloped town, with the silent street's dark houses. it was almost midnight when we went out and came to the market-place. there was a wedding in one of the houses, and a great crowd of persons stood outside, the women nearest the house, the men a little further back. according to an old swedish custom, they called for the bride and bridegroom to come forward, and they did so--they durst not do otherwise. peasant girls, with candles in their hands, stood on each side; it was a perfect tableau: the bride with downcast eyes, the bridegroom smiling, and the young bridesmaids each with a laughing face. and the people shouted: "now turn yourselves a little! now the back! now the face! the bridegroom quite round, the bride a little nearer!" and the bridal pair turned and turned--nor was criticism wanting. in this instance, however, it was to their praise and honour, but that is not always the case. it may be a painful and terrible hour for a newly-wedded pair: if they do not please the public, or if they have something to say against the match, or the persons themselves, they are then soon made to know what is thought of them. there is perhaps also heard some rude jest or another, accompanied by the laughter of the crowd. we were told, that even in stockholm the same custom was observed among the lower classes until a few years ago, so that a bridal pair, who, in order to avoid this exposure, wanted to drive off, were stopped by the crowd, the carriage-door was opened on each side, and the whole public marched through the carriage. they would see the bride and bridegroom--that was their right. here, in fahlun, the exhibition was friendly; the bridal pair smiled, the bridesmaids also, and the assembled crowd laughed and shouted, hurra! in the rest of the market-place and the streets around, there was dead silence and solitude. the roseate hue of eve still shone: it passed, changed into that of morn--it was the midsummer time. what the straws said. * * * * * on the lake there glided a boat, and the party within it sang swedish and danish songs; but by the shore, under that tall, hanging birch, sat four young girls--so pretty--so sylph-like! and they each plucked up from the grass four long straws, and bound these straws two and two together, at the top and the bottom. "we shall now see if they will come together in a square," said the girls: "if it be so, then that which i think of will be fulfilled," and they bound them, and they thought. no one got to know the secret thought, the heart's silent wish of the others. but yet a little bird sings about it. the thoughts of one flew over sea and land, over the high mountains, where the mule finds its way in the mists, down to mignon's beautiful land, where the old gods live in marble and painting. "thither, thither! shall i ever get there?" that was the wish, that was the thought, and she opened her hand, looked at the bound straws, and they appeared only two and two bound together. and where were the second one's thoughts? also in foreign lands, in the gunpowder's smoke, amongst the glitter of arms and cannons, with him, the friend of her childhood, fighting for imperial power, against the hungarian people. will he return joyful and unharmed--return to sweden's peaceful, well-constituted, happy land? the straws showed no square: a tear dwelt in the girl's eye. the third smiled: there was a sort of mischief in the smile. will our aged bachelor and that old maiden-lady yonder, who now wander along so young, smile so young, and speak so youthfully to each other, not be a married couple before the cuckoo sings again next year? see--that is what i should like to know! and the smile played around the thinker's mouth, but she did not speak her thoughts. the straws were separated--consequently the bachelor and the old maid also. "it may, however, happen nevertheless," she certainly thought: it was apparent in the smile; it was obvious in the manner in which she threw the straws away. "there is nothing i would know--nothing that i am curious to know!" said the fourth; but yet she bound the straws together; for within her also there was a wish alive; but no bird has sung about it; no one guesses it. rock thyself securely in the heart's lotus flower, thou shining humming-bird, thy' name shall not be pronounced: and besides the straws said as before--"without hope!" "now you! now you!" cried the young girls to a stranger, far from the neighbouring land, from the green isle, that gylfe ploughed from sweden. "what dear thing do you wish shall happen, or not happen!--tell us the wish!"--"if the oracle speaks well for me," said he, "then i will tell you the silent wish and prayer, with which i bind these knots on the grass straw; but if i have no better success than you have had, i will then be silent!" and he bound straw to straw, and as he bound, he repeated: "it signifies nothing!" he now opened his hand, his eyes shone brighter, his heart beat faster. the straws formed a square! "it will happen, it will happen!" cried the young girls. "what did you wish for?" "that denmark may soon gain an honourable peace!" "it will happen! it will happen!" said the young girls; "and when it happens, we will remember that the straws have told it before-hand." "i will keep these four straws, bound in a prophetic wreath for victory and peace!" said the stranger; "and if the oracle speaks truth, then i will draw the whole picture for you, as we sit here under the hanging birch by the lake, and look on zäther's blue mountains, each of us binding straw to straw." a red mark was made in the almanack; it was the th of july, . the same day a red page was written in denmark's history. the danish soldier made a red, victorious mark with his blood, at the battle of fredericia. the poet's symbol. * * * * * if a man would seek for the symbol of the poet, he need not look farther than "the arabian nights' tales." scherezade who interprets the stories for the sultan--scherezade is the poet, and the sultan is the public who is to be agreeably entertained, or else he will decapitate scherezade. powerful sultan! poor scherezade! the sultan-public sits in more than a thousand and one forms, and listens. let us regard a few of these forms. there sits a sallow, peevish, scholar; the tree of his life bears leaves impressed with long and learned words: diligence and perseverance crawl like snails on the hog's leather bark: the moths have got into the inside--and that is bad, very bad! pardon the rich fulness of the song, the inconsiderate enthusiasm, the fresh young, intellect. do not behead scherezade! but he beheads her out of hand, _sans_ remorse. there sits a dress-maker, a sempstress who has had some experience of the world. she comes from strange families, from a solitary chamber where she sat and gained a knowledge of mankind--she knows and loves the romantic. pardon, miss, if the story has not excitement enough for you, who have sat over the needle and the muslin, and having had so much of life's prose, gasp after romance. "behead her!" says the dress-maker. there sits a figure in a dressing gown--this oriental dress of the north, for the lordly minion, the petty prince, the rich brewer's son, &c., &c., &c. it is not to be learned from the dressing gown, nor from that lordly look and the fine smile around the mouth, to what stem he belongs: his demands on scherezade are just the same as the dress-maker's: he must be excited, he must be brought to shudder all down the vertebrae, through the very spine: he must be crammed with mysteries, such as those which spriez knew how to connect and thicken. scherezade is beheaded! wise, enlightened sultan! thou comest in the form of a schoolboy; thou bearest the romans and greeks together in a satchel on thy back, as atlas sustained the world. do not cast an evil eye upon poor scherezade; do not judge her before thou hast learned thy lesson, and art a child again,--do not behead scherezade! young, full-dressed diplomatist, on whose breast we can count, by the badges of honour, how many courts thou hast visited with thy princely master, speak mildly of scherezade's name! speak of her in french, that she may be ennobled above her mother tongue! translate but one strophe of her song, as badly as thou canst, but carry it into the brilliant saloon, and her sentence of death is annulled in the sweet, absolving _charmant_! mighty annihilator and elevator!--the newspapers' zeus--thou weekly, monthly, and daily journals' jupiter, shake not thy locks in anger! cast not thy lightnings forth, if scherezade sing otherwise than thou art accustomed to in thy family, or if she go without a _suite_ of thine own clique. do not behead her! we will see one figure more--the most dangerous of them all; he with the praise on his lips, like that of the stormy river's swell--the blind enthusiast. the water in which scherezade dipped her fingers, is for him a fountain of castalia; the throne he erects to her apotheosis becomes her scaffold. this is the poet's symbol--paint it: "the sultan and scherezade." but why none of the worthier figures--the candid, the honest, and the beautiful? they come also, and on them scherezade fixes her eye. encouraged by them, she boldly raises her proud head aloft towards the stars, and sings of the harmony there above, and here beneath, in man's heart. _that_ will not clearly show the symbol: "the sultan and scherezade." the sword of death hangs over her head whilst she relates--and the sultan-figure bids us expect that it will fall. scherezade is the victor: the poet is, like her, also a victor. he is rich, victorious--even in his poor chamber, in his most solitary hours. there, in that chamber, rose after rose shoots forth; bubble after bubble sparkles on the magic stream. the heavens shine with shooting stars, as if a new firmament were created, and the old rolled away. the world does not know it, for it is the poet's own creation, richer than the king's costly illuminations. he is happy, as scherezade is; he is victorious, he is mighty. _imagination_ adorns his walls with tapestry, such as no land's ruler owns; _feeling_ makes the beauteous chords sound to him from the human breast; _understanding_ raises him, through the magnificence of creation, up to god, without his forgetting that he stands fast on the firm earth. he is mighty, he is happy, as few are. we will not place him in the stocks of misconstruction, for pity and lamentation; we merely paint his symbol, dip into the colours on the world's least attractive side, and obtain it most comprehensibly from "the sultan and scherezade." see--that is it! do not behead scherezade! the dal-elv. * * * * * before homer sang there were heroes; but they are not known; no poet celebrated their fame. it is just so with the beauties of nature, they must be brought into notice by words and delineations, be brought before the eyes of the multitude; get a sort of world's patent for what they are, and then they may be said first to exist. the elvs of the north have rushed and whirled along for thousands of years in unknown beauty. the world's great highroad does take this direction; no steam-packet conveys the traveller comfortably along the streams of the dal-elvs; fall on fall makes sluices indispensable and invaluable. schubert is as yet the only stranger who has written about the wild magnificence and southern beauty of dalecarlia, and spoken of its greatness. clear as the waves of the sea does the mighty elv stream in endless windings through forest deserts and varying plains, sometimes extending its deep bed, sometimes confining it, reflecting the bending trees and the red painted block houses of solitary towns, and sometimes rushing like a cataract over immense blocks of rock. miles apart from one another, out of the ridge of mountains between sweden and norway, come the east and west dal-elvs, which first become confluent and have one bed above bålstad. they have taken up rivers and lakes in their waters. do but visit this place! here are pictorial riches to be found; the most picturesque landscapes, dizzyingly grand, smilingly pastoral--idyllic: one is drawn onward up to the very source of the elv, the bubbling well above finman's hut: one feels a desire to follow every branch of the stream that the river takes in. the first mighty fall, njupeskoers cataract, is seen by the norwegian frontier in sernasog. the mountain stream rushes perpendicularly from the rock to a depth of seventy fathoms. we pause in the dark forest, where the elv seems to collect within itself nature's whole deep gravity. the stream rolls its clear waters over a porphyry soil where the mill-wheel is driven, and the gigantic porphyry bowls and sarcophagi are polished. we follow the stream through siljan's lake, where superstition sees the water-sprite swim, like the sea-horse with a mane of green sea-weed, and where the aërial images present visions of witchcraft in the warm summer days. we sail on the stream from siljan's lake, under the weeping willows of the parsonage, where the swans assemble in flocks; we glide along slowly with horses and carriages on the great ferry-boat, away over the rapid current under bålstad's picturesque shore. here the elv widens and rolls its billows majestically in a woodland landscape, as large and extended as if it were in north america. we see the rushing, rapid stream under avista's yellow clay declivities: the yellow water falls like fluid amber in picturesque cataracts before the copper-works, where rainbow-coloured tongues of fire shoot themselves upwards, and the hammer's blows on the copper plates resound to the monotonous, roaring rumble of the elv-fall. and now, as a concluding passage of splendour in the life of the dal-elvs, before they lose themselves in the waters of the baltic, is the view of elvkarleby fall. schubert compares it with the fall of schafhausen; but we must remember, that the rhine there has not such a mass of water as that which rushes down elvkarleby. two and a half swedish miles from gefle, where the high road to upsala goes over the dal-elv, we see from the walled bridge, which we pass over, the whole of that immense fall. close up to the bridge, there is a house where the bridge toll is paid. there the stranger can pass the night, and from his little window look over the falling waters, see them in the clear moonlight, when darkness has laid itself to rest within the thicket of oaks and firs, and all the effect of light is in those foaming, flowing waters, and see them when the morning sun stretches his rainbow in the trembling spray, like an airy bridge of colours, from the shore to the wood-grown rock in the centre of the cataract. we came hither from gefle, and saw at a great distance on the way, the blue clouds from the broken, rising spray, ascend above the dark-green tops of the trees. the carriage stopped near the bridge; we stepped out, and close before us fell the whole redundant elv. the painter cannot give us the true, living image of a waterfall on canvas--the movement is wanting; how can one describe it in words, delineate this majestic grandeur, brilliancy of colour, and arrowy flight? one cannot do it; one may however attempt it; get together, by little and little, with words, an outline of that mirrored image which our eye gave us, and which even the strongest remembrance can only retain--if not vaguely, dubiously. the dal-elv divides itself into three branches above the fall: the two enclose a wood-grown rocky island, and rush down round its smooth-worn stony wall. the one to the right of these two falls is the finer; the third branch makes a circuit, and comes again to the main stream, close outside the united fall; here it dashes out as if to meet or stop the others, and is now hurried along in boiling eddies with the arrowy stream, which rushes on foaming against the walled pillars that bear the bridge, as if it would tear them away along with it. the landscape to the left was enlivened by a herd of goats, that were browsing amongst the hazel bushes. they ventured quite out to the very edge of the declivity, as they were bred here and accustomed to the hollow, thundering rumble of the water. to the right, a flock of screaming birds flew over the magnificent oaks. cars, each with one horse, and with the driver standing upright in it, the reins in his hand, came on the broad forest road from oens brück. thither we will go in order to take leave of the dal-elv at one of the most delightful of places, which vividly removes the stranger, as it were, into a far more southern land, into a far richer nature, than he supposed was to be found here. the road is so pretty--the oak grows here so strong and vigorously with mighty crowns of rich foliage. oens brück lies in a delightfully pastoral situation. we came thither; here was life and bustle indeed! the mill-wheels went round; large beams were sawn through; the iron forged on the anvil, and all by water-power. the houses of the workmen form a whole town: it is a long street with red-painted wooden houses, under picturesque oaks, and birch trees. the greensward was as soft as velvet to look at, and up at the manor-house, which rises in front of the garden like a little palace, there was, in the rooms and saloon, everything that the english call comfort. we did not find the host at home; but hospitality is always the house-fairy here. we had everything good and homely. fish and wild fowl were placed before us, steaming and fragrant, and almost as quickly as in beautiful enchanted palaces. the garden itself was a piece of enchantment. here stood three transplanted beech-trees, and they throve well. the sharp north wind had rounded off the tops of the wild chesnut-trees of the avenue in a singular manner: they looked as if they had been under the gardener's shears. golden-yellow oranges hung in the conservatory; the splendid southern exotics had to-day got the windows half open, so that the artificial warmth met the fresh, warm, sunny air of the northern summer. that branch of the dal-elv which goes round the garden is strewn with small islands, where beautiful hanging birches and fir-trees grow in scandinavian splendour. there are small islands with green, silent groves; there are small islands with rich grass, tall brackens, variegated bell-flowers, and cowslips--no turkey carpet has fresher colours. the stream between these islands and holms is sometimes rapid, deep, and clear; sometimes like a broad rivulet with silky-green rushes, water-lilies, and brown-feathered reeds; sometimes it is a brook with a stony ground, and now it spreads itself out in a large, still mill-dam. here is a landscape in midsummer for the games of the river-sprites, and the dancers of the elves and fairies! here, in the lustre of the full moon, the dryads can tell their tales, the water-sprite seize the golden harp, and believe that one can be blessed, at least for one single night like this. on the other side of oens brück is the main stream--the full dal-elv. do you hear the monotonous rumble? it is not from elvkarleby fall that it reaches hither; it is close by; it is from laa-foss, in which lies ash island: the elv streams and rushes over the leaping salmon. let us sit here, between the fragments of rock by the shore, in the red evening sunlight, which sheds a golden lustre on the waters of the dal-elv. glorious river! but a few seconds' work hast thou to do in the mills yonder, and thou rushest foaming on over elvkarleby's rocks, down into the deep bed of the river, which leads thee to the baltic--thy eternity. danemora. * * * * * reader, do you know what giddiness is? pray that she may not seize you, this mighty "loreley" of the heights, this evil-genius from the land of the sylphides; she whizzes around her prey, and whirls it into the abyss. she sits on the narrow rocky path, close by the steep declivity, where no tree, no branch is found, where the wanderer must creep close to the side of the rock, and look steadily forward. she sits on the church spire and nods to the plumber who works on his swaying scaffold; she glides into the illumined saloon, and up to the nervous, solitary one, in the middle of the bright polished floor, and it sways under him--the walls vanish from him. her fingers touch one of the hairs of our head, and we feel as if the air had left us, and we were in a vacuum. we met with her at danemora's immense gulf, whither we came on broad, smooth, excellent high-roads, through the fresh forest. she sat on the extreme edge of the rocky wall, above the abyss, and kicked at the tun with her thin, awl-like legs, as it hung in iron chains on large beams, from the tower-high corner of the bridge by the precipice. the traveller raised his foot over the abyss, and set it on the tun, into which one of the workmen received him, and held him; and the chains rattled; the pulleys turned; the tun sank slowly, hovering through the air. but he felt the descent; he felt it through his bones and marrow; through all the nerves. her icy breath blew in his neck, and down the spine, and the air itself became colder and colder. it seemed to him as if the rocks grew over his head, always higher and higher: the tun made a slight swinging, but he felt it, like a fall--a fall in sleep, that shock in the blood. did it go quicker downwards, or was it going up again? he could not distinguish by the sensation. the tun touched the ground, or rather the snow--the dirty trodden, eternal snow, down to which no sunbeam reaches, which no summer warmth from above ever melts. a hollow sound was heard from within the dark, yawning cavern, and a thick vapour rolled out into the cold air. the stranger entered the dark halls; there seemed to be a crashing above him: the fire burned; the furnaces roared; the beating of hammers sounded; the watery damps dripped down--and he again entered the tun, which was hoven up in the air. he sat with closed eyes, but giddiness breathed on his head, and on his breast; his inwardly-turned eye measured the giddy depth through the tun: "it is appalling," said he. "appalling!" echoed the brave and estimable stranger, whom we met at danemora's great gulf. he was a man from scania, consequently from the same street as the sealander--if the sound be called a street (strait). "but, however, one can say one has been down there," said he, and he pointed to the gulf; "right down, and up again; but it is no pleasure at all." "but why descend at all?" said i. "why will men do these things?" "one must, you know, when one comes here," said he. "the plague of travelling is, that one must see everything: one would not have it supposed otherwise. it is a shame to a man, when he gets home again, not to have seen everything, that others ask him about." "if you have no desire, then let it alone. see what pleases you on your travels. go two paces nearer than where you stand, and become quite giddy: you will then have formed some conception of the passage downward. i will hold you fast, and describe the rest of it for you." and i did so, and the perspiration sprang from his forehead. "yes, so it is: i apprehend it all," said he: "i am clearly sensible of it." i described the dirty grey snow covering, which the sun's warmth never thaws; the cold down there, and the caverns, and the fire, and the workmen, &c. "yes; one should be able to tell all about it," said he. "that _you_ can, for you have seen it." "no more than you," said i. "i came to the gulf; i saw the depth, the snow below, the smoke that rolled out of the caverns; but when it was time i should get into the tun--no, thank you. giddiness tickled me with her long, awl-like legs, and so i stayed where i was i have felt the descent, through the spine and the soles of the feet, and that as well as any one: the descent is the pinch. i have been in the hartz, under rammelsberg; glided, as on russian mountains, at hallein, through the mountain, from the top down to the salt-works; wandered about in the catacombs of rome and malta: and what does one see in the deep passages? gloom--darkness! what does one feel? cold, and a sense of oppression--a longing for air and light, which is by far the best; and that we have now." "but nevertheless, it is so very remarkable!" said the man; and he drew forth his "hand-book for travellers in sweden," from which he read: "danemora's iron-works are the oldest, largest, and richest in sweden; the best in europe. they have seventy-nine openings, of which seventeen only are being worked. the machine mine is ninety-three fathoms deep." just then the bells sounded from below: it was the signal that the time of labour for that day was ended. the hue of eve still shone on the tops of the trees above; but down in that deep, far-extended gulf, it was a perfect twilight. thence, and out of the dark caverns, the workmen swarmed forth. they looked like flies, quite small in the space below: they scrambled up the long ladders, which hung from the steep sides of the rocks, in separate landing-places: they climbed higher and higher--upwards, upwards--and at every step they became larger. the iron chains creaked in the scaffolding of beams, and three or four young fellows stood in their wooden shoes on the edge of the tun; chatted away right merrily, and kicked with their feet against the side of the rock, so that they swung from it: and it became darker and darker below; it was as if the deep abyss became still deeper! "it is appalling!" said the man from scania. "one ought, however, to have gone down there, if it were only to swear that one _had_ been. you, however, have certainly been down there," said he again to me. "believe what you will," i replied; and i say the same to the reader. the swine. * * * * * that capital fellow, charles dickens, has told us about the swine, and since then it puts us into a good humour whenever we hear even the grunt of one. saint anthony has taken them under his patronage, and if we think of the "prodigal son," we are at once in the midst of the sty, and it was just before such a one that our carriage stopped in sweden. by the high road, closely adjoining his house, the peasant had his sty, and that such a one as there is probably scarcely its like in the world. it was an old state-carriage, the seats were taken out of it, the wheels taken off, and thus it stood, without further ceremony, on its own bottom, and four swine were shut in there. if these were the first that had been in it one could not determine; but that it was once a state-carriage everything about it bore witness, even to the strip of morocco that hung from the roof inside, all bore witness of better days. it is true, every word of it. "uff," said the occupiers within, and the carriage creaked and complained--it was a sorrowful end it had come to. "the beautiful is past!" so it sighed; so it said, or it might have said so. we returned here in the autumn. the carriage, or rather the body of the carriage, stood in its old place, but the swine were gone: they were lords in the forests; rain and drizzle reigned there; the wind tore the leaves off all the trees, and allowed them neither rest nor quiet: the birds of passage were gone. "the beautiful is past!" said the carriage, and the same sigh passed through the whole of nature, and from the human heart it sounded: "the beautiful is past! with the delightful green forest, with the warm sunshine, and the song of birds--past! past!" so it said, and so it creaked in the trunks of the tall trees, and there was heard a sigh, so inwardly deep, a sigh direct from the heart of the wild rose-bush, and he who sat there was the rose-king. do you know him! he is of a pure breed, the finest red-green breed: he is easily known. go to the wild rose hedges, and in autumn, when all the flowers are gone, and the red hips alone remain, one often sees amongst these a large red-green moss-flower: that is the rose-king. a little green leaf grows out of his head--that is his feather: he is the only male person of his kind on the rose-bush, and he it was who sighed. "past! past! the beautiful is past! the roses are gone; the leaves of the trees fall off!--it is wet here, and it is cold and raw!--the birds that sang here are now silent; the swine live on acorns; the swine are lords in the forest!" they were cold nights, they were gloomy days; but the raven sat on the bough and croaked nevertheless: "brah, brah!" the raven and the crow sat on the topmost bough: they have a large family, and they all said: "brah, brah! caw, caw!" and the majority is always right. there was a great miry pool under the tall trees in the hollow, and here lay the whole herd of swine, great and small--they found the place so excellent. "oui! oui!" said they, for they knew no more french, but that, however, was something. they were so wise, and so fat, and altogether lords in the forest. the old ones lay still, for they thought; the young ones, on the contrary, were so brisk--busy, but apparently uneasy. one little pig had a curly tail--that curl was the mother's delight. she thought that they all looked at the curl, and thought only of the curl; but that they did not. they thought of themselves, and of what was useful, and of what the forest was for. they had always heard that the acorns they ate grew on the roots of the trees, and therefore they had always rooted there; but now there came a little one--for it is always the young ones that come with news--and he asserted that the acorns fell down from the branches: he himself had felt one fall right on his head, and that had given him the idea, so he had made observations, and now he was quite sure of what he asserted. the old ones laid their heads together. "uff," said the swine, "uff! the finery is past! the twittering of the birds is past! we will have fruit! whatever can be eaten is good, and we eat everything!" "oui! oui!" said they altogether. but the mother sow looked at her little pig with the curly tail. "one must not, however, forget the beautiful!" said she. "caw! caw!" screamed the crow, and flew down, in order to be appointed nightingale: one there should be--and so the crow was directly appointed. "past! past!" sighed the rose king, "all the beautiful is past!" it was wet; it was gloomy; there was cold and wind, and the rain pelted down over the fields, and through the forest, like long water jets. where are the birds that sang? where are the flowers in the meadows, and the sweet berries in the wood?--past! past! a light shone from the forester's house: it twinkled like a star, and shed its long rays out between the trees. a song was heard from within; pretty children played around their old grandfather, who sat with the bible on his lap and read about god, and eternal life, and spoke of the spring that would come again: he spoke of the forest that would renew its green leaves, of the roses that would flower, of the nightingales that would sing, and of the beautiful that would again be paramount. but the rose king did not hear it; he sat in the raw, cold weather, and sighed: "past! past!" and the swine were lords in the forest, and the mother sow looked at her little pig, and his curly tail. "there will always be some, who have a sense for the beautiful!" said the mother sow. poetry's california. * * * * * nature's treasures are most often unveiled to us by accident. a dog's nose was dyed by the bruised purple fish, and the genuine purple dye was discovered; a pair of wild buffalos were fighting on america's auriferous soil, and their horns tore up the green sward that covered the rich gold vein. "in former days," as it is said by most, "everything came spontaneously. our age has not such revelations; now one must slave and drudge if one would get anything; one must dig down into the deep shafts after the metals, which decrease more and more;--when the earth suddenly stretches forth her golden finger from california's peninsula, and we there see monte christo's foolishly invented riches realized; we see aladdin's cave with its inestimable treasures. the world's treasury is so endlessly rich that we have, to speak plain and straightforward, scraped a little off the up-heaped measure; but the bushel is still full, the whole of the real measure is now refilled. in science also, such a world lies open for the discoveries of the human mind! "but in poetry, the greatest and most glorious is already found, and gained!" says the poet. "happy he who was born in former times; there was then many a land still undiscovered, on which poetry's rich gold lay like the ore that shines forth from the earth's surface." do not speak so! happy poet thou, who art born in our time! thou dost inherit all the glorious treasures which thy predecessors gave to the world; thou dost learn from them, that truth only is eternal,--the true in nature and mankind. our time is the time of discoveries--poetry also has its new california. "where does it exist?" you ask. the coast is so near, that you do not think that _there_ is the new world. like a bold leander, swim with me across the stream: the black words on the white paper will waft you--every period is a heave of the waves. * * * * * it was in the library's saloon. book-shelves with many books, old and new, were ranged around for every one; manuscripts lay there in heaps; there were also maps and globes. there sat industrious men at little tables, and wrote out and wrote in, and that was no easy work. but suddenly, a great transformation took place; the shelves became terraces for the noblest trees, with flowers and fruit; heavy clusters of grapes hung amongst leafy vines, and there was life and movement all around. the old folios and dusty manuscripts rose into flower-covered tumuli, and there sprang forth knights in mail, and kings with golden crowns on, and there was the clang of harp and shield; history acquired the life and fullness of poetry--for a poet had entered there. he saw the living visions; breathed the flowers' fragrance; crushed the grapes, and drank the sacred juice. but he himself knew not yet that he was a poet--the bearer of-light for times and generations yet to come. it was in the fresh, fragrant forest, in the last hour of leave-taking. love's kiss, as the farewell, was the initiatory baptism for the future poetic life; and the fresh fragrance of the forest became sweeter, the chirping of the birds more melodious: there came sunlight and cooling breezes. nature becomes doubly delightful where a poet walks. and as there were two roads before hercules, so there were before him two roads, shown by two figures, in order to serve him; the one an old crone, the other a youth, beautiful as the angel that led the young tobias. the old crone had on a mantle, on which were wrought flowers, animals, and human beings, entwined in an arabesque manner. she had large spectacles on, and beside her lantern she held a bag filled with old gilt cards--apparatus for witchcraft, and all the amulets of superstition: leaning on her crutch, wrinkled and shivering, she was, however, soaring, like the mist over the meadow. "come with me, and you shall see the world, so that a poet can have benefit from it," said she. "i will light my lantern; it is better than that which diogenes bore; i shall lighten your path." and the light shone; the old crone lifted her head, and stood there strong and tall, a powerful female figure. she was superstition. "i am the strongest in the region of romance," said she,--and she herself believed it. and the lantern's light gave the lustre of the full moon over the whole earth; yes, the earth itself became transparent, as the still waters of the deep sea, or the glass mountains, in the fairy tale. "my kingdom is thine! sing what thou see'st; sing as if no bard before thee had sung thereof." and it was as if the scene continually changed. splendid gothic churches, with painted images in the panes, glided past, and the midnight-bell struck, and the dead arose from the graves. there, under the bending elder tree, sat the mother, and swathed her newly-born child; old, sunken knights' castles rose again from the marshy ground; the drawbridge fell, and they saw into the empty halls, adorned with images, where, under the gloomy stairs of the gallery, the death-proclaiming white woman came with a rattling bunch of keys. the basilisk brooded in the deep cellar; the monster bred from a cock's egg, invulnerable by every weapon, but not from the sight of its own horrible form: at the sight of its own image, it bursts like the steel that one breaks with the blow of a stout staff. and to everything that appeared, from the golden chalice of the altar-table, once the drinking-cup of evil spirits, to the nodding head on the gallows-hill, the old crone hummed her songs; and the crickets chirped, and the raven croaked from the opposite neighbour's house, and the winding-sheet rolled from the candle. through the whole spectral world sounded, "death! death!" "go with me to life and truth," cried the second form, the youth who was beautiful as a cherub. a flame shone from his brow--a cherub's sword glittered in his hand. "i am _knowledge_," said he: "my world is greater--its aim is truth." and there was a brightness all around; the spectral images paled; it did not extend over the world they had seen. superstition's lantern had only exhibited _magic-lantern_ images on the old ruined wall, and the wind had driven wet misty vapours past in figures. "i will give thee a rich recompense. truth in the created--truth in god!" and through the stagnant lake, where before the misty spectral figures rose, whilst the bells sounded from the sunken castle, the light fell down on a swaying vegetable world. one drop of the marsh water, raised against the rays of light, became a living world, with creatures in strange forms, fighting and revelling--a world in a drop of water. and the sharp sword of knowledge cleft the deep vault, and shone therein, where the basilisk killed, and the animal's body was dissolved in a death-bringing vapour: its claw extended from the fermenting wine-cask; its eyes were air, that burnt when the fresh wind touched it. and there resided a powerful force in the sword; _so_ powerful, that the grain of gold was beaten to a flat surface, thin as the covering of mist that we breathe on the glass-pane; and it shone at the sword's point, so that the thin threads of the cobweb seemed to swell to cables, for one saw the strong twistings of numberless small threads. and the voice of knowledge seemed over the whole world, so that the age of miracles appeared to have returned. thin iron ties were laid over the earth, and along these the heavily-laden waggons flew on the wings of steam, with the swallow's flight; mountains were compelled to open themselves to the inquiring spirit of the age; the plains were obliged to raise themselves; and then thought was borne in words, through metal wires, with the lightning's speed, to distant towns. "life! life!" it sounded through the whole of nature. "it is our time! poet, thou dost possess it! sing of it in spirit and in truth!" and the genius of knowledge raised the shining sword; he raised it far out into space, and then--what a sight! it was as when the sunbeams shine through a crevice in the wall in a dark space, and appear to us a revolving column of myriads of grains of dust; but every grain of dust here was a world! the sight he saw was our starry firmament! thy earth is a grain of dust here, but a speck whose wonders astonish thee; only a grain of dust, and yet a star under stars. that long column of worlds thou callest thy starry firmament, revolves like the myriads of grains of dust, visibly hovering in the sunbeam's revolving column, from the crevice in the wall into that dark space. but still more distant stands the milky way's whitish mist, a new starry heaven, each column but a radius in the wheel! but how great is this itself! how many radii thus go out from the central point--god! so far does thine eye reach, so clear is thine age's horizon! son of time, choose, who shall be thy companion? here is thy new career! with the greatest of thy time, fly thou before thy time's generation! like twinkling lucifer, shine thou in time's roseate morn. * * * * * yes, in knowledge lies poetry's california! every one who only looks backward, and not clearly forward, will, however high and honourably he stands, say, that if such riches lie in knowledge, they would long since have been made available by great and immortal bards, who had a clear and sagacious eye for the discovery of truth. but let us remember that when thespis spoke from his car, the world had also wise men. homer had sung his immortal songs, and yet a new form of genius appeared, to which a sophocles and aristophanes gave birth; the sagas and mythology of the north were as an unknown treasure to the stage, until oehlenschläger showed what mighty forms from thence might be made to glide past us. it is not our intention that the poet shall versify scientific discoveries. the didactic poem is and will be, in its best form, always but a piece of mechanism, or wooden figure, which has not the true life. the sunlight of science must penetrate the poet; he must perceive truth and harmony in the minute and in the immensely great with a clear eye: it must purify and enrich the understanding and imagination, and show him new forms which will supply to him more animated words. even single discoveries will furnish a new flight. what fairy tales cannot the world unfold under the microscope, if we transfer our human world thereto? electro-magnetism can present or suggest new plots in new comedies and romances; and how many humorous compositions will not spring forth, as we from our grain of dust, our little earth, with its little haughty beings look out into that endless world's universe, from milky way to milky way? an instance of what we here mean is discoverable in that old noble lady's words: "if every star be a globe like our earth, and have its kingdoms and courts--what an endless number of courts--the contemplation is enough to make mankind giddy!" we will not say, like that french authoress: "now, then, let me die: the world has no more discoveries to make!" o, there is so endlessly much in the sea, in the air, and on the earth--wonders, which science will bring forth!--wonders, greater than the poet's philosophy can create! a bard will come, who, with a child's mind, like a new aladdin, will enter into the cavern of science,--with a child's mind, we say, or else the puissant spirits of natural strength would seize him, and make him their servant; whilst he, with the lamp of poetry, which is, and always will be, the human heart, stands as a ruler, and brings forth wonderful fruits from the gloomy passages, and has strength to build poetry's new palace, created in one night by attendant spirits. in the world itself events repeat themselves; the human character was and will be the same during long ages and all ages; and as they were in the old writings, they must be in the new. but science always unfolds something new; light and truth are everything that is created--beam out from hence with eternally divine clearness. mighty image of god, do thou illumine and enlighten mankind; and when its intellectual eye is accustomed to the lustre, the new aladdin will come, and thou, man, shalt with him, who concisely dear, and richly sings the beauty of truth, wander through poetry's california. the end. [frontispiece: nono and the princess] [illustration: vignette] the golden house by mrs. woods baker london, edinburgh, and new york thomas nelson and sons _contents_ i. black eyes and blue ii. karin's flock iii. aneholm church iv. no secrets v. an artist vi. the boys vii. a young teacher viii. in alma's room. ix. karin's fête x. the little cottage xi. the slide xii. a pedestrian trip xiii. the princess xiv. where? xv. the birthday gift xvi. spectacles xvii. questionings xviii. nono's plans, and plans for nono xix. pietro xx. the opened door _list of illustrations._ nono and the princess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . frontispiece. nono's gift to alma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vignette. "he thrust out both hands as if throwing gifts in lavish profusion" the baptismal service "the first verse of a hymn was dictated to him" the model house frans admonished "she had seen the hand-organ man from the window" the golden house. chapter i. black eyes and blue. a dreary little group was trudging along a swedish highroad one bright october morning. it was a union between north and south, and like many other unions, not altogether founded on love. the bear, the prominent member of the party, was a swede, and a swede in a very bad humour. the iron ring in his torn nose, and the stout stick in the hand of one of his italian masters, showed very plainly that he needed stern discipline. now he dragged at the strong rope attached to the iron ring, and held back, moving his clumsy legs as if his machinery were out of order, or at least as if goodwill were lacking to give it a fair start. the broad hats of the two men were gloomily slouched over their eyes; for they were thoroughly chilled, having passed the night in the open air for want of shelter. the woman, brown, thin, and bare-headed, coughed, and pressed her hand to her breast, where a stiff bundle was hidden under her shawl. they rounded a little turn in the road, hitherto shut in by high spruces, and came suddenly in sight of a cottage of yellow pine, that glowed cheerfully against its dark background of evergreens. "we stop at the golden house," said the older of the men, the bearer of the organ, and evidently the leader as well as the musician of the party. the younger italian laughed a scornful laugh as he said in his own language, "only poor people live there." "we stop at the golden house!" commanded his companion, adding, "it brings good luck to play for the poor." the cottage had its gable end to the road, while its broadside was turned towards the southern sunshine, the well-kept vegetable-garden and the pretty flower-beds in front of the windows. the gate was open, and the italians came in stealthily--an art they had learned to perfection. one little turn of the hand-organ and the bear rose to his hind legs. the open door of the cottage was suddenly filled. round-faced, rosy, fair-haired, and eager were they all--father and mother and six boys. they had evidently been disturbed at a meal, for in their hands they held great pieces of hard brown bread, in various stages of consumption. eyes and mouths opened wide as the performance went on, and bruin had every reason to be satisfied with his share of the praise bestowed on the entertainment, as well as on his personal appearance. he was a young bear, and his brown coat looked as soft as plush, and it was no wonder that two-year-old sven whispered to his mother, "me want to kiss the pretty bear!" sven judged bruin by his clothing, not by his wicked little eyes or his ugly mouth, which was by no means kissable. the performance over, bread and milk were liberally passed round to the strangers, the bear having more than his fair portion. "come in and sit a bit," said the tidy mother to the dark young woman. the answer was a pointing to the ear and a shaking of the head, which said plainly, "i don't understand swedish." the kindly beckoning that followed could not be mistaken, and the italian woman went into the cottage, glad to sit down in the one room of which the interior consisted. one room it was, but large, and airy too; for it not only stretched from outer wall to outer wall, but from the floor to the high slanting roof. the rafters that crossed it here and there were hung with homely stores--bags of beans and pease, and slender poles strung with flat cakes of hard bread, far out of the reach of the children. the italian opened her shawl and took out a little brown baby, wrapped up as stiff as a stick. it was evidently hungry enough, and not at all satisfied when it was again tucked away under the shawl. half by single words and half by signs the two mothers managed to talk together. swedish karin soon knew that francesca was ill, and was going home to italy as soon as her husband had money enough to pay their passage. there was a wild look in the dark woman's eyes and a fierceness in her gestures that made karin almost afraid of her. when the stranger had put into her pocket a bottle of milk that had been given her, and a big cake of bread, she got up suddenly to go. it was evident there was to be another performance--a kind of expression of thanks for the hospitality received. the bear stood up and shook paws with the men, we may say; for the brown hands of the italians had a strange kind of an animal look about them. the clumsy creature walked hither and thither, and then towered proudly behind his two masters, looking down on their heads as if it gave him satisfaction to prove that he was their superior in size at least. francesca now took out her baby, and began to toss it high in the air, catching it as it fell, and dancing meanwhile as if in delight. perhaps the bear took offence that the attention of all beholders was turned from himself. he made one stride towards the descending baby, and opened and shut his great mouth with a wicked snap close to the child. the italian mother laughed a loud, wild laugh, and turned her back to the bear, who put his two strong paws on her shoulder. a heavy blow from the stout stick of the younger italian brought him down on all fours in a state of discontented submission. karin had swept her children inside the wide door of the cottage, and then francesca was hurried in too with her baby. the leader of the party pointed after her, and then to his own head, moving his thin hands first rapidly backwards and forwards, and afterwards round and round, so describing the confusion in the poor woman's brain as well as if he had said, "she is as crazy as a loon." karin's eyes grew large with horror. she drew her husband round the corner of the house and said, "jan, i can't see that crazy woman go off with the baby. let me keep it!" "we have mouths enough to feed already," said the husband, and the sturdy giant looked down, not unkindly, into the appealing eyes. his face softened as he saw the little black bow at her throat, her only week-day sign of mourning for her own little baby, so lately laid in the grave. "he will cost us almost nothing for a long time," she said, "and he can wear my little gustaf's clothes. perhaps god has let our little boy up in heaven send this baby to me to take his place." "you are a good woman, karin, and you ought to have your way," said the husband; and she knew she had his consent. francesca looked back with approval on the cheerful room as she came out, then stooped to pick a bit of mignonnette that grew by the steps. karin stretched out her hands, took the little brown baby in her arms, pointed to the black bow at her throat, and quickly made a sign of laying a baby low in a grave. then she pressed the little stranger close, close to her heart, and moved as if she would go into the cottage with him. a light gleamed in francesca's eyes, and a tear actually glittered on her husband's black eyelashes. "i keep the child," said karin distinctly, turning to the man. he bowed his head solemnly, and said, "i leave him." then he pointed suddenly up to the sky, stretching his arm to its full length; then he thrust out both hands freely towards her again and again, as if throwing gifts in lavish profusion. [illustration: "he thrust out both hands, as if throwing gifts in lavish profusion."] karin understood his "god will reward you abundantly" as well as if it had been spoken in words. she kissed the little brown baby in reply, and the father knew that crazy francesca's child had found a mother's love. the men bowed and waved their hands, and the bear followed them lumberingly out through the gate. francesca lingered a moment, then caught up a stick from within the enclosure, where jan had been lately chopping. she wrapped it hastily in her shawl, and went off with a long, wild laugh. the swedes watched the party make their way along the road, until they came to a turn that was to hide them from sight. there the italians swung their broad hats, and francesca threw the stick high in the air and caught it in her hands, as a parting token. karin pressed the little stranger to her mother's heart, and thanked god that he was left to her care. so the little italian came to the golden house--the black eyes among the blue. chapter ii. karin's flock. there was a family group in the big room at the golden house. the mother sat in the centre, with the brown baby on her knee. the heads of the six fair-haired children were bent down over the new treasure like a cluster of rough-hewn angels in the bethlehem scene, as carved out by some reverent artist of old. with a puzzled, half-pleased glance the stalwart father looked down upon them all, like a benignant giant. "is he really our own little baby now?" said one of the children. "what shall we call him?" asked another. "we'll name him, of course, after the bear," said the oldest boy, who liked to take the lead in the family. "i heard the man call him pionono, and he said the bear knew his name." "we won't call him after that horrid bear!" exclaimed karin. "uncle björn is as nice as anybody, and his name is just 'bear,'" urged one of the boys. "don't contrary your mother," said jan decidedly. "pionono is too long a name. we'll call him nono, and that's a nice name, to my thinking." "a nice, pretty little name," said the mother, "and i like it." and so the matter was settled. the little brown baby was to be called after a pope and bear, in protestant sweden. nono (the ninth) suited him better than any one around him suspected. the tiny italian was really the ninth baby that had come to the golden house. karin had now six children. she had laid her firstborn in the grave long ago, and lately her little gustaf had been placed beside him in the churchyard. classification simplified matters in karin's family, as elsewhere. the children were divided by common consent into three pairs, known as the boys, the twins, and the little boys. for each division the laws and privileges were fixed and unalterable. "the boys," erik and oke, were the oldest pair. erik was at present a smaller edition of his father, with a fair promise of a full development in the same direction. now, at twelve years of age, he was almost as tall as his mother, and could have mastered her at any time in a fair fight. oke, a year younger, was pale, and slight, and stooping, with a thin, straight nose, quite out of keeping with the large, strongly-marked features of the rest of the children. as for "the twins," it was difficult to think of them as two boys. they were so much alike that their mother could hardly tell them apart. indeed, she had a vague idea that she might have changed them without knowing it many times since they were baptized. how could she be sure that the one she called adam was not enos, and enos the true adam? of two things she was certain--that she loved them both as well as a mother ever loved a pair of twins, and that they were worthy of anybody's unlimited affection. she was proud of them, too. were they not known the country round as jan persson's splendid twins, and the fattest boys in the parish? as for "the little boys," they were much like the irishman's "little pig who jumped about so among the others he never could count him." "the little boys" were always to be found in unexpected and exceptionable places, to the great risk of life and limb, and the great astonishment of the beholders. to try to ride on a strange bull-dog or kiss a bear was quite a natural exploit for them, for they feared neither man nor beast. as for karin, she was not a worrying woman, and took the care of her many children cheerily. she could but do her best, and leave the rest to god and the holy angels. those precious protectors had lately seemed very near to her, since baby gustaf had gone to live among them. that all would go right with nono she did not doubt. when she laid him down for the night, she clasped his tiny brown hands, and prayed not only for him, but for his poor mother, wherever she might be, and left her to the care of the merciful friend who could give to wild lunatics full soundness of mind. chapter iii. aneholm church. sunday had come. along the public road, where the italians and the bear had lately passed, rolled a heavy family carriage, drawn by two spirited horses. the gray-haired coachman had them well in hand, and by no means needed the advice or the assistance of the fat little boy perched at his side, though both were freely proffered. the child was dressed in deep mourning, but his clothes alone gave any sign of sorrow. his face gleamed with delight as he was borne along between green fields, or played bo-peep with the distant cottages, through a solemn line of spruces or a glad cluster of young birches. on the comfortable back seat of the carriage was an elderly gentleman, tall, thin, and stooped, with eyes that saw nothing of earth or sky, as his thoughts were in the far past, or in the clouds of the sorrowful present. by his side, close pressed to him, with her small black-gloved hand laid on his knee, sat a little nine-year-old girl, her sad-coloured suit in strange contrast with the flood of golden hair that streamed from under her hat, and fell in shining waves down to her slight waist. the fair young face was very serious, and the mild blue eyes were full of loving light, as she now and then peeped cautiously at her father. he did not notice the child, and she made no effort to attract his attention. "papa! papa! what's that? what's that?" suddenly cried out the little boy. "what's that that's so like the gingerbread baby marie made me yesterday? just such a skirt, and little short arms!" the father's attention was caught, and he turned his eyes in the direction pointed out by the child's eager finger. the sweet sound of a bell came from the strange brown wooden structure, an old-time belfry, set not on a roof or a tower, but down on the ground. slanting out wide at the bottom, to have a firm footing, it did look like a rag-dolly standing on her skirts, or a gingerbread baby, as the young stranger had said. a stranger truly in the land of his fathers was fat little frans. alma, his sister, had often reproached him with the facts that he had never seen his own country and could hardly speak his own language. born in italy, he had now come to sweden for the first time, with the funeral train which bore the lifeless image of his mother to a resting-place in her much-loved northern home. "is that the church, papa?" alma ventured to ask, seeing her father partially roused from his reverie. the barn-like building was without any attempt at adornment. there was no tower. the black roof rose high, very high and steep from the thick, low white walls, that were pierced by a line of small rounded windows. "that is aneholm church," the father said, half reprovingly. "there your maternal ancestors are buried, and there their escutcheons stand till this day. i need not tell you who is now laid in that churchyard." he turned his face from the loving eyes of the child, and she was silent. a few more free movements of the swift horses, and the carriage stopped before a white-arched gateway. a wall of high old lindens shut in the churchyard from the world without, if world the green pastures, quiet groves, and low cottages could be called. it was but a small enclosure, and thick set with old monuments and humbler memorials, open books of iron on slender supports, their inscriptions dimmed by the rust of time, small stones set up by loving peasant hands, and one fresh grave covered with evergreen branches. alma understood that on that grave she must place the wreath of white flowers that had lain in her lap, and there her father would lay the one beautiful fair lily he held in his hand. this tribute of love was paid in mournful silence, and then the father and the children passed into the simple old sanctuary. the church was even more peculiar within than without. it was white everywhere--walls, ceiling, and the plain massive pillars of strong masonry on which rested the low round arches. it looked more like a crypt under some great building than if it were itself the temple. the small windows, crossed by iron gratings, added to the prison-like effect of the whole. it was but a prison for the air of the latest summer days, shut in there to greet the worshippers, instead of the chill that might have been expected. warm was the atmosphere, and warm the colouring of the heraldic devices telling in armorial language what noble families had there treasured their dead. the altar, without chancel-rail, stood on a crimson-covered platform. on each side of it, at a respectful distance, were two stately monuments, on which two marble heroes were resting, one in full armour, and the other in elaborate court-dress. alma could see that there were many names on the largest of these monuments, and her eyes filled with tears as she saw her mother's dear name, freshly cut below the list of her honoured ancestors. the father did not look at the monument, or round the church at all. with eyes cast down, he entered a long wide pew, with a heraldic device on the light arch above the door. prudently first placing little frans at the end of the bare bench, he took his place, with alma on the other side of him. the church was almost empty. a few old bald-headed peasants were scattered here and there, and on the organ-loft stairs clattered the thick shoes of the school children, who were to assist in the singing. the father bowed his head too long for the opening prayer. alma understood that he had forgotten himself in his own sad thoughts. her little slender hand sought his, that hung at his side, and her fragile figure crowded protectively towards him. meanwhile frans had produced two bonbons, wrapped in mourning-paper, and with hour-glasses and skeletons gloomily pictured upon them. he was engaged in counting the ribs of the skeletons, to make sure that the number was the same on both, when alma caught sight of him. the gentle, loving look in her face changed suddenly to one of sour reproof. she motioned disapprovingly to frans, and vainly tried to get at him behind the rigid figure of her father. before her very eyes, and in smiling defiance, the boy opened the black paper and devoured the sweets within, with evident relish, bodily and spiritual. at this moment there was a stir in the vestibule and in the sacristy adjoining, and then a murmur of low, hushed voices, and for a moment the tramping of many little feet. alma looked around her, and now noticed on the platform for the altar a small white-covered table, and upon it a little homely bowl and a folded napkin. beside the table a gray-haired old clergyman had taken his place. in one hand he held officially a corner of his open white handkerchief, while in the other was a thin black book. there was a slight shuffling first, and then a tall man, with apparently a very stout woman at his side, came up the aisle and stood in front of the clergyman. "it cannot be a wedding," thought alma, accustomed to the splendid fonts of the churches of great cities; she could not suppose that simple household bowl was for a baptism. the broken, disabled stone font she did not notice, as it leaned helplessly against the side wall of the building. the clergyman opened his book and looked about him, doubtfully turned over the leaves, and then began the service "for the baptism of a foundling," as the most appropriate for the present peculiar circumstances that the time-honoured ritual afforded. at that moment karin threw open her shawl, and showed the little brown baby asleep in her arms. alma's attention was fixed, and frans was all observation, if not attention. [illustration: the baptismal service.] "beloved christians," began the pastor; he paused, glanced at the scattered worshippers, and then went on, "our lord jesus christ has said, 'except a man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of god.' we do not know whether this child has been baptized or no, since, against the command of the heavenly father, and even the very laws and feelings of nature, he has been forsaken by his own father and mother." here karin gave involuntarily a little dissenting movement as she thought of the half-crazy mother and the sorrowful father, and made the mental comment that they had done the best they could under the circumstances. the pastor paused (perhaps doubting himself the appropriateness of the statement), and then read distinctly,-- "therefore we will carry out what christian love demands of us, and through baptism confide the child to god, our saviour jesus christ, praying most heartily that he will graciously receive it, and grant it the power of his spirit unto faith, forgiveness of sins, and true godliness, that it, as a faithful member of his church, may be a partaker of all the blessedness that jesus has won for us and christianity promises." the service then proceeded as usual, and the little nono was baptized in god's holy name. jan and karin were duly exhorted that they should see that the child should grow up in virtue and the fear of the lord; which promises and resolutions the honest pair solemnly determined, with god's help, to sacredly keep and fulfil. nono was borne down the aisle, having acquitted himself as well as could be expected on this important occasion. the eager prisoners in the pew by the door now filed out, six in number, to form little nono's baptismal procession. sven, insisting upon kissing the baby then and there, was prudently allowed to do so, to prevent possibly an exhibition of wilfulness that would have been a public scandal. this proceeding well over, nono and his foster-brothers went back to the golden house, in which he now had a right to a footing, and the blessing of a home in a christian family. alma could never remember anything of the service or the sermon on that day. her attention had been fully absorbed in the baptism of the wee brown baby whose parents had deserted him, and in whom the "beloved christians" of the parish had been called on to take so solemn an interest. before leaving the church, alma's father gave one long, sorrowful glance at the new name on the old monument. beside it the old clergyman had taken them all by the hand, and had said some low-murmured words of which the little girl could not catch the meaning. "papa," alma ventured to say when they were fairly seated in the carriage, "did not the pastor mean you and me, too, when he said 'beloved christians'? we were there, and only a few other people, and he must have meant us too. we are christians, of course, are we not?" he turned his large sorrowful eyes towards her, and was silent. _she_ might be a christian. the saviour had said that children were of the kingdom of heaven. but she was no longer a very little child, but uncommonly womanly for her age. he suddenly remembered some unchristian peculiarities that were certainly growing upon her. she must be looked after, and placed where she would be under the right kind of influence. her small hand was now laid caressingly on his knee, and he placed his own over it. alma was not astonished at her father not answering her. she was accustomed to see him sunk in moody silence. happily she could not read the thoughts that her question had suggested. that he was not truly one of the "beloved christians" the father secretly acknowledged to himself. he had not, he was sure, the firm faith in god and the loving trust in man that belong to the children of the kingdom of heaven. chapter iv. no secrets. the children at the golden house had been regaled with milk and white biscuits in honour of nono's baptism, and were enjoying the treat in the grove behind the cottage. nono lay on karin's knee, and she was looking fondly at him, while jan stood silently beside her. "i am a kind of a mother to him now, a real god-mother," she said. "i don't mean to tell him that he is not quite my own child. i mean to love him just like the others, and he shall never feel like a stranger here." "now you are quite wrong, karin," said jan, with a very serious look in his face. "he isn't your own child, and you can't make him so by hiding the truth from him. tell him from the very first how it was. he won't love you the less because he was a stranger and you took him in. it would be a poor way to bring him up so that he will 'grow in virtue and the fear of the lord,' as we promised this morning, to begin by telling him what wasn't true right straight along. what would he think of you when he found out in the end that you had been deceiving him ever since he could remember? and the other children, too; they know all about it. could you make them promise to pretend, like you, that nono was their own brother? no good ever comes of going from the truth. that's my notion!" jan stood up very straight as he finished, and sitting as karin was, he seemed to her in every way high above her. "you are right, jan," she answered sorrowfully. "i suppose i must do as you say. i did so want him to be really my own, just like my little gustaf." "_your_ little gustaf, _our_ little gustaf, is in a good place, and i hope nono will be there too sometime," said jan. "not nono in heaven yet!" said karin, pressing the dark baby to her breast. "i cannot spare him, and i don't believe god will take him." "now you are foolish, karin. that was not what i meant," said jan tenderly. "you bring him up right, and he will come sometime where gustaf is, and that's what we ought to want most for him." jan paused a moment, and then went on: "somehow those words of the baptism took hold of me to-day as they never did before, not even when my owny tony children were baptized. i mean to be the right kind of a godfather to him if i can." jan kept his resolution. he could sometimes be rough and hasty with his own boys when he was tired or particularly worried; towards nono he was always kind, and just, and wise. somehow there had entered into his honest heart the meaning of the words, "i was a stranger, and ye took me in." what was done for nono was, in a way, done for the master. karin did not reason much about her feelings for the black-eyed boy who was growing up in the cottage. she gave him a mother's love in full abundance. if little nono had no sunny italian skies above him, he had the sunshine of a happy home, and real affection in the golden house. from the very first nono heard the truth as to how he came to be living in the cold north. before he could speak, the story of the bear and the italians had been again and again told in his presence. of course, every one who saw the black-eyed, brown-skinned child inquired how he came among the frowzy white heads of his foster-brothers. the picture of the whole scene grew by degrees so perfect in nono's mind, that he really believed he had been a witness of as well as a prominent partaker in the performance. it was only by severe reproof and reproach on the part of the other children that he was made to understand that he had been only a baby "so long" (the swedish boys held their hands very near together on such occasions), while they had had the honour of seeing the very whole, and remembered it as perfectly as if it had happened yesterday, as probably some of them did. so nono had to take a humble place as a mere listener when the oft-repeated story was told, with every particular carefully preserved among the many eye-witnesses. "but i love him just as well as if he were my own," was karin's unfailing close to such conversations, with a caress for the little italian that sealed the truth of her assertion. nono loved his foster-mother with the grateful affection of his warm southern nature. yet the very name italy had for him a magical charm, and the sound of a hand-organ, or the sight of a dark-faced man with a broad-brimmed hat, made him thrill with a half joy that his own kith and kin were coming, and a half fear that he was to be taken away from the pleasant cottage and all the love that surrounded him. bears had a perfect fascination for him, but all the specimens he saw were rough and ragged. no bear, the family were all sure, had ever had such a beautiful brown coat of fur as that pionono that sven had been so anxious to kiss. nono's favourite text in the bible was the one that expressed the youthful david's reliance on god when he went out to meet the insolent goliath: "the lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me from this philistine." the philistine stood for any and all threatening dangers of soul and body, and this passage cheered the little italian through many a childish trouble, and many an encounter with the big boys from the village, who delighted to assail him in solitary places, and reproach him with being an outlandish stranger, living on charity, and not as much of a swede as the ugly bear he was named after. all the warmer seemed to nono the sheltering affection of karin, contrasted with these frequent attacks from without. his gratitude expressed itself in an enthusiastic devotion to karin, and a delight in doing her the slightest service. "nono sets a good example to the other boys," said jan one day. "i don't know, karin, what he wouldn't be glad to do for you. our own little rascals get all they can out of 'mother,' and hardly take the trouble to say 'thank you.' as for thinking to help you, that always falls on nono." "our boys are much towards me as we are to our heavenly father, i think. we seem to take it for granted he will give us what we need, and that's all there is of it. at least that's the way i am, jan." karin liked to make an excuse for her children when she thought jan was a little hard upon them. "i won't forget that, karin, when i'm put out, as i am sometimes with the boys," answered jan. "they are not a bad set, anyhow, to be so many. i know i am not half as thankful as i ought to be: not in bed a day since i can remember." chapter v. an artist. time slipped away rapidly at the golden house. there had been many pleasant family scenes, both within and around the cottage, since nono had been so tenderly welcomed there, eight years before. it was a bright july morning. the bit of a rye-field on the other side of the road stood in the summer sunshine in tempting perfection. the harvesting had begun, in a slow though it might be a sure manner. a tall, spare old man, his hat laid aside, and his few scattered gray locks fluttering in the gentle breeze, was the only reaper. his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbows showed his meagre, bony arms. his thin neck and breast were bare, as he suffered from heat from his unwonted labour. the scythe moved slowly, and the old man stopped often to draw a long breath. near him stood a fair-haired, sturdy little girl, who held up her apron full of corn flowers, as blue as the eyes that looked so approvingly upon them. they were in the midst of a chat in a moment of rest, when a figure, strange and interesting to them both, came along the road with a light, free step. the new-comer was a tall young girl, with a white parasol in her hand, though her wide-brimmed hat seemed enough to keep her fair face from being browned by the glad sunshine. she stopped suddenly when she came in front of the cottage, and fixed her eyes on the old man and the child with an expression of astonished delight. "charming! beautiful! i must paint them," she said to herself. the stranger put down the camp-stool she had on her arm, and screwed into its back her parasol with the long handle. she sat down at once and opened her box, where paper and pallet and all manner of conveniences for amateur painters were admirably arranged. "please, please stand still," she said; "just as you are. i want to paint you." "i have to stop often to rest; but i must work while i can. i don't want to be idle if i am old. i can't do a real day's work; but i can get something done if i am industrious," said the gray-haired labourer hesitatingly. the child seemed to notice something sorrowful in the tone of her companion's voice, and she came quickly to his aid, saying,-- "uncle pelle is the best man in the world. mother says he'll never teach us anything that isn't just right. he does a good bit of work, father says, and he knows." the little girl was evidently accustomed to be listened to, and did not stand in awe of this stranger or any other. "i shall pay you both if you hold still awhile and let me take your picture; and that will be just as well for uncle pelle as cutting grain, and lighter work, too. you can talk if you want to, but you must not stir while i am making a real likeness of you." "as the young lady pleases," said the old man, with a look of resignation. "i want to be useful." "is that your uncle, child?" asked the young artist. "i thought, of course, it was your grandfather." then looking towards the old man she added, "do you live here?" and she nodded towards the golden house. "i don't live anywhere," said the old man sorrowfully. "the poorhouse in aneholm parish and the poorhouse in tomtebacke, some way from here, can't agree which should keep me, and now they are lawing about it. i've had a fever, and i seem to be broke down. i don't belong anywhere just now, but karin there in the house says i'm a kind of relation of hers, though it puzzles me to see how. she wants me to stay with them till all is settled; and jan, who mostly lets her have her way, tells me he hasn't anything against it. so you see i like to do a turn of work if i can, if it's only to show i'm thankful. karin says she's used to a big family, and it seems lonesome since her oldest son went to america, and i must take his place. i don't live in the cottage. there are enough of 'em there without me. they've fixed me up a place alongside of star--that's the cow." "it's a dear little room," said the child, "and we all like to be there; but uncle pelle shuts the door sometimes, and won't let us in." "old folks must have their quiet spells," said the old man apologetically. "it isn't just to be quiet, you know, uncle pelle. mother says uncle pelle reads good books when he is alone, and makes good prayers, too; and he's a blessing to the family," said the little girl, who seemed to consider herself the friend and patron of her companion. "she's a bit spoiled. the only girl, you see. there were six boys before, not counting nono or the two boys that died." "nono!" exclaimed the stranger. "that was the name of the little brown baby i saw baptized in aneholm church, eight years ago, when i was at home before, just for a few days." "it is a queer name," said uncle pelle. "the pastor said it meant the ninth, as the italians talk; and so when this little girl came, he said karin and jan might as well call her decima, which was like the tenth, in swedish. and they did. they about make a fool of her in the family; and i ain't much better. that's nono behind you." a slight dark boy had been standing quietly watching the young stranger while she skilfully handled her brushes. he now stepped forward, took off the little straw hat of his own braiding, and bowed, without any sheepish confusion. "here's nono!" said decima, placing herself beside him, as if she had a special right to exhibit him to the stranger. "and so you are nono," said alma. "i have always felt as if you belonged in a way to me. where did the people who live here find you?" "they didn't find me at all; they took me, and have brought me up as if i was their own child," said nono, his eyes sparkling. the story of the italians and the bear was told by nono, as usual, and the scene most vividly described by word and gesture. decima did not pretend that she knew more than he did on this subject, and indeed he was quite her oracle in all matters. she thought nono a pink of perfection; and well she might, for he had been her playmate and guardian ever since she could remember. it was confidently affirmed in the family that nono could, from the first, make her laugh and show her dimples as she would not for any one else. nono had soon learned that he could be a help to karin with the baby, and was always more willing than were her rough brothers to be tied to the child's little apron-string. nono had hardly finished his story when the young lady took out the smallest watch imaginable and looked hastily at it. she gathered up her painting apparatus in a great hurry, and was off with a hasty good-bye, saying her father would be expecting her home to dinner, but she would see them again soon and finish her picture. she had almost forgotten in her hurry the money she had promised, but she suddenly remembered that part of the transaction, and left in the old man's hand, as he said, "more than enough to pay for a whole day's work, just for standing still, that little bit, to be painted." alma was soon out of sight of pelle and decima, who followed her with their wondering eyes as she sped along the road towards her pleasant home. the one thing about which her father could be severe with her was being late at meals. but for this severity, he would often have dined without her; for alma was full of absorbing hobbies, and when anything interested her, food and sleep were to her matters of no consequence. now her brain was revolving a new scheme. alma had been for years in a swiss boarding-school, and there, among many accomplishments, had acquired a thorough knowledge of the english language. she had been charmed with the accounts she had read of the work of the english ladies among the cottagers on their large estates. she had determined to "do just so" when she was fairly settled at home. she would now begin at once with nono. she felt she had a kind of charge over him. had not her own dear mother died in italy, where his mother came from? that baptism, too, she could never forget! he should not grow up like a heathen in sweden if she could prevent it. she would have him up at "the big house" every day for a scripture lesson. she wanted to paint him too; how lovely he would be in a picture! she must have the old man with him. how charming it would be to sketch youth and age working in the garden together! she could pay them for their time, and they would look up to her as a kind of guardian angel. alma flitted along, almost as if she had wings already, as these pleasant thoughts floated through her mind. the angel seemed suddenly to change to a fury as a shout arose from behind a dark evergreen, and a nondescript-looking individual, ragged and dirty, came out upon her, exclaiming,-- "i suppose i must not come near your highness, looking as i do!" streaked with mud on face and clothing, his feet bare, and his trousers rolled up to his knees, her brother stood before her, his eyes gleaming with delight in spite of her evident displeasure. "i've got a basket of polywogs, and some delicious bugs, and a big caterpillar that would make your mouth water if you were addicted to vermicelli. see here!" he moved as if he were about to open up his treasures for her inspection. "do keep away, frans!" exclaimed alma, as she drew her befrilled and beflounced skirt about her, as if to escape dangerous contagion. at this moment she swept in at the gate that led to the house, and shut it hastily behind her. "i'm going in the back way, anyhow," said frans, with a merry laugh. "your grace and my grace cannot well make our _entrée_ together." "the most troublesome boy in the world!" said alma to herself, and she expressed her sincere conviction. at this moment alma saw the bent form of her father riding slowly before her. her whole expression changed again, and she quickened her steps into a run, and was soon at his side. "are you very tired, papa, after your little ride?" she said tenderly. "no, darling. but how fresh and rosy you look! the air of old sweden suits you, i see." how happy the two were together! how gentle and loving were they both! alma really looked like the guardian angel she meant to be to nono and uncle pelle. chapter vi. the boys. when decima had been fairly settled as the tenth little baby that had come to the golden house, erik, the oldest of the flock, confided to nono that he meant to start as soon as possible for america. nono was the recipient of the secrets of all the children. they always found in the little italian a sympathetic listener, and they could be sure of his profound silence as to their private communications. nono's evident sense of the many for whom karin was called on to care had suggested to erik that although it would be too great a penance for him to be tending a baby, as nono did, he could go out and earn his own living; which would probably be quite as useful to the family. so to america he had resolved to go, always understanding that he had gained his parents' permission. that permission was not hard to win, for karin had friends who were emigrating, and who would take care of her boy on the way, and were willing to promise to look after him on his arrival in the "far west," whither they were bound. erik went off cheerily, with his ticket paid to the end of his journey, and a little box of strong clothing, his bible, and his parents' blessing as the capital he took to the new country. erik had another treasure, not outside of him, but in his inmost heart--a resolve to lead in a foreign land just such a life as he should not be ashamed to have his parents know about, the word of god being his guide and comfort. erik was no experienced christian, but he had started in the right spirit. erik had never been renowned for his scholarship, but rather for his industry and skill when real practical work was in question. he wrote at first short letters in swedish. they soon came less and less frequently, and finally in a kind of mixed language, a mingling of the new and the old, a fair transcript of his present style of conversation. these letters caused much puzzling in the golden house, and occasionally had to be taken to the old pastor for explanation and translation. one came at last, beginning "dear moder and broder, hillo!" then followed a page in a curious lingo, wherein it was stated that erik now had a nice room to himself in the "place" he had obtained. he did not say that the room was in the stable where he was hostler, or that it was just six feet by eight when lawfully measured. he also mentioned that he had food fit for a count; which was true in a way, as he was daily regaled with fruit and vegetables that would have been esteemed in sweden luxuries sufficient for the table of any nobleman. he dressed like a count too, he said; on which point erik's testimony was not to be accepted, as he had had little to do with counts in his native land. the big boy did not mean to exaggerate. he was simply and honestly delighted at his success in seeking his fortune. not that he was laying up money. far from it. he was sending home to "old sweden" all he could possibly spare, and was anxious to have karin feel that it was a light thing for a son who was so comfortable to be remitting a bit of money now and then to a mother who had given him such love and care all the days of his life. erik did not write much about or to his father, but he thought of him all the more, and inwardly thanked that father for his stern and steady hand with his boys, and for teaching them not only to do honest work, but to know what a real christian man should be. oke, the next boy, had been the bearer to the parsonage of erik's unreadable letters, and had there been instructed in their proper rendering into everyday swedish. so a kind of special acquaintance had grown up between the slender, pale boy and the kind old pastor. the pastor was a bachelor, and lonely in his declining years. he had found it pleasant to see oke coming with an american letter in his hand, his young face beaming with delight. the pastor had, besides, learned to know more and more of karin's home and the spirit that was reigning there. perhaps, when he saw uncle pelle sitting in church, sunday after sunday, clean and happy among karin's boys, he had thought he too might have a guest-room that might receive one member from the full golden house. so oke came to live at the pastor's, who said he did not see as well as he once did, and he must have a boy trained to read aloud to him, and to write a bit, too, for him now and then. it was stipulated that oke's duties were not to be all of the literary sort. the pastor was convinced that oke had a good head for study, and really ought to have a chance to improve himself. the boy was not, however, to be kept constantly bending over books, but was to have as much work in the open air as possible. the pastor himself had a weak constitution, and had suffered all his life from delicate health, and had found it no pleasant experience. oke should be a robust christian, for a christian he was of course to be. the elder boys being disposed of, the twins had come into power. the oldest among the children had always been allowed to be a kind of perpetual monitor for the rest, with restricted powers of discipline. oke's rule had been mild but firm. he had taken no notice of small matters; but if anything really wrong had gone on, jan was sure to hear of it, and a thorough settlement with the offender inevitably followed. the twins were rather against the outside world in general, strong in their two pair of hands, and two loud voices to shout on their side. nono really feared this duumvirate, for the twins had more than once given him to understand that he would "catch it" when they got to be the oldest at home. they had no particular offences to complain of or anticipate on nono's side, but they enjoyed giving out awful threats of what they would do if ever they had the opportunity. oke had kept them in order without difficulty, for he had a vehement power of reproof, when fairly roused, that could make even the twins hide their faces in shame, as he pictured to them their unworthiness. nono had gotten on very well with the "lions and the bears" of the past, but how was he to deal with this two-headed "philistine" under whose dominion he had now come? he was resolved on one thing--karin should hear no complaints from him. she should not be worried by the little boy she had taken in among her own to be so wonderfully happy. chapter vii. a young teacher. nono and uncle pelle had been working a whole morning in the garden at ekero under alma's direction. she was going to have a parterre of her own, according to a plan she had been secretly maturing. now it was the time of mid-day rest, and she was prepared to give nono his first lesson; a kind of sunday school on a week day she meant it to be, and of the most approved sort. alma had chosen for herself a rustic sofa, with a round stone table before her, and behind her the trunk of a huge linden, with its branches towering high over her head. opposite her was nono, on a long bench, awaiting the opening of the bible and the big book that lay beside it. alma, tall, and fair, and slight, looked seriously at nono, small, and dark, and plump, sitting expectant, with his large eyes fixed upon her. alma paused a moment, and then looked towards one of the grass plots that made green divisions in the well-kept vegetable-garden. there sat uncle pelle, his round woollen cap on his head, his red flannel sleeves drawn down to his wrists, while his coat lay over his knees. uncle pelle was very careful of his health. he did not want to be a trouble and a burden to karin. he held a little, thin, worn book, over which he was intently poring. he did not look up until alma spoke his name. perhaps she had thought that he might be feeling lonely there by himself, or perhaps she fancied that she had prepared too rich a dish of instruction for little nono to receive alone. at least she had sprung hastily towards the old man. "what are you reading here by yourself, uncle pelle?" she said pleasantly. pelle turned to the title-page, showing it to her, and then placed the book in her hand, open to where he had been reading. her eye fell on the passage his long finger pointed out to her. "use your zeal first towards yourself, and then wisely towards your neighbour. it is no great virtue to live in peace with the gentle and the peaceable, for that is agreeable to every one. it is a great grace and a vigorous and heroic virtue to live peaceably with the hard, the bad, the lawless, and with them who set themselves in opposition to us." alma's eyes flashed along the lines, and her conscience pricked her with a sharp prick. she handed the book back to old pelle, and said quite modestly,-- "i was going to give nono a little lesson there under the tree. i have some nice scripture pictures, too, that you would perhaps like to see." "thanks," said old pelle, getting up slowly, and falteringly following the slight figure that flitted on before him. pelle took his seat beside nono. they both clasped their hands and closed their eyes. alma was taken by surprise. she saw what they expected before this "bible lesson"--a prayer, of course! no prayer came to her lips. "god help us all! amen!" she said at last. "amen!" came solemnly from her companions. alma was so disturbed by this little occurrence that her whole plan for her lesson went out of her mind. she turned with relief towards the great book, where her mother had placed in order photographs of some of the most beautiful pictures illustrating the life of our saviour that the world can boast. alma had meant to explain and expound, but she continued silent. as old pelle and nono looked reverently on as she turned page after page, their faces glowing with reverent interest, now and then they exchanged meaning glances or a murmured word; which plainly showed that they understood the incidents so beautifully given by the great artists of the past. when they came to the christ on the cross, their hands clasped themselves as if involuntarily, and a great tear found its way down pelle's worn face. the scene was really before him. he felt himself standing on calvary, beside the cross of his master. there was a long pause. then alma turned slowly the next page. there, a modern artist had pictured the bright angels falling adoringly back, as the saviour, shining in his glory, burst forth from the tomb. "risen!" said nono joyously, with the relief of childhood that the sad part of the holy story had now been told. alma passed on to the representation of the ascension. pelle looked at it, his eyes beaming. he raised his long finger and pointed to where a bright cloud was for the moment half veiling the sun. "so he went, and so he shall come again. blessed be the name of the lord!" burst from the old man's lips. he was still looking towards the skies, as he added, "even so, come, lord jesus!" he bowed his aged head and sat silent, with clasped hands. nono and alma followed his example. when they looked up an astonished beholder had been added to the group under the linden. "how are you, uncle pelle?" said the voice of frans, as he took the old man cordially by the hand. pelle looked at him confusedly for a moment, and then, with apparent difficulty, brought his thoughts back to this world, and responded to the pleasant greeting. "nono is to go fishing with me. i've been to the cottage, and got permission from mother karin. i knew the little brownie would not stir an inch without her leave.--so now, nono, we are off for a good fish, and then a good supper for you and me.--your highness will excuse me for interrupting your little meeting," added frans, with mock politeness. "i hope it has been profitable to all parties." alma compelled herself to keep silence, and to respond pleasantly to the thanks of pelle and nono for what they called "the nice lesson." they neither of them understood that they had been the teachers, and the fair, slight girl their humble and abashed pupil. alma took her bible in her hand, and went into the house to send a servant for the great album that lay on the stone table. she sat down in her room in a most disturbed frame of mind, ashamed of her first effort as a teacher, and irritated that nono should have come under the very influence she would have most dreaded for him, even that of her own brother. then came a voice from below gently calling "alma." the loving part of her nature at once took the upper hand, and the fond daughter went down to her father, ready to do anything he could ask of her for his joy or comfort. chapter viii. in alma's room. the day after the bible lesson alma threw herself heartily into her plan for her parterre, at which pelle and nono were busily working. in the midst of a large velvet patch of closely-cut grass she had a great parallelogram marked out which was to represent the swedish flag. the blue ground was to be of the old emperor william's favourite flower, while the cross stretching from end to end was to be of yellow pansies. the norwegian union mark in the corner was to be outlined in poppies of the proper colours. there was a slight twinkle in the old man's eyes as he watched alma, all enthusiasm, flitting hither and thither, and ordering and planning like an experienced general, while it was plain to pelle that she was as yet but a novice in the mysteries of gardening. he did venture to hint modestly that it was late--the middle of july--to begin such an undertaking. alma took no notice of his discouraging hints, but went on expatiating as to how charming it would be to have the swedish flag lying there on the green grass, and how her father would enjoy it, loving his country as he did, and being a real soldier himself. a soldier the colonel certainly was by profession; but he had had other enemies to meet than the foes of his native land. he had struggled long with sorrow and ill-health, his constant portion. exiled from sweden for the sake of his delicate wife, and that he himself might be under the care of eminent physicians who understood his complicated difficulties, he had still continued a warm swede at heart. now he considered himself stronger; and did it mean life or death for him, the north should be his home, and his children should learn to love the land of their forefathers. his native language he had never allowed them to lose, even when far away from the bright lakes and clustering pines of the country so dear to him. a war against all that could injure his fatherland the colonel had all the time been waging with his skilful pen. by sharp newspaper articles and spirited papers in magazines he had cast himself into whatever conflict might be going on in sweden, and had so had his own share of influence at home. he had read the stockholm journals as faithfully as if he had been living in sight of the royal palace. as to her father's being charmed with her plan for her flower-bed, alma was confident. she would not listen to pelle's suggestion that the flowers would hardly blossom richly at the same time, and those blue weeds would in the end quite overrun the garden. she had no misgivings, but walked about with a peculiar air of determination in her slight, very slight figure. alma's whole person gave the impression of extreme fragility, sustained by strength of will. it was the same with her delicate face, haloed round by her sunny hair, ready to float in every breeze. the small mouth was thin and decided, and the large, full blue eyes could be soft or stern as the passing mood prompted. they were very gentle as she looked at nono when the noonday rest came, and told him he might come into the house with her, as perhaps she could help him a little about his writing in her own room. nono would have preferred at that moment to consume the hearty lunch karin had provided for him, but he followed submissively. pelle looked after the pair as he went to his favourite seat. somehow the decided figure of the young girl always touched him. there was something about her that made him uneasy for her, body and soul. nono looked despairingly at his shoes, fresh from the flower-bed, as he came to the wide doorway through which alma had beckoned to him to follow her. it was in vain he tried to put his feet into proper condition by gently rubbing them on the mat that he thought fit for a queen to step on. the colour dashed to his brown cheeks as he saw the marks he had left on it. he could but tiptoe after alma as she entered the, to him, sacred precincts of the "big house" at ekero. alma felt young and guilty as she met a stout, elderly woman on the stairs, as she went up with nono. "it's the little italian boy i saw baptized," she said apologetically. "i've seen many children baptized, miss alma, and paid respect to what was doing, i hope, but i don't have them trudging up and down the grand staircase--no, not even when the colonel is away in foreign parts. miss alma must do as she pleases, but i'd like the colonel to know that i see things in order as far as i can. i can't be responsible for boys like that leaving tracks like a bear behind them." the comparison to the bear was not meant to be personally offensive towards nono, though he always felt that with bruin he was specially connected. he had indeed, in his caretaking, not left marks like a human being as he had tiptoed along, leaving round traces on the shining floor and stairs, as if a four-footed creature had passed. nono was not much accustomed to harsh words, and the reproaches of the faithful housekeeper increased his awe of the place, where he felt himself a decided intruder, though following the young mistress at her express command. nono was even more disturbed in mind when he was seated at a beautiful little writing-table, and requested to write on a fair sheet of paper laid before him. the first verse of a hymn was dictated to him from the prettiest little psalm book imaginable. his writing was really wonderful for a boy of his age. the letters were clear and round, and almost graceful, with here and there a little flourish of his own invention, added in his desire to do his best. [illustration: "the first verse of a hymn was dictated to him."] alma was quite disappointed when she saw that there was no field here for her instructions. she could hardly write better herself, and by no means as legibly. she was aiming at a flowing hand, and her efforts but showed that her character was yet too unformed to attempt such a dashing style with the pen. on nearer examination, nono's spelling was found to be most exceptionable. "have you never been taught spelling at school, nono?" asked alma, very seriously. "oh yes!" he answered cheerfully, and forthwith drew himself up as he stood, and recited the rules for the various ways in which the english sound "oh" may be represented in swedish, giving the proper examples under the rule. this little nono could rattle off in grand school-recitation style, though these etymological gymnastics never bore on his practices as a writer. of such rules alma knew nothing. she had learned swedish spelling on quite another principle. for years she had copied a swedish poem every day for her father (whether with him or away from him), in pretty little books, which were in due time presented to him with the inscription at the beginning, "from his devoted daughter." alma now gave nono the "psalm book," and bade him copy the hymn carefully. he did not dare to touch the dainty little volume, for his hands were far from immaculate after his morning's work. he managed, though, with his knuckles to steady it against baxter's "saints' rest" and "thomas à kempis," which in choice bindings found their place among alma's devotional books, more in memory of her mother, to whom they had belonged, than for any special use they were to the present owner. nono's copy proved fair and correct, for he had the idea that whatever he did must be done well. he signed his name, and put the date below, as he was requested, adding a superfluous supplementary flourish, like an expression of rejoicing that the trial was over. on one side of the table was a little porcelain statuette that fixed his attention. on an oval slab lay a fine newfoundland dog, while a boy, evidently just rescued from drowning, was stretched beside him, the dank hair and clinging clothes of the child telling the story as well as his closed eyes and limp, helpless hands. "is he really drowned? is he dead?" asked nono, forgetting all about the spelling, as did his teacher when she heard his question. "that is one of my treasures, nono," she said. "the princess gave it to my mother. she modelled it with her own hands--the group after which this was made, i mean. you have heard about the good princess, nono?" nono shook his head and looked very guilty. he knew the king's name, and believed him to be quite equal to david; but as to the queen and all the "royal family," he was in most republican ignorance. now alma had something she liked to talk about. perhaps she was willing that even nono should know that her own dear mother had been intimately acquainted with a princess, and had loved her devotedly, and been as warmly loved in return. alma even condescended to tell nono that it was the princess who had first led her dear mother to a true christian life; which high origin for religious influence alma seemed to look upon as if it were a sort of superior aristocratic form of vaccination. alma went on to describe the saintly princess as she had heard her spoken of by both her father and her mother, whose respect and affection she had so justly won. how the image grew and fixed itself in nono's mind of a real, living princess who sold her rich jewels to build and sustain a home for the sick poor! he heard how she, in her own illness, surrounded by every luxury, could have no rest until she had planned a home where they too could have comfort and tender care. the dark eyes of the listener grew moist as he heard of the hospital the princess now had for crippled and diseased children, where they were made happy and had real love as well as a real home. nono was a happy boy when he went out from alma's room with a little engraved likeness of the princess in his hand, and a glow of warm feeling for her in his fresh young heart. for certain private reasons of his own, she seemed very near to him, and the thought of her was peculiarly precious. when old pelle and nono were going home that evening, he produced his little likeness of the princess, and told pelle all about her. pelle's eyes sparkled, and he said as he rubbed his hands together, "that princess does belong to the royal family! she is a daughter of the great king!" "may i put her up in your room, uncle pelle?" asked nono. "i do not quite like to have her in the cottage, where the children can get at her. they might not understand that this is not like any other picture." "that you may," said pelle; "and come in to see her, too, as often as you please. a sick princess and a christian too! she wouldn't mind having her likeness put up in my poor place, if she is like what you say. god bless her!" nono had a way of taking what was precious to him to pelle to keep, and curious were the boyish treasures he had stored away in pelle's room. it had been a bare little home when the old man went into it, but he had made it a cosy nest in his own fashion. pelle had been for a time a sailor in his youth, and had learned to make himself comfortable in narrow quarters. a fever caught in a foreign port had laid him by, and left sad traces behind it in his before strong body. other and better traces had been left in his life, even repentance for past misdoings and resolutions for a faithful christian course. as a gardener's "helping hand" he had long gotten on comfortably; but illness and old age had come upon him, and there had seemed no prospect for him but the poorhouse, when karin's hospitable door opened for him. the lawsuit was not settled, but it was well known in the neighbourhood that jan persson had said uncle pelle should not go to the poorhouse while he had a home. pelle felt quite independent now, and he held his head straight as he walked by nono and talked about the good princess. had not the young lady at ekero said she should need him straight on in the garden? for she saw he knew all about flowers, and could be of real use to her. alma wanted to be a friend to nono too, but she did not yet exactly see how. there was something about the boy she did not quite understand. chapter ix. karin's fÊte. nono was in disgrace. the twins had twice brought him before karin, his clothes all smeared with mud, as if he had purposely made his whole person the colour of his brown face, and had given his hands rough gloves of a still darker hue. of course he had at first been sternly reprimanded, for karin suffered no such proceedings in her neat household. the second reproof was more severe, and accompanied by the promise of a thorough whipping if the offence were repeated. the long summer evenings gave a fine play-time for the boys, and then nono generally amused himself out of the way of the twins, who were very despotic in their style of government. again they had detected him brushing himself behind the bushes, and dolorously looking at the obstinate stains upon his cotton clothes. with a wild hollo they seized the culprit between them, and hurried him along towards karin, who was cheerily examining her flower-beds under the southern windows, and chatting meanwhile with jan, who sat on the doorstep. karin was both grieved and angry, and unusually excited. "nono must be whipped, and that soundly," she said emphatically to jan. "this is the third time he has come to the house in that condition. i won't have him learn to disobey me that way." jan got up slowly, and took from its hiding-place inside the cottage something that looked like a broom-brush made of young twigs. it was the family emblem and instrument of punishment, much dreaded among the children; and with reason, for jan had a strong hand and a sure one. he had been accustomed to giving his own boys a thrashing now and then, but on nono he had never laid hands, as karin's gentler discipline had usually sufficed for her foster-son. the tears were in the eyes of the culprit, but he stood quite still, and was at first speechless. at last he managed to say, "don't whip me here, papa jan; take me down to the shore, please." jan generally had his times of punishment quite private with the boys, the grove behind the house being the usual place of execution. he could not, however, refuse nono's modest request. off to the shore they went together, the twins meanwhile shrugging and wincing, as if they themselves were undergoing the ordeal, while they said to each other, "he'll catch it! it won't feel good!"--not without some satisfaction, mingled with a sense of the seriousness of the occasion. little decima, who had been a depressed looker-on at the proceedings, buried her head in her mother's apron and cried as if she herself were the victim. the little boys, no longer little, were hardened to punishment, as they were often in disgrace for their wild pranks, but the idea of nono's being whipped seemed to have made them uncommonly sober. sven went into the cottage to look among his treasures for something with which to console nono on his return from the shore. thor was walking up and down, giving defiant looks at the twins for their want of sympathy with nono in his humiliation. there was a sorrowful shadow over the whole family group that evening not common at the golden house. to the surprise of all parties jan soon appeared, holding nono by the hand, both apparently in a most cheerful humour. there were no tears in nono's face, and jan looked down at him with peculiar tenderness. "nono has not meant to be a bad boy," said jan; "and i have forgiven him, and i think you will have to forgive him too, karin." "dear, dear mamma karin, indeed i did not want to be a bad boy," said nono. "that would be hard, after all your kindness to me. please, please forgive me!" nono put his arm round karin as he spoke. she looked doubtfully at him, but could not refuse the lips he put up to her to be kissed in sign of full forgiveness. sven, who had found a broken horse-shoe among his treasures, was rather disappointed that he had lost the opportunity of consoling nono with his friendly gift. decima laid her little hand in nono's, and was about leading him off the scene, when she was suddenly captured by her mother and hurried into the cottage, with the exclamation, "here's decima up till this time! one never knows when to put children to bed these summer evenings. she'll be as cross as pepper in the morning if she don't get her sleep out!" it was plain that karin was not quite satisfied with the turn the whole affair had taken. "papa is too partial to nono! it is a shame!" murmured the twins, as they went off in a pout. the morning of the second day of august was warm and bright. when karin awoke, jan was already up and out of the house. the children were dressed in their holiday clothes, by their father's permission, they said, their faces beaming with satisfaction. karin was hardly in order when jan appeared and advised her to put on a white apron, which she wonderingly consented to do, and then jan led her off down to the shore. behind them the children followed in orderly procession. old pelle brought up the rear, like the shepherd with the sheep going on before him. of the why and wherefore of all this ado the children had no idea. nono had assured them that their father approved of the whole thing, and the proud and yet tender way that jan was walking with karin showed that the affair had his full endorsement. on a green bank in a little cove in the shore karin was ceremoniously seated, and jan placed himself at her side. the children threw into her lap their bouquets, each of a hue of its own, to lie there like a jumbled-up rainbow. with oke's bright flowers from the pastor's garden fell a bank-note from the absent erik, with an inscription pinned to it in his usual lingo: "mamma. from her gosse erik." (nono had assured oke it was best to keep the gift till the second of august.) a few drops fell on the note and the bright flowers from karin's astonished eyes; but there was a sudden sunshine of joy and wonder as nono proceeded to take down the evergreen branches that were leaned against the bank opposite to her. there, a deep arch had been scooped into the hillside. in its sweet retirement there was a tiny house of yellow pine, perfectly modelled after the family home, the door open, and the flower-beds in their proper place under the windows. in front of the house was a group, which all recognized at a glance. "perfect! just as if he had seen it! think! he could make it, when he was only _so long_ at the time!" exclaimed oke, his fingers indicating a most diminutive baby. there was no contempt, but unlimited admiration, in this mention of the infant nono. [illustration: the model house.] it was indeed a most successful bit of modelling. the picture that had been so long in nono's mind had taken form. bear, and italians, and swedes, and the very baby francesca was raising high in the air for a toss, were wonderfully living and full of expression. when the tumult of delight was subdued for a moment, jan intimated, as he had been requested, that nono had something to say. what grandiloquence nono had prepared never transpired. as it was, he forgot his intended speech. his heart was in his throat; but he managed to say that this was katharina day in the almanac, and so mamma karin's name-day, and the dear mother of them all ought, of course, to be honoured. he had found some nice clay by the shore, which would stay in any form he put it, and he had tried to make the group he had thought so much about to show how thankful he was to have a place in such a home. he had not meant to be careless, but when he got at his work he forgot everything else, and so it had all happened. the last time was the worst, when he had spilt the basin of water, just as he was trying to make himself decent. papa jan had forgiven him, and he hoped mamma karin would do so too, now she had heard all about it. he really had not meant to be a bad boy. karin caught the little italian in her arms, while jan looked down on them benignantly, and the children roared an applause that came from the depths of their hearts. they had never thought of celebrating their mother's name-day. it had never even struck them that she had one, as her name as they knew it was not to be found in the almanac. as for themselves, each could remember some simple treat that had been provided for his name-day--a row on the bay, pancakes after dinner, an apple all round, a trip to the village, or some other favour calculated to specially please the recipient and make all happy in the home. the children, all but nono, had been sure to have their _fête_; for if the name by which they were called in everyday life had no place in the almanac, they had a luxury used only once a year which fixed their time to be honoured--a second name that stood in the calendar. so decima had come to be a kind of d.d. in her way. she had been baptized decima desideria, that she too might have a name-day and a celebration. desideria was a royal name, and a kind of a queen too. decima had been from the very beginning the one girl among many boys, and ruling them all with her whims and caprices. jan had no idea of lingering all day by the shore, and he soon broke up the party by saying it was time for them all to go in and get on their everyday clothes, and be twice as busy as usual to make up for lost time. jan spoke bluntly, for he found himself in a softened mood, and that was his odd way of showing it. for his part, he had made up his mind that he had taken too little pains to give karin pleasure--his good wife, who had all kinds of bothers, no doubt, and never troubled him about them. a truce was sealed that day between nono and the twins, though the duumvirs said never a word on the subject. they were not going to trouble a boy who could make such wonderful things, and show how grateful he was to their own mother, who had been just as kind to them, and they had thought little about it, and not even found out she had a name-day at all. when nono was going to bed that night, karin thanked him again for the great pleasure he had given her. "i did not give it to you; it was all the princess," he said. karin looked wonderingly at him, and he added, "i told oke i wanted to make beautiful things like some he showed me in a book about italy the pastor had lent him. oke laughed first, and then he said it told in the book that the men who made beautiful things did not always have beautiful lives--good lives it meant, oke said. i want to have a beautiful life, mamma karin, and i thought it might be best not to try to make figures at all, as i am always wanting to, and i felt sorry about it. when miss alma showed me what the good princess could make, i thought i might see if i could make beautiful things and have a beautiful life too, like her. so you see it was the princess. i am glad you were pleased." karin bade the little boy good-night with unusual tenderness. she understood him, and in her heart the purpose was strengthened to try more herself to lead "a beautiful life," and to begin more earnestly than ever before on her name-day. chapter x. the little cottage. of course, alma was anxious to see the wonderful group that nono had made for karin. the evening after the celebration of karin's name-day, alma appeared at the cottage in a light summer costume and her parasol held daintily in her hand, though the sun was veiled in golden clouds. what was her astonishment to see frans cosily sitting on the doorstep beside jan in his working dress, and his own not more presentable for eyes polite. frans enjoyed society where the laws of etiquette and the dominion of fashion were unknown. "you here, frans!" exclaimed alma, with a sudden cloud on her before smiling face. "you here, alma!" answered frans, starting up with affected surprise, then offering to his sister with formal courtesy the seat he had vacated at honest jan's side. jan took himself up too--a slow process for him after a day of hard work. bareheaded he stepped forward to welcome the young lady, who at once explained the object of her visit. nono, who had seen her in the distance, now came to meet her, and willingly led the way to the shore. karin, who was weeding in the vegetable-garden, did not know of the arrival of the guest. alma's delight with the group exceeded nono's expectations. she used words about it such as she had heard her father employ in criticising works of art, and quite soared beyond nono's comprehension as well as her own. the little house, just like karin's cottage, charmed her completely. "did you really make it all yourself, nono; the house, i mean?" she said. "uncle pelle helped me about it a little," said nono honestly. "i am glad you like it." "i like it so much that i want just such a one, to be really my own, but very, very much smaller it should be. i should like to use it as a money-box, a kind of savings-bank. the chimney should be open all the way down, so that i could drop the money in. the door should be locked, and i should have the key. i have a lock from an old work-box that would just do. pelle could help you to fit it in, i am sure; he is so handy about everything. will you do it, nono?" of course nono gladly said he would try; and then alma added, "but i want to see pelle too, and karin, and pelle's room, and the cottage." "pelle does not often let anybody come into his room but me," said nono hesitatingly; "but mamma karin will be pleased, ever so pleased, to see you, i am sure." "perhaps i had better come another time," said alma, remembering that frans was on the premises, and not being at all sure what he might choose to say while she was trying to make herself agreeable at the golden house. so alma made her way to the gate, escorted by nono, and only left a message for the family, who had all assembled in the garden, which frans was cheerily inspecting. nono began at once to plan about the savings-bank for alma, and was much in deep consultation with pelle. in the course of their conversations on the subject, nono heard from the old man how the golden house came to be so very different from the usual red cottages of sweden. he felt it was like karin not to have told him the story. she had served as maid in her youth to an eccentric old lady, with whom she had lived until she was married. when her former mistress was near her end, and was gloomily looking forward to death, some words of simple faith and hope she had once heard from karin came now to her mind like a new revelation, and the glad truths took deep root in her troubled heart. an abounding gratitude to karin at once took possession of the dying woman, and she added an item to her will providing that karin, who was struggling along with her young family about her, should have a bit of land of her own, and a cottage built upon it, like those the testator remembered in the part of sweden where she had lived in her childhood. it should all be one great room up to the roof, but very comfortable and convenient. it must not, though, be red like any other cottage, but yellow at first, and always yellow; for karin had been as good as gold to her mistress, and better. so this was the story of "the golden house," as the italian had named it--a name it had borne ever since. bright yellow, and complete in all its appointments, was the little house that nono at last took to alma. if not gold itself, something golden, small and round, fell into nono's hands as alma received it. "now, nono," she said, "that is your gift from your godmother, for i am a kind of a godmother to you. it may be the last present you will have from me. i am going to be very saving now, and lay up all the money i can." nono felt as if common swedish words were hardly fit to express his thankfulness, so he astonished alma by dropping on one knee and kissing her hand, as he had seen "a courtier saluting a queen" in a "history book" he studied at school. old pelle, meanwhile, was looking on with the sharp twinkle in his eye with which he watched many of alma's proceedings. she knew he had been consulting-architect as to the little cottage, but she could not help calling on him now to admire it, saying, "is it not a beauty, and just like karin's home?" pelle leaned on his rake as he stood, and answered, "it is like it, and it is not like it. people's faces can look like them even when they are dead. that is a kind of a dead house to me with the door tight shut. that isn't the way at the cottage. the door is always open, in a way, there. it says, 'come in; you're welcome.' if the master up there," and he raised his thin finger towards the skies, "was to say to karin, 'where is the guest-room?' she'd likely point to the house, all one great room inside. she'd make a mistake, though. her guest-room is in _here_, where she let the master in long ago." pelle laid his hand on his breast, where he supposed his honest old heart to be beating. he may not have located it right physiologically, but something whispered to alma that the old man spoke the truth as he added emphatically, "the guest-room is the heart, to my thinking; and when the right guest gets in there, sharing is easy, and a man or a woman grows free and friendly like." pelle began to work very diligently, raking the newly-cut grass as if he had had his say in the matter and had no more time for talking. alma went into the house with the savings-bank in her hand. a savings-bank it proved to be as the months went on, with a very strong draught down the little chimney. alma had been in earnest when she had said she meant to be economical. her firm will was now set in that direction. coin after coin was dropped into the chimney, as swallow after swallow sinks into similar quarters when a summer night comes on. the accumulating store lay in secrecy and in stillness, save when alma now and then made the little house shake as if an earthquake threatened it with destruction, while she listened delightedly to the jingling and rattling within. she wished often that she had asked nono to make real windows with glass in them, through which she might have feasted on her treasure. she did not like those little black pasteboards based with white, and the pots of flowers painted behind them to simulate karin's geraniums. every saturday evening pelle came to be paid for his labours of the week. his gains were duly handed over to karin, and then pelle went to his little room, where he walked up and down, holding his head as high as the ceiling would permit, in the comfortable consciousness that he had turned his back on the poorhouse, and yet was not a burden at the cottage. the colonel had provided the money for pelle from the first, and now alma had asked him to do the same for nono, as she had something particular in view for which she was saving all she could spare. the colonel looked inquiringly, but received no answer to his questioning glance. he was accustomed to alma's having her plans and her whims and fancies; and as they generally did no harm, he was not in the habit of examining particularly into them. it would even be a pleasure to him to pay nono's wages personally. he liked the little brown boy who made him think of the sunny south, and could not pass him in the garden without giving him a pleasant word or a friendly nod. it pleased him to think there would now be a new link between them. a silver link it proved in a small way to nono, who had no reason to complain of the change. the little italian did, however, half realize that miss alma did not notice him quite in the same way as at first; but he was thankful for the friendliness of the past, for his pleasant home, and for steady work, and life was very bright to him now that the twins were more his protectors than his tyrants. frans was not at all pleased with the new system of economy. alma had always been ready to give or to lend to him from her own private purse when he was "short of money," for the construction of his machines or for any of his various undertakings. she had often scolded him for being thriftless and reckless, but had been as liberal with her loans and gifts as with her reproaches. he was fairly astonished when his birthday came round to receive from her an old book of her own, with the fly-leaf torn out, and an inscription written on the title-page, "frans. from his devoted sister." "much devoted!" he said with a shrug, as he looked at his present, a nicely-bound book, truly, and containing much good advice, but conveyed in such long words and long sentences and such very small print that alma herself had never been able to read it. "what's got into you, alma?" he added hastily; "you seem to be drawing off from me, every way, as fast as you can. i wonder if you will stop calling me frans one of these days, and pretend you are no sister of mine. you know i don't care for this thing! i'm not much of a reader, any way, and books are not much in my line, unless they are about travels or machines or something that grows or crawls. you are all the sister i have, and i wish sometimes you would find it out!" frans did not wait for an answer, but ran off to thank the housekeeper for the big cake she had made for him, and the flower-decked table on which it had been placed. he wanted to thank his father, too, for the neat little cupboard that had been placed in his room for his cabinet, with lock and key, glass doors, and plenty of shelves, just as he would have wished it. the colonel was not well, and had not yet appeared. perhaps he wanted to see his boy first, alone, on his birthday. frans looked quite tender and softened when the interview was over. he was convinced that his father, at least, did love him very dearly, in spite of the trouble he was always giving. "suppose--suppose," he thought to himself--"suppose i should turn over a new leaf, and really try to be better!" he passed out into the garden and chanced to look up at alma's window. she stood there with the yellow cottage in her hand, and was dropping something down the chimney. "there goes my present, i daresay," he thought, and again the bitter mood was uppermost, in spite of his father's kind words and the charming new home for his cabinet. chapter xi. the slide. not the angel of death but the angel of beauty seemed to have made his rounds in the night. not a tree nor a shrub had been passed by. the very dried weeds by the roadside were clothed in fairy garments. it was as if nature had been suddenly purified, exalted, made ready for translation. alma looked out through her window,--not on the dark old oaks or the bare slender birches of yesterday. in feathery whiteness the oaks stood up before her, their hoary heads a crown of beauty, as in a sainted old age. the graceful birches stood in "half concealing, half revealing" pure drapery, as if shrouded in a bridal veil. round karin's home the solemn evergreens had lost their gloom, and the white-robed branches drooped, as if to cast a double blessing on the passer-by. four noisy boys stormed out from the cottage door with a glad shout. they saw nothing of poetry or beauty or mystery in the wonders the hoar-frost had been working. they but remembered they were in the midst of the christmas holidays, and to-day they were to finish, under the direction of frans, the packing of the snow slope that led down to the frozen bay. there they were all to have a splendid time coasting on the long new sled that all had been busy in perfecting. "she," as the boys said, was a "grand affair," a "regular buster." similar thoughts had been uppermost with nono, but they had now taken a different form. he was still inside the cottage, coaxing karin to let decima have her share in the frolic. he would hold fast to her himself, he said, and see that she came to no harm. by two o'clock in the afternoon the slide was ready. many hands had made light work, and frans had proved an admirable engineer. he now took his place on the long sled as steersman and captain of the whole affair. decima, rolled in her mother's red shawl, was placed in the midst of the group of merry boys, nono's willing arms holding her as firmly as it was possible to grasp such an uncertain kind of a bundle. all went on merrily. far out on to the ice-covered bay the great sled rushed with wonderful swiftness. then there was the return trip uphill, decima riding with only nono beside her, as her humble servitor, to keep her steady. the sport went on and time flew by. grown more and more daring, the strong heels of the boys urged on the descending sled till it moved at the pace of a swift locomotive. suddenly there came a clumsy old-fashioned sleigh along the shore road, which crossed the slide at a right angle. frans braked with heel and staff, and the other boys in vain did their best to help him. the sled struck the sleigh, and was emptied in a moment. the boys who were unencumbered fell here and there in the soft snow or on the road. nono held desperately fast to his precious bundle, but could not save little decima. while the rest of the party were jumping up and rubbing their bruises, or declaring they were "all right," nono, half stunned, lay helpless with little decima still in his arms. she was screaming terribly, and would hardly submit to being lifted up by the boys, even when nono had rallied and was giving her a helping hand. the accident was followed by a weary, sorrowful time at the cottage. decima's broken leg was set by the doctor, and she was laid on the box couch, her usual bed, with a brick dangling from her ankle to keep the injured limb straight while it was healing. if decima had been a queen before, she now became a despot of the most arbitrary sort. she was not patient by nature, and as to her habits of obedience, they seemed broken as well as her leg. there was no limit to her exactions. her brothers she treated like worthless slaves, and they soon learned to keep out of her reach, and when possible out of the cottage. nono spent his spare time faithfully beside her, contriving all sorts of devices for her amusement. frans looked in often to see how she was getting on, and never came empty-handed. there was always some special sweet bit to please her, or a "picture book," or an apple, or a dainty plate of food begged from the housekeeper. once, when frans was going to the village, alma had thought of commissioning him to buy a doll, a prettily-dressed doll, for decima; but she checked herself, almost as if the idea had been sinful, and that day a special contribution found its way down the chimney of her treasure-house. notwithstanding the kindness of frans to the little patient, he did not find her an angelic sufferer, even as far as he was concerned. she became more and more fastidious as to his presents, always expecting some gift more novel and beautiful than the last. frans made all kinds of jokes about her "decimal fractiousness," which were noisily appreciated by the young arithmeticians at the cottage. nono alone could not laugh at anything which concerned decima's misfortune, for which he considered himself in a manner accountable. the great undivided room of the interior of the cottage was now a sore trial for karin. the door seemed to be always ajar, decima declaring she felt a draught wherever she was placed. at last the boys went out one day and left the door wide open, with poor little decima alone in the room, with a rush of keen air blowing upon her. of course she took cold, and karin was quite in despair. the child began to complain that the boys always were making a noise, and the dishes rattled so they hurt her. it was in vain that karin tripped about with the utmost care; her lightest steps, decima said, shook the whole floor. as for jan and the boys, they were for ever doing something that made the little patient's head ache or that put her in a bad humour. the doctor finally said he did not see how decima was to get well in that room, with that noisy family about her. it might do for well folks to live so packed together, but to be sick in such a place was another question. karin, with her usually cheerful face all clouded, went one day to old pelle's room for comfort, as she had often done before. he did not say, though he thought it, that his own little den was none of the warmest, or he would take decima there. he was thankful for the shelter, such as it was. he proposed nothing for the child's comfort, but reminded karin that little decima was as precious to the master as are the tender lambs to the shepherd, and she went out comforted. she found nono waiting for her at the door, with his dark eyes large and earnest. "i have thought what i can do, mother karin," he said. "i shall go up to stockholm and ask the good princess to take decima into her home for sick children, and she will be sure to get better there!" "you go up to stockholm! you ask the princess!" exclaimed karin, astonished at the magnitude and almost presumption of the proposal. "i feel as if i knew the princess," persevered nono. "i have thought so much about her, and looked at her face until she don't seem to me like a stranger, and then i know that she is so good. i want to start to-day, mother karin. there is only a little time left of the vacation, and i could not be away when school begins, you know. it is so beautiful to-day, and not very cold." jan came along at the moment, and nono explained his plan to him, much as he had done to karin, but with quite a different result. "you are the right kind of a boy, nono," said jan, with hearty approval. "you shall do just as you say. maybe the father in heaven put it into your head. i know how a father feels when his children are in trouble. our royal family have never held their heads too high to hear when the people were really in need. i am sure the princess would be pleased to do what she could for our little decima.--karin, you get nono ready, right off. he is a good walker. it will only take him two days to do it. give him some loaves of bread, and he shall have some coppers from me to buy milk by the way, and it will go well with him, i really believe. there is not a cottager in sweden who would not take him in for a night when they had heard what he was out for. something must be done, any way, and we had better try this. it takes all the heart out of me to see decima as she is--our only girl, and such a dear!" there was something moist in jan's eyes, but he brushed it away with the back of his hand. the boys had been sent to the woods to bring home their sled loaded with brandies, to be cut up for fuel, for jan had been felling a tree the day before. when they came home to dinner they heard with astonishment that nono was off on his wonderful errand. "the little boys" were at once detailed to wait upon decima, when she condescended to receive their attentions--an office on which they entered with quizzical shrugs and wry faces and many misgivings. it had struck jan at once that one of the older boys would have been much better fitted for such a trip than little nono; but what would they dare to say to a princess? they would perhaps never be allowed to get into the palace at all. nono, with his pretty ways and bright black eyes, would be sure to get in anywhere. karin had made him neat enough to come into anybody's house. and as to his telling his story, he could talk like a book when he got started, and make his hands talk too, if he chose. old pelle's eyes had glistened when he heard of the plan. when he bade nono good-bye, he had begun the boy's favourite text, "he who delivered me from the lion and the bear--" he stopped, and then added, "the princess is no philistine, but one of the lord's anointed, i am sure. she is the great king's daughter! you know what i mean, nono." nono did understand, and went out strengthened. he knew he had uncle pelle's approval and his blessing on his errand. chapter xii. a pedestrian trip. nono had not started alone on his trip to stockholm. he had with him a companion as lively as himself. a black companion it was, and with a voice that could vary from the deepest bass to the highest treble, not only at will, but at the word of command. alas! this companion had a ring in his nose like a heathen islander, though he had been born in a christian country, and had enjoyed unusual advantages for education. he was accustomed to be washed, and to be dressed on occasion, and he took his food most respectably considering his ancestry. if he were not "learned," as some of his race had been, he was at least a most accomplished and amusing companion. nono had tried hard to make his pet a biped; but the creature was not ambitious of being promoted to walking upright like man, though he could stand on two legs as stiffly as any statue, at least for a few moments. he knew he was after all but a little black pig, with a ring in his nose (as a punishment for rooting), and submitted humbly to being led, and tried to obey his master's least command as far as his intelligence permitted. when the little black pig had made his appearance at the colonel's, in the midst of six rose-coloured brothers, everybody had been reminded of nono among the fair-haired children at the golden house. frans at once declared that the eccentric pig ought to belong to the little italian, and the present had been finally made, with all due ceremonies, and an appropriate speech from frans, which won great applause from the auditors. blackie then and there received his name, which he had ever since retained, and to which he seemed willing to bring honour. nono had made his pet a rustic home of his own, and had resolved from the first that blackie should be something remarkable. oke had described to the boy the learned pigs about which he had read, and nono betook himself in earnest to the education of blackie, and found his efforts crowned with amazing success. karin had looked rather gloomy at first about piggie's being destined to an exceptional career, but she relented when she saw what innocent merriment he had introduced into the family. jan was never too tired to laugh as heartily as the boys to see blackie giving his hard paw to be shaken, or singing or scolding according to the words of command. if the order were "scold, blackie!" he scolded to perfection in his grunting way. if it were "sing, blackie!" he laid his head sentimentally on one side, and gave a succession of shrill squeals that brought forth from the listeners a glad round of applause. blackie's everyday dress was provided by nature, and was dusky of course, but scrupulously brushed--a process which he evidently considered an agreeable luxury. blackie had been taken to the yearly fair in a red flannel blanket pointed at the edges, that an elephant might have been proud to wear if it had suited his proportions. nono had exhibited his pet thus attired, and his accomplishments were so well rewarded that karin received in advance full pay for blackie's winter accommodation, to nono's infinite satisfaction. nono had not thought of taking blackie as a companion in his pedestrian trip until he was passing the home of his pet, after bidding good-bye to the elders of the family. the traveller had been suddenly struck with the thought that blackie might chance to serve instead of a long purse for the exigencies of the journey, and it would be best to take him, as private property, to supply the possible needs of the uncertain future. it may be that it had unconsciously seemed dreary to the little italian to start out into the great world alone, and that a four-footed friend would be better than none. the plan promised to prove a good one; for blackie was a companion who, though he said little, required too much attention for his master to have many anxious thoughts. accomplished as piggie certainly was, he was evidently puzzled as to nono's intentions, and constantly suggested in his own way that the walk had been long enough, and it was time to turn back to the golden house. after a sharp contention on this subject, the travellers came in sight of a house which nono fancied would suit his purpose, for he rightly guessed that blackie's appetite had been sharpened by the long walk in the fresh air. most abundant refreshments for boy and beast were given on the one side, and on the other a whole family had a hearty laugh to promote their own digestion. blackie could not have done better if he had fully realized the importance of the occasion. towards twilight the glad jingling of bells rang out on the air--a perfect concert of its kind. a train of sleighs drawn by prancing horses came dashing down a long hill that nono could see in the distance, as he trudged over a level stretch below. nono stepped out into the soft snow as the first sleigh was almost upon him, the pace of the horses being prudently slackened at the sight of the uncommon impediment in the road. nono took off his hat and bowed, while his face gleamed with delight at the pretty display--the festal white nets of the horses, and the fur-covered sleighs where the merry party were so comfortably stowed. when nono bowed, at a motion from him the pig did the same, standing in his very best way, if not in most graceful court fashion. the little dark figures on the background of snow brought forth a cheery peal of laughter, as sleigh after sleigh passed by with nods and shouts of approval. some self-sacrificing lover of children first managed to get his hand into his pocket under the wraps; so came, by example, from one and another a small rain of copper, with now and then a silver bit for company. nono and blackie plunging round in the snow to pick up the treasures (blackie hoping for a dainty morsel, and nono eager that nothing should be lost) made a funny little roadside scene that sent the gay party on their way even more merry than before. nono was not sure that he had gathered up all the results of this unexpected exhibition, but he soon felt obliged to resume his march, as the night was coming on rapidly. blackie introduced him pleasantly to a little shoemaker, who came up from behind and joined the two pedestrians. of course he asked nono all manner of questions, and got true replies, as to where he was going and why. the hardy shoemaker had a leather apron over his heart, but the heart in his broad breast was honest and kind. nono and blackie were taken into his poor cottage, and were free to sleep in its one room, where he and his wife and two children, and the leather and the shoes to be mended, and much more of a nondescript nature, were huddled together. in the morning nono was assured that one day's more walk would bring him near to stockholm. that was a trifle, the shoemaker said. he had walked as far as that to church every sunday, when he was young, and lived up in the north, where the snow was not to be sneezed at, and the night lasted almost all day, as he inconsistently expressed it. as to visiting the princess, the shoemaker assured nono that was sheer madness. a boy like him would hardly dare to look any of the royal family in the face, he was certain. he had never heard anything particular about the princess, to be sure, but high folks didn't like to be bothered. he advised nono to show blackie in the streets. that might bring him a bit of money; and if worst came to worst there was begging, not a bad business in stockholm he had heard. money was to be made that way, no doubt, by such a chap as nono, who had such a pretty story to tell. the shoemaker meant no harm, after his way of looking at life; but nono drew himself up straight, and said he believed he should see the princess, he knew about her, and she was almost an angel. he might have added, if he had spoken his thoughts, that he felt acquainted with her after a fashion, and that, further, he hoped he should never come to begging while he was able and willing to work. nono could pay for food and lodging for himself and blackie without drawing on jan's coppers, and he set off full of courage. the shoemaker and his wife had been kind, and he thanked them in his heart, as he had with his lips, at parting, but he felt more and more grateful for his home in the golden house. nobody ever swore there, or tipped up a black bottle with something strong in it. and how clean it was always, and how cosy! the shoemaker's discouraging words had, however, been for nono much like the chilling mist that surrounded him when he started on his second day's journey. he suddenly thought of "the lion and the bear" and "this philistine," and he was again convinced that there would be a blessing on his undertaking, and the dear princess would prove to be no philistine, but just what he had fancied her. as nono drew nearer to stockholm the cottagers seemed to be of a rougher sort; and it was well that he had money to buy what he needed, for nobody seemed to care to look at him or his piggie. when he tried to tell his story about karin and little decima, and that he was going to see the princess, he heard only rude shouts of derision or hard words in reply. he got, however, leave to pass the night in a stable, with blackie beside him, with the parting good-night warning not to steal off with the lent blanket in the morning. it would not have been easy to slip off unobserved, for the stable was locked and barred, and nono was as safely imprisoned as if he had been in the common jail. the friendly old cart-horse taught him no harm, and mumbled with contentment as it cheerfully ate its humble fare, peering now and then towards the dark corner where blackie sang and scolded, as if for the special entertainment of the host in the stable. by making payment in advance in the morning nono got a glass of milk to take with his hard bread, and blackie had the same fare, which put him in a good humour for the day. nono was surprised to find that he felt a little shy about entering the city, when he saw the spires shining in the morning sun and the houses rising in close lines about them. the mist had fairly rolled away. all nature was bright, but nono had too solemn a sense of the greatness and the extraordinary nature of his undertaking to be in anything but a serious mood. he was in the outskirts of stockholm, when some big apprentice boys who were on their way to their work hailed him as he was in the midst of a contention with blackie, who seemed convinced that, with all his accomplishments, he was not fit for city life, and it was best for him to stay in the rural districts. the apprentices offered to help nono, which they did substantially, if subduing blackie were the matter in question. two of them took him in their arms and held him firmly, while nono was ordered to tell honestly how that stylish little pig came into his possession. nono said simply that it was given to him, and then hurried to tell the story of his errand. he was afraid of the rough, dirty fellows, who had a wild, reckless look about them; and they so interrupted him by loud laughs unpleasant to hear, that nono got confused, and really gave no very clear account of himself. the apprentices, putting on an air of mock respect, declared it was quite impossible to go to see the princess with that little pig as a companion, genteel a pig as he seemed to be. they could take care of him, and nono could call for him on the way home. they lived, they said, in a house at which they pointed in the distant fields. then they started off in that direction as fast as their feet could carry them, with blackie held fast in the strong arms of the tallest of the party. it was in vain that nono called upon the retiring enemy. they shook their fists at him and laughed mockingly, and called out that they would "give it to him" if he undertook to follow them now. he could call for piggie when he had seen the princess; and again they pointed out the house towards which they seemed to be hastening. nono felt inclined to sit down and cry by the roadside. it suddenly struck him that these were philistines, quite of the scoffing, goliath sort; but he was not to be discouraged by them, not he! it would have been rather awkward to appear before the princess, in her beautiful home, with blackie beside him. there was truth in that at least. perhaps those wild fellows meant well after all. they might have been just teasing him, as "the little boys" teased decima sometimes, though they really loved her at the bottom. yes, decima! he must not forget that it was for her he had undertaken it all. in such a good cause no "philistines" should make him afraid. he was so far safely on his way. he must thank god and take courage. and he did. chapter xiii. the princess. jan had given nono the strictest injunctions to ask questions only of policemen when he had once entered the great city. of course nono implicitly obeyed, and so was soon able to find the palace. what a grand building he thought it, and how beautiful the bright water about it! he was sure the world could show nothing more charming than the home of the swedish king. nono would have trembled at the idea of entering the royal palace if he had not remembered that the good princess, his princess, was there. he had a friend within the castle. not that the palace looked at all like a fortified castle. its plain, square sides were pierced by long rows of rectangular windows, while on the water-front two long white wings shut in a quiet garden. in one of these wings, he had been told, the princess had her home. a sentinel was at the entrance of the vast courtyard through which he had learned he must pass. the guard looked so imposing that nono almost trembled as he took off his felt hat and asked the way to the part of the palace where the princess lived. the sentinel condescended to point his finger towards the colonnade under which the desired door was to be found. a lady was just ringing the bell. nono watched her, and then closely imitated her movements. the door flew open for him, too, as it had done for her. a dignified, gray-haired man, in a livery nono considered quite royal apparel, looked inquiringly at the little visitor. nono asked simply to see the princess about a matter of importance. he was shown into a room, where a fair-haired lady gave him a kindly reception, and told him her royal highness would see him in a few moments. what rich moments of waiting those were for little nono! he stood as if on enchanted ground. from the wall looked out faces of gentlemen and ladies in gorgeous array. real people they seemed to be, though silent and quiet, as, encircled by bright frames, they condescended to be looked at by the wondering, admiring black eyes that were fixed upon them. there, too, were bits of nature brought into that rich room--flashing waterfalls, and quiet pastures, and golden skies through which nono almost fancied he could see the heaven beyond. nono stepped on the soft carpet without a thought of its strangeness to his rustic feet. a vision of beauty had been vouchsafed to him, and his eyes glanced from picture to picture, now glistening with delight and now lost in rapt admiration. the fair lady, who had been watching him with amusement, soon told him that he might now go in to her royal highness, but only for a few moments, as this was her morning for receiving the poor, and as she had many to talk with her she was very tired. nono saw nothing of the room into which he was now admitted, nothing but the tall, slender, stooping figure that came forward to meet him. the painters have liked to give the angels golden hair, but this was to nono a black-haired angel. smooth, dark, glossy bands framed in the high, full forehead, while the delicate chin made a corresponding point below. the large brown eyes were full of loving light, and the thin mouth smiled a welcome before the lips had spoken it. "what have you to say to me, my boy?" said the princess. a weary look quickly clouded her face, and she sank suddenly into an easy-chair, saying, "i have had many visitors to-day, so you must say quickly and plainly what you have to tell me." "perhaps i had better come another day," said nono. it grieved him to see his princess look so weak and worn. recollecting himself, he added, "but i don't see how i could, for i have come just for this a long way--from near aneholm church." "aneholm church!" exclaimed the princess, brightening. "i once had a dear friend who lived in that neighbourhood. what do you want to tell me?" it was hard for nono to make his story short. he must go back to the bear, and how he came to the cottage, or the princess would not understand why he loved karin and little decima so, and why he felt he must help them. the princess must hear, too, about the accident, and how it was almost his fault, because he had insisted on having decima out with the boys. the princess soon forgot her weariness. this was no common beggar, with sycophant whine and forced civility. nono spoke freely, frankly, and trustfully. she was some one good and powerful, who, he was sure, would gladly help him. his dark eyes looked into hers as he stood before her, while his words sprang from his heart, and his hands and his whole figure helped to illustrate his story. when he came to little decima, the sister whom the brothers loved and took care of, who played with the boys, and was the pet and darling of all, the whole face of the listener was aglow. "i was just such a little sister!" exclaimed the princess. "i never played with a doll in my life. i was the special pet with one of my brothers, who loved me very dearly. we romped and we painted, and we made clay figures together. i know what a brother can be!" and the tears for a moment filled her eyes. she dashed them away, and told nono to go on with his story. nono wanted to say that he had seen a beautiful thing the princess had made, and that was one reason why he felt so acquainted with her, but he wisely kept to decima and what he wanted for her. when the princess heard of decima's misfortune, and of the big room where all the family lived, the boys always leaving the door open to blow on the little patient, her heart was quite melted, as it had been many times before, as she compared her own comfort with the surroundings of the sick poor. she herself had been long an invalid, and often for months a prisoner in her beautiful rooms. she put out her arm towards nono, who had drawn near to her in his eagerness, and was now close at her side. affectionately her white slender hand was laid on the boy's, as she said,-- "yes, nono, your little decima shall have a place in my home for sick children. i will have the permit made out at once, and she can come as soon as 'mother karin' can send her." the princess spoke aside to the fair lady, who began to write the few words that were necessary, but stopped to ask nono the full name of the patient. "decima desideria persson," was the prompt reply. "desideria!" said the princess, with a pleasant smile. "that was my grandmother's name, so the little girl half belongs to me to take care of." "we don't call her desideria," said nono truthfully. "she had that name because it stands in the almanac, and seemed to sound well with decima, mother karin thought; and besides, she wanted the only little girl to have a name-day to keep as well as the boys.". again the pleasant smile came into the face of the princess. she wrote in a free and flowing hand her signature to the permit, which was duly placed in an envelope and given to nono. "since decima desideria is to be my guest, i must pay for her journey," said the princess. nono received the generous gift, and dared to kiss the hand that gave it. he was too full of joy and gratitude to express himself fully by his murmured thanks. "i understand you, nono," said the princess. "you can go now. perhaps we shall meet again, some day; perhaps up there, if we both love the dear lord and try to be his true children." the thin hand made a sweep upwards towards heaven, whither nono, child as he was, felt that his princess was going, all too soon for the mourning hearts she would leave behind her. so ended nono's visit to the royal palace. the princess sank wearily back in her chair when the fair lady had gone out with nono. on her mild face there was a shadow that betokened something more than weariness. that little boy she had trusted so implicitly while she looked into his clear eyes, what if he should prove an impostor? she had had her own bitter experience from the falsehoods of the apparently needy. "no! nono is not an impostor, i am sure," she said to herself. "little decima, no doubt, ought to be taken care of immediately." a slight smile came over her thoughtful face as she recalled the unusual name. the dignified old servant now brought in the letters from the morning mails. the first that the princess opened was in an unfamiliar hand. a cloud of sadness came over her, as a friend long in heaven was recalled to her mind. the colonel had written, not to renew the sorrow of the princess by reminding her of his lovely wife, but to say that he had accidentally heard of nono's departure, without credentials or recommendations of any kind to insure her confidence. the letter guaranteed the truthfulness and honesty of the boy, and contained warm words in favour of the family at the golden house. the good princess was glad to be acquitted of rashness in her promise, and was once more encouraged to love and to trust, and to give freely out of her abundance. little nono had started cheerily on his homeward journey, grateful at heart. he was hopeful as to finding blackie at the house where he had been assured his pet would be awaiting his return from the palace. nono was met there by rude answers to his eager inquiries, and was told that no one had seen anything of a little black pig, nor did any one on those premises wish to see anything more of a little dark boy full of impudent questions. there was a sweep of meadows about the house, and no other dwelling was near the spot. nono could but disconsolately begin again his homeward walk, and try to forget his pet in the thought of the future opening before little decima. he betook himself to the highroad, and trudged along as cheerily as he could. drops of blood on the snow suddenly arrested his attention. they formed a regular line leading into the far distance, where a familiar black object was getting over the ground at a marvellous rate. it must be blackie! nono gave a long whistle by which he was accustomed to call his four-footed friend. the black object stopped. the whistle was repeated, and in a few moments the little pig was awkwardly capering about his master, almost tying his tail into knots, as it was twisted round and round as an expression of delight. blackie had evidently escaped from confinement and uncongenial society. where he had been, of course he could not tell. his poor nose was sadly torn where the ring had been wrenched away as he broke loose from his imprisonment. nono was glad that blackie had lost his badge of servitude; and as to needing a rope to be led by, the poor creature was willing enough to follow nono wherever he might choose to lead him. a kind countryman returning from the city with an empty waggon gave the odd pair a good lift, and took them along so rapidly that towards evening they reached the shoemaker's cottage. nono thought best to be set down there, and he was hardly on the ground with blackie beside him when there was an impromptu concert of singing and scolding that brought the inmates of the house at once to the door. of course the travellers were warmly welcomed. there was great eagerness to hear nono's adventures, and he was at once besieged with all sorts of questions. when he had told his story, the shoemaker got up and bowed respectfully to the absent princess, whom nono had so vividly described that she seemed actually standing there in the cottage. "there be some good people left in high places!" exclaimed honest crispin. "it's of no use talking against the royal family while such a princess is above ground." so some dim socialistic ideas that had been troubling the mind of the poor shoemaker died a violent death, and the warm loyalty of his youth took the upper hand. nono and blackie were hospitably housed for the night, and treated almost as if they were ambassadors from court, with a flavour of royalty about them. it is needless to tell with what joy the travellers were received the next day at the golden house, or what rapid preparations were made for decima's departure. the princess should see that jan and karin were prompt to avail themselves of her kindness. jan took an unusual holiday, and actually was for the first time in a railroad car, with decima cuddled close at his side. decima desideria, who had a keen sense of her own fitness to come to honour, really seemed to think the children's hospital had been established for her special benefit, and that her presence there, and the ado that had been made about her, were quite natural matters, with which gratitude had very little connection. once made mistress of one of the little white beds, and surrounded by every comfort, her arrogance and her exactions would probably have known no bounds, if she had not wonderingly seen about her from day to day deformed children, suffering children, and almost idiots, as tenderly cared for as herself. it somehow came into her head to be thankful that she at least had but to lie in her bed, without great pain, that she could understand all that was said to her, and could even be learning to knit and crochet, which she was doing with extreme satisfaction. how decima longed to see the good princess! when at last that much-talked-of princess came and stood by her bed, and beamed down love and tenderness, the little invalid was softened into real gratitude, which she managed brokenly to express, with tears in her eyes. then the kind princess talked to her cheerfully and naturally of the great shepherd of the lambs, as of some one whom she knew and who was really dear to her. at the golden house religion had been lived and inculcated; at the hospital it seemed the felt, ever-pervading atmosphere. heavenly comfort was sung in the sweet hymns, breathed in the trustful prayers, spoken of as something always in mind, and acted out in the sweet offices of love towards the unfortunate. such surroundings were life-giving to the poor little invalid. her fretfulness gave way, and a sweet quietness succeeded her nervous irritation. after the weary turmoil of the past in the noisy, crowded home, there was now a serene peace for her, as if the angels had taken her under their sheltering wings. chapter xiv. where? alma was sitting in her own room, with her treasure-house before her. its door was still fast locked, as was her purse for all applications for pecuniary help. closed, too, seemed the door of her heart to the great friend who still lovingly knocked without. his question, "where is the guest-room?" had been met by a long, unbroken silence. now alma's mind was on her future plans. she had shaken the little cottage, and had been quite dissatisfied with the result. she rose hastily. a drawer in her writing-desk was impulsively unlocked. she took out a jewel-case where a diamond ring, and a brooch set with the same precious stones, and a watch with a monogram in pearls, were lying side by side. she looked admiringly at them, and carefully examined them all. the ring, the brooch, and the little watch were then deliberately let down the chimney of the golden house, as if they had been black sweeps on a lawful errand. they were given, "offered," she felt, and her design was now far on its way to its accomplishment. there could be no more earthquake-like shakings of that cottage. that amusement must be abandoned. there was a sharp prick from alma's conscience in the midst of her evident satisfaction. her father had said this jewellery would some day belong to her, and had even, at her special request, allowed her to have the now sacrificed treasures in her own keeping. "they were to be mine. they _are_ mine," she said to herself. "i have offered them. i shall never wear them now. my mother in heaven would approve of what i have done." here her conscience gave her a cruel pang. she was inclined to open again the velvet-lined box, and lay the jewellery where it had so long rested, but that was impossible without opening the little locked door of the treasure-house. that she had vowed to herself she would not do before the time appointed--a time she was now most anxious should soon arrive. at this moment alma heard the sound of footsteps. she thrust the case into its drawer, locked it and dropped the key into her pocket like one disturbed in a dishonest act rather than in a noble deed. there was a loud knock at the door. alma opened it, and frans stood before her. "what do you want here?" she said impatiently. "i can't find papa," said frans. "i wanted to tell him that it went 'bully' for me at the examination this morning. i thought perhaps your highness might like to know it too. the teachers seem to think i shall stand 'tip-top' in my report." "i don't believe you will deserve it," said alma sharply. "i never see you studying." "but i have studied lately, more than i ever studied in my life. i didn't go to bed a single night last week before one o'clock." "you ought to be ashamed to tell it!" said alma reprovingly. "you know papa don't allow you to sit up late." "i shall tell him about it myself, and i know papa will excuse me," said frans, in high spirits. the colonel did excuse frans, and was delighted to hear of his success, though he did not fail to say it was hard to make up by such forced studying for neglect during the term, and a thing that he hoped would never be needed again. frans was in a glorious good-humour during the short time he allowed himself for lunch, and made his pony fly as he hurried back to school immediately afterwards. the school was in a village about twenty minutes' ride from the colonel's home. the afternoon session was over, and yet frans did not return. the colonel was very anxious about his son. he feared that he had been induced to celebrate his success in some wild frolic, and sent in a messenger to search after him. the report came back that frans had done very badly at school during the latter part of the day, and had ridden off at full speed, evidently in a very bad humour at his failure. later in the evening the pony came home, riderless, and sorrow settled on the household at ekero. "it is only some foolish trick that frans is playing upon us!" alma had said at first, but as the hours wore away she too had become really anxious. the colonel, who went himself at once to the village, came home late, discouraged and distressed. telegraphing and sending off messengers in every direction had been in vain. the morning brought terrible news. a theft had been committed in a shop near the schoolhouse the evening before, and an older pupil of bad repute had disappeared. it was generally whispered that he and frans had gone off together. alma's feelings can easily be imagined. shame, anger, righteous indignation, and real distress were strangely mingled together. her father left home as soon as these horrible rumours were told him. alma was alone all day, save when she was called on to hear the moans of the housekeeper over her "dear boy who had gone wrong; such a sweet boy as he had always been towards her." at such a mention of himself frans would have been much astonished, as this faithful friend of the family had not failed to set his shortcomings fully before him. she now reproached alma for not making home more pleasant for her brother, for "worrying and worrying at him until he had no peace of his life. such a knowing boy as he was, too, with the ways and doings of beasts and birds at his tongue's end. as for the swedish kings, he could tell stories about them all a long midsummer day, if a body had patience to listen. and _he_ not do well at an examination!" and the housekeeper snapped her fingers in contempt of the whole pedagogical corps. to these various forms of lamenting alma listened in convicted silence. she was glad of any company in the dismal loneliness of the house, and felt she deserved much blame, if not all the burden of responsibility that was cast upon her, for frans's misdoings. the colonel had been unwearied in his efforts to find his son; but when he was at last convinced that he had gone off in company with a boy suspected of actual theft, he would not seek for his son to be brought home to public trial and possible conviction. the authorities might find the boys if they could, he would take no further steps in the matter. the colonel locked himself into his room, and not even alma's gentle knock was answered. like the housekeeper, he had a deep sense of alma's coldness and bitterness towards her brother, and he understood how frans must have dreaded to meet her after his disgrace at the examination. he understood, too, how much frans must have feared his displeasure; but that such a mother's son should be so degraded as to consort with a thief and possibly share his guilt! the thought was madness. he pictured the desperate boy, flying perhaps to a far country, to suffer, and sin and go down to the lowest depths of degradation. the prayer burst forth from the depths of the colonel's heart, "god have mercy on my son! god have mercy on me, a sinner!" there was a thoroughgoing penitence in that closed room. the colonel's whole life stood before him, with all its shortcomings and its sins. to the world it had been an outwardly blameless life, but within there had been an uncertain faith, a half-heartedness, an indecision in his inner life, that ill befitted one who so well knew the love and purity of his heavenly father. he cast himself upon his knees, to rise forgiven, and strengthened to lead a decided, devoted christian life. with his own humiliation came back his tenderness towards his absent, erring boy. when the door was opened at last to alma, she saw the traces of sorrow and deep emotion on her father's face. she threw herself into his arms, exclaiming, "dear, dear papa!" she could say no more. he gently closed the door by which she had entered. no human being ever knew the words that then passed between them, but they were henceforward to be bound together by a new and a holier tie than ever before. chapter xv. the birthday gift. in the midst of the shadow over the household at ekero, alma's birthday had come. no festivities could be thought of. no birthday table was decked for her with flowers and gifts. her father had not even remembered the fact that she was now eighteen years old until the evening came on. the housekeeper, a thorough swede in all things, could not forget such an anniversary; but she was in no mood towards alma to prompt to any particular kindness in that direction, or any festal preparations. the father and daughter were sitting quietly together in the study in the evening. "alma," he began, "i have just remembered that it must be your birthday. it has been a sad, neglected birthday for you, my child; but it shall not pass altogether without notice. give me the jewel-case that has been in your charge, and the key too, dear. i have, of course, meant that you should have these things that were so peculiarly associated with your dear mother's younger days. the watch you can wear at once, as your own does not seem to keep good time. hers was an excellent time-keeper, and it will remind you to be exact and true, and gentle and holy, like your dear mother. i shall take real pleasure in seeing you wear it. go, daughter, at once! i am glad i thought of something that will please you on your birthday." alma obeyed mechanically, and returned quickly with the empty case in her hand, hoping that when the critical moment came she should be able to explain herself satisfactorily. she gave the casket into her father's hands, and waited in a silence so natural under the circumstances that he did not notice it. there was no sparkle from the dark cushions, but a sudden, astonished sparkle in the colonel's eyes. "empty, alma! what does this mean?" he exclaimed. "i have given them away," she said, blushing very deeply. "given them away!" repeated the colonel, slowly and sternly. "i have given them for a good object, very dear to my heart. i am sure you would approve of it. please, papa, do not ask me any more about it now. i do not want to tell you yet. it is a secret. i have promised, just to myself, and almost to god, never to tell any one until a certain thing is accomplished--until i can fully succeed." "what is the matter with you, child? have you lost your senses? you had no right to give away things intrusted to your care. i have told you that, by your mother's simple will, all she had was left at my disposition. am i to be disappointed in both my children?" and the colonel bowed his head upon his hands. "dear papa, you are not to be disappointed in me! i have done nothing wrong." here alma's conscience gave her a sharp prick. suddenly she broke out, after a moment's pause, "i want to be like the princess. i am sure that would please you, papa! you know she sold her jewels for a home for the sick poor." the colonel answered seriously: "the princess is a saintly woman, and you would do well to follow her example. she sold her jewels to build a home for the aged sick, but she did not do it, princess and grown woman as she was, until she had asked the consent of her mother and her brother the king. what have you done, my child? what have you been thinking of? you must explain yourself fully. i have a right to demand it!" alma again left the room, to return with the little yellow house in her hands. "here is my savings-box, papa," she said; "nono made it for me." a flush of pleasure came over the face of the colonel. "so exactly like karin's cottage!" he exclaimed. "what a clever little boy! i like him." "i thought--i thought," said alma, encouraged by her father's smile--"i thought i would like to have a home for sick little children. i wanted to save my money to do something really good and lasting, instead of fooling it away by giving a little here and there, that did not after all do much good to anybody. i have saved all i could, and have given nothing away for anything else, but it went very slowly, and then i thought of those ornaments that were to be mine, and--i really did not think you would care." here alma blushed, and added, "i hoped you would not mind!" and her tears fell fast. "my poor child!" said the colonel, as he put his arm around her and drew her to his side. "so this is the explanation of the change that had passed over you, and had given me so much pain!--my little alma, who loved so dearly to give, and who has lately been so hard and cold that the very idea of an appeal from a poor family seemed to close her heart and stiffen her face into determined opposition. you cannot be a princess, dear, and do some great thing. i am afraid there was more pride than holy love in your plan. you should not think of yourself when you want to do good, but of your heavenly master and his suffering brothers. remember that! that was your dear mother's way. self seemed dead in her. if she could but have lived to teach you by her beautiful example! it is not in seeking to do some great thing that we are in the right path. the little things that come to us day by day and hour by hour are safest for most christians, and surely so for beginners. where is the key to this locked little house?" alma produced the key at once, and placed it in her father's hands. he might open that small door if he pleased. she fancied it would be almost wrong to do it herself. the door was opened, and there, among small coins and great, lay the jewels. the crystal of the watch had been broken by some falling contribution. the colonel took the watch in his hand, and said,-- "this can easily be repaired. you must wear it constantly; and may it remind you that the best gifts to god are those that are offered humbly, modestly, with no thought of self, and with no desire for the praise of man. if the little watch can so remind you of your duty, it will be a holy messenger to you, and so in a way set apart to the service of god. you have unwisely given, as you thought, the diamonds to the poor. we will not take them back. your dear mother had not herself worn them for many years. they shall be sold, and you may send the money anonymously to any hospital for children where help is needed. so you will keep your motives. with the money lying in the little cottage you can have the joy of helping the suffering poor; but you had better consult with me as to how to use it. it is not to be thrown away now lavishly on every applicant, to do perhaps more harm than good. lay the jewels in the case and lock the door of the little cottage." he was going to add, "remember, alma, that one kind word from you to your brother is a better offering for you than much money given in charity." the words were not spoken. he but said, "poor frans! where is he? god help my boy!" alma put her arm round her father's neck and whispered, "dear papa, if frans comes home--when he comes home, i do really mean to be more kind to him than ever before; but he--" "no 'buts,' alma," said the father. "however far wrong your brother has gone, he is still your brother, your only brother, and it will be your duty to love him, and pray for him, and watch over him with tender affection. he has no mother. you must be to him all that a good sister can be." "papa!" said alma, deeply moved, "you are too gentle towards me. i do not deserve it. i half felt all the while that i might be doing wrong about those things that did not really belong to me. i see it now very plainly. i would not listen to my conscience. i see i had a foolish pride in what i was trying to do. i did not see it clearly then, but now i know i was taking possession of what did not really belong to me--i who have been so angry with frans, so ashamed even to think of him as my brother! i don't know what i should have been if i had fallen into temptation, and had had a bad companion to lead me on! please, please, papa, forgive me! i know you do; but i cannot forgive myself! i am sure the sight of dear mamma's watch ought always to make me humble." "may god help you and keep you from all evil!" said the father solemnly, as he kissed his daughter and bade her good-night. chapter xvi. spectacles. the news of the disappearance of frans had brought gloom to the golden house. there he had been lovingly received, and had appeared at his best. nono was clear in his mind that frans had had nothing to do with the theft, however wrong he might have done in running away and causing his friends such painful anxiety. jan shut his mouth firmly and went about in determined silence. karin cried as if it had been her own boy who had gone wrong. "he hasn't had any mother to look after him," said nono, and he patted karin tenderly. "if you could have had him it would have been quite different, i am sure." "that is a fact," said one of the twins. "a solid fact!" echoed the other. karin smiled for a moment kindly, and then said soberly, "if only uncle pelle were here! i should so like to know what he would say." old pelle had gone on his pedestrian trip. not that he had any sportsman accoutrements, or used any slang as to the particulars of his expedition. in one respect he was prepared for his excursion on the strictest modern principles. he was lightly equipped as to clothing, and in woollen garments from top to toe. better still, he had a light heart within, and a thankful one. he was out on a pleasant errand. pelle was now a settled resident in the parish where the golden cottage stood, with occupation pledged to him while he had strength to work, and a support as long as life lasted. the colonel had settled that matter; and karin rejoiced to see the shadows cleared from the old man's future, with the bright prospect of his continuing to be "a blessing" to them, as she said, "while he was above the green grass." pelle had left a few trifles at the poorhouse, where he had been grudgingly received during his last long attack of serious illness. he had before been unable to make up his mind to go after his small belongings. there had been lingering in the depths of his heart a germ of bitterness about the whole affair, and he had been afraid it might spring into strong life if he returned to see the old place again. now the rankling, tormenting thoughts had vanished in the sunshine that had come to him, and he was sure it would be pleasant to see the familiar scenes again, and to take well-known people by the hand in a friendly way, and let bygones be bygones. pelle had been rowed over to the opposite side of the bay, to avoid an unnecessary bit of walking; and now that he was expected home, nono was sent across the water to meet him. nono was already in the boat and taking up the oars, when alma came strolling along the shore with her hands full of wild flowers, for she had been botanizing. "let me row with you," she said eagerly to nono. "yes," said nono; "i am going after uncle pelle. but the boat--" and he looked at alma's light dress, and then at the traces left of the last trip of the fishermen to whom the boat belonged. "never mind that," said alma cheerily. "i can manage my dress, and i do so love to row." she seated herself and took up a pair of oars. it was a long pull across the bay, and they were only half over when they saw a sail-boat in front of them, making for the wider part of the inlet. "not very good sailors, i think," said nono critically, for pelle had taught him how to trim a sail. he had hardly spoken the word when a flaw struck the little skiff they were watching, and it capsized instantly. there was a loud shriek from the place of the accident, and a groan from nono and alma. they could soon see two heads, and arms clinging to the upturned boat. alma and nono rowed desperately towards the spot, but made slow progress, as the bay had suddenly grown rough, and the wind was contrary. they could distinguish the faces now. one was unknown, but alma's eyes grew large and full of anguish as she recognized her brother. "it is frans!" she said to nono. "yes," was his only reply, and they pulled with even more determination than before. in a few moments frans and his companion were taken on board by alma and nono. "frans!" said alma, as she laid her hand in his, "i was so afraid--i was so afraid we should not reach you in time. you can swim; why didn't you start out for us?" "knut here can't swim, and of course i couldn't leave him. i knew i couldn't keep him up and make my way to you. it was better for us to hold fast as long as we could." a well-manned boat was now seen coming towards them from the shore. the strong rowers soon brought it to their side. knut looked meaningly at frans, but was silent. "we must have those young fellows," said the person in command, who was evidently an officer of justice. the dripping boys changed their quarters without a word. frans turned and looked at alma as the boat he had entered headed for the shore. "thank you, sister," he called out; "you rowed like a man!" he had never called her "sister" before. alma's eyes filled with tears. she moved as if to row after her brother. "uncle pelle will be expecting us. i think i see him there waiting," said nono. "we must go for him." nono was decided. this was the errand on which he was sent, and the duty must be done, even though miss alma might be displeased with him. alma looked impatient, but after a moment she began to move her pair of oars willingly as she said, "you are right, nono," and relapsed into silence. when pelle came on board, nono did not say anything about what had happened until pelle himself, who had seen the whole from the shore, asked what it all meant, and who the boys were who had so mismanaged their boat, "green hands" as he could see. "you can tell him, nono," said alma. "he will have to know it all. but i am so glad frans was not drowned!" alma looked straight forward over the water, while nono, as kindly as he could, told in a few words all the sad story to pelle, who listened in silence; but towards the close a strange gleam of intelligence came into his eyes. pelle never talked if he were not in the humour, and now nono was not surprised that no answer came from the old man's firmly-closed lips. alma was the first to step ashore. with a hurried nod to her companions she moved off swiftly towards her home. "now pull for town--pull, nono!" said pelle, with unusual energy, taking up himself the oars that alma had laid down. pull they did, tired as were nono's young arms, and feeble as were pelle's. the distance was short by water, and the two were soon at the magistrate's office, where pelle expected to find the delinquent boys. they were already there. their wet clothes had been changed, and they were for the moment in private conversation with the colonel, who had been summoned immediately on their arrival. in the pocket of the dripping coat that had been worn by frans a bundle of the missing bank-notes had been found, carelessly rolled in a bit of yellow wrapping-paper. this all the by-standers about the door had heard, for the proceedings at the country seat of justice seem to be considered to belong to the small public of the neighbourhood. while pelle was waiting without, nono having been sent back at once with the boat, the colonel was holding frans by the hand, and talking to him from the depths of his stirred paternal heart. "i have you, frans, as one alive from the dead, and so i must talk to you," said the colonel solemnly. "don't answer me; don't speak a word, frans!--and you, boy," and he turned towards knut, "keep quiet. no excuses; no explanations from either of you!--i want to say to you, frans, what i should have longed to say to you if you had sunk in that deep water. i have not watched over you as i should, my boy. i take my share in the blame of what you have done. i have been too wrapped up in my own sorrows, my own ill-health, and my own melancholy reflections, to be to you what i ought to have been. i find i love you most intensely, and your loss would have been a terrible blow to me. your bright face gone for ever from the home would have made it dreary indeed. you have caused me great sorrow by running away, and have, i fear, been guilty of that for which the law must punish you." [illustration: frans admonished.] frans stirred as if about to speak. "silence!" said his father sternly. "the missing bank-notes were some of them found in your coat pocket. you had no such money when you left home; you will be called on to account for its being there." frans stared speechlessly at his father, and then looked at his companion. "he's been free with money since we were out," said knut; "but i supposed such high-fliers had always no end of cash on hand, and never suspected anything more than the boys' frolic we started out for when we found it had gone contrary for us at school." "papa!" began frans eagerly. at the moment an officer came in to say, "there is an old man outside--old pelle everybody calls him--who says he _must_ see the boys; that it is most important for them." the magistrate and pelle and several other solemn-looking individuals entered the room. pelle looked first at frans and then at his companion. the strange gleam came again into his eyes as he bowed to all present and asked to be allowed to tell his story. permission to speak was authoritatively given him, and he began,-- "about four hours ago i was standing by the bay, up at trolleudden, when i saw that young fellow," pointing at knut, "come up to a chap who had a sail-boat there to let to the summer villa people. the boy wanted a boat for a trip down the bay. he was willing to pay handsomely, he said, and he did, with a bank-note, though he didn't look as if he were much used to handling that sort of thing. i somehow thought there must be something wrong about it. then i went up to the little inn to get a glass of milk and a bit of bread. when i came into the sitting-room, there was a boy there, who sat with his arms on the table, and his head on his hands, with his hat tipped down so over his eyes that i couldn't see his face. he was dressed like a workman, with a leather apron on, and a coarse shirt, and an old overcoat outside, though it was so warm i was glad to go in my flannel sleeves. there was something queer about the boy. i could see his hands. they were not very clean, to be sure, but they didn't look as if they had seen much real work. i soon got through thinking about the boy, who seemed to be asleep. i finished my bread and milk, and took out my book to read while i rested, and quite forgot where i was. suddenly i heard somebody steal into the room, tiptoe up, and stand behind me. i kept quite still, but on the watch, for i felt all was not right. as i looked into my spectacles i saw who it was that was so near me. often in church i see the person who is standing behind me. i don't know how it is, but i do, as if my spectacles were a looking-glass. i didn't like the sly, bad face right before my eyes. i could not help seeing it between me and the book, and i knew it was the lad who had hired the boat. in a second an arm was stretched forward towards the boy who was sitting very near me, the other side of the corner of the table, and a little yellow parcel was tucked into the pocket of his great-coat. i had nothing to say in the matter, and did not let on that i noticed it. it might be some young folks' frolic. i am not used to meddle in other people's business, but i generally know what goes on round me. the face went out of my spectacles, and the door shut quietly. i finished my reading and went out. those boys i have not seen again to know them till i meet the very same here." "what were you reading?" asked the magistrate sternly. "this book," said old pelle, taking out his worn paper-covered "thomas à kempis," and handing it to the gentleman, who returned it without a word, but ordered the wet clothes of the boys to be brought in. "i don't know those things, surely," said pelle, pointing to the larger suit, "but should say that might be the leather apron the younger boy had on. i couldn't be sure either of the coat, but the striped shirt is just like the wrist-band that showed as the boy had his arms on the table, as he was asleep or pretended to be." "the roll of bank-notes was found in that coat, wrapped up in a bit of yellow paper," said the magistrate. "you may sit down, pelle." the magistrate then solemnly called on frans to speak for himself. "i know nothing at all about the money," he said. "i heard somebody coming in at the inn, and put down my head at once, and tipped my hat forward to hide my face. i did not look up again until i had heard the person beside me stir and then go out. i believe i had dozed a little, but i can't be sure." knut, when questioned, denied having seen old pelle at all, and declared that it was probable the whole story had been made up after the old man had heard outside that the notes were found in frans's pocket. as if anybody could see who was behind him by looking into his own spectacles! it had been a bad business going off with frans, and he was very sorry for it. he had found frans in such a taking about his bad report, ashamed and afraid to go home, and talking of working his way as a sailor over the ocean. "of course i went with him, and tried to take care of him," said knut, "and this is my reward! frans and that old fellow have been regular 'chums.' i have often seen them together. of course 'the quality' would have somebody to turn the world upside down to help them. frans has his own father, but i"--here knut sobbed audibly--"a poor widow's son, have nobody to stand by me. if my _poor_ mother were here, what could she do for me? but she is far back in the country, not knowing what her boy has come to by trying to help a young scamp who had got into a tight place." there was much sympathy for knut in the little assembly, and "poor fellow! poor fellow!" had been murmured by more than one listener as he went on. "see out of the back of his head!" continued knut, "or in his spectacles, as he says! likely! better try him," he boldly concluded. "a good suggestion," said the magistrate. the court-room seemed suddenly changed into a playroom for grown people. pelle was placed on a chair, now here and now there, while different people were placed behind him, and he was called on to say who was leaning towards his shoulder. pelle looked and looked in vain. the spectacles told no tales. a sneer went round the room again and again, and knut was heard to chuckle as he said, "of course he made up the whole story. that any one in his senses could believe it!" pelle was discomfited. at last he said falteringly, "i have told the truth. i did see that face in my spectacles, but i don't see anything now. it has happened to me many times in church on sunday morning. i am sure i could do it where i sit in the church." "why not let him try it in the church?" said the colonel. "i am sure the pastor would give his permission." the experiment in the church was arranged for the next morning. frans and his companion were left in custody for the night, and the colonel went home with a sad heart, but not without some hope that his son would be proved to be innocent. for it was true that frans had been much at the golden house, and was a great favourite there, and it was not impossible that the temptation to free him had been too strong for pelle to resist. the morning came, and at eleven o'clock there was an unusual gathering in the parish church. the stillness round the marble sleepers on the monumental tombs was broken, not by the sound of prayer and praise, but by the low hush of murmuring voices and the tramp of eager feet. pelle came quietly in and took his usual seat. he bowed his head, just from habit, then followed a silent petition, not for a blessing on the services of the sanctuary, but that the innocent might be defended and the guilty brought to justice. he raised himself up and sat down, intending to wait for further orders. he suddenly said in a sharp voice, "take off your hat, adam or enos!" and then turned unconsciously to look behind him. yes, there stood one of the twins, which he could not say, his mouth wide with delight, while a murmur went round, "he was right this time!" "of course it was all planned before at the cottage," said a dissenting voice. "i don't plan to have boys stand in the church with their hats on," said pelle. "i ordered the boy to take his place there myself," said the magistrate. again and again the experiment was tried, and with success, even the pastor and the magistrate curiously taking their turn in the performance; pelle then, most respectfully stating whom he had had the honour to see, bowing as he did so. at last all present were fully convinced that pelle had spoken the truth, and he was conducted in a kind of triumphal procession back to the cottage. the question was everywhere agitated, "what is to 'come of' pelle's testimony?" the fate of the boys was not to be altogether decided by him. the authorized messengers who had been sent to the little inn where pelle had stopped came back with the innkeeper and the owner of the boat that had been hired by the boys. from them it was easily learned that the culprits had been seen at the time mentioned by pelle, and had been considered suspicious strangers, especially the older lad, who was foolishly free with his money, and had a bold, bad look about him. the younger boy was described as cast down, and evidently not on good terms with his companion. the case did not come to a public trial. a large part of the money taken had been recovered, the note paid for the boat being identified as one of the missing bills. the merchant who had been robbed declined prosecuting the offender, as his loss was fully made good to him by the colonel. it was, however, exacted in the agreement that knut should be sent out of the country at once. the pastor took knut home with him, and gave him such a kind, serious talk that the poor lad's heart was quite melted, and he, sincere for the time at least, promised to try to lead a better life. "he will only go to ruin if he is sent to prison," pelle had said. "may god help the boy in his own way! i will try to help him in mine. who knows what i might have been if i had kept on as a sailor!" so pelle, for the time a prominent man, went round in the neighbourhood and collected money enough to send the guilty boy over the atlantic to begin life again in the far west. karin wrote a short letter to her "son in america," full of love to erik, and with a request that he would do what he could for knut to help him on in the right way. oke penned a full description of the whole affair, which he declared was written so plainly that anybody ought to understand it, let alone a swede like erik, born in the best country in the world, though he did now seem to be more than half an american. a neat suit of clothes had been sent to frans by the careful housekeeper, so that he looked quite like himself when he took his seat beside his father for his homeward drive. oke had made haste to tell all the neighbourhood of the success of pelle in the church, and alma had had her share of the good news. whether frans would be allowed to return home with his father she had not yet heard. she sat anxiously watching at the window, when there was a sound of carriage-wheels in the avenue. there were two persons in the carriage! yes, one was certainly frans! alma ran down to the veranda. "dear, dear frans! i am so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, as she put her arm around him; and so they followed their father into the house. "thank you, sister!" he answered, with a quivering lip. he could say no more. the colonel went into the library and closed the door, and frans and his sister were left together. they went back to the veranda and sat down side by side, frans still struggling to gain self-command. "dear brother," began alma, "i am so sorry i have been a cross, disagreeable sister to you. i mean to be better. i shall try, and you must forgive me if i fail, and am cross to you sometimes." "don't speak so, sister," said frans, interrupting her. "you do not know what you have been to me. you have kept me from much that is wrong. when i have been with the boys, and have been tempted to speak and do as some of them did, i have thought of you. 'what would alma say to such talk and such doings?' would come into my mind and help me to resist temptation. i have thought of you as something higher, holier, purer than myself. and such a good scholar, too! i have always been proud of my sister. you found fault with me, of course. i deserved it, poor, thoughtless fellow that i have been. i cannot be like you, alma, but i am really going to try to be better. i have done with idle ways and bad companions. i did not know what knut really was until we came to be constantly together, and then, bad as i was, i thanked god that i had had such a father and such a sister and such a home. it is only god's mercy that has saved me from a prison. i had no way to prove my innocence. what i have suffered you can understand, but i deserved it all. i have been doing badly all the term. i tried to make it up at the last. all went well with me in the morning, but in the afternoon i was so worn out and so tired and dull that i could not command myself to say what i really knew. of course i made a miserable failure. i was afraid to meet my father and ashamed to see your face when i had come out so badly. i did the worst thing i could do. i added wrong to wrong, not thinking of all the worry and trouble i was making. i was quite desperate when i met knut, and he proposed that we should go off together. i caught at the plan.--listen. when i was hanging, clinging to the boat, in that deep water, so far from the shore, my whole life came before me; and what a worthless life it was! i seemed shut out from heaven. i felt so miserable and hopeless and wretched! then i saw you coming over the water. you looked so pale and slight, but you worked like a man. then i understood that you loved me, that you really cared for me, and would forgive me. i did not know then of the dreadful thing of which i was suspected, but you did, and you and dear father were willing to forgive me. that helped me afterwards to understand that i might try to lead a new life, and to believe our heavenly father too could forgive me, and willingly give me strength to do better." alma had several times tried to speak, but frans had laid his hand pleadingly on hers as he went on. now she said solemnly, "thank god, frans! we are to begin our new life together. i have not been the true christian you seem to have thought me, in spite of my very wrong way towards you. i feel that i have set you a very bad example. we must help each other now." "_you_ must help me," said frans soberly; then starting up, he exclaimed, "but i am forgetting marie, who has always been so kind to me. you can't think how many messages she managed to send me when i was in town in disgrace, and little things to eat, too, that she thought i would like." marie was lingering in the hall, listening not to catch the words of the conversation going on without, but enjoying the satisfaction of hearing the voice of her "dear boy," as she called him, once more in his own home. she had made up her mind, however, to reprove him sharply for causing them all so much trouble. when, however, she saw him looking so humble and sorrowful, so little like himself, she had no reproaches for him, but took his offered hand affectionately, and exclaimed, "you dear boy!" as if he had been a little child. and frans felt like a child--a naughty child; but a child forgiven, and resolved to do better. chapter xvii. questionings. another spring had come to the golden house. such a little family as karin now had! she quite mourned over it. the twins had gone to america; erik had written for them. he had now a good place on a farm, where there was work for two such "hands" as he was sure adam and enos must be, raised in such a home. the twins had been good teachers of the swedish language in their way, the best way, by example; and erik was soon able to write a letter again that could be understood at the golden house without a translator. he wrote that the twins were the admiration of the country round, and his pride too. so karin was thankful; but she missed the big, boisterous fellows, and said she felt like an old table trying to stand on three legs, with only thor and sven and nono at home. pelle and nono still had many cozy talks together, for which the boy was much wiser and the old man much happier. but the time came when the little italian had a real sorrow. up in stockholm the solemn bells were ringing, and mourning garments and mourning hats were everywhere. in stately mansions and in dreary attics real tears of sorrow were shed. the good princess was dead. in the palace, in a grand apartment all draped in black, lay her silent, wasted body, on a pompous funeral bier. throngs of the loftiest and the noblest of the land passed slowly by, in solemn procession, to pay their last respects to the humble princess and the true-hearted woman who had gone to her reward. rough peasants and the poor of the city came too, with their tribute of real mourning, grateful to see once more the face of the loving friend who had cast sunlight into their shadowed lives. far away in the country little nono's heart was sorrowful. _his_ princess was dead! no one had been able to really comfort him. suddenly he seemed to see her bright and glad in the holy city. she was at home at last! she was where she belonged--where "the inhabitant shall no more say, i am sick;" where "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest." nono had now his princess in heaven, and he went about his work with something of the light in his face which he had seemed to see in hers. from the hospital there came the news that little decima was drooping and sad. she said she must cry because the princess would never take her on her knee again and call her "decima desideria." the child declared she was well now, and she wanted to go home. indeed she was as well as she could ever be, the doctors said, but she would be a cripple for life. she must always walk with a crutch. a change would do the child good, was the universal opinion; so home came the little girl, to her mother's great delight. "such a dear little useful creature as she had learned to be," karin said, and it was true. as to knitting and crochet-work, no one in that parish could match her. the little lame girl really brought sunshine back to the golden house. she had such sweet songs to sing, and such hymns for sunday, that jan said it was quite like going to church to hear her, or more like hearing the little angels doing their best up in heaven. to pelle she particularly attached herself, laughing merrily, as she said they belonged together, as they both walked with a stick. decima was soon the soul of merriment. she seemed to have been provided with an extra stock of gladness, to bubble over, in spite of her misfortune, to be a joy to herself and all about her. her resources for talk were inexhaustible. she had always stories to tell of her stay at the hospital, something that had happened to herself or the other little patients, whose biographies she had quite by heart. of the princess decima never wearied of talking--how she played with the children, even let them cover her with hay, then rose up suddenly out of the silent heap, and smiled at them so friendly, just like an angel, they all thought. what sweet words she wrote to them, too, about the good shepherd that would willingly lead them to the green pastures! "yes, little decima is lame for life, but it has been her greatest blessing," said pelle to karin. karin opened her eyes wide, and he went on: "we all spoiled decima. the boys petted and teased her, and even you, karin, seemed to think the world must be made all smooth for her. the princess has taught her the way to heaven, and has gone before, so the child understands what a real place heaven is. we mustn't spoil her again." the caution was needed. when decima was pleased to speak, all listened. something was said one day in her presence about a monkey. she began to laugh cheerily, and told about a baby monkey that a hand-organ man brought once to the hospital in his pocket. she had seen him from the window. it was a queer man, they all thought, for he said he was looking for a golden house, where he left a baby long ago. maybe it was nono he meant. he only stayed a little while, and then went away, and never came back again. [illustration: "she had seen the hand-organ man from the window."] nono's eyes gleamed as he listened, and his mouth trembled so he could not speak. "it must have been my father!" he exclaimed at last, and his tears fell fast. so thought all the family, and the news was soon spread abroad that nono's father was in sweden, and was looking for him. decima had to tell the story over and over again to listeners in the house and listeners without. the colonel and the pastor set on foot an inquiry for the man who had appeared months ago at the hospital, but with no apparent result. the interest in the search gradually died away, and it was the general conclusion that the man had returned discouraged to his native land. as for nono, he was quite changed. he did not give up the hope of finding his own father. he seemed always listening, looking out for, expecting something. yet he did his work faithfully, and was more than ever thoughtful of karin, and dutiful and obedient towards jan. there was a special tenderness towards the dear friends in the cottage, as if the time of parting might be near. the likeness of the princess seemed meanwhile to have become especially dear to him. he would stand and look at it long and wistfully, as if he would ask his friend some deep question, or read in her inmost soul. pelle watched the boy narrowly, and grew uneasy about him. nono was not inclined to talk about his father, and pelle would not force his confidence. he was afraid some wild scheme was forming in the mind of the boy, some plan of going off in search of his father. pelle took occasion at one time to speak of the sorrow frans had caused in his home by his disappearance; at another, he enlarged on the dangers that beset young lads without the protecting care of those who understood life better than they did, etc., with innumerable variations. nono listened in respectful silence, but with a wandering, wistful look in his eyes. alma had been intensely interested in decima's story. nono's life was quite like a romance, she said, and she wished she could turn to the last page of the story, as she often did in a book she was reading. she, too, was watching and waiting and expecting. the sound of a hand-organ brought her at once to the window, and many a wandering musician was astonished with questions in swedish and italian as to whether he was looking for the golden house, where he had left a baby long ago; what had become of pionono, the bear; if francesca were dead, etc. such questions, put so suddenly and skilfully, alma fancied would be sure to bring out the truth. the puzzled stragglers often went away from ekero half suspecting that they were losing their own wits or the young lady had quite lost hers, or that swedish and italian were now so confused in their brains that they could fully understand neither. when such wanderers happened to meet nono on the highroad, they were likely to be further mystified by the dark boy's saying suddenly, "don't i look like an italian?" or "i am the baby that was left at the golden house," or some other equally surprising question or announcement. if nono chanced to have neglected to speak to such a stranger, he was haunted by the thought that perhaps that very man was his father, and he might have lost his only opportunity of succeeding in his search. "i shall be glad when winter comes, and these black-haired fellows stop tramping the country round," said karin one day. "i am tired of the sight of them, and thinking when i see them perhaps they are coming to carry off nono. what should i do without him? why, he's just like one of my own boys." karin was talking to pelle. she always allowed herself the liberty of saying out first what was in her heart to him. now he answered her at once. "you seem to think that nono was made just to be a pleasure to you, like a baby's plaything. a pleasure he has been to you and to us all, and that i don't deny. god knows what he means to do with the boy, and we don't. it's likely he'll have to go out like the others to earn his living. he can't weed and run errands for miss alma all his life. you must think that he is getting to be a big boy, if we do call him 'little nono.' the lord will take care of him, i am sure of that," and pelle turned away from karin and went into his little room. karin dashed away the tears that had come into her eyes at the very thought of parting with nono, but she thought to herself, "pelle is right. nono is getting to be a big boy, and more's the pity. how glad i am that i have decima for company! and so cheerful and helpful the child is. i don't know how i got on without her so long. if i had had my way and kept her at home, she would have been a wild, spoiled little thing, to be sure. the lord's ways are best, as pelle says. that's what i am, a poor scholar at learning. a mother, though, must be a mother, and that the lord knows as well as i do, and that's a comfort." chapter xviii. nono's plans, and plans for nono. winter had come again. nono, who was usually of a contented spirit, seemed continually displeased with the weather. it was now the last of january. there had for many weeks been a pleasant alternation of sunshine and storm, of cold and a milder temperature. the snow had been continually on the ground, but not deep enough to be in any way an inconvenience; yet nono was not satisfied. at last the light flakes had fallen slowly for several days, and then the paths about the cottage were cut out sharply, as from the solid rock. nono's face wore an expression of musing satisfaction. he seemed now in a mood for play. thor and sven were delighted when they heard him ask their mother's permission to build in his spare time a snow-house after a plan he had in his mind, and if it might stand in the open space between the cottage and the gate. karin was pleased to see nono looking so happy, and promptly granted his request. nono found no difficulty in getting the other boys to act under his direction, as they had great confidence in his architectural abilities. with such willing hands the work went on cheerily, and with wonderful rapidity. block after block was put in its place, and the surface most skilfully smoothed and hardened. after all, it only looked like a watch-house when it was done, jan said, and he was right. there was much playing sentinel among the children, as they stood on guard, being relieved at stated intervals, even decima being allowed to share in the fun. this kind of frolic came to an end when nono, with karin's leave, had smeared the arched interior with a dismal pasty composition from the refuse of the coal-cellar at ekero. nono now ventured to ask karin to lend him a sheet to hang for a few days before the opening of the watch-house, as the structure was familiarly called in the family. sven and thor gave each other significant punches as the request was granted, to signify that no sheet would have been loaned to them; which was no doubt a fact, as they were not much to be relied on for discretion or care-taking. now began the erection of something within the snow-house, which nono alone was allowed to touch. the so-called "little boys" were of the opinion that nono was making the stump of a crooked old tree; but oke, who considered himself an authority in the family as to matters literary and artistic, declared his opinion that nono was making a model of the leaning tower of pisa, of which he spoke as familiarly as if he had seen it personally in his travels. to the disappointment of decima and her brothers, they were soon all shut out from the scene of nono's labours; and he asked them so kindly not even to peep behind the white curtain, that they gave their promise to do as he wished, and promises were held sacred at the golden house. one morning, early in february, nono had gone out early to "the watch-house," and had removed the curtain, as the sheet was respectfully called. the family had finished their breakfast, and were just breaking up to set off in different directions, when there was a sound of sleigh-bells stopping at the gate. the colonel and a gentleman who was staying at ekero had started out for a morning drive, "shall we pass near the post-office?" said the gentleman, taking a letter from his pocket. "i forgot to say before we left the house that i had a letter i was anxious to have mailed at once. it is my wife's name-day, and i want her to get a few words from me." "we shall not pass the post-office," said the colonel, "but i can get a trusty messenger here;" and the coachman drew up at once at the cottage. the gentleman started, and the colonel sprang to his feet in surprise. "how wonderful! so like her! i almost thought i had seen a spectre!" said the stranger. "and her name-day, too. my wife was named after the princess." yes! there stood the princess in white garments, seemingly coming forward, her figure gracefully bowed, as it was in life, as if by a loving, unconscious desire of the heart to draw near to all who approached her. a fleecy shawl seemed to lie lightly over her shoulders. snow-white coils of hair crowned her head, and her fair face had a pure sweetness of its own. "it is wonderfully like her!" said the stranger. the family from the cottage now came out, nono leading karin, who had all the while been in the secret, and the rest eagerly following. "is this your work, nono?" said the colonel. nono modestly bowed, and murmured an answer, while his eyes glowed as if they were on fire. the sound of little decima sobbing broke in on the conversation. "that is a cold white princess!" she said. "she can't take me on her knee and tell me pretty stories. i don't like the cold white princess!" jan took decima in his arms, while the colonel said pleasantly: "but we like her, decima; and we loved the princess, both of us; and this gentleman's wife has her name; and he has written a letter to her that we want taken to the post-office at once, that she may get it on her name-day.--can you go, nono?" nono was glad to spring away with the letter, full of happy thoughts--that every one knew that it was the princess, his dear snow princess, that he had made with his own hands! the gentlemen liked it, too! while nono was joyously bounding along the road to the village, the group round the statue could not get through admiring it. "he's a wonder, that boy!" said karin, as she went into the cottage. "that he should come to me to bring up, when i can't cut out a gingerbread baby so that it looks like anything!" "god knows why he sent him to you, karin," said pelle, "and god will know what to do with him in the time that is coming. he is a wonderful boy, that is sure!" while the simple people at the golden house were talking in this way about nono, the colonel and his guest had driven away. the stranger had promised to come in the afternoon and take a photograph of the snow statue, and of nono too, the very best he could get, and of the whole family group just as he had seen them. as the gentlemen drove on together they talked of the princess, beloved by rich and poor, and of the visitor's wife, one of the pure in heart worthy to bear the name of her honoured friend. nono, too, was the subject of conversation. his whole story was told, and listened to with intense interest. it was agreed that nono should, with karin's permission, come for some hours every day to ekero to wait upon the stranger, who was a sculptor, and was making a marble bust of the colonel's wife from the various likenesses of her, assisted by her husband's vivid descriptions of her ever-remembered face and her person and character. "i must know that boy, and take him to italy with me in the spring if i can," said the sculptor. "there is an artist in him, i am sure, and it will only be a pleasure to train him." when, later, pelle heard the plan that was proposed, he said quickly,-- "those artist fellows are not always the best to be trusted with the care of a boy. it would be better for nono to work in the fields, with good jan to look after him, than to make figures in a far country under the greatest gentleman in the world who was not a good man." karin looked relieved, and turned to hear what jan would say on the subject; for, after all, in important matters it was always jan who decided. "the colonel said, when he talked to me"--and here jan paused and looked about him. he did not object to having it understood that the colonel considered him the head of the family, a fact which jan himself sometimes doubted--"the colonel said," he continued, "that artist was a christian man, and he had a wife just fit to be called, as she was, after the princess, and he couldn't say any more. and he didn't need to! they haven't any children of their own, so she just goes where he goes, everywhere, and she's the kind of a woman to be the making of nono, such a boy as he is. nono will go with him in the spring; i have made up my mind on that matter." karin began to cry. "to bring him up, and such a nice boy as he is, and such a wonderful boy, too; and to love him so, and then have to give him to people who hardly know him at all!" and karin fairly sobbed. "you are partial to nono, karin," said jan sternly. he never held back a rebuke for karin when he thought she deserved it. "you never took on so when your own boys went away, three of them, over the sea." "_our_ boys _are our_ boys," said karin, "and that makes a difference. they can't belong to anybody else. i should be their own mother, and they'd feel it, and so should i, if they lived in the moon. but nono, off there, he may find his own father and mother and never come back. they may be tramping kind of people. most likely they are, and there's no knowing what ways they might teach him. they have a right to him and i haven't. that's what i feel. i love him just like my own. he wouldn't turn the cold shoulder to his own father and mother if they were poor as poverty or just fit for a prison, i know that. it wouldn't be in him. not that i think he would forget me. it would be a shame to say it, such a good child as he has always been to me!" jan put his hand on karin's shoulder and looked helplessly at her, as he generally did when she had a flood of tears and a flood of talk at the same time. pelle came to the rescue, as he had often done before. "karin wants to be providence," he said. "she wants to take things into her own hands. that's the way with women, especially mothers. there was my mother, when i was a sailor, almost sure i would go to the bad; but god just lays me up in a hospital, and turns me square round, and sets my face to the better country. i just went home, and made up my mind to stay by my mother, and do for her as long as she lived; and i did, god bless her! it is good sense, karin, to let the lord manage his own way. your way might not turn out the best after all." "yes, i know it," said karin, wiping her eyes. "but things do come so unexpected in this world, one can't ever be ready for them." "just take one day at a time, karin, and don't bother about what's coming," said pelle. "we can't any of us say what is to become of nono, not even jan, who is so clear in his mind. we don't any of us know what to-morrow may bring. he'll have just what the lord has planned for him. women are better at bringing up 'critters' than driving them when they are brought up. they are about the same with boys. mothers should bring up their boys right, and then let the lord do what he pleases with them afterwards. isn't it so, karin?" "yes--maybe--i do suppose you are right, pelle, and i'll try to remember it. but a man don't know how a woman feels." "it's well they don't," said jan curtly. "it wouldn't have suited what i've had to do in life to be like them. karin's heart is bigger than her head; but things have worked well here so far, and it's likely it will be so to the end," and jan looked kindly after karin as she went off to feed the chickens, with decima in her train, evidently thinking her mother was the injured party. at the bottom of his heart jan was convinced that he had about the best wife in the world. chapter xix. pietro. the statue of the princess had long since passed away, and the thoughts of the pleasant scenes around it had melted into the cheerful memories of the past. in the cottage there were ever the photographs of the beautiful white figure and of the family group, and under them an almost perfect likeness of nono. the real nono was far away in the land of his forefathers. he was sorely missed in the home where he had been so tenderly cared for. blackie was, as usual, wearing deep mourning, though he showed no emotional signs of feeling the absence of his master. blackie, like many a precocious two-legged creature, had not developed into the wonder that was expected. example and daily association had made him more and more like his fellows; and nono had not been long away from the golden house before jan began to talk about the little black pig as the pork of the future. karin had supposed that the parting with nono would be like the parting with her other boys--a separation only lightened by letters coming rarely, merely to tell that the absentees were well and doing famously. with nono it was quite otherwise. the letters from him came weekly, almost as regularly as sunday itself. and such letters as they were, written so clearly, and containing such a particular account of his doings, and, what karin prized more, warm expressions of grateful affection for the dear friends "at home," as he still called the golden house, though it was plain that the once houseless little italian had now two homes. nono wrote that the artist's wife treated him as if he were her own son, and was teaching him carefully everything that would help him to understand all that was about him. object lessons they seemed to be, with wonderful rome for the great "kindergarten." he was learning italian too, and that he thought charming. as for his work in the studio, it was only a pleasure, excepting that he was impatient for the time when he could make beautiful things himself. when he had walked in the streets at first, he had thought all the boys might at least have been his cousins, and some of them made him feel as if he were looking in the glass. now and then he would meet a man that he felt sure must be his father, but he did not often dare to speak to such strangers. he had hoped and believed he should find his father in italy, but now he was sure it would be harder to know him there than in sweden. he had almost given up thinking about it lately, he had so much to do and so much to see, and everybody was so kind to him. karin did not feel that nono was drifting away from her, though he wrote so openly and affectionately of his new friends. his thankful remembrance of all the love and care he had had at the cottage was expressed in every letter, and a deeper gratitude for the kind instruction that had taught him from his childhood to love his heavenly father, and to try to obey his holy laws. alma missed nono, it was true, for she had really grown fond of the little friendly boy while he had been an inmate at ekero; but she had a new deep content in the pleasure she was learning to find in the society of her brother. together they were struggling heavenward, and were daily a help and joy to each other. alma was walking on the veranda one morning in early summer, when she saw what she thought two tramps approaching. she had no liking for such wanderers, and turned to go into the house. at that moment she caught sight of the worn face of the older man, and stood still. he looked so gentle, and yet so weary and weak, as he clung to the arm of his younger companion. they were not dressed like italians, nor like any style of persons in particular, for their costume was evidently made up of cast-off garments that had seen better days. their faces, though, were dark and thin, and there was a southern fire in the eyes of the younger man as he said at once in tolerable swedish, "pietro here is tired. he cannot get any further, miss. i told him he could not hold out for this trip, but come he would, and i had to let him. perhaps he could sit down somewhere a few moments and get a glass of milk or something like that." "he looks very tired," said alma. "go that way to the kitchen, and i will see that you have something to eat." the colonel, hearing voices, came out at the moment. he saw at once that the men were italians, and addressed them in their own language. the eyes of the one who had spoken flashed with pleasure, and a light came into the face of his companion, who now said in italian, "i have been very ill. it is too cold for me up here. no summer, no summer! the north killed my wife long ago, and i suppose it has killed me. i knew this man when i was here before. i only met him again yesterday. he knows where the house is i want to find. i left my boy there, a baby, and i want to know if he is alive. it was francesca's baby, and she loved it before she went wrong," and he touched his forehead significantly. the colonel looked meaningly at alma, whose eyes were wide with intense interest, for she had understood enough to follow the conversation. the colonel took the hand of the old man kindly, and said,-- "you must rest here a little, and then we will talk together." when pietro was refreshed by rest and food the colonel sat down beside him, and told him all about the happy life nono had had at the cottage, and how he had made the snow statue of the princess, and was now far away in italy, learning to be perhaps a great sculptor himself. the tears rolled slowly down the old man's cheeks as he listened. "it is good to hear, enricho," he murmured, addressing his companion; "but i am too late, as you see." "can't we keep him here, and take care of him? he is our nono's father, of course, papa," said alma, much moved. alma had truly received into the inner chamber of her heart the heavenly guest, and she was eager to share all with his humbler brethren. "where shall we put him?" said the colonel thoughtfully. "in the little room in the wing, where the painters slept last summer," answered alma promptly. "i will see that it is all nice for him. he looks so sick and tired. i am sure marie will do her best for him, she was so fond of nono. and, dear papa, we can use my money for him. i have ever so much still left in my little cottage. let me, please, papa!" the colonel gazed lovingly at alma as he said,-- "now you look so like your dear mother. it is just what she would have said. certainly we will keep him here." enricho was only too glad to leave pietro in the pleasant quarters that were prepared for him before evening. when the weary old man lay down in his comfortable bed, with everything neat and clean about him, he felt as if he were in some strange, blissful dream. he was not to see his boy; but how lovingly they had spoken of him! karin cried like a child when she heard that nono's poor father had appeared; the very man she had dreaded to think of, who might come at any time to carry off the boy who was as dear to her as her own children. how she wished she could speak the poor father's language, and tell him what nono had been to her! later, she did try to make him understand it all, not only by broken swedish words and signs, but with frans sometimes as a translator. mr. frans had been studying italian with his father, and was glad himself to talk about nono. pietro, broken down by hardship and illness, and thin and worn, seemed older than he really was. pelle and pietro were soon good friends. it was a precious time for frans when he translated the conversation between these two veterans from life's battles--the one defeated, wounded, near his death; the other humble, yet triumphant, victorious, and soon to be summoned to the court of his king for a more than abundant reward. "i am not fit to be the father of a boy like nono," said pietro one day--"not fit to be his father." pietro's old superstitious confidence in the religion of his country had passed into a dull unbelief in all that was sacred. he had a disease which pelle found he could not reach. then the colonel came and sat day by day in pietro's room, and talked to the poor italian out of the fulness of his heart as he had never talked to a human being before. there, in that small room, the colonel won a victory greater than the triumphs of war. there he won a soul for the heavenly king! the colonel, by nature so self-controlled, so reticent, was moved to warmth and tender tears as pietro grasped his hand and thanked him for opening the way for his soul to the real knowledge of god and holiness and peace. it was the first human being that the colonel had led in the way of life, and pietro was a precious treasure to him. alma insisted upon being responsible for every expense that was incurred for pietro. she could do nothing more for him but remember him in her prayers. the fair, slight girl, with the kindly look in her dear blue eyes, seemed to him a thing quite apart from his life, something he could not understand--that could not understand him. the time would come when alma, now walking tremblingly herself in the way of life, would be strong to help the weak and struggling, and lead the wanderers gently home. chapter xx. the opened door. the sweet bells of aneholm church were cheerily ringing. the sunshine shed a quiet gladness over the smooth meadows, and even the moist, dark evergreens of the distant woods glittered in the clear light. within the church, garlands of birch leaves hung here and there on the white walls and festooned the carved pulpit. green wreaths crowned the golden angels that supported, each with one lifted hand, the sculptured altar-piece; while in the other, outstretched, they loosely held wild flowers, as if ready to strew them in the paths of the pilgrims bound heavenward. the still marble figures that had so long sat watchers beside the effigies on the great monuments of the honoured dead wore now on their brows blue circlets of corn-flowers, as if to tell for to-day of glad resurrection rather than of the dark tomb. tiny floral processions seemed passing in long lines along the tops of the simple wooden seats for the congregation; for the sconces that had held the lights for many a service on a winter morning or evening were now filled with bouquets, placed there by the children who had the day before been confirmed in the quiet sanctuary. the flowers, like the children, were from the rich man's garden or from the woods and meadows--here choice roses or glowing verbenas, there buttercups and daisies. to-day the newly confirmed, "the children of the lord's supper," were to "come forward" for the first time to the holy communion. the colonel generally walked to church with alma and frans, but this morning the carriage had been ordered for him. a friend was to be with him who was not strong enough to go on foot to the service. the doctor, who was carefully watching over pietro, had said that it would not be at all dangerous for him to have his desire gratified--to take the holy communion at the sacred altar. his days were plainly numbered; it but remained to make his decline as full as possible of joy and peace. the poor old fellow was pleased to wear his fresh homely suit and the broad-brimmed hat that reminded him so pleasantly of home. the congregation were already assembled when the two entered--pietro leaning heavily on the arm of the colonel, who gently led him to the corner of the pew that had been comfortably prepared for him. the preliminary service over, the children recently confirmed went forward first to the communion, circling the chancel in solemn stillness, while the prayers of the congregation went up for the young disciples. then came the elders to the holy table. old pelle and pietro knelt side by side, the latter staying himself by one hand on the colonel's shoulder, as if he had been a brother. the italian knew nothing of the pride and stiffness of the early days of his friend. the colonel was but to him the loving guide who had led him to the heavenly kingdom. their paths were soon to separate. pietro was to be summoned upward; the colonel was to linger and labour, and perhaps suffer before he entered into rest. the future lay uncertain before the dwellers at ekero and the golden house, but they had nought to fear. they had opened the guest-chamber of their hearts to the heavenly visitant, and they would henceforward be blessed by his continual presence. and nono, who had so early admitted the sacred friend? he did not see his father on earth, but he had the glad hope of meeting him in the true home above. nono was to "make beautiful things," and had the beautiful life of all who follow him who is the spring and source of beauty and purity and love. "behold, i stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, i will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." "if a man love me, he will keep my words: and my father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." "be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the king of glory shall come in." the end. the 'royal' libraries of reward books in uniform bindings. containing a selection of messrs. nelson and sons' popular copyright tales and standard books by the best authors. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. the 'royal' two shilling library. chronicles of the schönberg-cotta family. by mrs. rundle charles. the spanish brothers. by deborah alcock. leonie; or, light out of darkness. by annie lucas. isabel's secret; or, a sister's love. by the author of "the story of a happy little girl." ivanhoe. by sir walter scott. the triple alliance. by harold avery. the uncharted island. by skelton kuppord. in palace and faubourg. by c. j. g. maud melville's marriage. by evelyn everett-green. kenilworth. by sir walter scott. the 'royal' eighteenpenny library. the young rajah. by w. h. g. kingston. boris the bear-hunter. by fred. whishaw. afar in the forest. by w. h. g. kingston. on angels' wings. by hon. mrs. greene. for the queen's sake. by e. everett-green. winning the victory. by e. everett-green. one summer by the sea. by j. m. callwell. esther's charge. by evelyn everett-green. dulcie's little brother. by e. everett-green. salome. by mrs. emma marshall. the 'royal' shilling library. the coral island. by r. m. ballantyne. the gorilla hunters. by r. m. ballantyne. ungava. by r. m. ballantyne. the grey house on the hill; or, trust in god and do the right. by the hon. mrs. greene. sir aylmer's heir. by evelyn everett-green. at the black rocks. by edward a. rand. soldiers of the queen. by harold avery. the golden house. by the author of "the swedish twins." the robber baron of bedford castle. by a. j. foster and e. e. cuthell. mark marksen's secret. by jessie armstrong. tales of adventure. three books by eliza f. pollard. a daughter of france. a tale of the early settlement of acadia. with six illustrations by w. rainey, r.i. an interesting story of the adventures of charles de la tour and his companions in acadia. jacqueline, de la tour's wife, is a noble character. her heroic defence of the fort in her husband's absence, and the base trick by which her charge way betrayed, are recounted in chapters of compelling interest. the last of the cliffords. illustrated by wal paget. my lady marcia. a story of the french revolution. with five illustrations by wal paget. in savage africa; or, the adventures of frank baldwin from the gold coast to zanzibar. by verney lovett cameron, c.b., d.c.l., commander royal navy; author of "jack hooper," etc. with thirty-two illustrations. "from the deft and prolific pen of commander lovett cameron.... in the course of a stirring narrative, of the kind in which boys most delight, he succeeds in conveying much real knowledge about africa, its features, and its peoples."--scotsman. jack hooper. his adventures at sea and in south africa. by verney lovett cameron, c.b., d.c.l. with twenty-three full-page illustrations. every inch a sailor. by gordon stables, m.d., r.n., author of "as we sweep through the deep," etc. illus. "between the reader, ourselves, and the binnacle, there isn't a living writer--unless it be clark russell, and he appeals more to the adult--who can hold a candle, or shall we say a starboard light, to gordon stables as a narrator of sea stories for boys. this one is worthy of the high traditions of the author."--literary world. held to ransom. a story of spanish brigands. by f. b. forester, author of "the spanish cousin," "a settler's story," etc. illustrated by archibald webb. jack ralston. a tale of life in the far north-east of canada. by hampden burnham, m.a., author of "canadians in the imperial service." with coloured illustrations by walter grieve. kilgorman. a story of ireland in . by talbot baines reed, author of "the fifth form at st. dominic's," etc. illustrated by john williamson. with portrait, and an "in memoriam" sketch of the author by john sime. with pack and rifle in the far south-west. adventures in new mexico, arizona, and central america. by achilles daunt, author of "frank redcliffe," "the three trappers," etc. with thirty illustrations. "red rose" library of choice books. a carefully-selected list of copyright works. specially suitable for gift-book, lending library, and p.s.a. purposes. aiming higher; or, perseverance and faithfulness triumphant. by the rev. t. p. wilson, m.a. the better way. a tale of temperance toil. by william j. lacey. by uphill paths; or, waiting and winning. by e. van sommer. chris willoughby; or, against the current. by florence e. burch. crooked places. a family chronicle. by edward garrett. dorothy arden. a story of england and france two hundred years ago. by j. m. callwell. edith raymond, and the story of huldah brent's will. a tale. by s. s. robbins. fighting the good fight; or, the successful influence of well-doing. by e. everett-green. frank oldfield; or, lost and found. by the rev. t. p. wilson, m.a. the golden woof. a story of two girls' lives. by mrs. i. sitwell. lionel franklin's victory. by e. van sommer. little miss wardlaw. the story of an unselfish life. by l. m. gray. the lost ring. a romance of scottish history in the days of king james and andrew melville. molly's heroine. by "fleur de lys." the naresborough victory. by the rev. t. keyworth. nellie o'neil; or, our summer time. by agnes c. maitland. no cross no crown. a tale of the scottish reformation. by the author of "the spanish brothers." owen's hobby; or, strength and weakness. a tale. by elmer burleigh. pincherton farm. by e. a. b. d. premiums paid to experience. incidents in my business life. by edward garrett. right at last; or, family fortunes. a tale. by edward garrett, author of "occupations of a retired life." stepping heavenward. a tale of home life. by mrs. prentiss. the "coronet" series. suitable for sunday school and presentation purposes. almost a hero; or, school days at ashcombe. by robert richardson. anna lee. the maiden--the wife--the mother. by t. s. arthur. aunt sally. by constance milman. esther reid. by pansy. the flower of the family. a tale of domestic life. by mrs. prentiss. gladys or gwenyth? the story of a mistake. by e. everett-green. the hermit of livry. a story of the sixteenth century at the dawn of the reformation. by m. r. h. the mystery of alton grange. by e. everett-green. a new graft on the family tree. by pansy. not thrown away, but given; or, the story of marion's hero. by mrs. f. s. reaney, author of "our daughters," etc. out in the world. by pansy. rose and thorn. a story for the young. by katharine lee bates. shenac. the story of a highland family in canada. through the gates. by annie tucker. workers together; or, an endless chain. by pansy. favourite books for the nursery. favourite bible stories for the young. first series. _containing_:--the story of joseph--the story of moses--the story of ruth--the story of david--the story of daniel--the life of our lord. favourite bible stories for the young. second series. _containing_:--story of the flood--rebekah at the well--jacob's dream--stories from the life of moses--elijah and elisha--samuel--david and jonathan, etc. favourite book of beasts, birds, and fishes. favourite stories about animals. intended to show the reasoning powers which they possess. favourite rhymes for the nursery. the favourite book of fables. _containing_:--the cock and the jewel--the wolf and the lamb--the fox and the lion--hercules and the carter--the fox and the goat--the stag in the ox-stall--the vain jackdaw, etc. favourite stories for the nursery. _containing_:--ali baba and the forty thieves--hop o' my thumb, and the seven league boots--children in the wood--tom thumb--little red riding hood, etc. favourite tales for the nursery. riddles and rhymes. t. nelson and sons, london, edinburgh, and new york. fredrika bremer's works. the home or, life in sweden. translated by mary howitt. london: henry g. bohn, york street, covent garden. . c. whiting, beaufort house. the home: or, life in sweden. part i. chapter i. morning dispute and evening contention. "my sweet friend," said judge frank, in a tone of vexation, "it is not worth while reading aloud to you if you keep yawning incessantly, and looking about, first to the right and then to the left;" and with these words he laid down a treatise of jeremy bentham, which he had been reading, and rose from his seat. "ah, forgive me, dear friend!" returned his wife, "but really these good things are all somewhat indigestible, and i was thinking about----come here, dear brigitta!" said mrs. elise frank, beckoning an old servant to her, to whom she then spoke in an under tone. whilst this was going on, the judge, a handsome strong-built man of probably forty, walked up and down the room, and then suddenly pausing as if in consideration, before one of the walls, he exclaimed to his wife, who by this time had finished her conversation with the old servant, "see, love, now if we were to have a door opened here--and it could very easily be done, for it is only a lath-and-plaster wall--we could then get so conveniently into our bedroom, without first going through the sitting-room and the nursery--it would indeed be capital!" "but then, where could the sofa stand?" answered elise, with some anxiety. "the sofa?" returned her husband; "oh, the sofa could be wheeled a little aside; there is more than room enough for it." "but, my best friend," replied she, "there would come a very dangerous draft from the door to every one who sat in the corner." "ah! always difficulties and impediments!" said the husband. "but cannot you see, yourself, what a great advantage it would be if there were a door here?" "no, candidly speaking," said she, "i think it is better as it is." "yes, that is always the way with ladies," returned he; "they will have nothing touched, nothing done, nothing changed, even to obtain improvement and convenience; everything is good and excellent as it is, till somebody makes the alteration for them, and then they can see at once how much better it is; and then they exclaim, 'ah, see now that is charming!' ladies, without doubt, belong to the stand-still party!" "and the gentlemen," added she, "belong to the movement party; at least wherever building and molestation-making comes across them!" the conversation, which had hitherto appeared perfectly good-humoured, seemed to assume a tone of bitterness from that word "molestation-making;" and in return the voice of the judge was somewhat austere, as he replied to her taunt against the gentlemen. "yes," said he, "they are not afraid of a little trouble whenever a great advantage is to be obtained. but----are we to have no breakfast to-day? it is twenty-two minutes after nine! it really is shocking, dear elise, that you cannot teach your maids punctuality! there is nothing more intolerable than to lose one's time in waiting; nothing more useless; nothing more insupportable; nothing which more easily might be prevented, if people would only resolutely set about it! life is really too short for one to be able to waste half of it in waiting! five-and-twenty minutes after nine! and the children--are they not ready too? dear elise----" "i'll go and see after them," said she; and went out quickly. it was sunday. the june sun shone into a large cheerful room, and upon a snow-white damask tablecloth, which in soft silken folds was spread over a long table, on which a handsome coffee-service was set out with considerable elegance. the disturbed countenance with which the judge had approached the breakfast-table, cleared itself instantly as a person, whom young ladies would unquestionably have called "horribly ugly," but whom no reflective physiognomist could have observed without interest, entered the room. this person was tall, extremely thin, and somewhat inclining to the left side; the complexion was dark, and the somewhat noble features wore a melancholy expression, which but seldom gave place to a smile of unusual beauty. the forehead elevated itself, with its deep lines, above the large brown extraordinary eyes, and above this a wood of black-brown hair erected itself, under whose thick stiff curls people said a multitude of ill-humours and paradoxes housed themselves; so also, indeed, might they in all those deep furrows with which his countenance was lined, not one of which certainly was without its own signification. still, there was not a sharp angle of that face; there was nothing, either in word or voice, of the assessor, jeremias munter, however severe they might seem to be, which at the same time did not conceal an expression of the deepest goodness of heart, and which stamped itself upon his whole being, in the same way as the sap clothes with green foliage the stiff resisting branches of the knotted oak. "good day, brother!" exclaimed the judge, cordially offering him his hand, "how are you?" "bad!" answered the melancholy man; "how can it be otherwise? what weather we have! as cold as january! and what people we have in the world too: it is both a sin and shame! i am so angry to-day that----have you read that malicious article against you in the----paper?" "no, i don't take in that paper; but i have heard speak of the article," said judge frank. "it is directed against my writing on the condition of the poor in the province, is it not?" "yes; or more properly no," replied the assessor, "for the extraordinary fact is, that it contains nothing about that affair. it is against yourself that it is aimed--the lowest insinuations, the coarsest abuse!" "so i have heard," said the judge; "and on that very account i do not trouble myself to read it." "have you heard who has written it?" asked the visitor. "no," returned the other; "nor do i wish to know." "but you should do so," argued the assessor; "people ought to know who are their enemies. it is mr. n. i should like to give the fellow three emetics, that he might know the taste of his own gall!" "what!" exclaimed judge frank, at once interested in the assessor's news--"n., who lives nearly opposite to us, and who has so lately received from the cape his child, the poor little motherless girl?" "the very same!" returned he; "but you must read this piece, if it be only to give a relish to your coffee. see here; i have brought it with me. i have learned that it would be sent to your wife to-day. yes, indeed, what pretty fellows there are in the world! but where is your wife to-day? ah! here she comes! good morning, my lady elise. so charming in the early morning; but so pale! eh, eh, eh; this is not as it should be! what is it that i say and preach continually? exercise, fresh air--else nothing in the world avails anything. but who listens to one's preaching? no--adieu my friends! ah! where is my snuff-box? under the newspapers? the abominable newspapers; they must lay their hands on everything; one can't keep even one's snuff-box in peace for them! adieu, mrs. elise! adieu, frank. nay, see how he sits there and reads coarse abuse of himself, just as if it mattered nothing to him. now he laughs into the bargain. enjoy your breakfasts, my friends!" "will you not enjoy it with us?" asked the friendly voice of mrs. frank; "we can offer you to-day quite fresh home-baked bread." "no, i thank you," said the assessor; "i am no friend to such home-made things; good for nothing, however much they may be bragged of. home-baked, home-brewed, home-made. heaven help us! it all sounds very fine, but it's good for nothing." "try if to-day it really be good for nothing," urged she. "there, we have now madame folette on the table; you must, at least, have a cup of coffee from her." "what do you mean?" asked the surprised assessor; "what is it? what horrid madame is it that is to give me a cup of coffee? i never could bear old women; and if they are now to come upon the coffee-table----" "the round coffee-pot there," said mrs. frank, good-humouredly, "is madame folette. could you not bear that?" "but why call it so?" asked he. "what foolery is that?" "it is a fancy of the children," returned she. "an honest old woman of this name, whom i once treated to a cup of coffee, exclaimed, at the first sight of her favourite beverage, 'when i see a coffee-pot, it is all the same to me as if i saw an angel from heaven!' the children heard this, and insisted upon it that there was a great resemblance in figure between madame folette and this coffee-pot; and so ever since it has borne her name. the children are very fond of her, because she gives them every sunday morning their coffee." "what business have children with coffee?" asked the assessor. "cannot they be thin enough without it; and are they to be burnt up before their time? there's petrea, is she not lanky enough? i never was very fond of her; and now, if she is to grow up into a coffee wife, why--" "but, dear munter," said mrs. frank, "you are not in a good humour to-day." "good humour!" replied he: "no, mrs. elise, i am not in a good humour; i don't know what there is in the world to make people good-humoured. there now, your chair has torn a hole in my coat-lap! is that pleasant? that's home-made too! but now i'll go; that is, if your doors--are they home-made too?--will let me pass." "but will you not come back, and dine with us?" asked she. "no, i thank you," replied he; "i am invited elsewhere; and that in this house, too." "to mrs. chamberlain w----?" asked mrs. frank. "no, indeed!" answered the assessor: "i cannot bear that woman. she lectures me incessantly. lectures me! i have a great wish to lecture her, i have! and then, her blessed dog--pyrrhus or pirre; i had a great mind to kill it. and then, she is so thin. i cannot bear thin people; least of all, thin old women." "no?" said mrs. frank. "don't you know, then, what rumour says of you and poor old miss rask?" "that common person!" exclaimed jeremias. "well, and what says malice of me and poor old miss rask?" "that, not many days since," said mrs. frank, "you met this old lady on your stairs as she was going up to her own room; and that she was sighing, because of the long flight of stairs and her weak chest. now malice says, that, with the utmost politeness, you offered her your arm, and conducted her up the stairs with the greatest possible care; nor left her, till she had reached her own door; and further, after all, that you sent her a pound of cough lozenges; and----" "and do you believe," interrupted the assessor, "that i did that for her own sake? no, i thank you! i did it that the poor old skeleton might not fall down dead upon my steps, and i be obliged to climb over her ugly corpse. from no other cause in this world did i drag her up the stairs. yes, yes, that was it! i dine to-day with miss berndes. she is always a very sensible person; and her little miss laura is very pretty. see, here have we now all the herd of children! your most devoted servant, sister louise! so, indeed, little miss eva! she is not afraid of the ugly old fellow, she--god bless her! there's some sugar-candy for her! and the little one! it looks just like a little angel. do i make her cry? then i must away; for i cannot endure children's crying. oh, for heaven's sake! it may make a part of the charm of home: that i can believe;--perhaps it is home-music! home-baked, home-made, home-music----hu!" the assessor sprang through the door; the judge laughed; and the little one became silent at the sight of a kringla,[ ] through which the beautiful eye of her brother henrik spied at her as through an eye-glass; whilst the other children came bounding to the breakfast-table. "nay, nay, nay, my little angels, keep yourselves a little quiet," said the mother. "wait a moment, dear petrea; patience is a virtue. eva dear, don't behave in that way; you don't see me do so." thus gently moralised the mother; whilst, with the help of her eldest daughter, the little prudent louise, she cared for the other children. the father went from one to another full of delight, patted their little heads, and pulled them gently by the hair. "i ought, yesterday, to have cut all your hair," said he. "eva has quite a wig; one can hardly see her face for it. give your papa a kiss, my little girl! i'll take your wig from you early to-morrow morning." "and mine too, and mine too, papa!" exclaimed the others. "yes, yes," answered the father, "i'll shear every one of you." all laughed but the little one; which, half frightened, hid its sunny-haired little head on the mother's bosom: the father raised it gently, and kissed, first it, and then the mother. "now put sugar in papa's cup," said she to the little one; "look! he holds it to you." the little one smiled, put sugar in the cup, and madame folette began her joyful circuit. but we will now leave madame folette, home-baked bread, the family breakfast, and the morning sun, and seat ourselves at the evening lamp, by the light of which elise is writing. to cecilia. i must give you portraits of all my little flock of children; who now, having enjoyed their evening meal, are laid to rest upon their soft pillows. ah! if i had only a really good portrait--i mean a painted one--of my henrik, my first-born, my summer child, as i call him--because he was born on a midsummer-day, in the summer hours both of my life and my fortune; but only the pencil of a correggio could represent those beautiful, kind, blue eyes, those golden locks, that loving mouth, and that countenance all so perfectly pure and beautiful! goodness and joyfulness beam out from his whole being; even although his buoyant animal life, which seldom allows his arms or legs to be quiet, often expresses itself in not the most graceful manner. my eleven-years-old boy is, alas! very--his father says--very unmanageable. still, notwithstanding all this wildness, he is possessed of a deep and restless fund of sentiment, which makes me often tremble for his future happiness. god defend my darling, my summer child, my only son! oh, how dear he is to me! ernst warns me often of too partial an affection for this child; and on that very account will i now pass on from portrait no. to no. .--behold then the little queen-bee, our eldest daughter, just turned ten years; and you will see a grave, fair girl, not handsome, but with a round, sensible face; from which i hope, by degrees, to remove a certain ill-tempered expression. she is uncommonly industrious, silent and orderly, and kind towards her younger sisters, although very much disposed to lecture them; nor will she allow any opportunity to pass in which her importance as "eldest sister" is not observed; on which account the little ones give her the titles of "your majesty" and "mrs. judge." the little louise appears to me one of those who will always be still and sure; and who, on this account, will go fortunately though the world. no. .--people say that my little nine-years-old eva will be very like her mother. i hope it will prove a really splendid fac-simile. see, then, a little, soft, round-about figure, which, amid laughter and merriment, rolls hither and thither lightly and nimbly, with an ever-varying physiognomy, which is rather plain than handsome, although lit up by a pair of beautiful, kind, dark-blue eyes. quickly moved to sorrow, quickly excited to joy; good-hearted, flattering, confection-loving, pleased with new and handsome clothes, and with dolls and play; greatly beloved too by brothers and sisters, as well as by all the servants; the best friend and playfellow, too, of her brother. such is little eva. no. .--nos. and ought not properly to come together. poor leonore had a sickly childhood, and this rather, i believe, than nature, has given to her an unsteady and violent temper, and has unhappily sown the seeds of envy towards her more fortunate sisters. she is not deficient in deep feeling, but the understanding is sluggish, and it is extremely difficult for her to learn anything. all this promises no pleasure; rather the very opposite. the expression of her mouth, even in the uncomfortable time of teething, seemed to speak, "let me be quiet!" it is hardly possible that she can be other than plain, but, with god's help, i hope to make her good and happy. "my beloved, plain child!" say i sometimes to her as i clasp her tenderly in my arms, for i would willingly reconcile her early to her fate. no. .--but whatever will fate do with the nose of my petrea? this nose is at present the most remarkable thing about her little person; and if it were not so large, she really would be a pretty child. we hope, however, that it will moderate itself in her growth. petrea is a little lively girl, with a turn for almost everything, whether good or bad; curious and restless is she, and beyond measure full of failings; she has a dangerous desire to make herself observed, and to excite an interest. her activity shows itself in destructiveness; yet she is good-hearted and most generous. in every kind of foolery she is a most willing ally with henrik and eva, whenever they will grant her so much favour; and if these three be heard whispering together, one may be quite sure that some roguery or other is on foot. there exists already, however, so much unquiet in her, that i fear her whole life will be such; but i will early teach her to turn herself to that which can change unrest into rest. no. .--and now to the pet child of the house--to the youngest, the loveliest, the so-called "little one"--to her who with her white hands puts the sugar into her father's and mother's cup--the coffee without that would not taste good--to her whose little bed is not yet removed from the chamber of the parents, and who, every morning, creeping out of her own bed, lays her bright curly little head on her father's shoulder and sleeps again. could you only see the little two-years-old gabriele, with her large, serious brown eyes; her refined, somewhat pale, but indescribably lovely countenance; her bewitching little gestures; you would be just as much taken with her as the rest are,--you would find it difficult, as we all do, not to spoil her. she is a quiet little child, but very unlike her eldest sister. a predominating characteristic of gabriele is love of the beautiful; she shows a decided aversion to what is ugly and inconvenient, and as decided a love for what is attractive. a most winning little gentility in appearance and manners, has occasioned the brother and sisters to call her in sport "the little young lady," or "the little princess." henrik is really in love with his little sister, kisses her small white hands with devotion, and in return she loves him with her whole heart. towards the others she is very often somewhat ungracious; and our good friend the assessor calls her frequently "the little gracious one," and frequently also "the little ungracious one," but then he has for her especially so many names; my wish is that in the end she may deserve the surname of "the amiable." peace be with my young ones! there is not one of them which is not possessed of the material of peculiar virtue and excellence, and yet not also at the same time of the seed of some dangerous vice, which may ruin the good growth of god in them. may the endeavours both of their father and me be blessed in training these plants of heaven aright! but ah! the education of children is no easy thing, and all the many works on that subject which i have studied appear to me, whether the fault be in me or in them i cannot tell, but small helps. ah! i often find no other means than to clasp the child tenderly in my arms, and to weep bitterly over it, or else to kiss it in the fulness of my joy; and it often has appeared to me that such moments are not without their influence. i endeavour as much as possible not to scold. i know how perpetually scolding crushes the free spirit and the innocent joyousness of childhood; and i sincerely believe that if one will only sedulously cultivate what is good in character, and make in all instances what is good visible and attractive, the bad will by degrees fall away of itself. i sing a great deal to my children. they are brought up with songs; for i wished early, as it were, to bathe their souls in harmony. several of them, especially my first-born and eva, are regular little enthusiasts in music; and every evening, as soon as twilight comes on, the children throng about me, and then i sit down to the piano, and either accompany myself, or play to little songs which they themselves sing. it is my henrik's reward, when he has been very good for the whole day, that i should sit by his bed, and sing to him till he sleeps. he says that he then has such beautiful dreams. we often sit and talk for an hour instead, and i delight myself sincerely in his active and pure soul. when he lays out his great plans for his future life, he ends thus:--"and when i am grown up a man, and have my own house, then, mother, thou shalt come and live with me, and i will keep so many maids to wait on thee, and thou shalt have so many flowers, and everything that thou art fond of, and shalt live just like a queen; only of an evening, when i go to bed, thou shalt sit beside me and sing me to sleep; wilt thou not?" often too, when in the midst of his plans for the future and my songs, he has dropped asleep, i remain sitting still by the bed with my heart full to overflowing with joy and pride in this angel. ernst declares that i spoil him. ah, perhaps i do, but nevertheless it is a fact that i earnestly endeavour not to do so. after all, i can say of every one of my children what a friend of mine said of hers, that they are tolerably good; that is to say, they are not good enough for heaven. this evening i am alone. ernst is away at the district-governor's. it is my birthday to-day; but i have told no one, because i wished rather to celebrate it in a quiet communion with my own thoughts. how at this moment the long past years come in review before me! i see myself once more in the house of my parents: in that good, joyful, beloved home! i see myself once more by thy side, my beloved and only sister, in that large, magnificent house, surrounded by meadows and villages. how we looked down upon them from high windows, and yet rejoiced that the sun streamed into the most lowly huts just as pleasantly as into our large saloons--everything seemed to us so well arranged. life then, cecilia, was joyful and free from care. how we sate and wept over "des voeux téméraires," and over "feodor and maria,"--such were our cares then. our life was made up of song, and dance, and merriment, with our so many cheerful neighbours; with the most accomplished of whom we got up enthusiasms for music and literature. we considered ourselves to be virtuous, because we loved those who loved us, and because we gave of our superfluity to those who needed it. friendship was our passion. we were ready to die for friendship, but towards love we had hearts of stone. how we jested over our lovers, and thought what fun it would be to act the parts of austere romance-heroines! how unmerciful we were, and--how easily our lovers consoled themselves! then ernst frank came on a visit to us. the rumour of a learned and strong-minded man preceded him, and fixed our regards upon him, because women, whether well-informed or not themselves, are attracted by such men. do you not remember how much he occupied our minds? how his noble person, his calm, self-assured demeanour, his frank, decided, yet always polite behaviour charmed us at first, and the awed us? one could say of him, that morally as well as physically he stood firmly. his deep mourning dress, together with an expression of quiet manly grief, which at times shaded his countenance, combined to make him interesting to us; nevertheless, you thought that he looked too stern, and i very soon lost in his presence my accustomed gaiety. whenever his dark grave eyes were fixed upon me, i was conscious that they possessed a half-bewitching, half-oppressive power over me; i felt myself happy because of it, yet at the same time filled with anxiety; my very action was constrained, my hands became cold and did everything blunderingly, nor ever did i speak so stupidly as when i observed that he listened. aunt lisette gave me one day this maxim: "my dear, remember what i now tell thee: if a man thinks that thou art a fool, it does not injure thee the least in his opinion; but if he once thinks that thou considerest him a fool, then art thou lost for ever with him!" with the last it may be just as it will--i have heard a clever young man declare that it would operate upon him like salt on fire--however, this is certain, that the first part of aunt lisette's maxim is correct, since my stupidity in ernst's presence did not injure me at all in his opinion, and when he was kind and gentle, how inexpressibly agreeable he was! his influence over me became greater each succeeding day: i seemed to live continually under his eyes; when they beamed on me in kindness, it was as if a spring breeze passed through my soul; and if his glance was graver than common, i became still, and out of spirits. it seemed to me at times--and it is so even to this very day--that if this clear and wonderfully penetrating glance were only once, and with its full power, riveted upon me, my very heart would cease to beat. yet after all, i am not sure whether i loved him. i hardly think i did; for when he was absent i then seemed to breathe so freely, yet at the same time, i would have saved his life by the sacrifice of my own. in several respects we had no sympathies in common. he had no taste for music, which i loved passionately; and in reading too our feelings were so different. he yawned over my favourite romances, nay he even sometimes would laugh when i was at the point of bursting into tears; i, on the contrary, yawned over his useful and learned books, and found them more tedious than i could express. the world of imagination in which my thoughts delighted to exercise themselves, he valued not in the least, whilst the burdensome actuality which he always was seeking for in life, had no charm for me. nevertheless there were many points in which we accorded--these especially were questions of morals--and whenever this was the case, it afforded both of us great pleasure. and now came the time, cecilia, in which you left me; when our fates separated themselves, although our hearts did not. one day there were many strangers with us; and in the afternoon i played at shuttlecock with young cousin emil, to whom we were so kind, and who deserved our kindness so well. how it happened i cannot tell, but before long ernst took his place, and was my partner in the game. he looked unusually animated, and i felt myself more at ease with him than common. he threw the shuttlecock excellently, and with a firm hand, but always let it fly a little way beyond me, so that i was obliged to step back a few paces each time to catch it, and thus unconsciously to myself was i driven, in the merry sport, through a long suite of rooms, till we came at last to one where we were quite alone, and a long way from the company. all at once then ernst left off his play, and a change was visible in his whole countenance. i augured something amiss, and would gladly have sprung far, far away, but i felt powerless; and then ernst spoke so from his heart, so fervently, and with such deep tenderness, that he took my heart at once to himself. i laid my hand, although tremblingly, in his, and, almost without knowing what i did, consented to go through life by his side. i had just then passed my nineteenth year; and my beloved parents sanctioned the union of their daughter with a man so respectable and so universally esteemed, and one, moreover, whom everybody prophesied would one day rise to the highest eminences of the state--and ernst, whose nature it was to accomplish everything rapidly which he undertook, managed it so that in a very short time our marriage was celebrated. at the same time some members of my family thought that by this union i had descended a step. i thought not; on the contrary, the very reverse. i was of high birth, had several not undistinguished family connexions, and was brought up in a brilliant circle, in all the superficial accomplishments of the day, amid superfluity and thoughtlessness. he was a man who had shaped out his own course in life, who, by his own honest endeavours, and through many self-denials, had raised his father's house from its depressed condition, and had made the future prospects of his mother and sister comfortable and secure: he was a man self-dependent, upright, and good--yes, good, and that i discover more and more the deeper knowledge i obtain of his true character, even though the outward manner may be somewhat severe--in truth, i feel myself very inferior beside him. the first year of our marriage we passed, at their desire, in the house of my parents; and if i could only have been less conscious of his superiority, and could only have been more certain that he was satisfied with me, nothing would have been wanting to my happiness. everybody waited upon me; and perhaps it was on this account that ernst, in comparison, seemed somewhat cold; i was the petted child of my too kind parents; i was thankless and peevish, and ah, some little of this still remains! nevertheless, it was during this very time that, under the influence of my husband, the true beauty and reality of life became more and more perceptible to my soul. married life and family ties, one's country and the world, revealed their true relationships, and their holy signification to my mind. ernst was my teacher; i looked up to him with love, but not without fear. many were the projects which we formed in these summer days, and which floated brightly before my romantic fancy. among these was a journey on foot through the beautiful country west of sweden, and this was one of the favourite schemes of my ernst. his mother--from whom our little petrea has derived her somewhat singular name--was of norway, and many a beloved thought of her seemed to have interwoven itself with the valleys and mountains, which, as in a wonderfully-beautiful fairy tale, she had described to him in the stories she told. all these recollections are a sort of romantic region in ernst's soul, and thither he betakes himself whenever he would refresh his spirit, or lay out something delightful for the future. "next year," he would then exclaim, "will we take a journey!" and then we laid out together our route on the map, and i determined on the dress which i would wear as his travelling-companion when we would go and visit "that sea-engarlanded norway." ah! there soon came for me other journeys. it was during these days also that my first-born saw the light; my beautiful boy! who so fettered both my love and my thoughts that ernst grew almost jealous. how often did i steal out of bed at night in order to watch him while he slept! he was a lively, restless child, and it therefore was a peculiar pleasure for me to see him at rest; besides which, he was so angelically lovely in sleep! i could have spent whole nights bending over his cradle. so far, cecilia, all went with us as in the romances with which we in our youth nourished heart and soul. but far other times came. in the first place, the sad change in the circumstances of my parents, which operated so severely on our position in life; and then for me so many children--cares without end, grief and sickness! my body and mind must both have given way under their burden, had ernst not been the man he is. it suited his character to struggle against the stream; it was a sort of pleasure to him to combat with it, to meet difficulties, and to overcome them. with each succeeding year he imposed more business upon himself, and by degrees, through the most resolute industry, he was enabled to bring back prosperity to his house. and then how unwearingly kind he was to me! how tenderly sustaining in those very moments, when without him i must have found myself so utterly miserable! how many a sleepless night has he passed on my account! how often has he soothed to sleep a sickly child in his arms! and then, too, every child which came, as it were only to multiply his cares, and increase the necessity for his labour, was to him a delight--was received as a gift of god's mercy--and its birth made a festival in the house. how my heart has thanked him, and how has his strength and assurance nerved me! when little gabriele was born i was very near death; and it is my firm belief that, without ernst's care for me, i must then have parted from my little ones. during the time of great weakness which succeeded this, my foot scarcely ever touched the ground. i was carried by ernst himself wherever i would. he was unwearied in goodness and patience towards the sick mother. should she not now, that she is again in health, dedicate her life to him? ah, yes, that should she, and that will she! alas, were but my ability as strong as my will! do you know one thing, cecilia, which often occasions me great trouble? it is that i am not a clever housewife; that i can neither take pleasure in all the little cares and details which the well-being of a house really requires, nor that i have memory for these things; more especially is the daily caring for dinner irksome to me. i myself have but little appetite; and it is so unpleasing to me to go to sleep at night, and to get up in the morning with my head full of schemes for cooking. by this means, it happens that sometimes my husband's domestic comforts are not such as he has a right to demand. hitherto my weak health, the necessary care of the children, and our rather narrow circumstances, have furnished me with sufficient excuses; but these now will avail me no longer; my health is again established, and our greater prosperity furnishes the means for better household management. on this account, i now exert myself to perform all my duties well; but, ah! how pleasant it will be when the little louise is sufficiently grown up, that i may lay part of the housekeeping burdens on her shoulders. i fancy to myself that she will have peculiar pleasure in all these things. i am to-day two-and-thirty years old. it seems to me that i have entered a new period of my life: my youth lies behind me, i am advanced into middle age, and i well know what both this and my husband have a right to demand from me. may a new and stronger being awake in me! may god support me, and ernst be gentle towards his erring wife! ernst should have married a more energetic woman. my nervous weakness makes my temper irritable, and i am so easily annoyed. his activity of mind often disturbs me more than it is reasonable or right that it should; for instance, i get regularly into a state of excitement, if he only steadfastly fixes his eyes on a wall, or on any other object. i immediately begin to fancy that we are going instantly to have a new door opened, or some other change brought about. and oh! i have such a great necessity for rest and quiet! one change which is about to take place in our house i cannot anticipate without uneasiness. it is the arrival of a candidate of philosophy, jacob jacobi, as tutor for my children. he will this summer take my wild boy under his charge, and instruct the sisters in writing, drawing, and arithmetic; and in the autumn conduct my first-born from the maternal home to a great educational institution. i dread this new member in our domestic circle; he may, if he be not amiable, so easily prove so annoying; yet, if he be amiable and good, he will be so heartily welcome to me, especially as assistant in the wearisome writing lessons, with their eternal "henrik, sit still!"--"hold the pen properly, louise!"--"look at the copy, leonore!"--"don't forget the points and strokes, eva!"--"little petrea, don't wipe out the letters with your nose!" besides this, my first-born begins to have less and less esteem for my latin knowledge; and ernst is sadly discontented with his wild pranks. jacobi will give him instruction, together with nils gabriel, the son of the district-governor, stjernhök, a most industrious and remarkably sensible boy, from whose influence on my henrik i hope for much good. the candidate is warmly recommended to us by a friend of my husband, the excellent bishop b.; yet, notwithstanding this, his actions at the university did not particularly redound to his honour. through credulity and folly he has run through a nice little property which had been left him by three old aunts, who had brought him up and spoiled him into the bargain. indeed, his career has hitherto not been quite a correct one. bishop b. conceals nothing of all this, but says that he is much attached to the young man; praises his heart, and his excellent gifts as a preceptor, and prays us to receive him cordially, with all parental tenderness, into our family. we shall soon see whether he be deserving of such hearty sympathy. for my part, i must confess that my motherly tenderness for him is as yet fast asleep. yet, after all, this inmate does not terrify me half as much as a visit with which i am shortly threatened. of course you have heard of the lady of the late colonel s., the beautiful emilie, my husband's "old flame," as i call her, out of a little malice for all the vexation her perfections, which are so very opposite to mine, have occasioned me. she has been now for several years a widow, has lived long abroad, and now will pay us a visit on her return to her native land. ernst and she have always kept up the most friendly understanding with each other, although she refused his hand; and it is a noble characteristic of my ernst, and one which, in his sex, is not often found, that this rejection did not make him indifferent to the person who gave it. on the contrary, he professes the most warm admiration of this emilie, and has not ceased to correspond with her; and i, for i read all their letters, cannot but confess her extraordinary knowledge and acuteness. but to know all this near is what i would indeed be very gladly excused, since i cannot help thinking that my husband's "old flame" has something of cold-heartedness in her, and my heart has no great inclination to become warm towards her. it strikes ten o'clock. ernst will not come home before twelve. i shall leave you now, cecilia, that----shall i confess my secret to you? you know that one of my greatest pleasures is the reading of a good novel, but this pleasure i have almost entirely renounced, because whenever i have a really interesting one in my hand, i find the most cruel difficulty in laying it down before i reach the last page. that, however, does not answer in my case; and since the time when through the reading of madame de stael's corinne, two dinners, one great wash, and seventeen lesser domestic affairs all came to a stand-still, and my domestic peace nearly suffered shipwreck, i have made a resolution to give up all novel-reading, at least for the present. but still it is so necessary for me to have some literary relaxation of the kind, that since i read no more novels, i have myself--begun to write one. yes, cecilia, my youthful habits will not leave me, even in the midst of the employments and prosaic cares of every-day life; and the flowers which in the morning-tide cast their fragrance so sweetly around me, will yet once more bloom for me in remembrance, and encircle my drooping head with a refreshing garland. the joyful days which i passed by your side; the impressions and the agreeable scenes--now they seem doubly so--which made our youth so beautiful, so lively, and so fresh,--all these i will work out into one significant picture, before the regular flight of years has made them perish from my soul. this employment enlivens and strengthens me; and if, in an evening, my nervous toothache, which is the certain result of over-exertion or of vexation, comes on, there is nothing which will dissipate it like the going on with my little romance. for this very reason, therefore, because this evening my old enemy has plagued me more than common, i have recourse to my innocent opiate. but ernst shall not find me awake when he returns: this i have promised him. good night, sweet cecilia! we will now, in this place, give a little description of the letter-writer--of the mother of henrik, louise, eva, leonore, petrea, and gabriele. beautiful she certainly was not, but nature had given to her a noble growth, which was still as fine and delicate as that of a young girl. the features were not regular, but the mouth was fresh and bewitching, the lips of a lovely bright red, the complexion fair, and the clear blue eyes soft and kind. all her actions were graceful: she had beautiful hands--which is something particularly lovely in a lady--yet she was not solicitous to keep them always in view, and this beautified them still more. she dressed with much taste, almost always in light colours; this and the soft rose scent which she loved, and which always accompanied her, lent to her whole being a something especially mild and agreeable. one might compare her to moonlight; she moved softly, and her voice was low and sweet, which, as shakspeare says, is "an excellent thing in woman." seeing her, as one often might do, reclining on a soft couch, playing with a flower or caressing a child, one could scarcely fancy her the superintendent of a large household, with all its appertaining work-people and servants; and beyond this, as the instructor of many children: yet love and sense of duty had led her to the performance of all this, had reconciled her to that which her natural inclinations were so averse to; nay, by degrees indeed, had made these very cares dear to her--whatever concerned the children lay near to her heart, whilst order, pleasantness, and peace, regulated the house. the contents of the linen-press were dear to her; a snow-white tablecloth was her delight; grey linen, dust, and flies, were hated by her, as far as she could hate anything. but let us now proceed with our historical sketches. we left elise at her manuscript, by which she became soon so deeply occupied that the clock struck twelve unperceived by her; nor was she aware of the flight of time till a sudden terror thrilled her as she heard her husband return. to throw her manuscript into her drawer, and quickly undress, had been an easy thing for her, and she was about to do so, when the thought occurred, "i have never hitherto kept my proceedings secret from ernst, and to-day i will not begin to do so;" and she remained at her writing-table till he entered the room. "what! yet up, and writing?" said he, with a displeased glance. "is it thus you keep your promise, elise?" "pardon me, ernst," said she; "i had forgotten myself." "and for what?" asked he. "what are you writing? no, let me see! what! a novel, as i live! now, what use is this?" "what use is it?" returned elise. "ah, to give me pleasure." "but people should have sense and reason in their pleasures," said the judge. "now it gives me no pleasure at all that you should sit up at night ruining your eyes on account of a miserable novel;--if there were a fire here i would burn the rubbish!" "it would be a great deal better," returned elise, mildly, "if you went to bed and said your prayers piously, rather than thought about such an _auto-da-fé_. how have you amused yourself at the governor's?" "you want now to be mixing the cards," said he. "look at me, elise; you are pale; your pulse is excited! say my prayers, indeed! i have a great mind to give you a lecture, that i have! is it reasonable--is it prudent--to sit up at night and become pale and sleepless, in order to write what is good for nothing? it really makes me quite angry that you can be so foolish, so childish! it certainly is worth while your going to baths, sending to the east and to the west to consult physicians, and giving oneself all kind of trouble to regain your health, when you go and do every possible thing you can in the world to destroy it!" "do not be angry, ernst," besought elise; "do not look so stern on me to-night, ernst; no, not to-night." "yes, indeed!" replied he, but in a tone which had become at once milder, "because it is two-and-thirty years to-day since you came into the world, do you think that you have a right to be absolutely childish?" "put that down to my account," said elise, smiling, yet with a tear in her eye. "put it down! put it down!" repeated the judge. "yes, i suppose so. people go on putting down neck or nothing till it's a pretty fool's business. i should like to pack all novels and novel-writers out of the world together! the world never will be wise till that is done; nor will you either. in the mean time, however, it is as well that i have found you awake, else i must have woke you to prove that you cannot conceal from me, not even for once, how old you are. here then is the punishment for your bad intention." "ah! walter scott's romances!" exclaimed elise, receiving a set of volumes from her husband; "and such a magnificent edition! thanks! thanks! you good, best ernst! but you are a beautiful lawgiver; you promote the very things which you condemn!" "promise me, only," returned he, "not to spend the night in reading or writing novels. think only how precious your health is to so many of us! do you think i should be so provoked, if you were less dear to me? do you comprehend that? in a few years, elise," added he, "when the children are older, and you are stronger, we will turn a summer to really good account, and take our norwegian journey. you shall breathe the fresh mountain air, and see the beautiful valleys and the sea, and that will do you much more good than all the mineral waters in the world. but come now, let us go and see the children; we will not wake them, however, although i have brought with me some confectionery from the lady hostess, which i can lay on their pillows. there is a rennet for you." the married pair went into the children's room, where the faithful old fin-woman, brigitta, lay and guarded, like the dragon, her treasures. the children slept as children sleep. the father stroked the beautiful curling hair of the boy, but impressed a kiss on the rosy cheek of each girl. after this the parents returned to their own chamber. elise lay down to rest; her husband sate down to his desk, but so as to shade the light from his wife. the low sounds of a pen moving on paper came to her ear as if in sleep. as the clock struck two she awoke, and he was still writing. few men required and allowed themselves so little rest as ernst frank. footnotes: [ ] a kind of fine curled cake. chapter ii. the candidate. it was in the twilight. the children were playing at "lÃ¥na eld"[ ] in the great hall, swarming about in holes and corners, when the sudden stopping of a travelling carriage before the door operated upon the wild little flock much as a stream of cold water on a swarm of lees. the queen-bee of the children-swarm, the wise little louise, sate herself down at the window, and four other little heads clustered themselves about her, fervent and inquisitive, and almost pushing her away in their impatient zeal to get a peep at the arrival. it was a gentleman who stepped lightly out of that travelling carriage, but whether young or old, the children could not see; this, however, they saw, that their father came quickly to the door, shook the traveller by the hand, and conducted him into the house; whilst a very small portmanteau was carried after him. seeing this, the little swarm hastened to their mother; to whom they gave, in all possible degrees of tone, from a low whisper to a loud annunciation, the information that for certain "the tutor was come." elise, who had company with her, calmed with a "yes, yes!" and "so, indeed!" the excited state of the children. the queen-bee composed herself quickly; and with mildly silencing looks seemed to observe that she had somewhat forgotten her own dignity, and seated herself quietly and becomingly among the "grown people," as one of them, whilst the other children gathered themselves in a little group in one corner of the room, whispering and wondering; and whoever had looked at them might have seen many a time petrea's nose peering forth from the little group. judge frank sent to announce to his wife the arrival of the expected guest, who would be introduced to her as soon as he had completed his toilet. presently afterwards another messenger came, desiring curling-irons for the candidate. "it is a blessed long toilet!" thought elise, many a time during a full hour which elapsed in waiting; and it must be confessed that her nose more than once during the hour took the same direction as petrea's. at last the steps of two gentlemen were heard on the hall floor, and there advanced through the parlour door a well-shod foot and a handsome leg, belonging to a well-formed though somewhat compressed figure, which carried gracefully a twenty-year-old head, of a jovial, comely appearance, with the hair dressed after the newest mode. it was the candidate. he cast a glance first at his foot, and then at the lady of the house, whom he approached with the most unconstrained self-possession, exhibiting the while a row of dazzlingly white teeth. odour of _eau de portugal_ diffused itself though the room. the judge, who followed, and whose bearing and simple demeanour contrasted with those of the new guest, introduced the candidate jacobi. various unimportant polite speeches were made by everybody, and then they all took their seats. the children then came forward, and made their bows and curtseys. henrik eyed his future preceptor with a joyous, confiding glance; the queen-bee curtseyed very becomingly, and then made several steps backward as the young man seemed inclined to take the great liberty of kissing her; whilst petrea turned up her nose with an inquisitive saucy air. the candidate took the kindest notice of them all; shook all of them by the hand; inquired all their names; looked at himself in the glass, and arranged his curls. "whom have we here?" thought elise, with secret anxiety. "he is a fop--a perfect fop! how in all the world could bishop b. select him as teacher for my poor little children? he will think much more of looking at himself in the glass than of looking after them. the fine breast-pin that he is wearing is of false stones. he laughs to show his white teeth. an actual fop--a fool, perhaps! there, now, he looks at himself again in the glass!" elise sought to catch her husband's eye, but he evidently avoided meeting hers; yet something of discontent, and something of trouble too, showed itself in his manner. the candidate, on the contrary, appeared not in the slightest degree troubled, but reclined perfectly at his ease in an armchair, and cast searching glances on three ladies, who evidently were strangers in the company. the eldest of these, who kept on sewing incessantly, appeared to be upwards of forty, and was distinguished by a remarkably quiet, bright, and friendly aspect. judge frank and she talked much together. the other two appeared neither of them to have attained her twentieth year: the one was pale and fair; the other a pretty brunette; both of them were agreeable, and looked good and happy. these ladies were introduced to jacobi as miss evelina berndes and her adopted daughters, laura and karin. laura had always one of the children on her knee, and it was upon her that his eyes were most particularly fixed. it was indeed a very pretty picture, which was formed by laura, with the lovely little gabriele on her knee, decorated with the flowers, bracelets, necklace, in short, with all the pretty things that just before had ornamented herself. the conversation soon became general, and was remarkably easy, and the candidate had an opportunity of taking his part well and interestingly in it whilst speaking of certain distinguished men in the university from which he was just come. elise mentioned one celebrated man whom she had a great desire to see, upon which jacobi said he had lately made a little sketch of him, which, on her expressing a wish to see, he hastened to fetch. he returned with a portfolio containing many drawings and pictures; partly portraits, and partly landscapes, from his own pencil; they were not deficient in talent, and afforded pleasure. first one portrait was recognised and then another, and at last the candidate himself. the children were quite enchanted, and thronged with enthusiasm round the table. the candidate placed some of them on his knee, and seemed particularly observant of their pleasure, and it was not long, therefore, before they appeared entirely to forget that he was only a new acquaintance--all at least excepting louise, who held herself rather _fière_, and "the baby," which was quite ungracious towards him. above all the pictures which the portfolio contained, were the children most affected and enchanted by one in sepia, which represented a girl kneeling before a rose-bush, from which she was gathering roses, whilst a lyre lay against a gravestone near her. "oh, how sweet! how divinely beautiful!" exclaimed they. petrea seemed as if she actually could not remove her eyes from the charming picture, which the candidate himself also seemed to regard with a fatherly affection, and which was the crown of his little collection. it was the custom at the franks, that every evening, as soon as the clock had struck eight, the little herd of children, conducted by the queen-bee, withdrew to their bed-chamber, which had once occasioned the wakeful petrea to say that night was the worst thing god had ever made: for which remark she received a reproving glance from the queen-bee, accompanied by the maxim, "that people should not talk in that way." in order, however, to celebrate the present day, which was a remarkable one, the children were permitted to take supper with their parents, and even to sit up as late as they did. the prospect of this indulgence, the candidate, the pictures, all combined to elevate the spirits of the children in no ordinary degree; so much so indeed that petrea had the boldness, whilst they were regaling on roast chicken, to propose to the candidate that the picture of the girl and the rose-bush should be put up for a prize on the breaking of a merrythought between them; promising, that if she had the good fortune to win it, she would give as a recompense a picture of her own composition, which should represent some scene in a temple. the queen-bee appeared scandalised at her sister's proposal, and shook her little wise head at her. the mother also violently opposed petrea's proposition; and she, poor girl, became scarlet, and deeply abashed, before the reproving glances which were cast upon her; yet the candidate was good-natured enough, after the first astonishment was over, to yield in the most cheerful manner to petrea's proposal, and zealously to declare that the affair should be managed just as she would. he accordingly set himself, with an appearance of great accuracy and solemnity, to measure the length of both limbs of the merrythought, and then counted three; the mother all this time hoping within herself that he would so manage it that he himself should retain the head--but no! the head remained in petrea's hand, and she uttered a loud cry of joy. after supper, the parents again opposed what had taken place; but the candidate was so cheerful and so determined that it should remain as it was settled already, that petrea, the happiest of mortals, ventured to carry out the girl and rose-bush; yet, she did not miss a motherly warning by the way, which mingled some tears with her joy. the candidate had, in the mean time, on account of his kindness towards the children, and his good-nature towards petrea, made a favourable impression on the parents. "who knows," said elise to her husband, "but that he may turn out very well. he has, probably, his faults, but he has his good qualities too; there is something really very agreeable in his voice and countenance; but he must leave off that habit of looking at himself so continually in the glass." "i feel assured that he must have worth," said the judge, "from the recommendation of my friend b. this vanity, and these foppish habits of his, we shall soon know how to get rid of; the man himself is unquestionably good; and, dear elise, be kind to him, and manage so that he shall feel at home with us." the children also, in their place of rest, made their observations on the candidate. "i think he is much handsomer than my father," said little petrea. "i think," said the queen-bee, in a tone of correction, "that nobody can be more perfect than my father." "that is true, excepting mamma," exclaimed eva, out of her little bed. "ah," said petrea, "i like him so much; he has given me that lovely picture. do you know what i shall call that girl? i shall call her rosa; and i'll tell you a long story about her. there was once upon a time----" all the sisters listened eagerly, for petrea could relate better and prettier stories than any of them. it was therefore said among themselves that petrea was very clever; but as the queen-bee was desirous that petrea should not build much on this opinion, she now listened to her history without bestowing upon it one token of applause, although it was found to be sufficiently interesting to keep the whole little auditorium awake till midnight. "what will become of my preserves?" thought elise, one day as she remarked the quantity which vanished from the plate of the candidate; but when that same evening she saw the little gabriele merrily, and without reproof, pulling about his curls; when she saw him join the children at their play, and make every game which they played instructive to them; when she saw him armed with a great paper weapon, which he called his sword, and deal about blows to those who counted false, thereby exciting greater activity of mind as well as more mirth, she thought to herself, "he may eat just as much preserves as he likes; i will take care that he never goes short of them." if, however, the candidate rose higher in the regards of one party, there still was another with which his actions did not place him in the best point of view. brigitta, to whom the care of some few things in the house was confided, began to look troubled, and out of sorts. for several days, whatever her cause of annoyance might be, she preserved silence, till one evening, when expanding the nostrils of her little snubby nose, she thus addressed her mistress: "the gracious lady must be so good as to give out to the cook just twice as much coffee as usual; because if things are to go on in this way, we cannot do with less. he, the master there, empties the little coffee-pot himself every morning! never, in all my life, have i seen such a coffee-bibber!" the following evening came a new announcement of trouble. "now it is not alone a coffee-bibber," said poor brigitta, with a gloomy countenance and wide-staring eyes, "but a calf it is, and a devourer of rusks! what do you think, gracious lady, but the rusk-basket, which i filled only yesterday, is to-day as good as empty--only two rusks and two or three crumbs remaining! then for cream! why every morning he empties the jug!" "ah, it is very good," said elise, mildly, yet evasively, "that he enjoys things so much." "and only look, in heaven's name!" lamented poor brigitta another day, "he is also quite a sugar-rat! why, dear, gracious lady, he must put in at least twenty pieces of sugar into one cup of coffee, or he never could empty a sugar-basin as he does! i must beg you to give mo the key of the chest, that i may fill it again. god grant that all this may have a good ending!" brigitta could venture to say much, for she had grown old in the house; had carried elise as a child in her arms; and from affection to her, had followed her when she left her father's house: besides this, she was a most excellent guardian for the children; but as now these complaints of hers were too frequently repeated, elise said to her seriously: "dear brigitta, let him eat and drink as much as he likes, without any observation: i would willingly allow him a pound of sugar and coffee a day, if he only became, as i hope he may, a good friend and preceptor for the children." brigitta walked away quite provoked, and grumbling to herself: "well, well!" said she, "old brita can be silent, yes, that she can;--well, well! we shall see what will be the end of it. sugar and rusks he eats, and salt-fish he can't eat!--well, well!" all this time jacobi was passing his days in peace, little dreaming of the clouds which were gathering over his head, or of his appellations of coffee-bibber, calf, rusk-devourer, and sugar-rat; and with each succeeding day it became more evident that elise's hopes of him were well grounded. he developed more and more a good and amiable disposition, and the most remarkable talents as teacher. the children became attached to him with the most intense affection; nor did their obedience and reverence for him as preceptor prevent them, in their freer hours, from playing him all kind of little pranks. petrea was especially rich in such inventions; and he was too kind, too much delighted with their pleasure, not willingly to assist, or even at times allow himself to be the butt of their jokes. breakfast, which for the elder members of the family was commonly served at eleven o'clock, furnished the children with an excellent opportunity for their amusement. the candidate was particularly fond of eggs, and therefore, when under a bulky-looking napkin he expected to find some, and laid hasty hands on it, he not unfrequently discovered, instead of eggs, balls of worsted, playing-balls, and other such indigestible articles; on which discovery of his, a stifled laughter would commonly be heard at the door, and a cluster of children's heads be visible, which he in pretended anger assailed with the false eggs, and which quickly withdrew amid peals of laughter. often too, when, according to old swedish usage, he would take a glass of spirits, he found pure water instead of cognac in his mouth; and the little advocates of temperance were always near enough to enjoy his astonishment, although sufficiently distant, also, that not one drop of the shower which was then sent at them should reach them, though it made them leap high enough for delight. and really it was wonderful how often these little surprises could be repeated, and how the candidate let himself so constantly be surprised. but he was too much occupied by his own thoughts (the thoughts of course of a student of philosophy!) in order to be on his guard against the tricks of these young merry-andrews. one day---- but before we proceed further we must observe, that although the toilette of the candidate seemed externally to be always so well supplied, yet still it was, in fact, in but a very indifferent condition. no wonder, therefore, was it, that though his hat outwardly was always well brushed, and was apparently in good order, yet that it had within a sadly tattered lining. one day, therefore, as the candidate had laid his hat in a corner of the room, and was sitting near the sofa in a very earnest conversation, henrik, petrea, and eva gathered themselves about that symbol of freedom with the most suspicious airs and gestures of conspiracy. nobody paid any attention to them, when after awhile the candidate rose to leave the room, and going through the door would have put on his hat--but, behold, a very singular revolution had taken place within it, and a mass of tin soldiers, stones, matches, and heaven knows what besides, came rattling down upon his head; and even one little chimney-sweeper fell astride on his nose. nothing could compare with the immeasurable delight of the children at the astonishment of the candidate, and the comic grimaces and head-shakings with which he received this their not very polite jest. no wonder was it, therefore, that the children loved the candidate so well. the little queen-bee, however, who more and more began to reckon herself as one of the grown people, and only very rarely took part in the conspiracies against the candidate, shook her head at this prank of her brother and sisters, and looked out a new piece of dark silk from her drawer (louise was a hoarder by nature), possessed herself secretly of the candidate's hat, and with some little help from her mother, had then her secret pleasure also, and could laugh in her own sleeve at his amazement when he discovered a bran new lining in his hat. "our little queen-bee is a sensible little girl," said the judge, well-pleased, to his wife, who had made him a third in this plot; and after that day she was called both by father and mother "our sensible little queen-bee." scarcely had jacobi been three weeks in the family of the franks, before elise felt herself disposed to give him a new title, that of disputer-general, so great was the ability he discovered to dispute on every subject, from human free-will to rules for cookery; nay, even for the eating of eggs. on this subject elise wrote thus to her sister cecilia:--"but however polite and agreeable the candidate may be generally, still he is just as wearisome and obstinate in disputation; and as there is nobody in the house that makes any pretension to rival him in certain subtleties of argument, he is in great danger of considering himself a miracle of metaphysical light, which he is not, i am persuaded, by any means, since he has much more skill in rending down than in building up, in perplexing than in making clear. ernst is no friend of metaphysical hair-splitting, and when jacobi begins to doubt the most perceptible and most certain things--'what is perceptible, what is certain?' the candidate will inquire--he grows impatient, shrugs his shoulders, goes to his writing-table, and leaves me to combat it out, although, for my part, i would gladly have nothing to do with it. should i, however, for awhile carry on the contest boldly, the scholar then will overwhelm me with learned words and arguments, and then i too flee, and leave him _maître du champ de bataille_. he believes then that i am convinced, at least of his power, which yet, however, is not the case; and if fortune do not bestow upon me a powerful ally against him, he may imagine so. nevertheless, i am not without some curiosity to hear a system which he has promised to explain to me this evening, and according to which everything in the world ought to be so good and consistent. these subjects have always an interest for me, and remind me of the time when you and i, cecilia, like two butterflies, went fluttering over the earth, pausing about its flowers, and building up for ourselves pretty theories on the origin of life and all things. since then i had almost forgotten them. think only if the mythology of our youth should present itself again in the system of the candidate!" here elise was interrupted by the entrance of the troop of children. "might we borrow gabriele?" "mother, lend us gabriele!" besought several coaxing little voices. "gabriele, wilt thou not come and play with us? oh, yes, certainly thou wilt!" and with these words petrea held up a gingerbread heart, winch so operated on the heart of the little one, that she yielded to the wishes of brother and sisters. "ah, but you must take great care of her, my little angel!" said the mother; "louise, dear, take her under your charge; look after her, and see that no harm befal her!" "yes, of course," said louise, with a consequential countenance; and the jubilant children carried off the borrowed treasure, and quickly was their sport in full operation in the hall. elise took her work, and the candidate, with a look of great importance, seated himself before her, in order to initiate her into the mysteries of his system. just, however, at the moment when he had opened his mouth to begin, after having hemmed a few times, a shrill little barking, and the words "your most devoted servant," were heard at the door, and a person entered curtseying with an air of conscious worth, said with a little poodle in her arms--a person with whom we will have the honour to commence a new chapter. footnotes: [ ] borrowing fire; a swedish child's play. chapter iii. the chamberlain's lady. where is there not _haute volée_? above the heavenly hosts are outspread the wings of cherubim and seraphim; and in the poultry-yards of earth the geese exalt their wings high over the other lesser feathered creatures. it belongs to the ordination of the world. the chamberlain's lady, gunilla w., belonged incontestibly to the highest _haute volée_ in the excellent city of x., where we have had the honour of making the acquaintance of the family of the franks. she was the sister of governor stjernhök, and inhabited the third story of the house of which the franks inhabited the second, and evelina berndes the first. this lady had spent her youth at court, and passed many a day of wearisome constraint, and many a night in making those clothes which were to conceal from the world how poor miss gunilla was; yet neither night nor day did she complain either of constraint or of poverty, for she possessed under a plain exterior a strong and quiet spirit. an old aunt used to preach to her thus: "eat, that thou mayst grow fat; if thou art fat, thou wilt grow handsome; and if thou art handsome, thou wilt get married." miss gunilla, who never ate much, and who did not eat one mouthful more for this warning, grew neither fat nor handsome; yet on account of her excellent disposition she was beloved by every one, and especially by a young rich chamberlain of the court, who, through his own good qualities and excellent heart, won her affections, and thus miss gunilla became mistress. after this, in the circle of her friends she was accustomed to be called mrs. gunilla; which freedom we also shall sometimes take with her here. shortly after her marriage, and in consequence of cold, her husband became a sad invalid. for thirty years she lived separated from the world, a faithful and lonely attendant of the sick man; and what she bore and what she endured the world knew not, for she endured all in silence. for several years her husband could not bear the light; she learned, therefore, to work in darkness, and thus made a large embroidered carpet. "into this carpet," said she, as she once spoke accidentally of herself, "have i worked many tears." one of the many hypochondriacal fancies of her husband was, that he was about to fall into a yawning abyss, and only could believe himself safe so long as he held the hand of his wife. thus for one month after another she sate by his couch. at length the grave opened for him; and thanking his wife for the happiness he had enjoyed in the house of sickness on earth, he sank to rest, in full belief of a land of restoration beyond. when he was gone, it seemed to her as if she were as useless in the world as an old almanack; but here also again her soul raised itself under its burden, and she regulated her life with peace and decision. in course of years she grew more cheerful, and the originality of her talents and disposition which nature had given to her, and which, in her solitude, had undisturbedly followed their own bent, brought a freshness with them into social life, into which she entered at first rather from resolution than from feeling at ease in it. "the lord ordains all things for the best;" that had always been, and still remained, the firm anchorage of her soul. but it was not this alone which gave to her the peace and gentleness which announced themselves in her voice, and diffused a true grace over her aged and not handsome countenance; they had yet another foundation: for even as the sunken sun throws the loveliest light upon the earth which it has left, so does the holy memory of a beloved but departed human being on the remaining solitary friend. mrs. gunilla herself lived in such a remembrance: she knew it not, but after the death of her husband the dark pictures of his suffering vanished more and more, and his own form, purified by patience and suffering, rose continually higher in its noble glorification; it beamed into her soul, and her soul became brightened thereby. seldom mentioned she the name of her husband; but when she did so, it was like a breath of summer air in voice and countenance. she collected good people about her, and loved to promote their happiness; and whenever there was a young couple whose narrow circumstances, or whose fears for the future, filled them with anxiety, or a young but indigent man who was about to fall into debt and difficulty, mrs. gunilla was ever at hand, although in most cases behind others. she had nevertheless her faults; and these, as we proceed, we shall become acquainted with. we now hastily sketch her portrait the size of life. age between fifty and sixty; figure tall, stiff, well-made, not too thin--beside jeremias muntor she might be called stout--complexion, pale yellow; the nose and chin coming together, the mouth fallen in; the eyes grey and small, forehead smooth, and agreeably shaded by silver hair; the hands still handsome, and between the thumb and delicate tip of the forefinger a pinch of snuff, which was commonly held in certain perspective towards the nose, whilst with an elbow resting on the arm of sofa or easy-chair she gave little lectures, or read aloud, for it was one of her weaknesses to suppose that she knew everything. during her long hermit-life she had been accustomed wholly to neglect her toilet, and this neglect she found it difficult afterwards to overcome; and her old silk gown, from which the wadding peeped out from many a hole, especially at the elbows; her often-mended collar, and her drooping cap, the ribbons of which were flecked with many a stain of snuff, were always a trouble to elise's love of order and purity. notwithstanding all this, there was a certain air about mrs. gunilla which carried off all; and with her character, rank, property, and consideration, she was _haute volée_, spite of torn gown and snuff-beflecked ribbons, and had great influence among the best society of the city. she considered herself somewhat related to elise, was very fond of her, and used very often to impart to her opinions on education (n. b.--mrs. gunilla never had children), on which account many people in the city accused elise of weakness towards the _haute volée_, and the postmistress bask and the general-shopkeeper suur considered it quite as much a crime as a failing. there was in mrs. gunilla's voice, manners, and bearing, a something very imposing; her curtsey was usually very stately and low, and this brings us again to her entrance into elise's room. elise, the moment she entered, quickly rose and welcomed her, introducing jacobi at the same time. at the first glance jacobi uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise, approached her with an appearance of the greatest cordiality, seized her hand, which he kissed reverentially, and felicitated himself on the happiness of seeing her again. the little eyes of the chamberlain's lady twinkled, and she exclaimed, "oh, heavens! my heart's dearest! nay, that is very pleasant! he, he, he, he!" "how!" exclaimed elise, in astonishment, "mr. jacobi, do you know----aunt w., do you know mr. jacobi?" the candidate appeared about to give an explanation of the acquaintance, but this mrs. gunilla, with a faint crimson overspreading the pale yellow cheek, and a twitch of the eyebrow, prevented, and with a quick voice she said, "we once lived in the same house." she then desired that the conversation which her entrance had interrupted, and which appeared to have been very important, might proceed. "at least," added she, with a penetrating glance on elise and the candidate, "if i should not disturb you." "certainly not!" the candidate needed only the sixteenth of a hint to rush armed with full fervour into the mysteries of his system. mrs. gunilla took up a packet of old gold thread, which she set herself to unravel, whilst the candidate coughed and prepared himself. chapter iv. monads and nomads. "all beings," commenced the candidate, "have, as their most intrinsic foundation and substance, a simple unity, a soul, a--in one word, a monad." "a--a what?" asked the chamberlain's lady, fixing her eyes upon him. "a monad, or a simple unity," continued he. "the monads have a common resemblance in substance one with another; but in respect of qualities, of power, and size, they are substantially unlike. there are the monads of people; there are human monads, animal monads, vegetable monads; in short, the world is full of monads--they compose the world----" "heart's dearest!" interrupted the old lady, in a tone of displeasure, "i don't understand one word of all this! what stuff it is! what are monads?--fill the world, do they?--i see no monads!" "but you see me, dear lady," said jacobi, "and yourself. you are yourself a monad." "i a monad!" exclaimed she, in disgust. "yes, certainly," replied he, "your honour, just the same as any other living creature----" "but," interrupted she, "i must tell you, dear friend, that i am neither a monad nor a creature, but a human being--a sinful human being it is true--but one that god, in any case, created in his own image." "yes, certainly, certainly," acceded the candidate. "i acknowledge a principal monad, from which all other monads emanate----" "what!" exclaimed she, "is our lord god to be a monad also?" "he may be so designated," said the candidate, "on account of oneness, and also to preserve uniformity as to name. for the rest, i believe that the monads, from the beginning, are gifted with a self-sustaining strength, through which they are generated into the corporeal world; that is to say, take a bodily shape, live, act, nay even strive--that is to say, would remove themselves from one body into another without the immediate influence of the principal monad. the monads are in perpetual motion--perpetual change, and always place and arrange themselves according to their power and will. if, now, we regard the world from this point of view, it presents itself to us in the clearest and most excellent manner. in all spheres of life we see how the principal monad assembles all the subject monads around itself as organs and members. thus are nations and states, arts and sciences, fashioned; thus every man creates his own world, and governs it according to his ability; for there is no such thing as free-will, as people commonly imagine, but the monad in man directs what he shall become, and what in regard to----" "that i don't believe," interrupted mrs. gunilla; "since, if my soul, or monad, as you would call it, had guided me according to its pleasure, it would have led me to do many wicked things; and if our lord god had not chastised me, and in his mercy directed me to something that was good--be so good as to let alone my cotton-balls--it would have gone mad enough with my nomadic soul--that i can tell you." "but, your honour," said jacobi, "i don't deny at all the influence of a principal monad; on the contrary, i acknowledge that; and it is precisely this influence upon your monad which----" "and i assert," exclaimed she, warming, and again interrupting him, "that we should do nothing that was right if you could establish your nomadic government, instead of the government of our lord god. what good could i get from your nomads?" "monads," said the candidate, correcting her. "and supposing your monads," continued mrs. gunilla, "do keep in such perpetual movement, and do arrange themselves so properly, what good will that do me in moments of temptation and need? it is far wiser and better that i say and believe that our lord god will guide us according to his wisdom and good, than if i should believe that a heap of your nomads----" "monads, monads!" exclaimed the candidate. "monads or nomads," answered angrily mrs. gunilla, "it is all one--be so good as to let my cotton alone, i want it myself--your nomads may be as magnificent and as mighty as they please, and they may govern themselves, and may live and strive according to their own wisdom; yet i cannot see how the world, for all that, can be in the least the more regular, or even one little grain the more pleasant, to look at. and why are things so bad here? why, precisely for this very reason, because you good people fancy yourselves such powerful monads, and think so much of your own strength, without being willing to know that you are altogether poor sinners, who ought to beseech our lord god to govern their poor nomadic souls, in order that they might become a little better. it is precisely such nomadic notions as these that we have to thank for all kind of rapscallion pranks, for all uproars and broken windows. if you had only less of nomads, and more of sensible men in you, one should live in better peace on the earth." the candidate was quite confounded; he had never been used to argument like this, and stared at mrs. gunilla with open mouth; whilst little pyrrhus, excited by the warmth of his mistress, leapt upon the table, and barking shrilly seemed disposed to spring at the candidate's nose. all this appeared so comic, that elise could no longer keep back the merriment which she had felt during the former part of the dispute, and jacobi himself accompanied her hearty laugh. mrs. gunilla, however, looked very bitter; and the candidate, nothing daunted, began again. "but, in the name of all the world," said he, "your honour will not understand me: we speak only of a mode of observing the world--a mode by which its phenomena can be clearly expounded. monadology, rightly understood, does not oppose the ideas of the christian religion, as i will demonstrate immediately. objective revelation proves to us exactly that the subject-objective and object-subjective, which----" "ah!" said mrs. gunilla, throwing herself back, "talk what nonsense you will for me, i know what i know. nomads may be just what they please for me: but i call a man, a man; i call a cat, a cat, and a flower, a flower; and our lord god remains to me our lord god, and no nomad!" "monad, monad!" cried the candidate, in a sort of half-comic despair; "and as for that word, philosophy has as good a right as any other science to make use of certain words to express certain ideas." during the last several minutes suspicious movements had been heard at the parlour door, the cause of which now became evident; the children had stolen in behind the candidate, and now cast beseeching glances towards their mother that she should let all go on unobserved. petrea and eva stole in first, carrying between them a heavy pincushion, weighted with lead, five pounds in weight at least. the candidate was standing; and at the very moment when he was doing his best to defend the rights of philosophy, the leaden cushion was dropped down into his coat-pocket. a motion backwards was perceptible through his whole body, and his coat was tightly pulled down behind. a powerful twitching showed itself at the corners of his mouth, and a certain stammering might be noticed in his speech, although he stood perfectly still, and appeared to observe nothing; while the little rascals, who had expected a terrible explosion from their well-laid train, stole off to a distance; but oh, wonder! the candidate stood stock-still, and seemed not at all aware that anything was going on in his coat-laps. all this while, however, there was in him such a powerful inclination to laugh that he hastened to relate an anecdote which should give him the opportunity of doing so. and whether it was the nomads of mrs. gunilla which diverted him from his system, or the visit of the little herd of nomads to his pockets, true it is there was an end of his philosophy for that evening. beyond this, he appeared now to wish by cheerful discourse to entertain mrs. gunilla, in which he perfectly succeeded; and so mild and indulgent was he towards her, that elise began to question with herself whether mrs. gunilla's mode of argument were not the best and the most successful. the children stood not far off, and observed all the actions of jacobi. "if he goes out, he will feel the cushion," said they. "he will fetch a book! now he comes--ah!" the candidate really went out for a book from his room, but he stepped with the most stoical repose, though with a miserably backward-pulled coat, through the astonished troop of children, and left the room. when he returned, the coat sate quite correctly; the cushion evidently was not there. the astonishment of the children rose to the highest pitch, and there was no end to their conjectures. the queen-bee imagined that there must be a hole in his pocket, through which the pincushion had fallen on the stairs. petrea, in whose suggestion the joke originated, was quite dismayed about the fate of the cushion. never once did it enter into the innocent heads of the children that the candidate had done all this in order to turn their intended surprise on him into a surprise on themselves. "how came you to be acquainted with mrs. gunilla w.?" asked elise from jacobi when the lady was gone. "when i was studying in----," replied he, "i routed a small room on the ground-floor of the same house where she lived. as i at that time was in very narrow circumstances, i had my dinner from an eating-house near, where all was supplied at the lowest price; but it often was so intolerably bad, that i was obliged to send it back untasted, and endeavour, by a walk in the fresh air instead, to appease my hunger. i had lived thus for some time, and was, as may be imagined, become meagre enough, when mrs. w., with whom i was not personally acquainted, proposed to me, through her housekeeper, that she should provide me with a dinner at the same low charge as the eating-house. i was astonished, but extremely delighted, and thankfully accepted the proposal. i soon discovered, however, that she wished in this way to become my benefactor without its appearing so, and without my thanks being necessary. from this day i lived in actual plenty. but her goodness did not end here. during a severely cold winter, in which i went out in a very thin great-coat, i received quite unexpectedly one trimmed with fur. from whom it came i could not for some time discover, till chance gave me a clue which led me to the chamberlain's lady. but could i thank her for it? no; she became regularly angry and scolded me if i spoke of the gratitude which i felt and always shall feel for her kindness." tears filled the eyes of jacobi as he told this, and both elise's eyes and those of her husband beamed with delight at this relation. "it is," said judge prank, "a proof how much goodness there is in the world, although at a superficial glance one is so disposed to doubt it. that which is bad usually noises itself abroad, is echoed back from side to side, and newspapers and social circles find so much to say about it; whilst that which is good likes best to go--like sunshine--quietly through the world." chapter v. disagreeable news. the "skirmish"--as mrs. gunilla called the little strift she had with the candidate, about monads and nomads--appeared to have displeased neither of them, but rather, on the contrary, to have excited in them a desire for others of the same kind; and as elise, who had no great inclination to spend her evenings alone with him, used frequently to invite mrs. gunilla to drink tea with them, it was not long before she and the candidate were again in full disputation together. if the assessor happened also to come in, there was a terrible noise. the candidate screamed, and leapt about almost beside himself, but was fairly out-talked, because his voice was weak, and because mrs. gunilla and the assessor, who between them two selves never were agreed, leagued themselves nevertheless against him. jacobi, notwithstanding this, had often the right side of an argument, and bore his overthrow with the best temper in the world. perhaps he might have lost his courage, however, as well as his voice in this unequal contest--he himself declared he should--had he not suddenly abandoned the field. he vanished almost entirely from the little evening circle. "what has become of our candidate?" sometimes asked mrs. gunilla. "i shall be much surprised if his monad or nomad has not carried him off to the land of the nomads! he, he, he, he!" judge frank and wife also began to question with some anxiety, "what has become of our candidate?" our candidate belonged to that class of persons who easily win many friends. his cheerful easy temper, his talents, and good social qualifications, made him much beloved and sought after, especially in smaller circles. it was here, therefore, as it had been in the university--he was drawn into a jovial little company of good fellows, where, in a variety of ways, they could amuse themselves, and where the cheerful spirit and talents of jacobi were highly prized. he allowed himself, partly out of good-nature and partly out of his own folly, to be led on by them, and to take part in a variety of pranks, which, through the influence of some members of the club, went on from little to more, and our candidate found himself, before he was aware of what he was about, drawn into a regular carouse--all which operated most disadvantageously upon his affairs--kept him out late at night, and only permitted him to rise late in the morning, and then with headache and disinclination to business. there was, of course, no lack of good friends to bring these tidings to judge frank. he was angry, and elise was seriously distressed, for she had begun to like jacobi, and had hoped for so much from his connexion with the children. "it won't do, it won't do," grumbled judge frank. "there shall very soon be an end to this! a pretty story indeed! i shall tell him--i, if he----but, my sweet friend, you yourself are to blame in this affair; you should concern yourself a little about him; you are so _fière_ and distant to him; and what amusement do you provide for him here of an evening? the little quarrels between mrs. gunilla and munter cannot be particularly amusing to him, especially when he is always out-talked by them. it would be a thousand times better for the young man if you would allow him to read aloud to you; yes, if it were romances, or whatever in the world you would. you should stimulate his talent for music; it would give yourself pleasure, and between whiles you could talk a little sound reason with him, instead of disputing about things which neither he nor you understand! if you had only begun in that way at first, he would perhaps never have been such a swashbuckler as he is, and now to get order and good manners back into the house one must have scenes. i'll not allow such goings on!--he shall hear about it to-morrow morning! i'll give that pretty youth something which he shall remember!" "ah!" said elise, "don't be too severe, ernst! jacobi is good; and if you talk seriously yet kindly to him, i am persuaded it will have the best effect." judge frank made no reply, but walked up and down the room in very ill humour. "would you like to hear some news of your neighbour the pasquinade-writer?" asked assessor munter, who just then entered with a dark countenance. "he is sick, sick to death of a galloping consumption--he will not write any more pasquinades." "who looks after his little girl?" asked elise; "i see her sometimes running about the street like a wild cat." "yes, there's a pretty prospect for her," snorted out the assessor. "there is a person in the house--a person they call her, she ought to be called reptile, or rather devil--who is said to look after the housekeeping, but robs him, and ruins that child. would you believe it? she and two tall churls of sons that she has about her amuse themselves with terrifying that little girl by dressing themselves up whimsically, and acting the goblins in the twilight. it is more than a miracle if they do not drive her mad!" "poor wretch!" exclaimed judge frank, in rage and abhorrence. "good heavens! how much destruction of character there is, how much crime, which the arm of the law cannot reach! and that child's father, can he bear that it is so treated?" "he is wholly governed by that creature--that woman," said munter; "besides, sick in bed as he now is, he knows but little of what goes on in the house." "and if he die," asked the judge, "is there nobody who will look after that girl? has he a relation or friend?" "nobody in this world," returned jeremias. "i have inquired particularly. the bird in the wood is not more defenceless than that child. poverty there will be in the house; and what little there is, that monster of a housekeeper will soon run through." "what can one do?" asked the judge, in real anxiety. "do you know anything, munter, that one could do?" "nothing as yet," returned he; "at present things must take their own course. i counsel nobody to interfere; for he is possessed of the woman, and she is possessed of the devil: and as for the girl, he will have her constantly with him, and lets her give way to all her petulances. but this cannot long endure. in a month, perhaps, he will be dead; and he who sees the falling sparrow will, without doubt, take care of the poor child. at present nobody can save her from the hands of these harpies. now, good night! but i could not help coming to tell you this little history, because it lay burning at my heart; and people have the very polite custom of throwing their burdens upon others, in order to lighten themselves. adieu!" the judge was very much disturbed this evening. "what he had just heard weighed heavily on his heart. "it is singular," said he, "how often mr. n.'s course and mine have clashed. he has really talent, but bad moral character; on that account i have opposed his endeavours to get into office, and thus operated against his success. it was natural that he should become my enemy, and i never troubled myself about it! but now i wish--the unhappy man, how miserably he lies there! and that poor, poor child! ström," said he, calling to his servant, "is the candidate at home? no? and it is nearly eleven! the thousand! to-morrow he shall find out where he is at home!" chapter vi. hero-deeds. on the following morning, as judge frank drew aside his window-curtains, the sun--the sun, so powerful in its beams and its silence--shone into his chamber, lighting it with its glorious splendour. those sunbeams went directly to his heart. "dear elise," said he, when his wife was awake, "i have a great deal to do to-day. perhaps it would be better if you would speak with jacobi, and give him his lecture. ladies, in such circumstances, have more influence on men than we men can have. besides this, what can be bent must not be broken. i--in short, i fancy you will manage the affair best. it is so beautiful to-day! could you not take the children a long walk? it would do both them and you good, and upon the way you would have an excellent opportunity for an explanation. should this be of no avail, then i will--but i would gladly avoid being angry with him; one has things enough to vex one without that." the judge was not the only person in the house whom the sun inspired with thoughts of rambling. the candidate had promised the children on some "very fine day" to take them to a wood, where there were plenty of hazel-bushes, and where they would gather a rich harvest of nuts. children have an incomparable memory for all such promises; and the little franks thought that no day could by any possibility be more beautiful or more suitable for a great expedition than the present, and therefore, as soon as they discovered that the candidate and their parents thought the same, their joy rose actually as high as the roof. brigitta had not hands enough for petrea and eva, so did they skip about when she wished to dress them. immediately after noon the procession set forth; henrik and the queen-bee marched first, next came eva and leonore, between whom was petrea, each one carrying a little basket containing a piece of cake, as provision for their journey. behind the column of children came the mother, and near her the candidate, drawing a little wicker-carriage, in which sate little gabriele, looking gravely about with her large brown eyes. "little africa"--so the children called their little dark-eyed neighbour from the cape--stood at her door as the little franks tripped forth from theirs. petrea, with an irresistible desire to make her acquaintance, rushed across the street and offered her the piece of cake which she had in her basket. the little wild creature snatched the piece of cake with violence, showed her row of white teeth, and vanished in the doorway, whilst elise seized petrea's hand, in order to keep her restless spirit in check. as soon as they had passed the gate of the city the children were permitted full freedom, and they were not much more composed in their demeanour than a set of young calves turned out for the first time into a green meadow. we must even acknowledge that the little queen-bee fell into a few excesses, such as jumping over ditches where they were the broadest, and clapping her hands and shouting to frighten away phlegmatical crows. it was not long, however, before she gave up these outbreaks, and turned her mind to a much sedater course; and then, whenever a stiff-necked millifolium or gaudy hip came in her way, she carefully broke it off, and preserved it in her apron, for the use of the family. henrik ran back every now and then to the wicker-carriage, in order to kiss "the baby," and give her the very least flowers he could find. petrea often stumbled and fell, but always sprang up quickly, and then unaffrightedly continued her leaping and springing. the candidate also, full of joyous animal spirits, began to sing aloud, in a fine tenor voice, the song, "seats of the vikings! groves old and hoary," in which the children soon joined their descant, whilst they marched in time to the song. elise, who gave herself up to the full enjoyment of the beautiful day and the universal delight, had neither inclination nor wish to interrupt this by any disagreeable explanation; she thought to herself that she would defer it a while. "nay, only look, only look, sisters! henrik, come here!" exclaimed little petrea, beckoning with the hand, leaping, and almost out of herself for delight, whilst she looked through the trellis-work of a tall handsome gate into pleasure-grounds which were laid out in the old-fashioned manner, and ornamented with clipped trees. many little heads soon looked with great curiosity through the trellis-gate; they seemed to see paradise within it; and then up came the candidate, not like a threatening cherub with a flaming sword, but a good angel, who opened the door of this paradise to the enraptured children. this surprise had been prepared for them by elise and the candidate, who had obtained permission from the dowager countess s * * * to take the children on their way to the nut-wood through her park. here the children found endless subject for admiration and inquiry, nor could either the candidate or their mother answer all their questions. before long the hearts of the children were moved at sight of a little leaden cupid, who stood weeping near a dry fountain. "why does he cry?" asked they. "probably because the water is all gone," answered the candidate, smiling. presently again they were enchanted by sight of a chinese temple, which to their fancy contained all the magnificence in the world--instead of, as was the case, a quantity of fowls; then they were filled with astonishment at trees in the form of pyramids--they never had seen anything so wonderful, so beautiful! but the most wonderful thing was yet to come. they reached a gloomy part of the grounds. melancholy sounds, incoherent, yet pleasurable, became audible, accompanied by an uninterrupted splashing of water. the children walked slower and closer together, in a state of excited expectation, and a kind of shuddering curiosity. the melancholy tones and the falling water became more and more distinct, as they found themselves inclosed in a thick fir-wood; presently, however, an opening to the right showed itself, and then thickly wreathed with a wild growth of plants and heavily-leaved trees, the vault of a grotto revealed itself, within which, and in the distance, stood a large white figure, with aged head, long beard, crooked back, and goat's legs. to his lips he held a pandean pipe, from which the extraordinary sounds appeared to proceed. little waterfalls leapt here and there from the rocks around, and then collected themselves at the foot of the statue in a large basin, in which the figure seemed, with a dreamy countenance, to contemplate himself and the leaf-garlanded entrance of the grotto. the candidate informed them that this was the wood-god pan; but what further information he gave respecting the faith of the ancients in this deity of nature was listened to by nobody but the queen-bee, who, however, shook her wise head over the want of wisdom in the grecians who could believe on such a god; and by elise, who loved to discover in the belief of antiquity a god of nature, which makes itself felt also in our days, but in a truer and, as we think, a diviner sense. the exhibition in the grotto had produced its effect upon all the spectators, great as well as small; but the brain of the little petrea seemed quite intoxicated, not to say crazed by it. the wood-god, with his music, his half-animal, half-human figure, although only of gypsum, and, as the candidate declared, the offspring only of a dim fancy, as well as that it was without life or actuality, still remained to her imagination a living existence, as real as wonderful. she could see nothing, think of nothing, but the wood-god; and the foreboding of a new and wonderful world filled her soul with a delicious terror. in the mean time the candidate conducted elise, by a path which wound among alders and birches, up the mountain in which the grotto was. when they reached the top, all was sunny and cheerful; and behold upon a mound was set out, so pleasantly in the sunshine, a little collation of berries and fruit. it was the candidate, who had great pleasure in being the kind-hearted host on such occasions, who had provided this little surprise for elise and the children; and never, indeed, was a surprise more welcome or more joyous. it is the most thankful thing in the world to give pleasure to children; and, moreover, the goodwill of the mother is always obtained thereby. the candidate spread his cloak upon a green slope under a hedge of roses, on which elise's favourite flowers were still blooming, as a seat for herself and "the baby," which now, lifted out of the wicker-carriage, had its green silk bonnet taken off, and its golden locks bathed in sunshine. he chose out the best fruit for her and her mother; and then seating himself on the grass near her, played with her, and drove away the flies from her and her mother with a spray of roses, whilst the other children ran about at a distance, enjoying with all the zest of childhood, gooseberries and freedom. the trees soughed in the soft south wind, whilst the melodious sighs of the wood-god, and the splash of the water, mingled gently with the whispering leaves. it was a delicious time, and its soft influence stole into the soul of elise. the sun, the scent of the roses, the song of the wood and of the water, and the syrinx, the beautiful scene before her, the happy children--all these called up suddenly into her breast that summer of the heart, in which all sentiments, all thoughts, are like beautiful flowers, and which makes life seem so light and so lovely: she conceived a friendship for that young man who had occasioned it, and whose good heart beamed forth from his eyes, which at one moment were fixed on the blue heavens, and then on her own soft blue eyes, with an expression of devotion and a certain pure earnestness, which she had never observed in him before. elise felt that she could now undertake the explanation with him; she felt that she could talk with him openly and warmly as a sister, and that the truth would flow from her lips, without wounding him or giving him pain. scarcely, however, had she with cordial, though with tremulous voice, began to speak, when an uneasy movement among the children interrupted her. some looked in the hedges, some ran about under the trees, and the name "petrea! petrea!" was repeated in every variety of tone. the mother looked uneasily around, and the candidate sprang up to see what was amiss. it was nothing uncommon for petrea to separate herself from the rest of the children, and occupied by her own little thoughts, to lag behind; on that account, therefore, nobody had at first troubled themselves because she was not with them at the collation, for they said, "she will soon come." afterwards, elise and the candidate were too much occupied by their own thoughts; and the children said as usual, "she'll soon come." but when she did not come, they began to seek for her, and elise and the candidate came to their assistance. they ran back to the grotto; they sought and called, but all in vain--petrea was nowhere to be found! and uneasiness very soon changed itself into actual anxiety. we will now ourselves go in quest of petrea. so enchanted was she with the wood-god and his music, that no sooner had she, with the others, begun to climb the hill, than she turned back to the grotto, and there, transported by its wonderful world, she was suddenly possessed by a desire to acquaint her father and brigitta, with her having seen the wood-god. resolve and action are much more one with children than with women. to be the first who should carry to the father the important tidings, "father, i have seen the wood-god!" was a temptation too strong for petrea's ambition and craving for sympathy. she had heard them say that they should rest on the hill; and as her organ of locality was as feeble as her imagination was powerful, she never doubted for a moment of being able to run home and back before they were aware even of her absence. as for the rest, to confess the truth, she thought nothing at all about it; but with a loudly-beating heart, and the words, "oh, father! we have seen the wood-god!" on her lips, she made a spring, and rushed forward on the wings of fancy as fast as her little legs would carry her in a direction exactly the opposite of that which led homeward, and which at the same time removed her from the grotto; never thinking, the poor petrea! that in this world there are many ways. before long, however, she found it necessary to stand still, in order to rest herself: it was all so beautiful around her; delicious odours breathed from the wild flowers; the birds sang; the heaven was cloudless; and here, where no cupids nor chinese temples dazzled her thoughts, the very remembrance of the god pan vanished from her soul, and instead of it a thought, or more properly speaking a sentiment, took possession of it--a holy and beautiful sentiment, which the mother had early instilled into the hearts of her children. petrea saw herself solitary, yet at the same time she felt that she was not so; in the deliciousness of the air, in the beauty of nature, she perceived the presence of a good spirit, which she had been taught to call father; and filled, as her heart seemed to be, by a sense of his goodness and affection, which appeared never to have been so sensibly impressed upon her mind as then, her heart felt as if it must dissolve itself in love and happiness. she sank down on the grass, and seemed to be on the way to heaven. but, ah! the way thither is not so easy; and these heavenly foretastes remain only a short time in the souls of children, as well as of grown people. that which brought petrea from her heavenly journey back to the earth again was a squirrel, which sprang directly across her path, and sent her forth immediately in chase of it. to catch such game, and to carry it home, would be indeed in the highest degree a memorable action. "what would henrik and my sisters say? what would all the city say? perhaps it will get into the newspapers!--perhaps the king may get to hear of it!"--thought petrea, whilst, out of herself with ambition and earnestness, she pursued the little squirrel over stock and stone. her frock was torn; her hands and feet were bruised; but that was a mere nothing! she felt it not, more particularly--oh, height of felicity!--as she fell down, and at that same moment grasped in her trembling hands her little prey. petrea cried for delight, and shouted to her mother and sisters, who--could not hear her. "oh, thou little most loveable creature!" said petrea, endeavouring at the same time to kiss her little captive, in return for which that most loveable little creature bit her by the chin. surprised, and sorely smarting from the pain, petrea began to cry; yet for all that would not let go the squirrel, although the blood flowed from the wound. petrea ran forward, wondering that she never came to the great trellis-gate, through which she knew she must pass in order to reach home. whilst she thus wondered with herself, and ran, and struggled with her little untractable prisoner, she saw a gentleman coming towards her. it never once occurred to her that this could be any other than her father, and almost transported for joy, she exclaimed, "father, i have seen the wood-god!" greatly astonished to hear himself thus parentally addressed, the young man looked up from the book in which he read, gazed at petrea, smiled, and replied, "nay, my child, he is gone in that direction," pointing with his finger towards that quarter whence petrea had come. imagining at once that he meant the candidate, petrea replied with anxiety and a quick foreboding that she was on a wrong track, "oh, no, it is not he!" and then turned suddenly back again. she abandoned now all thoughts of running home, and was only desirous of finding those whom she had so thoughtlessly left. she ran back, therefore, with all her speed, the way she had come, till she reached where two roads branched off, and there unfortunately taking the wrong one, came into a wild region, where she soon perceived how entirely confused she had become. she no longer knew which way to go, and in despair threw herself into the grass and wept. all her ambition was gone; she let the squirrel run away, and gave herself up to her own comfortless feelings. she thought now of the uneasiness and anxiety of her mother, and wept all the more at the thought of her own folly. but, however, consoling thoughts, before long, chased away these desponding ones. she dried her eyes with her dress--she had lost her pocket-handkerchief--and looking around her she saw a quantity of fine raspberries growing in a cleft of the hill. "raspberries!" exclaimed she, "my mother's favourite berries!" and now we may see our little petrea scrambling up the cliff with all her might, in order to gather the lovely fruit. she thought that with a bouquet of raspberries in her hand, she could throw herself at the feet of her mother, and pray for forgiveness. so thought she, and tore up the raspberry bushes, and new courage and new hope revived the while in her breast. if, thought she, she clambered only a little way higher, could she not discover where her home was? should she not see her mother, father, sisters, nay, the whole world? certainly. what a bright idea it was! with one hand full of raspberries, the other assisted her to climb; but, ah! first one foot slipped on the dry smooth grass, and then the other. the left hand could no longer sustain the whole weight of her body; the right hand would not let go the raspberries. a moment of anguish, a violent effort, and then petrea rolled down the cliff into a thicket of bushes and nettles, where for the present we will leave her, in order to look after the others. the anxiety of the mother is not to be described, as after a whole hour spent with jacobi and henrik (the little queen-bee watched over the other children near pan's grotto), in seeking and calling for petrea, all was in vain. there were many ponds in the park, and they could not conceal from themselves that it was possible she might have fallen into one. it was a most horrible idea for elise, and sent an anguish like death into her heart, as she thought of returning in the evening to her husband with one child missing, and that one of his favourites--missing through her own negligence. death itself seemed to her preferable. breathless, and pale as a corpse, she wandered about, and more than once was near sinking to the earth. in vain the candidate besought her to spare herself; to keep herself quiet, and leave all to him. in vain! she heard him not; and restless and unhappy, she sought the child herself. jacobi was afraid to leave her long alone, and kept wandering near her; whilst henrik ran into other parts of the park, seeking about and calling. it was full two hours of fruitless search after the lost one, when the candidate had again joined the despairing mother, that at the very same moment their glances both fell suddenly on the same object--it was petrea! she lay in a thicket at the foot of the hill; drops of blood were visible on her face and dress, and a horrible necklace--a yellow spangled snake!--glittered in the sun around her neck. she lay motionless, and appeared as if sleeping. the mother uttered a faint cry of terror, and would have thrown herself upon her, had not the candidate withheld her. "for heaven's sake," said he, fervently, and pale as death, "be still; nothing perhaps is amiss; but it is the poisonous snake of our woods--the aspic! an incautious movement, and both you and petrea may be lost! no, you must not; your life is too precious--but i--promise me to be still, and----" elise was scarcely conscious of what she did. "away! away!" she said, and strove to put jacobi aside with her weak hands; she herself would have gone, but her knees supported her no longer--she staggered, and fell to the ground. in that same moment the candidate was beside petrea, and seizing the snake by the neck with as much boldness as dexterity, he slung it to a distance. by this motion awakened, petrea shuddered, opened her sleep-drunken eyes, and looking around her, exclaimed, "ah, ah, father! i have seen the wood-god!" "god bless thee and thy wood-god!" cried the delighted candidate, rejoicing over this indisputable token of life and health; and then clasping her to his breast he bore her to her mother. but the mother neither heard nor saw anything; she lay in a deep swoon, and was first recalled to consciousness by henrik's kisses and tears. for a while she looked about her with anguishful and bewildered looks. "is she dead?" whispered she. "no, no! she lives--she is unhurt!" returned jacobi, who had thrown himself on his knees beside her; whilst the little petrea, kneeling likewise, and holding forth the bunch of raspberries, sobbed aloud, and besought her, "forgive! oh, mamma, forgive me!" light returned to the eyes of the mother; she started up, and, with a cry of inexpressible joy, clasped the recovered child to her breast. "god be praised and blessed!" cried she, raising her folded hands to heaven; and then silently giving her hand to jacobi, she looked at him with tears, which expressed what was beyond the power of words. "thank god! thank god!" said jacobi, with deep emotion, pressing elise's hand to his lips and to his breast. he felt himself happy beyond words. they now hastened to remove from the dangerous neighbourhood of the snake, after jacobi and henrik had given up, at the desire of the mother, the probably ineffectual design of seeking out the poisonous but blameless animal, and killing it on the spot. all this time the little queen-bee had sate alone by the grotto, endeavouring to comfort her sisters, whilst she herself wept bitter tears over petrea, whom she never expected to see again: on that very account her joy was all the greater and louder, when she saw her carried in the arms of the candidate; and no sooner did she learn from her mother how he had rescued her from the fangs of death, than she threw her arms round his neck in inexpressible gratitude. all this petrea heard and saw with the astonishment and curiosity of one who meets with something unheard of; and then, thus seeing the distress which her inconsiderateness had occasioned, she herself melted into such despairing tears, that her mother was obliged to console and cheer her. of her fall into the thicket petrea knew no more than that her head had felt confused, that she could not get up again, had slept, and then dreamed of the wood-god. in the mean time it had become so late, that the harvest of nuts was not to be thought of, and as much on the mother's as on petrea's account, it was necessary to hasten home. the other children probably would have grieved more over the unfortunate pleasure journey, had they not felt an extraordinary desire to relate at home the remarkable occurrences of the day. new difficulties arose on the return. petrea--who, besides that she was weary, was bruised and sadly dirtied by her fall--could not walk, and therefore it was determined that she must ride in the little carriage, while the candidate carried gabriele. when, however, the little one saw that jacobi was without gloves, she would neither allow him to carry her nor to take hold of her, and set up the most pitiable cry. spite of her crying, however, he took up the "little mother," as he called her; and what neither his nor the mother's persuasion could effect, was brought about by henrik's leaps and springs, and caresses--she was diverted: the tears remained standing half-way down her cheeks, in the dimples which were suddenly made by her hearty laughter. petrea, after the paroxysm of sorrow and penitence was in measure abated, began to think herself and her adventures particularly interesting, and sate in her little carriage a very important personage, surrounded by her sisters, who could not sufficiently listen to her relation, and who emulated each other in drawing the little equipage. as for jacobi, he drew the carriage; he carried the baby, which soon fell asleep on his shoulder; he sang songs; told stories, in order to entertain elise, who remained a long time pale and depressed, from the danger which had threatened her, and the anxiety which she had endured. at length they reached home. they poured forth their adventures: brigitta shed tears over her "little angel-sweet mamselle petrea;" and the father, from the impulse of his feelings, pressed jacobi to his heart. after petrea's scratches and bruises had been washed with riga-balsam, the mother permitted the children to have a supper of pancakes and raspberry-cream, in order to console them for the unfortunate expedition. hereupon the children danced for joy about the table; and petrea, who, on account of her misfortunes, received a benjamin's portion, regarded it as certain that they always eat such cream in heaven, wherefore she proposed that it should be called "angels' food." this proposition met with the highest approbation, and from this day "angels' food" became a well-known dish in the frank family. yet petrea wept some bitter tears on the breast of her father over the gentle admonition she received from him; but spite of tears, she soon slept sweetly in his arms. and the lecture of the candidate? "stay at home with us this evening," said elise to him, with a kind, beseeching glance. the candidate stayed with them. chapter vii. breakers. "stay at home with us this evening," prayed elise the next day, and for several other days, and the candidate stayed. never before had he seen elise so kind, so cordial towards him; never before had she shown him so much attention as now; and this attention, this cordiality from a lady who, in her intercourse with men, was generally only polite and indifferent, flattered his vanity, at the same time that it penetrated his good heart. all occasion for explanation and lectures vanished, for the candidate had entirely renounced his dissipated friends and companions, and now nobody could talk more edifying than he on the subject. he agreed so cordially with elise, that the fleeting champagne of the orgies foamed only for the moment, leaving nothing but emptiness and flatness behind. "for once, nay, for a few times," he was of opinion, "such excesses might be harmless, perhaps even refreshing; but often repeated--ah! that would be prejudicial, and demoralising in the highest degree!" all this seemed to the little queen-bee, who had heard it, remarkably well expressed. nobody seemed now better pleased at home than jacobi; he felt himself so well in the regular course of life which he led, and there seemed so much that was genuine and fresh in the occupations and pleasures of those quiet days at home. in the mean time, the fresh life of the candidate began to develop its weak side. gratitude had, in the first instance, warmed elise's heart towards him, and then his own real amiability made it so easy to gratify the wish of her husband respecting her behaviour towards him, and thus it soon happened that her intercourse with jacobi enlivened her own existence. in many respects their tastes were similar, especially in their love of music and polite literature, whilst his youthful enthusiasm gave to their common occupations a higher life and interest. discussion lost all character of dispute, and became merely an agreeable interchange of thought: it was no longer now of any importance to him to be always right; there was a peculiar kind of pleasure in giving up his opinion to hers. he knew more out of books than she did, but she knew more of life--the mother of books, than he; and on this account she, on her part, proceeded as the older and guiding friend. he felt himself happy from the influence and gentle guidance of an agreeable woman, and became more and more devoted to her from his soul. still there was a quietness and a charm about this connexion that made him never forbode danger in it. he loved to be treated as a child by elise, and he gave, therefore, free play to his naturally unsophisticated feelings. her gentle reproofs were a sort of luxury to him; he had a delight in sinning, in order to deserve them; and then, whilst listening to them, how gladly would he have pressed her dress, or her white and beautiful hand to his lips; there was even a sort of painfully agreeable sensation to him in his not daring to do so. whenever she approached, and he heard her light footsteps, or when he perceived the soft rose-odour which always accompanied her, it seemed to become infinitely warm around his heart. but that which, above all the rest, was the strongest bond between jacobi and elise, was her sufferings. whenever nervous pain, or domestic unpleasantness, depressed her spirits; when she bore the not unfrequent ill-humour of her husband with patience, the heart of jacobi melted in tenderness towards her, and he did all that lay in his power to amuse and divert her thoughts, and even to anticipate her slightest wishes. she could not be insensible to all this--perhaps also it flattered her vanity to observe the power she had over this young man--perhaps even she might willingly deceive herself as to the nature of his sentiments, because she would not disturb the connexion which lent a sweet charm to her life. "he loves the children and their mother," said she; "he is their friend and mine! may he only continue such!" and certain it is that the children had never been better conducted, never had learned better, never been happier, than they were now, whilst jacobi himself developed a more and more happy ability to teach and guide. adverse fate barricades the shore which the vessel is on the point of approaching, by dangerous breakers, and interrupts the bond between the dearest friends, which is just about to be cemented eternally. it was this fate which, at the very time when jacobi was exhibiting his character in the fairest point of view, occasioned the judge to exhibit the darker side of his. judge frank belonged to that class of persons who are always in the best humour the more they have to do, and the more active is the life they lead. and just now there had occurred a pause in an undertaking for the country's good, which lay much at the judge's heart; and delay, occasioned by a number of little circumstances which he willingly would, but could not, dissipate, put him into an ill humour. at home he was often exacting and quarrelsome, particularly towards his wife; thus placing himself, beside the kind and cheerful jacobi, in a very disadvantageous light. he felt this, and was displeased with himself, and displeased with his wife too, because she seemed to pay but little regard to his grumbling; occupying herself instead by her singing-practice with jacobi. this very singing-practice, too, of which he himself had been the occasion, began to appear to him too much of a thing. he seemed to think scolding more agreeable for the ear; in fact, he was in that edifying state of mind which excites and angers itself about that which a few good words alone would easily put an end to. the reading, likewise, which at first he had so zealously recommended, became now to him another cause of vexation. precisely at this very time he wished to have more of the society of his wife of an evening, and wished her to take more interest in his undertakings and his annoyances; but whenever he came into the parlour he found them reading, or occupied by music; and if these ceased at his entrance, there was still an evident damp on the spirits of all--the entertainment could not proceed; and if, on the contrary, he said, "go on with your music (or reading), go on," and they did so, he was still dissatisfied; and if he did not very soon return to his own room, he walked up and down like a snowstorm. it was precisely this fate, of which we have just now spoken, which managed it so, that one evening as judge frank, the prey of ill humour, was walking up and down the room, a letter was put into his hand, at sight of which he burst into an exclamation of joyful surprise. "nay, that is indeed delightful," said he, in a very cheerful voice, as soon as he had read the letter. "elise! mrs. s----, emelie, is here. she is only just this evening arrived; i must hasten to her directly. sweet elise, will you not come with me? it would be polite." "oh, it is so late!" said elise, much less pleased than her husband; "and i fancy it rains. cannot you go alone to-night? to-morrow morning i will----" "well, well, then," said the judge, suddenly breaking off; and somewhat offended at her refusal, hastening away. it was rather late when he returned from his visit, but he was in high spirits. "she is a most interesting lady," said he; "my best elise, it certainly would give you great pleasure to know her intimately." "ah! i question that," thought elise. "she talks," continued he, "of locating herself here in the city. i hope we shall decide her to do so." "i hope not," thought elise. "we will do all that we possibly can," said he, "to make her residence here agreeable. i have invited her to dinner to-morrow." "to-morrow!" exclaimed elise, half terrified. "yes, to-morrow," answered her husband, peremptorily. "i told her that to-morrow morning you would pay her a visit, but she insists on first coming to you. you need not trouble yourself much about the dinner to-morrow. emelie will not expect much from an improvised dinner. at all events, it may be just as good as there is any need for, if people will only give themselves a little trouble. i hope emelie will often come and take up with our simple way of living." elise went to rest that night with a depressed heart, and with an indefinite but most unpleasant feeling, thought of the next day's dinner, and then dreamed that her husband's "old flame" had set the house on fire, and robbed the whole family of its shelter. chapter viii. the improvised dinner. you housewives who know the important meaning of a roast, who know the difficulties which sometimes overwhelm you, especially when you must improvise a dinner; you who know that notwithstanding all inspiration, both of understanding and inclination--yet inspiration is necessary to all improvisation--one cannot inspire either chickens or heath-cocks to come flying into the important dish, when the crust is ready to put on it;--you housewives who have spent many a long morning in thoughts of cookery and in anguish, without daring to pray the lord for help, although continually tempted to do so; you can sympathise in elise's troubles, as she, on the morning of this important dinner, saw the finger of the clock approach twelve without having been able to improvise a roast. it is true that an improvised dinner might do without a roast: this we grant as a general law; but in the case of this particular dinner, we deny it altogether, in proof of which we might easily give the arrangement of the whole dinner, did we not flatter ourselves that we are believed on our bare word. beyond this, the judge was a declared lover of a roast, and of all kinds of animal food, which circumstance increased still more elise's difficulty; and as if to make difficulty still greater, elise, on this very day, was remarkably in want of assistants, for her husband had sent out, on his own business, those servants who, on extraordinary occasions, elise found very good help. the cook, too, was confused to-day in a remarkable manner; the children were in a fermentation; eva and leonore quarrelled; petrea tore a hole in her new frock; henrik broke a water-bottle and six glasses; the baby cried and screamed for nothing; the clock was on the stroke of twelve, and no roast would come! elise was just on the point of falling into despair over roasts, cooks, the dinner, the child, nay, over the whole world, when the door opened, and the words, "your most devoted servant," were spoken out shrilly and joyously, and the widow of the court chamberlain--to elise she seemed an angel of light from heaven--stood in the room, with her beaming friendly countenance, took out of her monstrous reticule one chicken after another, and laid them upon the table, fixing her eye on elise, and making with each one a little curtsey to her, upon which she laughed heartily. enraptured by the sight, elise embraced first the lady chamberlain, then the chickens, with which she hastily sprang into the kitchen, and returning, poured forth her thanks and all her cares to this friend in need. "well, well, patience!" exhorted mrs. gunilla, kindly and full of cordial sympathy, and somewhat touched by elise's communication. "best-beloved, one should not take it so much to heart--such troubles as these soon pass away--yes, indeed, they soon pass. now listen, and i'll tell you something, 'when need is greatest, help is nearest.' yes, yes, remember that! as for the chickens, i saw them in a peasant's cart, as i crossed the market, and as i knew what was going on here, i lost no time in buying them and bringing them, under my cloak, and i have nearly run myself out of breath, in my haste. he, he, he! and so now i must go, for the dear lady must dress herself nicely, and so must i too. adieu, dear elise; i wish you the happiness of getting both the dinner and the young folks in order. he, he, he!" gunilla went, dinner-time came, and with it the guests and the judge, who had spent the whole morning in the business of his own office, out of the house. emelie, the colonel's widow, was elegant in the highest degree; looked handsome, and distinguished, and almost outdid herself in politeness; but still elise, spite even of herself, felt stiff and stupid by the side of her husband's "old flame." beyond this, she had now a great distraction. "oh, that the chickens may be nicely done!" was the incessant master-thought of elise's soul; and it prevailed over the pope, the church of st. peter's, thorwaldsen and pasta, and over every subject on which they talked. the hour of dinner was come, and yet the dinner kept the company waiting. the judge, who expected from everybody else the punctuality which he himself practised, began to suffer from what elise called his "dinner-fever," and threw uneasy glances first at the dining-room door, and then at his wife, whose situation, it must be confessed, was not a very enviable one. she endeavoured to look quite calm, but often whispered something to the little louise, which sent her very importantly in and out of the room. elise's entertainment, both that part which was audible, and that which was inaudible, was probably at the moment carried on something after the following fashion: "it must be inexpressibly pleasant to know," (ah, how unbearably long it is!) "it must be very interesting." (i wish ernst would fire again on his "old flame," and forget dinner.) "yes, indeed, that was very remarkable." (now are those chickens not roasted!) "poor spain!" (now, thank goodness, dinner is ready at last--if the chickens are only well done!) and now to dinner! a word which brightens all countenances, and enlivens all tempers. elise began to esteem the colonel's widow very highly, because she kept up such a lively conversation, and she hoped this would divert attention from any of the dishes which were not particularly successful. the judge was a polite and agreeable host, and he was particularly fond of dinner-time, when he would willingly have made all men partakers of his good appetite, good humour, and even of his good eating--n. b. if this really was good--but if the contrary happened to be the case, his temper could not well sustain it. during the dinner elise saw now and then little clouds come over her husband's brow, but he himself appeared anxious to disperse them, and all went on tolerably till the chickens came. as the judge, who adhered to all old customs, was cutting them up, he evidently found them tough, whereupon a glance was sent across the table to his wife which went to her heart like the stab of a knife; but no sooner was the first pang over than this reproachful glance aroused a degree of indignation in her which determined her to steel herself against a misfortune which in no case was her fault; she, therefore, grew quite lively and talkative, and never once turned her eyes to her husband, who, angry and silent, sate there with a very hot brow, and the knife sticking still in the fowls. but, after all, she felt as if she could again breathe freely when the dinner was over, and on that very account longed just to speak one word of reconciliation with her husband; but he now seemed to have only eyes and ears for emelie; nor was it long before the two fell into a lively and most interesting conversation, which certainly would have given elise pleasure, and in which she might have taken part, had not a feeling of depression stolen over her, as she fancied she perceived a something cold and depreciating in the manners of her husband towards her. she grew stiller and paler; all gathered themselves round the brilliant emelie; even the children seemed enchanted by her. henrik presented her with a beautiful flower, which he had obtained from louise by flattery. petrea seemed to have got up a passion for her father's "old flame," took a footstool and sat near her, and kissed her hand as soon as she could possess herself of it. the lady devoted herself exclusively to her old worshipper, cast the beams of her beautiful eyes upon him, and smiled bewitchingly. "this is a great delight!" thought elise, as she wiped away a traitorous tear; "but i will keep a good face on it!" the candidate, who perceived all this, quickly withdrew from the lady's enchanted circle, in which he also had been involved, and taking "the baby" on his knee, began to relate a story which was calculated as much to interest the mother as the child. the children were soon around him: petrea herself forsook her new flame to listen, and even elise for the moment was so amused by it that she forgot everything else. that was precisely what jacobi wanted, but it was not that which pleased the judge. he rose for a moment, in order to hear what it was which had so riveted the attention of his wife. "i cannot conceive," said he to her in a half-whisper, "how you can take delight in such absurdity; nor do i think it good for the children that they should be crammed with such nonsense!" at length emelie rose to take her leave, overwhelming elise with a flood of polite speeches, which she was obliged to answer as well as she could, and the judge, who had promised to show her the lions of the place, accompanied her; on which the rest of the guests dispersed themselves. the elder children accompanied the candidate to the school-room to spend an hour in drawing; the younger went to play; petrea wished to borrow gabriele, who at the sight of a gingerbread heart could not resist, and as a reward received a bit of it; elise retired to her own chamber. poor elise! she dared not at this moment descend into her own heart; she felt a necessity to abstain from thought--a necessity entirely to forget herself and the troubling impressions with which to-day had overwhelmed her soul. a full hour was before her, an hour of undisturbed repose, and she hastened to her manuscript, in order to busy herself with those rich moments of life which her pen could call up at pleasure, and to forget the poor and weary present--in one word, to lose the lesser in the higher reality. the sense of suffering, of which the little annoyances of life gave her experience, made her alive to the sweet impressions of that beauty and that harmonious state of existence which was so dear to her soul. she wrote and wrote and wrote, her heart was warm, her eyes filled with tears, the words glowed upon her page, life became bright, the moments flew. an hour and a half passed. her husband's tea-time came; he had such delight in coming home at this hour to find his wife and his children all assembled round the tea-table in the family room. it very rarely happened that elise had not all in readiness for him; but now the striking of seven o'clock roused her suddenly from her writing; she laid down her pen, and was in the act of rising when her husband entered. a strong expression of displeasure diffused itself over his countenance as he saw her occupation. "you gave us to-day a very bad dinner, elise," said he, going up to her and speaking with severity; "but when this novel-writing occupies so much of your time, it is no wonder that you neglect your domestic duties; you get to care really just as little about these, as you trouble yourself about my wishes." it would have been easy for elise to excuse herself, and make all right and straight; but the severe tone in which her husband spoke, and his scornful glance, wounded her deeply. "you must have patience with me, ernst," said she, not without pride and some degree of vexation; "i am not accustomed to renounce all innocent pleasures; my education, my earlier connexions, have not prepared me for this." this was like pricking the judge in the eye, and with more bitterness and severity than usual he replied: "you should have thought about that before you gave me your hand; before you had descended into so humble and care-full a circle. it is too late now. now i will----" but he did not finish his sentence, for he himself perceived a storm rising within him, before which he yielded. he went to the door, opened it, and said in a calm voice, yet still with an agitated tone and glance, "i would just tell you that i have taken tickets for the concert to-morrow, if you would wish to go. i hoped to have found you at the tea-table; but i see that is not at all thought of--it is just as desolate and deserted there as if the plague were in the house. don't give yourself any trouble, i shall drink my tea at the club!" and thus saying he banged the door and went away. elise seated herself--she really could not stand--and hid her face in her trembling hands. "good heavens! is it come to this? ernst, ernst! what words! what looks! and i, wretched being, what have i said?" such were elise's broken and only half-defined thoughts, whilst tears streamed down her cheeks. "words, words, words!" says hamlet, disparagingly. but god preserve us from the destructive power of words! there are words which can separate hearts sooner than sharp swords--there are words whose sting can remain in the heart through a whole life! elise wept long and violently; her whole soul was in excitement. in moments of violent struggle, bad and good spirits are at hand; they surrounded elise and spoke to her thus: bad spirits.--"think on that which thou hast given up! think on thy own merits! recollect the many little acts of injustice which thou hast had to bear, the bitter moments which the severity of thy husband has occasioned thee! why shouldst thou humbly crawl in the dust? raise thyself, depressed one! raise thyself, offended wife! think of thy own worth, of thy own rights! do not allow thyself to be subjected; show some character. requite that which thou hast endured. thou also canst annoy; thou also canst punish! take refuge in thy nerves, in unkindness; make use of thy power, and enjoy the pleasure of revenge!" good spirits.--"think on thy wants, on thy faults! recollect all the patience, all the kindness, all the tenderness which has been shown thee! think on the many beautiful moments! think on thy husband's worth, on his beautiful noble qualities! think also on life, how short it is; how much unavoidable bitterness it possesses; how much which it is easy either to bear or to chase away; and think on the all-rectifying power of affection. tremble before the chains of selfish feeling; free thyself from them by a new sacrifice of love, and purify the heaven of home. ascending clouds can easily expand into a destructive tempest, or can disperse and leave not a trace in the air. oh, chase them hence with the powerful breath of love!" the happiness of a long life depends, not unfrequently, upon which of these invisible counsellors in such moments we give ear to. on this it depends whether the gates of heaven or of hell shall be opened upon earth to men. elise listened to the good counsellors; she conversed long with them, and the more pure recollections they sent into her soul the lighter it became therein. the light of love was kindled in her, and in its light she became clear-sighted in many directions. she saw now what it was right for her to do respecting her novel, and this revelation warmed her heart. she knew also that this was the only one she should ever write, and that her husband should never again miss her from the tea-table, and therefore be obliged to drink his tea at the club (but he should be reconciled sometime with the sinner--the novel); and she would, moreover, prepare a dinner for the colonel's widow, which should compensate for the unlucky one of this day; and--"would that ernst would but come home soon," thought she, "i would endeavour to banish all his displeasure, and make all right between us." it was the bathing-day of the children, and the message that the hour of bathing was come interrupted elise's solitude. she ordered brigitta to commence her preparations, and when she had somewhat composed herself, and washed away the traces of her tears with rose-water, she herself went down into the chamber. "god be praised for water!" thought elise, at the first view of the scene which presented itself. the soft glowing young forms in the clear warm water, the glimmering of the open fire, the splashing and jubileering of the children in their unspeakable comfort, their innocent sport one with another in the peaceful little lake of the bath, in which they had no fear of raising stormy waves; nay, even brigitta's happy face, under her white cap, her lively activity, amid the continual phrases of "best-beloved," "little alabaster arm," "alabaster foot," "lily-of-the-valley bosom," and such like, whilst over the lily-of-the-valley bosom, and the alabaster arm, she spread soap-foam scarcely less white, or wrapped them in snowy cloths, out of which nothing but little lively, glowing, merry faces peeped and played with one another at bo-peep--all this united to present a picture full of life and pleasure. elise, however, could not fully enjoy it; the thought of what had just occurred, longings for reconciliation with her husband, fear that he might remain long, that he might return too much displeased for her easily to make all straight again--these thoughts occupied her mind; yet still she could not help smiling as gabriele, who had sunk down into the bath alone, exclaimed, almost beside herself for fright, "i am drowning! i am drowning!" in order to re-assure her, her mother stretched out her white hands to her, and under their protection she laughed and splashed about like a little fish in water. a shower of flowers streamed suddenly over both mother and child, and gabriele screamed aloud for joy, and stretched forth her little arms to catch gilly-flowers, roses, and carnations, which fell upon and around her. elise turned herself round in surprise, and her surprise changed itself into the most delightful sensation of joy, as the lips of her husband were pressed to her forehead. "ah, you!" exclaimed elise, and threw her arms round his neck, and caressingly stroked his cheek. "i shall get wet through with all this," said he, laughing, yet without leaving the bath, nay, he even stooped down his head to little gabriele, kissed her, and allowed her to splash him with water. "thank god! all is right again! and perhaps it will be best to take no further notice of this unpleasant affair!" thought she, and prepared to follow her husband into the parlour. the judge had, probably, during his bad tea at the club, held with the invisible speakers the same conversation, with some variations, as his wife during his absence, the consequence whereof was his visit to the bathing-room, and the shower of flowers from the nosegay he had brought with him for her, and the kiss of reconciliation which effaced every thoughtless and wounding word. he felt now quite pleased that everything was as it should be, and that the gentle and yielding temper of his wife would require nothing further. but, perhaps, on that very account, he was dissatisfied with himself, her eyes red with weeping grieved him, especially as they beamed so kindly upon him, he felt that he misused the power which circumstances had given him over his wife; he felt that he had behaved harshly to her, and therefore he had no peace with himself, therefore he felt a necessity to pronounce one word--one word, which it is so hard for the lips of a man to pronounce, yet, which ernst frank was too manly, too firm to shrink from. when, therefore, his wife entered, he offered her his hand; "forgive me, elise," said he, with the deepest feeling; "i have behaved severely, nay, absurdly to-day!" "oh, forgive me, ernst!" said elise, deeply affected, whilst she pressed his hand to her heart and---- accursed be all disturbers of peace in this world! such a one entered at that moment, and undid that which would otherwise have bound them so closely to each other. it was a messenger from the colonel's widow with a note, together with a book for the judge, and two little bottles of select eau de rose for elise, "of which, i know," said the note, "she is very fond." the judge's cheek grew crimson as he read the note, which he did not show to his wife. "an extremely polite and interesting person," said he; "i will immediately answer it." "ernst," said elise, "should we not invite her to dinner to-morrow? i thought of something very nice, which is sure to succeed; then we could go altogether to the concert, and afterwards she might sup with us." "now that is a good idea, and i thank you for it, my sweet elise," said he, extremely pleased. yes, if the colonel's widow had not been there--if the candidate had not been there--and if there had been no _if_ in the case, all might have gone on quite smoothly. but it was quite otherwise. chapter ix. one swallow makes no summer. too many chaotic elements had collected together in the family of the franks for one sun-gleam to dissipate. even the married pair did not clearly understand their own actions. the judge, truly, was too much enchanted by his former beloved one; and the beautiful emelie did all that was in her power to enslave again her early adorer. judge frank, who would have been as cold and proud as possible, if he had been assailed by coarse and direct flattery, was yet by no means steeled against the refined and almost imperceptible flattery of emelie, who, with all her peculiar gifts of soul and understanding, made herself subordinate to him, in order to be enlightened and instructed by him. "an extraordinarily amiable and interesting lady," thought he still with greater animation, although he seldom asserted so much; and exactly in the proportion in which he found emelie interesting, it was natural that he should find elise less so, especially as he found in emelie precisely those very qualities, the want of which he had so much regretted in his wife; namely, an interest in his activity as a citizen, and in general for the objects connected with which he occupied himself in the liveliest manner. elise, on her part, was neither calm nor clear. the connexion between her husband and emelie was painful to her; and she felt a sort of consolation from the devotion of jacobi, even when it was beginning to assume that passionate character which made her seriously uneasy. a letter, which she wrote to her sister about this time, exhibits her state of feeling: "it is long since i wrote to you, cecilia--i hardly know why; i hardly know, indeed, my own feelings--all is so unquiet, so undefined. i wish it were clear! "do you know she is very lovely, this 'old flame' of my husband's, and very brilliant. i fancy i am jealous of her. last evening i went out to a supper-party--the first for several years. i dressed myself with great care, for i wished to please ernst, and had flowers in my hair. i was greatly satisfied with my appearance when i went. my husband was to come later. i found emelie already there; she was beautiful, and looked most elegant. they placed me beside her; a looking-glass was before us, on which i threw stolen glances, and saw opposite to me--a shadow! i thought at first it was some illusion, and looked again: but again it revealed unmercifully to me a pale ghost beside the beautiful and dazzling emelie. 'it is all over, irremediably over,' thought i, 'with my youth and my bloom! but if my husband and children only can love me, i can then resign youth and beauty.' "but again i felt compelled to look at the shadow in the glass, and grew quite melancholy. emelie also cast glances at the mirror, and drew comparisons, but with feelings far different to mine. then came ernst, and i saw that he too made comparisons between us. "he was, all this evening, very much occupied with emelie. i felt unwell and weak; i longed so to support myself on his arm; but he did not come near me the whole time: perhaps he imagined i was out of humour--perhaps i looked so. ah! i returned home before supper, and he remained. as i drove home through those deserted streets in the wretched hackney-coach, a sense of misery came over my heart such as i cannot describe; many a bitter thought was awakened within me, before which i trembled. "at the door of my own home i met jacobi; he had sate up for me, and wished to tell me something amusing about my children. he seemed to have foreboded my feelings this evening. my favourite fruit, which he had provided for me, should have refreshed me. his friendship and his devotion cheered me. there is something so beautiful in feeling oneself beloved. * * * * * "every new emotion, every new connexion, among men, has its danger, its temptation; the most beautiful, the most noble, may have their dangerous tendency. oh! how is this to be prevented without a separation?--how is the poison to be avoided without deadening the sting? oh, cecilia! at this moment i need a friend; i need you, to whom i could turn, and from whom, in these disquieting circumstances, i in my weakness could derive light and strength. i am discontented with myself; i am discontented with----ah! he alone it is who, if he would, could make all right! * * * * * "oh, cecilia, this is a mist-enveloped hour of my life!--does it announce day or night? my glance is dark; i see the path no longer! but i will resign myself into the hand of him who said, 'let there be light.' * * * * * "all is now better and clearer! god be praised! in a few hours this day will be over;--i long vehemently for it! "this evening we have a children's dance at our house. emelie will be here also. there is not a good understanding between us two. she is cold to me, too witty, and too----, but i will do my best to be a good hostess; and when the day is ended, i will sit and look at my beautiful sleeping boy, and be happy in my children." chapter x. the end of the day. evening came, and with it lights and guests. a strong, self-sacrificing amiability governed elise's manner this evening. she was almost cordial towards emelie; cared for the comfort of every one, played the piano for the children's dance, and appeared to exist only in order to serve others. the beautiful emelie, on the contrary, thought of herself; was livelier and more brilliant than ever, and, as usual, assembled all the gentlemen around her. the conversation was lively in this group; it turned from politics to literature, and then dwelt awhile on theatricals, in which emelie, equally animated and sarcastic, characterised the scribe and mellesville school as a dramatic manufactory. "for the rest," added she, "the stage acts very prudently and sensibly in letting the curtain fall the moment the hero and heroine approach the altar; novels do the same, and that, also, with good reason, otherwise nobody would be able to read them." "how so?" asked the judge, with great earnestness. "because," answered emelie, "the illusion of life is extinguished on the other side of this golden moment, and reality steps forward then in all its heaviness and nakedness. look at a young couple in the glowing morning of their union, how warm love is then; how it penetrates and beautifies everything; how it glows and speaks in glance and word, and agreeable action; how its glory changes the whole of life into poetry! 'thou, thou!' is the one thought of the young people then. but observe the same couple a few years later--'i, i!' and 'my pleasure,' is the phrase now. the adoring all-resigning lover is then become the exacting married man, who will be waited on and obeyed. and the loving all-sacrificing bride, she is become the unwieldy and care-burdened housewife, who talks of nothing but trouble, bad saltings, and negligent maid-servants. and what are _tête-à-tête_ communications between these two? 'how, my dear! is the butter really used up already? why, i gave you money only the other day for butter! you really must look better after things, and see what the cook does with the butter; i will not allow such extravagance in the house! do you want something more?' 'yes, indeed, my love, i and the children must have new over-dresses. little peter's coat is worn out, and little paul has grown out of his; and my old cloak cannot last to eternity!' people," continued the sarcastic emilie, "may thank their stars, too, if out of such interesting communications as these no hateful quarrels arise; and if, in the happy repose of their homes, harmless yawnings have only taken place of the kisses which have left it. contracted circumstances, meannesses, and domestic trials, destroy the happiness of marriage, even as the worm destroys the flower, bringing bitterness and sourness into the temper; and though the married pair may continue to the very day of their death to address each other as 'my sweet friend,' yet, very often, _in petto_, it is 'my sour friend.' yet, after all, this is nothing, in fact, but what is perfectly natural; and, in this respect, marriage only follows the eternal law of nature in all earthly existence. every form of life carries in itself decay and dissolution--a poisonous snake-king[ ] gnaws even at the root of the world's tree." several of the listeners, and among them the candidate, had laughed loudly at emelie's descriptions; but the judge had not once moved his lips, and replied, when she had done, with an earnestness that confounded even her satire. "if all this were true, emelie," said he, "then were life, even in the best point of view, good for nothing; and with justice might it indeed be called an illusion. but it is not so; and you have only described marriage in its lowest, and not either in its best or its truest sense. i do not deny the difficulties which exist in this as in every other circumstance of life; but i am confident that they may and must be overcome; and this will be done if the married pair bring only right intentions into the house. then want and care, disturbing, nay even bitter hours, may come, but they will also go; and the bonds of love and truth will be consolation, nay, even will give strength. you have spoken, emelie, of death and separation as the end of the drama of life; you have forgotten the awaking again, and the second youth, of which the ancient northern vala sings. married life, like all life, has such a second youth; yes, indeed, a progressive one, because it has its foundation in the life which is eternal; and every contest won, every danger passed through, every pain endured, change themselves into blessings on home and on the married pair, who have thus obtained better knowledge, and who are thus more closely united." he spoke with unusual warmth, and not without emotion, and his expressive glance sought and dwelt upon his wife, who had approached unobserved, and who had listened to emelie's bitter satire with stinging pain, because she knew that there was a degree of truth in it. but as her husband spoke, she felt that he perceived the full truth, and her heart beat freer and stronger, and all at once a clearness was in her soul. with her head bent forward, she gazed on him with a glance full of tenderness and confidence, forgetting herself, and listening with fervour to every word which he uttered. in this very moment their eyes met, and there was much, inexpressibly much, in their glance; a clear crimson of delight flushed her cheek, and made her beautiful. the gentle happiness which now animated her being, together with her lovely figure, her graceful movements, and the purity of her brow, made her far more fascinating than her lovely rival. her husband followed her with his eyes, as kindly and attentively she busied herself among her guests, or with the little gabriele in her arms mingled in the children's dance, for which evelina's foster-daughters were playing a four-handed piece. he had suddenly cooled towards his "old flame," nor was he at all warmed again by the sharp tone with which the little caressing petrea was reproved for being too obtrusive. "our little louise in time will dance very well," remarked the judge to his wife, as he noticed with great pleasure the little _brisées_ and _chassées_ of his daughter whom the twelve-years-old nils gabriel stjernhök twirled round, and with whom he conversed with great gravity, and a certain knightly politeness. in the mean time mrs. gunilla was instructing emelie on the manners and character of the french; and emelie, whose countenance since the discussion of the marriage question had worn a bitter expression, endeavoured with a tolerably sharp tone to make her superior information felt, and in return was mown down, as it were, at one stroke by mrs. gunilla, who--had never been in france. the candidate followed elise everywhere with glances of devotion, and appeared this evening perfectly enchanted by her amiability. "fie, for shame!--to take all the confections to yourself!" moralised the little queen-bee to the little s----ne,--a fat, quiet boy, who took the confections and the reproof with the same stoical indifference. louise cast a look of high indignation upon him, and then gave her share of sweetmeats to a little girl, who complained that she had had none. supper came, and emelie, whose eyes flashed unusual fire, seemed to wish fervently to win back that regard which she, perhaps, feared to have lost already, and with her playful and witty conversation electrified the whole company. jacobi, who was excited in no ordinary manner, drank one glass of wine after another, talked and laughed very loud, and looked between whiles upon elise with glances which expressed his sentiments in no doubtful manner. these glances were not the first of the kind which the quick eye of elise's rival observed. "that young man," said she, in a low but significant whisper to the judge, and with a glance on jacobi, "seems to be very charming; he has really remarkably attractive talents--is he nearly related to elise?" "no," returned he, looking at her rather surprised; "but he has been for nearly three months a member of our family." "indeed!" said she, in a significant and grave manner; "i should have thought--but as for that," added she, in an apparently careless tone--"elise is really so kind and so amiable, that for him who is with her daily, it must be very difficult not to love her." the judge felt the sting of the viper, and with a glance which flashed a noble indignation, he replied to his beautiful neighbour, "you are right, emelie; i know no woman who deserves more love or esteem than she!" emelie bit her lip and grew pale; and she would assuredly have grown yet paler, could she only have understood the sentiment which she had awakened in the breast of her former admirer. ernst frank had a keen sense of moral meanness, and when this displayed itself no gifts of genius or of nature had power to conceal it. he clearly understood her intentions, and despised her for them. in his eyes, at this moment, she was hateful. in the mean time his composure was destroyed. he looked on jacobi, and observed his glances and his feelings; he looked on elise, and saw that she was uneasy, and avoided his eye. a horrible spasmodic feeling thrilled through his soul; in order to conceal what he felt he became more than usually animated, yet there was a something hostile, a something sternly sarcastic in his words, which still, on account of the general gaiety, remained unobserved by most. never before was assessor munter so cheerful, so comically cross with all mankind. mrs. gunilla and he shouted as if desperate against each other. the company rose from the supper-table in full strife, and adjourned to the dancing-room. "music, in heaven's name! music!" exclaimed the assessor with a gesture of despair, and elise and the colonel's widow hastened to the piano. it was a pleasant thought, after the screaming of that rough voice had been heard, to play one of blangini's beautiful night-pieces, which seem to have been inspired by the italian heaven, and which awaken in the soul of the hearer a vision of those summer nights, with their flowery meadows, of their love, of their music, and of all their unspeakable delights. "_un' eterna constanza in amor!_" were the words which, repeated several times with the most bewitching modulations, concluded the song. "_un' eterna constanza in amor!_" repeated the candidate, softly and passionately pressing his hand to his heart, as he followed elise to a window, whither she had gone to gather a rose for her rival. as elise's hand touched the rose, the lips of jacobi touched her hand. emelie sang another song, which delighted the company extremely; but ernst frank stood silent and gloomy the while. words had been spoken this evening which aroused his slumbering perception; and with the look he cast upon jacobi and his wife, he felt as if the earth were trembling under his feet. he saw that which passed at the window, and gasped for breath. a tempest was aroused in his breast; and at the same moment turning his eyes, he encountered, those of another person, which were riveted upon him with a questioning, penetrating expression. they were those of the assessor. such a glance as that from any other person had been poison to the mind of frank, but from jeremias munter it operated quite otherwise; and as shortly afterwards he saw his friend writing something on a strip of paper, he went to him, and looking over his shoulder, read these words: "why regardest thou the mote in thy brother's eye, yet seest not the beam in thine own eye?" "is this meant for me?" asked he, in a low but excited voice. "yes," was the direct reply. the judge took the paper, and concealed it in his breast. he was pale and silent, and began to examine himself. the company broke up; he had promised emelie to accompany her home; but now, while she, full of animation, jested with several gentlemen, and while her servant drew on her fur-shoes, he stood silent and cold beside his "old flame" as a pillar of ice. mrs. gunilla and the assessor quarrelled till the last moment. whilst all this was going on, elise went quietly to jacobi, who stood somewhat apart, and said to him in a low voice, "i wish to speak with you, and will wait for you in the parlour, when they are all gone." jacobi bowed; a burning crimson flashed to his cheek; the judge threw a penetrating glance upon them, and passed his hand over his pale countenance. "it gives me great pleasure," cried mrs. gunilla, speaking shrilly and _staccato_--"it gives me great pleasure to see my fellow-creatures, and it gives me great pleasure if they will see me. if they are not always agreeable, why i am not always agreeable myself! heart's-dearest! in this world one must have patience one with another, and not be everlastingly requiring and demanding from others. heaven help me! i am satisfied with the world, and with my own fellow-creatures, as our lord has been pleased to make them. i cannot endure that people should be perpetually blaming, and criticising, and mocking, and making sour faces at everything, and saying 'i will not have this!' and 'i will not have that!' and 'i will not have it so! it is folly; it is unbearable; it is wearisome; it is stupid!' precisely as if they themselves only were endurable, agreeable, and clever! no, i have learned better manners than that. it is true that i have no genius, nor learning, nor talents, as so many people in our day lay claim to, but i have learned to govern myself!" during this moral lecture, and endeavouring all the time to overpower it, the assessor exclaimed, "and can you derive the least pleasure from your blessed social life? no, that you cannot! what is social life, but a strift to get into the world in order to discover that the world is unbearable? but a scheming and labouring to get invited, to be offended and put out of sorts if not invited; and if invited, then to complain of weariness and vexation, and thus utter their lamentations. thus people bring a mass of folks together, and wish them--at jericho! and all this strift only to get poorer, more out of humour, more out of health; in one word, to obtain the perfectly false position, _vis-à-vis_, of happiness! see there! adieu, adieu! when the ladies take leave, they never have done." "there is not one single word of truth in all that you have said," was the last but laughing salutation of mrs. gunilla to the assessor, as, accompanied by the candidate, she left the door. the judge, too, was gone; and elise, left alone, betook herself to the parlour. suddenly quick steps were heard behind her--she thought "jacobi"--turned round, and saw her husband; but never before had she seen him looking as then; there was an excitement, an agitation, in his countenance that terrified her. he threw his arm violently round her waist, riveted his eyes upon her with a glance that seemed as if it would penetrate into her inmost soul. "ernst, ernst, be calm!" whispered she, deeply moved by his state of mind, the cause of which she imagined. he seized her hand and pressed it to his forehead--it was damp and cold; the next moment he was gone. we will now return to the candidate. wine and love, and excited expectation, had so inflamed the imagination of the young man, that he hardly knew what he did--whether he walked, or whether he flew; and more than once, in descending the stairs, had he nearly precipitated mrs. gunilla, who exclaimed with kindness, but some little astonishment, "the cross preserve me! i cannot imagine, heart's-dearest, how either you or i go to-night! i think we are all about to--see, now again, all's going mad.--no, i thank you, i'll take care of my nose, crooked as it is. i think i can go safer by myself. i can hold by----" "a thousand thousand times pardon," interrupted the candidate, whilst he pressed mrs. gunilla's arm tightly; "it is all my fault. but now we will go safely and magnificently; i was a little dizzy!" "dizzy!" repeated she. "heart's-dearest, we should take care on that very account; one should take care of one's head as well as one's heart; one should take care of that, or it may go still more awry than it now is with us! he, he, he, he--but listen to me, my friend," said mrs. gunilla, suddenly becoming very grave: "i will tell you one thing, and that is----" "your most gracious honour, pardon me," interrupted he, "but i think--i feel rather unwell--i--there, now we are at your door! pardon me!" and the candidate tumbled up-stairs again. in the hall of the franks' dwelling he drew breath. the thought of the mysterious meeting with elise filled him at the same time with joy and uneasiness. he could not collect his bewildered thoughts, and with a wildly-beating heart went into the room where elise awaited him. as soon as he saw her white lovely figure standing in the magical lamplight his soul became intoxicated, and he was just about to throw himself at her feet, when elise, hastily, and with dignity, drew back a few paces. "listen to me, jacobi," said she, with trembling but earnest voice. "listen to you!" said he, passionately--"oh, that i might listen to you for ever!--oh, that i----" "silence!" interrupted elise, with a severity very unusual to her; "not one word more of this kind, or our conversation is at an end, and we are separated for ever!" "good heavens!" exclaimed jacobi, "what have----" "i beseech you, listen to me!" continued elise; "tell me, jacobi, have i given you occasion to think thus lightly of me?" jacobi started. "what a question!" said he, stammering, and pale. "nevertheless," continued elise, with emotion, "i must have done so; your behaviour to me this evening has proved it. could you think, jacobi, that i, a wife, the mother of many children, could permit the sentiment which you have been so thoughtless as to avow this evening? could you imagine that it would not occasion me great uneasiness and pain? indeed, it is so, jacobi; i fear that you have gone sadly wrong; and if i myself, through any want of circumspection in my conduct, have assisted thereto, may god forgive me! you have punished me for it, jacobi--have punished me for the regard i have felt for you and shown to you; and if i now must break a connexion which i hoped would gladden my life, it is your own fault. only one more such glance--one more such declaration, as you have made this evening, and you must remove from this house." the crimson of shame and indignation burned on jacobi's cheek. "in truth," said he, "i have not deserved such severity." "ah! examine yourself, jacobi," said she, "and you will judge yourself more severely than i have done. you say that you love me, jacobi, and you do not dread to destroy the peace and happiness of my life. already, perhaps, are poisonous tongues in activity against me. i have seen this evening glances directed upon me and upon you, which were not mild; and thoughts and feelings are awakened in my husband's soul, which never ought to have been awakened there. you have disturbed the peace of a house, into which you were received with friendship and confidence. but i know," continued she, mildly, "that you have not intended anything criminal!--no bad intentions have guided your behaviour; folly only has led you to treat so lightly that relationship which is the holiest on earth. you have not reflected on your life, on your duty, and your situation, in this family, with seriousness." jacobi covered his face with his hands, and a strong emotion agitated him. "and seriousness," again began elise, with warmth and deep earnestness--"seriousness! how it clothes--how it dignifies the man!--jacobi, the saviour of my child--my young friend! i would not have spoken thus to you if i had not had great faith on your better--your nobler self;--if i had not hoped to have won a friend in you--a friend for my whole life, for myself and my ernst. oh, jacobi, listen to my prayer!--you are thrown among people who are willing from their very hearts to be your friends! act so that we may love and highly esteem you; and do not change into grief that hearty goodwill which we both feel for you! combat against, nay, banish from your heart, every foolish sentiment which you, for a moment, have cherished for me. consider me as a sister, as a mother! yes," continued she, pausing over this word, and half prophetically, "perhaps you may even yet call me mother; and if you will show me love and faith, jacobi, as you have said, i will accept it--from my son! oh, jacobi! if you would deserve my blessing, and my eternal gratitude, be a faithful friend, a good instructor of my boy--my henrik! your talents as a teacher are of no common kind. your heart is good--your understanding is capable of the noblest cultivation--your path is open before you to all that which makes man most estimable and most amiable. oh, turn not away from it, jacobi--tread this path with seriousness----" "say not another word!" exclaimed jacobi. "oh, i see all! forgive me, angelic elise! i will do all, everything, in order to deserve hereafter your esteem and your friendship. you have penetrated my heart--you have changed it. i shall become a better man. but tell me that you forgive me--that you can be my friend, and that you will!" jacobi, in the height of his excitement, had thrown himself on his knee before her; elise also was deeply affected; tears streamed from her eyes, whilst she extended her hand to him, and bending over him said, from the very depths of her heart, "your friend, for ever!" calmly, and with cheerful countenances, both raised themselves; but an involuntary shudder passed through both as they saw the judge standing in the room, with a pale and stern countenance. jacobi went towards him: "judge frank," said he, with a firm but humble voice, "you behold here a----" "silence, jacobi!" interrupted elise, quickly; "you need not blush on account of your bended knee, nor is any explanation needful. it is not, is it, ernst?" continued she, with the undaunted freshness of innocence: "you desire no explanation; you believe me when i say that jacobi now, more than ever, deserves your friendship. a bond is formed between us three, which, as i hope before god, nothing will disturb, and no poisonous tongues censure. you believe me, ernst?" "yes," said he, giving her his hand; "if i could not, then----" he did not finish his sentence, but fixed his eyes with a stern expression immovably on her. "i will speak with you," said he, after a moment, and in a calmer voice. "good night, mr. jacobi." jacobi bowed, withdrew a few steps, and then returned. "judge frank," said he, in a voice which showed the excitement of his feelings, "give me your hand; i will deserve your friendship." the outstretched hand was grasped firmly and powerfully, and jacobi left the room in haste. "come here, elise," said the judge, with warmth, leading his wife to the sofa, and enclosing her in his arms. "speak to me! tell me, has anything in my behaviour of late turned your heart from me!" elise's head sunk upon the breast of her husband, and she was silent. "ah, ernst!" said she at length, with a painful sigh, "i also am dissatisfied with myself. but, oh!" added she more cheerfully, "when i lean myself on you thus, when i hear your heart beating, and know what is within that heart, then, ernst, i feel how i love you--how i believe on you! then i reproach myself with being so weak, so unthankful, so ready to take offence, then--oh, ernst! love me! look on me always as now, then life will be bright to me; then shall i have strength to overcome all--even my own weakness; then i shall feel that only a cloud, only a shadow of mist, and no reality can come between us. but now all is vanished. now i can lay open to you all the innermost loopholes of my heart--can tell you all my weaknesses----" "be still, be still now," said the judge, with a bright and affectionate look, and laying his hand on her mouth. "i have more failings than you; but i am awake now. weep not, elise; let me kiss away your tears! do you not feel, as i do now, that all is right? do we not believe in the eternal good, and do we not believe in each other? let us forgive and forget, and have peace together. hereafter, when the error of this time has in some measure passed from our remembrance, we will talk it over, and wonder how it ever came between us. now, all is so bright between us, and we both of us see our way clearly. our errors will serve us for warnings. wherefore do we live in the world, unless to become better? look at me, elise. are you friendly towards me? can you have confidence in me?" "i can! i have!" said she; "there is not a grain of dust any longer between us." "then we are one!" said he, with a joyful voice. "let us, then, in god's name, go thus together through life. what he has united, let no man, no accident, nothing in this world, separate!" night came; but light had arisen in the breast both of husband and wife. * * * * * the furrow of disunion bears commonly thorns and thistles, but it may likewise bear seed for the granary of heaven. footnotes: [ ] according to the northern mythology, nidhögg, the snake-king, lives in niflhem, the nether world. chapter xi. jacobi. when jacobi entered his room, he found a letter lying on the table near his bed. he recognised the handwriting as that of judge frank, and quickly opened it. a bank-note of considerable value fell out; and the letter contained the following words: "you are indebted to several persons in the city, jacobi, with whom i wish, for your own sake, that you should have as little to do as possible. within, you will find the means of satisfying their demands. receive it as from a paternal friend, who sincerely wishes you to regard him as such, and who embraces with pleasure an opportunity of making an acknowledgment to the friend and instructor of his children. to the preserver of my child i shall always remain indebted; but should you desire anything, or need anything, do not apply to any other than "your friend, e. frank." "he! and he, too!" exclaimed jacobi, deeply agitated. "oh, the kind, noble, excellent man! and i--i shall, i will become worthy of him! from this day i am a new man!" he pressed the letter to his breast, and looked up to the star-lighted heaven with silent but fervent vows. chapter xii. time goes. life has its moments of strength and bloom; its bright moments of inspiration, in which the human artist (the painter of earthly life) seizes on, and utters the supremely pure, the supremely beautiful, the divine. if, in such moments, everything in human life were executed; if then sacrifices were made, work accomplished, victories won, there would be but little difficulty in life. but the difficult part is to preserve, through a long course of years, the flame which has been kindled by inspiration! to preserve it while the storms come and go, while the everlasting dust-rain of the moments falls and falls; to preserve it still and uniform, amidst the uniform changing of uniform days and nights. to do this, strength from above is required; repeated draughts from the fountain of inspiration; both for the great and the small--for all labourers on earth. it was the good fortune of ernst and elise that they knew this; and knew also how to avail themselves of it. on this account they succeeded more and more in conquering their natural failings; on this account they came nearer to each other by every little step, which in itself is so unobservable, but which yet, at the same time, twines so firmly and lovingly together the human heart and life, and which may be contained in the rubric--_regard for mutual inclinations, interest for mutual interests_. through this new-born intimacy of heart, this strengthening and pure affection, elise assumed a secure and noble standing with regard to jacobi. her heart was vanquished by no weakness, even when she saw suffering expressed in his youthful countenance; nay, she remained firm, even when she saw that his health was giving way, and only besought her husband to name an earlier day for his and henrik's departure. this was also her husband's wish. like a good angel, at once gentle, yet strong, he stood at this time by her side. no wonder was it, therefore, that, with his support, elise went forward successfully; no wonder was it, therefore, that from the firm conduct of her husband, and from the contemplation of the good understanding which existed between the married pair, the whispered blame, which had already begun to get abroad at their expense, died of itself, like a flame wanting nourishment. of judge frank's "old flame," which elise had feared so much, we must relate how that she found herself so wounded, and so cooled likewise, by the ice-cold behaviour of her former adorer, that she quickly left the town, which was too monotonous for her, and abandoned all thoughts of settling there. "life there would be too uniform for me, would possess too little interest," said she, yawning, to the judge, who was warmly counselling her return either to france or italy. "in our good north," added he, "we must find that which can give interest and enjoyment to life in ourselves and our own means,--from our families, from our own breasts." "she is, nevertheless, extremely beautiful and interesting," said elise, with a kindly feeling towards her when she was gone. the judge made no reply; he never was heard to speak again of his former beloved one. days went by. the judge had much to do. elise occupied herself with her little girls, and the candidate with henrik and his own studies. the children grew like asparagus in june, and the father rejoiced over them. "the queen-bee will grow over all our heads," prophesied he many a time; and when he heard eva playing "marlbrough s'en va-t-en guerre," on the piano, his musical sense awoke, and he said, "what a deal of feeling there is already in her music!--is there not, elise?" the evenings, on which all the members of the family assembled, assumed constantly a livelier and more comfortable character for every one; often they played and danced with the children. the children! what a world of pleasure and pain do they not bring with them into a house! of a truth all is not of as rosy a hue as their cheeks. elise discovered that in her children which was not always exactly good. "do not to others what thou wouldst not that they should do to thee." "people should think of what they do." "patience is a good root." "you do not see that your father and mother do so; look at me, and do as i do." these standing and going speeches, which have travelled through the world from the time when "adam delved and eve span," down to the present day, and which to the very end of time will be ever in use--together with assurances to the children, whenever they were punished, or when they must learn their lessons yet more--that all this was done for their benefit, and that the time would come when they would be thankful for it--which the children very seldom, if ever believed--this citizen-of-the-world, patriarchal household-fare, which was dealt out in the family of the franks, as in every other worthy family, did not always produce its proper effect. perhaps elise troubled herself too much sometimes about the perpetual recurrence of the same fault in her children--perhaps she calculated too little on the invisible but sun-like and powerful influence of paternal love on the little human-plants. true it is that she often was in great anxiety on their account, and that the development and future prospects of her daughters awoke in her soul much disquiet and trouble. one day, when such thoughts had troubled her more than usual, she felt the necessity of a prudent, and, in this respect, experienced female friend, to whom she could open her mind. "ernst," said she, as her husband prepared himself to go out immediately after dinner, "i shall go below for a few minutes to evelina, but i will be back again by the time you return." "don't trouble yourself about that, dear elise," said he; "remain as long as you like; i'll fetch you. take my arm, and let us go down together, that i may see exactly where you go, and whence i must fetch you." chapter xiii. a little education and coffee committee. as elise entered evelina's room, pyrrhus sprang, barking, towards her, and wagging his tail. mrs. gunilla was there, and she and the hostess emulated each other in welcoming their friend. "nay! best-beloved, that is charming!" exclaimed mrs. gunilla, embracing elise cordially. "now, how does the little lady?--somewhat pale?--somewhat out of spirits, i fancy? i will tell confidentially that i know we shall presently get some magnificent coffee, which will cheer up little elise." evelina took elise's hand, and looked kindly and sympathising at her with her calm sensible eyes. pyrrhus touched her foot gently with his nose, in order to call her attention, and then seated himself on his hind legs before her, began growling, in order to express his sympathy also. elise laughed, and she and mrs. gunilla vied with each other in caressing the little animal. "ah, let me sit down here and chat with you, where everything seems so kind," said elise, in reply to evelina's glance, which spoke such a kind "how do you do?" "here all is so quiet and so comfortable. i do not know how you manage, evelina, but it seems to me as if the air in your room were clearer than elsewhere; whenever i come to you it seems to me as if i entered a little temple of peace." "yes, and so it seems to me," said mrs. gunilla, cordially. "yes, thank god," said evelina, smiling gratefully, and with tears in her eyes; "here is peace!" "and at our little lady's, the young folks raise dust sometimes in the temper, as well as in the rooms. is it not so?" said mrs. gunilla, with facetiousness. "well, well," added she, by way of consolation, "everything has its time, all dust will in time lay itself, only have patience." "ah, teach me that best thing, aunt," said elise, "for i am come here precisely with the hope of gaining some wisdom--i need it so much. but where are your daughters to-day, evelina?" "they are gone to-day to one of their friends," replied she, "to a little festival, which they have long anticipated with pleasure; and i also expect to have my share, from their relation of it to me." "ah! teach me, evelina," said elise, "how i can make my daughters as amiable, as good, and as happy, as your laura and karin. i confess that it is the anxiety for the bringing up of my daughters which ever makes me uneasy, and which lies so heavy on my heart this very day. i distrust my own ability--my own artistical skill, rightly to form their minds--rightly to unfold them." "ah, education, education!" said mrs. gunilla, angrily; "people are everlastingly crying out now for education. one never can hear anything now but about education. in my youth i never heard talk and outcry for education, and yet, thank god, a man was a man in those days for all that. i confess that when i first heard this talk of education, i supposed that there would be two sorts, as of everything in the world. i thought so! but now, ever since _le tiers état_ have pushed themselves so much forward, have made so much of themselves, and have esteemed themselves as something exclusive in the world with their education--now the whole world cries out, 'educate! educate!' yes, indeed, they even tell us now that we should educate the maid-servants. i pray god to dispense with my living in the time when maid-servants are educated; i should have to wait myself on them, instead of their waiting on me. yes, yes! things are going on towards that point at a pretty rate, that i can promise you! already they read frithiof and axel; and before one is aware, one shall hear them talk of 'husband and wife,' and 'wife and husband;' and that they fancy themselves 'to be vines, which must wither if they are not supported;' and 'sacrifices,' and other such affecting things, until they become quite incapable of cleaning a room, or scouring a kettle. yes, indeed, there would be pretty management in the world with all their education! it is a frenzy, a madness, with this education! it is horrible!" the longer mrs. gunilla talked on this subject, the more she excited herself. elise and evelina laughed heartily, and then declared that they themselves, as belonging to the _tiers état_, must take education, nay, even the education of maid-servants, under their protection. "ah," said mrs. gunilla, impatiently, "you make all so artistical and entangled with your education; and you cram the heads of children full of such a many things, that they never get them quite straight all the days of their life. in my youth, people learned to speak 'the language,' as the french was then called, just sufficient to explain a motto; enough of drawing to copy a pattern, and music enough to play a _contre danse_ if it were wanted; but they did not learn, as now, to gabble about everything in the world; but they learned to think, and if they knew less of art and splendour, why, they had the art to direct themselves, and to leave the world in peace!" "but, your best honour," said evelina, "education in its true meaning, as it is understood in our time, teaches us to take a clearer view of ourselves and of the world at large, so that we may more correctly understand our own allotted station, estimate more properly that of others, and, in consequence, that every one may be fitted for his own station, and contented therewith." "yes, yes," said mrs. gunilla, "all that may be very good, but----" but just then the coffee came in, with biscuits and gingerbread, which made an important diversion in the entertainment, which now took a livelier character. mrs. gunilla imparted to elise, with jesting seriousness, a variety of good counsel on the education of her children. she sent for and recommended particularly a certain _orbis pictus_, which she herself had studied when a child, and which began with the words, "come here, boy, and learn wisdom from my mouth," and in which one could see clearly how the soul was fashioned, and how it looked. it looked like a pancake spread out on a table round and smooth, with all the five senses properly numbered. mrs. gunilla assured elise, that if her children paid attention to this picture, it would certainly develop and fashion their ideas of the human soul. furthermore, she proposed the same educational course as had been used with such distinguished success upon her deceased father and his brother, when they went to school, and which consisted in every boy being combed with a fine comb every saturday, and well whipped, whilst an ounce of english salt was allowed per boy, in order to drive the bad spirits out of him. beyond this, they had, too, on the same day, a diet of bread and beer, in which was a dumpling called "grammatica," so that the boys might be strengthened for the learning of the following week. during the merriment which these anecdotes occasioned, the judge came in: delighted with the merriment, and delighted with his wife, he seated himself beside her, quite covetous of an hour's gossip with the ladies. mrs. gunilla served him up the human soul in the _orbis pictus_, and elise instigated her still further to the relation of the purification of the boys. the judge laughed at both from the bottom of his heart, and then the conversation turned again on the hard and disputable ground of education; all conceding, by general consent, the insufficiency of rules and methods to make it available. evelina laid great stress on the self-instruction of the teacher. "in the degree," said she, "in which man developes in himself goodness, wisdom, and ability, he succeeds commonly in calling out these in children." all the little committee, without exception, gave their most lively approval; and elise felt herself quite refreshed, quite strengthened by the words which showed her so clearly the path to her great object. she turned now, therefore, the conversation to evelina's own history and development. it was well known that her path through life had been an unusual one, and one of independence, and elise wished now to know how she had attained to that serenity and refreshing quiet which characterised her whole being. evelina blushed, and wished to turn the conversation from herself--a subject which she least of all would speak about, and that probably because she was in harmony with herself--but as the judge with his earnest cordiality united in the wish of his wife and mrs. gunilla, that evelina would relate to them some passages in the history of her life, she acceded, remarking only that what she had to relate was in no way extraordinary; and then, after she had bethought herself for a moment, she began, addressing herself more especially to elise, and in the mean time mrs. gunilla hastily jotted down the narrative, which we will here designate evelina's history. have you ever been conscious, while listening to a beautiful piece of music, of a deep necessity, an indescribable longing, to find in your own soul, in your own life, a harmony like that which you perceived in the tune?--if so, you have then an idea of the suffering and the release of my soul. i was yet a little child when, for the first time, i was seized upon by this longing, without at that time comprehending it. there was a little concert in the house of my parents; the harp, piano, horn, and clarionette, were played by four distinguished artists. in one part of the symphony the instruments united in an indescribably sweet and joyous melody, in the feeling of which my childish soul was seized upon by a strong delight, and at the same time by a deep melancholy. it seemed to me as if i had then an understanding of heaven, and i burst into tears. ah! the meaning of these i have learned since then. many such, and many far more painful, tears of longing, have fallen upon the dark web of my life. to what shall i compare the picture of my youthful years? all that it, and many other such family pictures exhibit, is unclear, indefinite, in one word, blotted as it were in the formation. it resembled a dull autumn sky, with its grey, shapeless, intermingling cloud-masses; full of those features without precision, of those contours without meaning, of those shadows without depth, of those lights without clearness, which so essentially distinguish the work of a bungler from that of a true master. my family belonged to the middle class, and we were especially well content to belong to this noble class; and as we lived from our rents, and had no rank in the state, we called ourselves, not without some self-satisfaction, people of condition. we exhibited a certain genteel indifference towards the _haute volée_ in the citizen society, not only in words but sometimes also in action; yet, nevertheless, in secret we were extremely wounded or flattered by all those who came in contact with us from this circle; and not unfrequently too the family conversation turned, quite accidentally as it were, on the subject of its being ennobled on the plea of the important service which our father could render to the state in the house of knights; and in the hearts of us young girls it excited a great pleasure when we were addressed as "my lady." beyond this agitation of the question nothing came. the daughters of the house were taught that all pomp and pleasure of this world was only vanity, that nothing was important and worth striving after but virtue and inward worth; yet for all this, it so happened that their most lively interest and endeavours, and the warmest wishes of the hearts of all, were directed to wealth, rank, and worldly fortune of every kind. the daughters were taught that in all things the will of god must alone direct them; yet in every instance they were guided by the fear of man. they were taught that beauty was nothing, and of no value; yet they were often compelled to feel, and that painfully, in the paternal house, that they wore not handsome. they were allowed to cultivate some talents, and acquire some knowledge, but god forbid that they should ever become learned women; on which account they learned nothing thoroughly, though in many instances they pretended to knowledge, without possessing anything of its spirit, its nourishing strength, or its pure esteem-inspiring earnestness. but above all things they learned, and this only more and more profoundly the more their years increased, that marriage was the goal of their being; and in consequence (though this was never definitely inculcated in words, but by a secret, indescribable influence), to esteem the favour of men as the highest happiness, denying all the time that they thought so. we were three sisters. as children, it was deeply impressed upon us that we must love one another; but in consequence of partiality on the side of our teachers, in consequence of praise and blame, rewards and punishments, which magnified little trifles into importance, envy and bitterness were early sown among the sisters. it was said of my eldest sister and myself, that we were greatly attached to each other; that we could not live asunder. we were cited as examples of sisterly love; and from constantly hearing this, we at last came to believe it. we were compared to the carriage-horses of the family; and we were in the habit, almost of our own accord, of seating ourselves every day after dinner on each side of our good father, who caressed us, and called us his carriage-horses. yet, in fact, we did not pull together. my sister was more richly endowed by nature than i, and won favour more easily. never did i envy a human being as i envied her, until in later years, and under altered circumstances, i learned to love her rightly, and to rejoice over her advantages. we were not very rich, and we cast a philosophically compassionate glance upon all who were richer than we, who lived in a more liberal manner, had more splendid equipages, or who dressed themselves more elegantly. "what folly--what pitiable vanity!" said we: "poor people, who know nothing better!" we never thought that our philosophy was somewhat akin to the fox and the grapes. if we looked in this manner upon the advantages of the great, we despised still more the pleasures of the crowd. (we ought to be so all-sufficient for ourselves. ah, alas!) and if ever a theatrical piece was much talked of and visited, we had a kind of pride in saying, with perfect indifference, that we never had seen it; and whenever there was a popular festival, and the crowd went towards haga or the park, it was quite as certain that our calesche--if it went out at all--would drive on the road to sabbatsberg, or in some other direction equally deserted at the time; for all which, we prided ourselves on our philosophy. yet with all this in our hearts we really never were happy. the daughters came out into society. the parents wished to see them loved and wooed; the daughters wished it no less--but they were not handsome--were dressed without any pretension. the parents saw very little company; and the daughters remained sitting at balls, and were nearly unobserved at suppers. yet from year to year they slid on with the stream. the daughters approached to ripened youth. the parents evidently wished them married; they wished it likewise, which was only natural, especially as at home they were not happy; and it must be confessed that neither did they themselves do much to make it pleasant there. they were peevish and discontented--no one knew exactly what to do or what she wanted; they groped about as if in a mist. it is customary to hear unmarried ladies say that they are satisfied with their condition, and do not desire to change it. in this pretension there lies more truth than people in general believe, particularly when the lively feelings of early youth are past. i have often found it so; and above all, wherever the woman, either in one way or another, has created for herself an independent sphere of action, or has found in a comfortable home that freedom, and has enjoyed that pure happiness of life, which true friendship, true education, can give. a young lady of my acquaintance made what was with justice called a great match, although love played but a subordinate part. as some one felicitated her on her happiness, she replied, quite calmly, "oh, yes! it is very excellent to possess something of one's own." people smiled at her for her thus lightly esteeming what was universally regarded so great a good fortune; but her simple words, nevertheless, contain a great and universal truth. it is this "one's own," in the world, and in his sphere of action, which every man unavoidably requires if he would develop his own being, and win for himself independence and happiness, self-esteem, and the esteem of others. even the nun has her own cell, where she can prepare herself in peace for heaven, and in which she possesses her true home. but in social life, the unmarried woman has often not even a little cell which she can call her own; she goes like a cloud of mist through life, and finds firm footing nowhere. hence, therefore, are there often marriages the genuine children of necessity, which ought never to have taken place, and that deep longing after the deep quiet of the grave, which is experienced by so many. but there is no necessity for this, and in times, in which the middle classes are so much more enlightened, it becomes still less so; we need, indeed, only contemplate the masses of people who strive for a subsistence, the crowds of neglected and uncared-for children that grow up in the world, in order to see that whatever is one-sided in the view of the destination of woman vanishes more and more, and opens to her a freer sphere of action. but i return to the _pros_ and _cons_ of my own life, one feature of which i must particularly mention. if young ladies of our acquaintance connected themselves by marriage with men who were rather above than below them in property or station, we considered it, without exception, reasonable and estimable. but if a man, whose connexions and prospects were similar to our own, looked round him for a wife in our house, we considered it great audacity, and treated it accordingly. we were secretly looking out for genteeler and richer individuals, who again, on their part, were looking out for genteeler and richer individuals than we.--n. b. this _looking-out_ in the great world is a very useful thing, both for gentlemen and ladies, although anybody who would be _naïve_ enough to acknowledge as much, would not be greatly in favour either with those who looked-out or those who did not. in the mean time, a spirit was developed within me, which full of living energy woke to the sense of its nonentity--to a sense of the enslaving contradictions in which it moved, and to the most vehement desire to free itself from them. as yet, however, i did not understand what i was to do with my restless spirit. by contemplation, however, of noble works of art, it appeared to me frequently that the enigma of my inner self became clear to me. when i observed the antique vestal, so calm, so assured, and yet so gentle--when i saw how she stood, self-possessed, firm, and serene--i had a foretaste of the life which i needed, and sought after, both outwardly and inwardly, and i wept tears of melancholy longing. tortured by the distorted circumstances (many of which i have not mentioned) under which i moved in my own family connexion, i began, as years advanced, to come in contact with the world in a manner which, for a temper like mine, was particularly dangerous. we have heard of the daughters of the husgafvel family, who grew old yawning over the spinning-wheel and the weaving-stool; but, better so to grow old, yes, better a thousand times to grow grey over the spinning-wheel and the ashes of the cooking-stove, than with artificial flowers--oh, how artificial!--in the hair, on the benches of the ball-room, or the seat of the supper-room, smiling over the world, which smiles over us no longer. this was the case with me. there are mild, unpretending beings, who bow themselves quietly under the yoke which they cannot break; move, year after year, through the social circle, without any other object than to fill a place there--to ornament or to disfigure a wall. peace to such patient souls! there, too, are joyous, fresh, ever youthful natures, who, even to old age, and under all circumstances, bring with them cheerfulness and new life into every circle in which they move. these belong to social life, and are its blessings. many persons--and it is beautiful that it should be so--are of this description. i, however, belonged neither to the joyous and enlivening, nor yet to the patient and unpretending. on this account i began to shun social life, which occasioned in me, still more and more, a moral weariness; yet, nevertheless, i was driven into it, to avoid the disquiet and discomfort which i experienced at home. i was a labourer who concealed his desire for labour, who had buried his talent in the earth, as was the hereditary custom of the circle in which i lived. the flower yields odour and delight to man, it nourishes the insect with its sweetness; the dewdrop gives strength to the leaf on which it falls. in the relationships in which i lived, i was less than the flower or the dewdrop; a being endowed with power and with an immortal soul! but i awoke at the right time to a consciousness of my position. i say at the right time, because there may be a time when it is too late. there is a time when, under the weight of long wearisome years, the human soul has become inflexible, and has no longer the power to raise itself from the slough into which it has sunk. i felt how i was deteriorating; i felt clearly how the unemployed and uninterested life which i led, nourished day after day new weeds in the waste field of my soul. curiosity, a desire for gossip, an inclination to malice and scandal, and an increasing irritability of temper, began to get possession of a mind which nature had endowed with too great a desire for action for it blamelessly to vegetate through a passive life as so many can. ah! if people live without an object, they stand as it were on the outside of active life, which gives strength to the inward occupation, even if no noble endeavour or sweet friendship give that claim to daily life which makes it occasionally, at least, a joy to live; disquiet rages fiercely and tumultuously in the human breast, undermining health, temper, goodness, nay, even the quiet of conscience, and conjuring up all the spirits of darkness: so does the corroding rust eat into the steel-plate and deface its clear mirror with a tracery of disordered caricatures. i once read these words of that many-sided thinker, steffen:--"he who has no employment to which he gives himself with true earnestness, which he does not love as much as himself and all men, has not discovered the true ground on which christianity even here brings forth fruit. such an occupation becomes a quiet and consecrated temple in all hours of affliction, into which the saviour pours out his blessing; it unites us with all other men, so that we can sympathise in their feelings, and makes our actions and our wills administer to their wants; it teaches us rightly to weigh our own circumscribed condition and the worth of others. it is the true, firm, and fruit-bearing ground of real christianity." these words came like a breath of air on glowing sparks. a light was kindled in my soul, and i knew now what i wanted, and what i ought to do. after i had well considered all this with myself, i spoke with my parents, and opened my whole heart to them. they were surprised, opposed me, and besought me to think better of it. i had foreseen this; but as i adhered firmly and decidedly to my wishes and my prayers, they surprised me by their kindness. i was very fond of children; my plan was, therefore, to begin housekeeping for myself, and to undertake some work or occupation which should, by degrees, enable me to take two or three children, for whom i would provide, whom i would educate, and altogether adopt as my own. i was well persuaded that i needed many of the qualifications which make a good teacher; but i hoped that that new fountain of activity would, as it were, give to my whole being a new birth. my goodwill, my affection for children would, i believed, be helpful to make me a good guide to them; and thus, though i could not become a wife, i might yet enjoy the blessing of a mother. "and why could you not--why could you not?" interrupted elise. "people say," returned evelina, smiling, "that you had to make your selection of a husband from many adorers; you cannot then understand a case in which there should not even be one choice. but truly, indeed, that was my case. but do not look at me so amazed--don't look at me as if i were guilty of high treason. the truth is, sweet elise, that i never had an opportunity to say either yes or no to a lover. with my sisters, who were much more agreeable and much more attractive than i, it was otherwise." but now i must return to that moment of my life when i released myself from every-day paths--but, thank god! not with violence, not amid discontent; but with the blessing of those who had given me life, for which i now, for the first time, blessed them. touched by my steadfastness of purpose, and by the true goodwill which they had perceived in me, my parents determined--god reward them for it!--to bestow upon my desired domestic establishment the sum of money which they had put aside for my dowry, in case i married. indeed, their and my sisters' kindness made them find pleasure in arranging all for me in the best and most comfortable manner; and when i left the paternal roof for my own new home, it was with tears of real pain. yet i had too clearly studied my own character and position to be undecided. it was a day in april, my thirtieth birthday, when, accompanied by my own family, i went to take possession of my new, small, but pretty dwelling. two young father-and-motherless girls, not quite without means, followed me to my new habitation. they were to become my children, i their mother. i never shall forget the first morning of my waking in my new abode. at this very moment it is as if i saw how the day dawned in the chamber; how all the objects gradually assumed, as it seemed to me, an unaccustomed definiteness. from the near church ascended the morning hymn with its pleasant serious melody, which attuned the soul to harmonious peace. i rose early; i had to care for house and children. all was cheerful and festival-like in my soul; a sweet emotion penetrated me like the enlivening breeze of spring. also without spring breathed. i saw the snow melt from the roofs, and fall down in glittering drops, yet never had i seen the morning light in them so clear as now. i saw the sparrows on the edge of the chimneys twittering to greet the morning sun. i saw without, people going joyfully about their employments: i saw the milk-woman going from door to door, and she seemed to me more cheerful than any milk-woman i had ever seen before; and the milk seemed to me whiter and more nutritious than common. it seemed to me as if i now saw the world for the first time. i fancied even myself to be altered as i looked in the glass; my eyes appeared to me larger; my whole appearance to have become better, and more important. in the chamber near me the children awoke--the little immortals whom i was to conduct to eternal life. yes, indeed, this was a beautiful morning! in it the world first beamed upon me, and at the same time my own inner world, and i became of worth and consequence in my own estimation. the active yet quiet life which i led from this time forth, suited me perfectly well. from this time i became more thoroughly in harmony with myself, and altogether happier. the day was often wearisome, but then the evening rest was the sweeter, and the thought that i had passed a useful day refreshed my soul. the children gave me many cares, many troubles; but they gave likewise an interest to my life, and happiness to my heart, and all the while, in pleasure and want, in joy and sorrow, they became dearer and dearer to me. i cannot imagine that children can be dearer to their own mother than laura and karin are to me. in this new position i also became a better daughter, a more tender sister than i had hitherto been; and i could now cheer the old age of my parents far more than if i had remained an inactive and superfluous person in their house. now for the first time i had advantage of all that was good in my education. amid lively activity, and with a distinct object in life, and in affectionate relationships, that which was vain and false fell gradually away from my disposition; and the knowledge which i had obtained, the truths which i had known, were productive in heart and deed since i had, so to say, struck root in life. * * * * * evelina ceased. all had heard her with sympathy, but no one more than ernst frank. a new picture of life was opened to his view, and the truest sympathy expressed itself on his manly features. he suffered by this picture of so contracted a world, in so oppressive and gloomy a condition, and his thoughts already busied themselves with plans for breaking open doors, for opening windows in these premises, to free this oppressed and captive life. "ah, yes!" said mrs. gunilla, with a gentle sigh, "everybody here in this world has their difficult path, but if every one walks in the fear and admonition of the lord, all arrive in the end at their home. our lord god helps us all!" and mrs. gunilla took a large pinch of snuff. "don't forget the _orbis pictus_," exclaimed she to elise, who with her husband was preparing to go; "don't forget it, and let the children be educated from it, that they may observe how the soul looks. he, he, he, he!" chapter xiv. the orphan. the day was declining, and ernst and elise sate in one of the parlour windows. mutual communications received with mutual sympathy, had made them have joy in each other--had let them feel at peace with life. they were now silent; but a presentiment that for the future they should be ever happier with each other, like a harmonious tone, responded in their hearts, and brightened their countenances. in the mean time, the shadows of evening began to grow broader, and a soft rain pattered on the window. the sonorous voice of the candidate, as he told stories to the children, interrupted occasionally by their questions and exclamations, was heard in the saloon. a feeling of home-peace came over the heart of the father; he took the hand of his wife affectionately between his, and looked joyfully into her gentle countenance, whilst she was projecting little domestic arrangements. in the midst of this sense of happiness a cloud suddenly passed over the countenance of the judge, and tears filled his eyes. "what is it, ernst?--what is amiss, ernst?" asked his wife tenderly, whilst she wiped away the tears with her hand. "nothing," said he, "but that i feel how happy we are. i see you, i hear our children without there, and i cannot but think on that unfortunate child opposite, which will be ruined in that wretched home." "ah, yes!" sighed elise; "god help all unfortunate little ones on the earth!" both cast their eyes involuntarily towards the nearest window of the before-mentioned house. something was moving before the window; a female figure mounted on the window ledge, a dark child's head peeped out from between her feet, was kicked away, and a large white cloth, which was quickly unrolled, hid all within. "he is dead!" said both husband and wife, looking at each other. the judge sent over to inquire how it was; the messenger returned with the tidings that mr. n. had been dead some hours. lights were now kindled behind the blind, and people appeared to be busy within the chamber. the judge walked up and down his room, evidently much affected. "the poor child!--the poor little girl! what will become of her? poor child!" were his broken exclamations. elise read the soul of her husband. she had now for some time, in consequence of a wish which she had perceived in his heart, accustomed herself to a thought, which yet at this moment her lips seemed unwilling to express: "ernst," at length, suppressing a sigh, she began, "the pot which boils for six little mouths will boil also for seven." "do you think so?" asked he, with pleasure, and with beaming eyes. he embraced his wife tenderly, placed her beside him, and inquired--"have you proved your own strength? the heaviest part of this adoption would rest upon you. yet if you feel that you have courage to undertake it, you would fulfil the wish of my heart." "ernst," said she, repressing a tear, "my strength is small, and nobody knows that better than you do; but my will is good;--i will undertake the trouble--you will support me?" "yes, we will help one another," said he, rising up joyfully. "thank you, elise--thank you, my sweet friend," continued he, kissing her hand affectionately. "shall i go to fetch the child immediately?--but perhaps it will not come with me." "shall i go with you?" "you!" said he; "but it gets dark--it rains." "we can take an umbrella," replied she; "and besides that, i will put on a wrapping cloak, and will soon be ready." elise went to dress herself, and her husband went to help her, put on her cloak for her, and paid her a thousand little affectionate attentions. after elise had given sundry orders to brigitta, she and her husband betook themselves to the house, whilst the children set their little heads together full of curiosity and wonder. the two crossed the street in wind and rain; and after they had ascended the dark staircase, they arrived at the room which mr. n. had inhabited. the door stood half open; a small candle, just on the point of going out, burned within, spreading an uncertain and tremulous light over everything. no living creature was visible within the room, which had a desolate, and, as one might say, stripped appearance, so naked did it seem. the dead man lay neglected on his bed, near to which was no trace of anything which might have mitigated the last struggle. a cloth covered his face. ernst frank went towards the bed, and softly raising the cloth, observed for a moment silently the terrible spectacle, felt the pulse of the deceased, and then covering again the face, returned silently, with a pale countenance, to his wife. "where can we find the child?" said she, hastily. they looked searchingly around; a black shadow, in a human form, seemed to move itself in one corner of the room. it was the orphan who sate there, like a bird of night, pressing herself close to the wall. elise approached her, and would have taken her in her arms, when the child suddenly raised her hand, and gave her a fierce blow. elise drew back astonished, and then, after a moment, approached again the half-savage girl with friendly words; again she made a threatening demonstration, but her hands were suddenly grasped by a strong manly hand, and a look so serious and determined was riveted upon her, that she trembled before it, and resigned herself to the power of the stronger. the judge lifted her up, and set her on his knee, whilst she trembled violently. "do not be afraid of us," said elise, caressingly; "we are your good friends. if you will come with me this evening to my little children, you shall have sweet milk and wheaten bread with them, and then sleep in a nice little bed with a rose-coloured coverlet." the white milk, the rose-coloured coverlet, and elise's gentle voice, seemed to influence the child's mind. "i would willingly go with you," said she, "but what will my father say when he wakes?" "he will be pleased," said elise, wrapping a warm shawl about the shoulders of the child. at that moment a sound was heard on the stairs; little sara uttered a faint cry of terror, and began to tremble anew. mr. n.'s housekeeper entered, accompanied by two boys. the judge announced to her his determination to take the little sara, as well as the effects of her deceased father, under his care. at mention of the last word, the woman began to fume and swear, and the judge was obliged to compel her to silence by severe threats. he then sent one of the boys for the proprietor of the house, and after he had in his presence taken all measures for the security of the effects of the deceased, he took the little sara in his arms, wrapped her in his cloak, and, accompanied by his wife, went out. all this time an indescribable curiosity reigned among the little franks. their mother had said, in going out, that perhaps, on her return, she should bring them another sister. it is impossible to say the excitement this occasioned, and what was conjectured and counselled by them. the candidate could not satisfy all the questions which were let loose upon him. in order, therefore, somewhat to allay their fermentation, he sent them to hop through the room like crows, placing himself at the head of the train. a flock of real crows could not have fluttered away with greater speed than did they as the saloon door opened and the father and mother entered. petrea appeared curious in the highest degree, as her father, opening his wide cloak, softly set down something which, at the first moment, petrea, with terror, took for a chimney-sweeper; but which, on closer inspection, seemed to be a very nice thin girl of about nine years old, with black hair, dark complexion, and a pair of uncommonly large black eyes, which looked almost threateningly on the white and bright-haired little ones which surrounded her. "there, you have another sister," said the father, leading the children towards each other;--"sara, these are your sisters--love one another, and be kind to one another, my children." the children looked at each other, somewhat surprised; but as henrik and louise took the little stranger by the hand, they soon all emulated each other in bidding her welcome. supper was served up for the children, more lights were brought in, and the scene was lively. everything was sacrificed to the new comer. louise brought out for her two pieces of confectionery above a year old, and a box in which they might be preserved yet longer. henrik presented her with a red trumpet, conferring gratuitous instruction on the art of blowing it. eva gave her her doll josephine in its new gauze dress. leonore lighted her green and red wax tapers before the dark-eyed sara. petrea--ah, petrea!--would so willingly give something with her whole heart. she rummaged through all the places where she kept anything, but they concealed only the fragments of unlucky things; here a doll without arms; here a table with only three legs; here two halves of a sugar-pig; here a dog without head and tail. all petrea's playthings, in consequence of experiments which she was in the habit of making on them, were fallen into the condition of that which had been--and even that gingerbread-heart with which she had been accustomed to decoy gabriele, had, precisely on this very day, in an unlucky moment of curiosity, gone down petrea's throat. petrea really possessed nothing which was fit to make a gift of. she acknowledged this with a sigh; her heart was tilled with sadness, and tears were just beginning to run down her cheeks, when she was consoled by a sudden idea--the girl and the rose-bush! that jewel she still possessed; it hung still, undestroyed, framed and behind glass, over her bed, and fastened by a bow of blue ribbon. petrea hesitated only a moment; in the next she had clambered up to her little bed, taken down the picture, and hastened now with beaming eyes and glowing cheeks to the others, in order to give away the very loveliest thing she had, and to declare solemnly that now "sara was the possessor of the girl and the rose-bush." the little african appeared very indifferent about the sacrifice which the little european had made to her. she received it, it is true, but she soon laid it down again without caring any more about it, which occasioned louise to propose that she should keep it for her. in the midst of these little occurrences the assessor came in. he looked with an inquisitive glance round the room, showed his white teeth, and said to himself, "yes, it's all right; it is what i expected. so, indeed," added he aloud, in his angry manner, whilst he cordially shook the hand of his friend, "i see you thought you had not children enough of your own in the house, but you must drag in those of other people! how many do you mean to burden yourselves with? will there not be another to-morrow? were you not satisfied with a whole half-dozen girls of your own? and what will become of them? one shall presently not be able to get into the house for children! i suppose that you have such a superfluity of money and property, that you must go and squander it on others! nay! good luck to you!--good luck to you!" the judge and his wife replied only by smiles to the grumbling of their friend, and by the request that he would spend the evening with them. but he said he had not time; and then, after he had laid large pears, which he took from his pocket, under the napkins on the children's plates, he went out. every one of those pears had its own distinctive sign: round sara's was a gold-coloured ribbon; and upon her plate, under the pear, was found a bank-note of considerable value. it was his gift to the fatherless, yet he never would acknowledge it. that was his way. as the mother took sara by the hand, in order to conduct her to rest, petrea had the indescribable delight of seeing that, from all the little presents which had been made to her, she only took with her the girl and the rose-bush, which she appeared to regard with pleasure. sara was seized with violent grief in the comfortable bedroom; tears streamed with wonderful violence from her eyes, and she called loudly for her father. elise held her quietly in her arms, and let her weep out her grief on her bosom, and then gently undressing her, and laying the weary child in bed, had the pleasure of feeling how affectionately she clasped her arms around her neck. the girl and the rose-bush hung over her bed, but still there seemed to be no rest on the snow-white couch for the "little african." her dark eyes glanced wildly about the room, and her hands grasped convulsively elise's white dress. "don't go," whispered she, "or else they will come and murder me." elise took the child's hands in hers, and repeated a simple and pious little prayer, which she had taught to all her own children. sara said the words after her; and though it was only mechanically, she seemed to become calmer, though shudderings still shook her frame, and she hold fast by elise's dress. elise seated herself by her, and at the request of the other children, "mother, sing the song of the dove--oh, the song of the dove!" she sang, with a pleasant low voice, that little song which she herself had made for her children: there sitteth a dove so white and fair, all on the lily-spray, and she listeneth how, to jesus christ, the little children pray. lightly she spreads her friendly wings, and to heaven's gate hath sped, and unto the father in heaven she bears the prayers which the children said. and back she comes from heaven's gate, and brings--that dove so mild-- from the father in heaven, who hears her speak, a blessing for every child. then, children, lift up a pious prayer, it hears whatever you say, that heavenly dove, so white and fair, that sits on the lily-spray. during this song, the dove of peace descended on the soul of the child. pleasant images passed before her mind: the girl and the rose-bush and the singing elise were the same person--the rose diffused pleasant odour; and whilst the long dark lashes approached her cheek yet nearer and nearer, it seemed to her as if a white lovely singing-bird spread out his wings caressingly and purifyingly over her breast. by degrees the little hand opened itself, and let go the dress which it had grasped, the tearful eyes closed, and the sweetness of repose came over the fatherless and the motherless. elise raised herself gently, and went to the beds of the other children. the dove on the lily-spray sent sleep also to them; and after the mother had pressed her lips to their cheeks, had spoken with brigitta about the new comer, and had received from the child-loving, good-natured old woman, the most satisfactory promises, she hastened back to her husband. he listened with curiosity to what she had to relate of sara. this new member of the family, this increase of his cares, seemed to have expanded and animated his soul. his eyes beamed with a gentle emotion as he spoke of the future prospects of the children. evelina's history, which was still fresh in his and elise's mind, seemed to spur him on to call forth for his family quite another picture of life. "we will bring up our children," said he warmly, "not for ourselves, but for themselves. we will seek for their good, for their happiness; we will rightly consider what may conduce to this, as much for one child as for another; we will endeavour to win and to maintain their full confidence; and should there, dear elise, be any harshness or severity in me, which would repel the children from me, you must assist me; let their secret desires and cares come to me through you!" "yes! where else could they go?" returned she, with the deepest feeling; "you are my support, my best strength in life! without you how weak should i be!" "and without you," said he, "my strength would become sternness. nature gave me a despotic disposition. i have had, and have still, many times the greatest difficulty to control it; but with god's help i shall succeed! my elise, we will improve ever. on the children's account, in order to make them happy, we will endeavour to ennoble our own nature." "yes, that we will, ernst!" said she; "and may the peace in the house make betimes the spirit of peace familiar to their bosoms!" "we will make them happy," began the father again, with yet increasing warmth; "with god's help, not one of them shall wander through life unhappy and infirm of spirit. my little girls! you shall not grow up like half-formed human beings; no illusions shall blind your eyes to what are the true riches of life; no noble desires shall you experience unsatisfied. ah, life is rich enough to satisfy all the birds under heaven, and no one need be neglected on earth! your innocent life shall not fail of strength and joy; you shall live to know the actuality of life, and that will bring a blessing on every day, interest on every moment, and importance on every occupation. it will give you repose and independence in sorrow and in joy, in life and in death!" whilst elise listened to these words, she felt as if a refreshing breeze passed through her soul. nothing more seemed to her difficult. all the troubles of life seemed light, on account of the bright end to be attained. and then, as she thought on the manly warm heart which lived so entirely for her good and the children's, she felt a proud joy that she could look up to her husband; and at the same time a sense of humility slid into her heart, she bowed herself over his hand, and kissed it fervently. this did not please the judge, because, like every other decided and powerful man, it gratified him rather to pay homage to woman than, at least by outward bearing, to receive homage from her. he therefore withdrew his hand with some displeasure. "why may i not kiss your hand," inquired elise, "if it give me pleasure?" "because it gives me no pleasure, and you must not do it again." "well, well, dear friend, you need not forbid it so sternly. perhaps i shall never again have the desire to do it." "all the better," said he. "perhaps not!" returned elise. "but let us now go to rest." part ii. chapter i. the new house. "farewell, oh house of my childhood! farewell, you walls, insensible witnesses of my first tears, my first smiles, and my first false steps on the slippery path of life--of my first acquaintance with water-gruel and a b c! thou corner, in which i stood with lessons difficult to be learned; and thou, in which i in vain endeavoured to tame the most thankless of all created things, a fly and a caterpillar!--you floors, which have sustained me sporting and quarrelling with my beloved brother and sisters!--you papers, which i have torn in my search after imagined treasures;--you, the theatre of my battles with carafts and drinking-glasses--of my heroic actions in manifold ways, i bid you a long farewell, and go to live in new scenes of action--to have new adventures and new fate!" thus spake petrea frank, whilst, with dignified gestures, she took a tragic-comic farewell of the home which she and her family were now about to leave. it was a rainy day, in the middle of april. a black silk cloak, called merrily the "court-preacher," a piece of property held in common by the frank family, and a large red umbrella, called likewise the "family-roof," which was common property too, were on this day seen in active promenade on the streets of the city of x----. what all this passing to and fro denoted might probably be conjectured if one had seen them accompanied by a tall, fair, blue-eyed maid-servant, and a little brown, active, servant-man, carrying bandboxes, baskets, packages, etc., etc. towards twilight might have been seen, likewise, the tall thin figure of jeremias munter, holding the "family-roof" over the heads of himself and petrea frank. petrea seemed to be carrying something under her cloak, laughed and talked, and she and the assessor seemed to be very much pleased with each other. alas! this satisfaction did not endure long; on the steps of the front-door petrea accidentally trod on the dangling lace of her boot, made a false step, and fell. a large paper case of confectionery suddenly proceeded from under the "court-preacher," and almond-wreaths, "brown sugar-candy, and iced fruits rolled in all directions. even amid the shock and the confusion of the first moment it was with difficulty that petrea restrained a loud laugh from bursting forth when she saw the amazement of the assessor, and the leaps which he made, as he saw the confections hopping down the steps towards the gutter. it was the assessor's own tribute to the festival of the day which was thus unluckily dispersed abroad. "yes, indeed, if there were no ladies," said the assessor, vexed, "one should be able to accomplish something in this world. but now they must be coming and helping, and on that account things always go topsy-turvy. 'let me only do it--let me only manage it,' say they; and they manage and make it, so that----'did one ever see anything so foolish!--to fall over your foot-lace!'--but women have order in nothing; and yet people set up such to govern kingdoms!--to govern kingdoms!!! i would ask nothing more from them than that they should govern their feet, and keep their boot and shoe strings tied. but from the queen down to the charwoman, there is not a woman in this world who knows how to fasten her boot-lace!" such was the philippic of jeremias munter, as he came into the room with petrea, and saw, after the great shipwreck, that which remained of the confectionery. petrea's excuses, and her prayers for forgiveness, could not soften his anger. true it is, that an unfortunate disposition to laugh, which overcame her, gave to all her professions of distress a very doubtful appearance. her distress, however, for all that, was real; and when eva came, and said, with a beseeching, flattering voice, "dear uncle, do not be angry any longer; poor petrea is really quite cast down--besides which she really has hurt her knee," the good man replied with a very different voice: "but has she, indeed? but why are people so clumsy--so given to tripping and stumbling, that one----" "one can get some more confections at any time," said eva. "can one!" exclaimed jeremias; "do they grow on trees, then? how? shall one then throw away one's money for confectionery, in order to see it lie about the streets? pretty management that would be, methinks!" "yet just say one kind word to petrea," besought eva. "a kind word!" repeated jeremias: "i would just tell her that another time she should be so good as to fasten her shoestrings. nay, i will go now after some more confectionery; but only on your account, little miss eva. yes, yes; say i--i will now go: i can dance also, if it be for----but how it rains! lend me the 'family-roof,' and the cloak there i need also. give it here handsomely! well then, what is there to gape at? how! will the people gape at me?--all very good; if it gives them any pleasure, they may laugh at me, i shall not find myself any the worse for it. health and comfort are above all things, and one dress is just as good as another." the young girls laughed, and threw the "court-preacher," which hardly reached to his knees, over the shoulders of the assessor; and thus apparelled he went forth with long strides. the family had this day removed into a new house. judge frank had bought it, together with a small garden, for the lifetime of himself and his wife, and for the last two years he had been pulling down, building up, repairing, and arranging: some doors he had built up, others he had opened, till all was as convenient and as comfortable as he wished. his wife, in full confidence, had left all to his good judgment, well pleased for her own part to be spared the noise of bricklayers and carpenters, which she escaped not without difficulty; to be spared from going among shavings and under scaffoldings, and from clambering over troughs full of mortar, etc. papers for the walls and other ornamental things had been left to the choice of herself and her daughters. and now he went, full of pleasure, with his wife's arm in his, from one story to another, and from one room into another, greatly pleased with the convenient, spacious, and cheerful-looking habitation, and yet even more so with his wife's lively gratification in all his work. and thus she was obliged to promenade through the whole house, from the cellar up to the roof; into the mangling-room, the wood-chamber, etc. we will not weary the reader by following them in this promenade, but merely make him acquainted with some of the rooms in which he will often meet the family. we merely pass through the saloon and best parlour; they were handsome, but resembled all such apartments; but the room which the judge had arranged with the most especial love, which was designed for daily use, and as the daily assembling place of the family, and which deserves our most intimate acquaintance, was the library, so called. it was a large, very lively room, with three windows on one side looking into a spacious market-place. louise rejoiced especially over this, for thus they could look out of the windows on market-days, and see at once what they wished to buy; directly opposite lay the church, with its beautiful churchyard well planted with trees; these objects pleased elise greatly. the side of the room opposite to the windows was entirely covered with books; the shelves consisted of several divisions, each one of which contained the literature of a different country. in niches between the several divisions stood, on simple but tasteful pedestals, busts of distinguished men, great for their heroic and peaceful actions--standing there, said the judge, not because they separated the different nations of the earth, but because they united them. ernst frank's library was truly a select one; it had been the pleasure of his life, and still it was his delight to be increasing his collection of book's. now, for the first time, they were collected and arranged all in one place. he rejoiced over these treasures, and besought his daughters freely to make use of them (on this one express condition, that every book should be restored again to its right place). to louise was consigned the office of librarian; to petrea that of amanuensis. both mother and daughters were delighted with this room, and began to consider where the work-table, the flower-table, and the bird-cage should stand, and when all were arranged, they were found to suit their places admirably. against one of the short walls stood the green sofa, the appointed place for the mother; and against the opposite one the piano, and the harp, which was sara's favourite instrument, together with a guitar, whose strings were touched by eva, as she sang "mamma mia." an agreeable surprise awaited elise as she was led through a curtained door which conducted from the library into a sort of boudoir, whose one window had the same prospect as the library--this was solely and entirely her own consecrated room. she saw with emotion that the tasteful furniture of the room was the work of her daughters; her writing-table stood by the window; several beautiful pictures and a quantity of very pretty china adorned the room. elise saw, with thankful delight, that all her favourite tastes, and all her little fancies, had been studied and gratified both by husband and children. a small curtained door, likewise, on the other side, conducted elise into her sleeping-room; and her husband made her observe how smoothly these doors turned on their hinges, and how easily she, from either side, could lock herself in and remain in quiet. after this room, nothing gave elise greater delight than the arrangements for bathing, which the judge had made particularly convenient and comfortable; and he now turned the white taps with remarkable pleasure, to exhibit how freely the warm water came out of this, and the cold--no, out of this came the warm water, and out of the other the cold. the cheerfulness and comfort of the whole arrangement were intended to give to the bathing-day--which was almost as religiously observed in this family as the sunday--a double charm. in a room adjoining that which was appropriated to dressing, the old cleanly brigitta had already her fixed residence. here was she and the great linen-press to grow old together. here ticked her clock, and purred her cat; here blossomed her geraniums and balsams, with the bible and prayer-book lying between them. the three light and pleasant rooms intended for the daughters lay in the story above, and were simply but prettily furnished. "here they will feel themselves quite at home," said the father, as he looked round with beaming eyes; "don't you think so, elise? we will make home so pleasant to our children that they shall not wish to leave it without a really important and deserving cause. no disquiet, no discontent with home and the world within it, shall drive them from the paternal roof. here they can have leisure and quiet, and be often alone, which is a good thing. such moments are needed by every one in order to strengthen and collect themselves, and are good for young girls as well as for any one else." the mother gave her applause fully and cordially; but immediately afterwards she was a little absent, for she had something of importance to say to her eldest daughter; and as at that very moment louise came in, an animated conversation commenced between them, of which the following reached the father's ear: "and after them, pancakes; and, my good girl, take care that six of them are excellently thick and savoury; you know, indeed, how henrik likes them." "and should we not," suggested louise, "have whipped cream and raspberry jam with the pancakes?" "yes, with pleasure," returned the mother,--"jacobi would unquestionably recommend that." louise blushed, and the judge besought with animation that there might be something a little more substantial than "angels' food" for supper, which was promised him. the assessor shook out the "family-roof" in the hall in indignation. "the most miserable roof in all christendom," said he; "it defends neither from wind nor rain, and is as heavy as the ark! and----" but at the very moment when he was shaking and scolding his worst, he perceived a sound----exclamations and welcomes, in every possible variety of joyous and cordial tones. the "court-preacher" was thrown head and shoulders over the "family-roof," and with great leaps hastened jeremias forward to shake hands with the son and the friend of the house, who were just now returned home from the university. tokens of condolement mingled themselves with welcomes and felicitations. "how wet, and pale, and cold you are!" "oh, we have had a magnificent shower!" said henrik, shaking himself, and casting a side glance on jacobi, who looked both downcast and doleful in his wet apparel. "such weather as this is quite an affair of my own. in wind and rain one becomes so--i don't know rightly how--do you, _mon cher_?" "a jelly, a perfect jelly!" said jacobi, in a mournful voice; "how can one be otherwise, knocked about in the most infamous of peasant-cars, and storm, and pouring rain, so that one is perfectly battered and melted! hu, hu, u, u, u, uh!" "oh, according to my opinion," said henrik, laughing heartily at the gestures of his travelling companion, "it is a hardening sort of weather; there is a proud exalting feeling in it, sitting there quite calm under the raging of the elements; especially when one looks down from one's elevation on other fellow-mortals, who go lamenting, and full of anxiety, under their umbrellas. thus one sits on one's car as on a throne; nay, indeed, one gets quite a flattering idea of oneself, as if one were a little, tiny philosopher. apropos! i bethink myself now, as if we had seen, as we came this way, a philosopher in a lady's cloak walking hither. but, how are you all, sweet, sweet sisters? how long it is since i saw you!" and he pressed their hands between his cold and wet ones. this scene, which took place in twilight, was quickly brought to an end by the ladies resolutely driving the gentlemen out to their own chamber to change their clothes. jacobi, it is true, on his own account, did not require much driving, and louise found henrik's philosophy on this occasion not so fully adopted. louise had already taken care that a good blazing fire should welcome the travellers in their chamber. in the mean time, the ladies quartered themselves in the library; lights were kindled, the table spread; the judge helped all, and was highly delighted if people only called to him. the assessor looked enraptured, as eva arranged his confections on little plates. petrea did not venture to look at them, much less to touch them. "by jove, my dear girls, how comfortable it is here!" exclaimed the judge in the joy of his heart, as he saw the library thus peopled, and in its for-the-future every-day state. "are you comfortable there, on the sofa, elise? let me get you a footstool. no; sit still, my friend! what are men for in the world?" the candidate--we beg his pardon, the master of arts, jacobi--appeared no longer to be the same person who had an hour before stood there in his wet dress, as he made his appearance, handsomely apparelled, with his young friend, before the ladies, and his countenance actually beamed with delight at the joyful scene which he there witnessed. people now examined one another nearer. they discovered that henrik had become considerably paler as well as thinner, which henrik received as a compliment to his studies. jacobi wished also a compliment on his studies, but it was unanimously refused to him on account of his blooming appearance. he protested that he was flushed with the weather, but that availed nothing. louise thought privately to herself that jacobi had decidedly gained in manly bearing; that he had a simpler and more vigorous demeanour; he was become, she thought, a little more like her father. her father was louise's ideal of manly perfection. little gabriele blushed deeply, and half hid herself behind her mother, as her brother addressed her. "how is your highness, my most gracious princess turandotte!" said he; "has your highness no little riddle at hand with which to confuse weak heads?" her little highness looked in the highest degree confused, and tried to withdraw the hand which her brother kissed again and again. gabriele was quite bashful before the tall student. henrik had a little _tête-à-tête_ with every sister, but it was somewhat short and cold with sara; after which he seated himself by his mother, took her hand in his, and a lively and general conversation began, whilst eva handed about the confectionery. "but what is amiss now?" asked henrik, suddenly. "why have the sisters all left us to take council together there, with such important judge-like faces? is the nation in danger? may not i go, in order to save the native land?--if one could only first of all have eaten one's supper in peace," added he, speaking aside, after the manner of the stage. but it was precisely about the supper that they were talking. there was a great danger that the pancakes would not succeed; and louise could not prevent henrik and jacobi running down into the kitchen, where, to the greatest amusement of the young ladies, and to the tragi-comic despair of the cook, they acted their parts as cooks so ridiculously that louise was obliged at length, with an imposing air, to put an end to the laughter, to the joking, and to the burnt pancakes, in order that she herself might put her hand to the work. under her eye all went well; the pancakes turned out excellently. jacobi besought one from her own hand, as wages for his work; graciously obtained it, and then swallowed the hot gift with such rapture that it certainly must have burnt him inwardly, had it not been for another species of warmth (which we consider very probable)--a certain well-known spiritual fire, which counteracted the material burning, and made it harmless. have we not here, in all simplicity, suggested something of a homoeopathic nature? but we will leave the kitchen, that we may seat ourselves with the family at the supper-table, where the mother's savoury, white pancakes, and the thick ones for henrik, were found to be most excellent, and where the "angels' food" was devoured with the greatest earthly enjoyment. after this, they drank the health of the travellers, and sang a merry little song, made by petrea. the father was quite pleased with his petrea, who, quite electrified, sang too with all her might, although not with a most harmonious voice, which, however, did not annoy her father's somewhat unmusical ear. "she sings louder than they all," said he to his wife, who was considerably less charmed than he with petrea's musical accompaniment. although every one in the company had had an exciting and fatiguing day, the young people began immediately after supper, as if according to a natural law, to arrange themselves for the dance. jacobi, who appeared to be captivated by sara's appearance, led her in the magic circle of the waltz. "our sensible little queen-bee," a rather broad-set, but very well-grown blonde of eighteen, distinguished herself in the dance by her beautiful steps, and her pleasing though rather too grave carriage. everybody, however, looked with greater admiration on eva, because she danced with heart and soul. gabriele, with her golden curls, flew round like a butterfly. but who did not dance this evening?--everybody was actually enthusiastic--for all were infected with the joyous animal spirits of henrik. even jeremias munter, to the amazement of everybody, led eva, with most remarkable skill, through the polska,[ ] the most artificial and perplexing of dances. it was only at midnight that the dance was discontinued, at the suggestion of elise. but before they separated, the judge begged his wife to sing the well-known little song--"the first evening in the new house." she sang it in her simple, soul-touching manner, and the joy full of peace which this song breathed penetrated every heart; even the grave countenance of the judge gleamed with an affectionate emotion. a quiet glory appeared to rest on the family, and beautified all countenances; for it is given to song, like the sun, to throw its glorifying light upon all human circumstances, and to lend them beauty, at least for a moment. "the spinner," and "the aged man by the road-side," are led by song into the kingdom of beauty, even as they are by the gospel into the kingdom of heaven. on taking leave for the night, all agreed upon a rendezvous the next morning after breakfast in the orchard, in order to see what was to be made of it. the father conducted the daughters up into their chambers. he wanted to see yet once more how they looked, and inquired from them again and again--"are you satisfied, my girls? do they please you? would you wish anything besides? if you wish anything, speak out right swedishly." as now his daughters, assuring him of their contentment, gratefully and affectionately hung about him, there was not a happier man on the face of the earth than judge frank. the mother, on her part, had taken her first-born with her into her little boudoir. she had as yet not been able to speak one word to him alone. now she questioned him on everything, small and great, which concerned him, and how freely and entirely he opened his whole heart to her! they talked of the circumstances of the family; of the purchase of this new property; of the debt which they had thereby contracted; of the means through which, by degrees, it would be paid off, and of the necessity there was for greater economy on all sides. they talked, too, of the daughters of the house. "louise is superb," said henrik, "but her complexion is rather muddy; could she not use some kind of wash for it? she would be so much handsomer if she had a fresher complexion; and then she looks, the least in the world, cathedral-like. what a solemn air she had to-night, as jacobi made some polite speech to her! do you know, mother, i think the sisters sit too much; it is in that way that people get such grave cathedral-like looks. we must make them take more exercise; we must find out some lively exhilarative exercise for them. and eva! how she is grown, and how kind and happy she looks! it is a real delight to see her--one can actually fall in love with her! but what in all the world is to be done with petrea's nose? it does, indeed, get so large and long, that i cannot tell what is to be done! it is a pity, though, for she is so good-hearted and merry. and leonore! how sickly and unhappy she looks at times! we must endeavour to cheer her up." "yes, that we will," said the mother; "if she were but healthy, we could soon manage that; but how does little gabriele please you?" "ah! she is very lovely, with her high-bred little airs--quite fascinating," said henrik. "and sara!" asked she. "yes," said he, "she is lovely--very lovely, i think; but still there is something, at least to my taste, very unpleasant in her. she is not like my sisters; there is something about her so cold, so almost repulsive." "yes," said the mother, sighing; "there is at times something very extraordinary about her, more particularly of late. i fear that a certain person has too great, and that not a happy, influence over her. but sara is a richly gifted and truly interesting girl, out of whom something very good may be made, if--if----she gives us, indeed, anxiety at times, for we are as much attached to her as if she were our own child. she has a most extraordinary talent for music--you must hear her. there really is much that is very distinguished and truly amiable in her; you will see it, as you remain so much longer time with us." "yes, thank god!" said henrik, "i can now reckon on that, on remaining some months at home." the conversation now turned on henrik's future prospects. his father wished him to devote himself to mining, and with this end in view he had studied, but he felt ever, more and more, a growing inclination to another profession, and this had become a ground of dissatisfaction in the family. the mother now besought her first-born to prove himself carefully and seriously before he deserted the path to which his father was attached, and which henrik himself had selected in common council with his father. henrik promised this solemnly. his soul was warm and noble. his young heart possessed every fine sentiment, a pure enthusiasm for virtue and for his country, a glowing desire to live for them, this belonged to his heart in the richest measure. the wish to be useful to the community generally, united itself with all his views of self-advantage, and he only saw his own prosperity in connexion with that of his family. these thoughts and sentiments poured themselves forth in that sweet confidential hour freely and fully to his mother--the happy mother, whose heart beat with joy and with proudest hope of her first-born, the favourite of her soul, her summer child! "and when i have made my own way in the world," added henrik, joyfully kissing the hand of his mother, "and have a house of my own, then, mother, you shall come to me, and live with me, will you not?" "and what would your father say to that?" said she, in a tone like his own. "oh! he has all the sisters who can keep house for him," said henrik, "and----" "do you intend to sit up here the whole night?" asked a voice at the door. it was the voice of the judge, and both mother and son rose up as if they had been caught in the fact of conspiracy. the conspiracy, however, was immediately imparted to the judge, whereupon he declared that all this would lead to such fearful consequences that they had better say no more about it. both mother and son laughed, and said "good night" to each other. but as henrik conveyed the hand of his mother towards his lips, he fell into a sort of ecstasy over it. "heavens! what a white hand! and what small fingers! nay, how can people have such small fingers?" and with a sort of comic devotion he kissed the little finger of that beautiful hand. "i see i must carry you off forcibly, if i would have you to myself," said the judge merrily, and taking his wife's arm in his, led her out. but her thoughts still hovered around her first-born, her handsome and richly endowed son. she uttered a glowing prayer for his perfecting in all good, whilst all were sleeping sweetly the first night in the new house. footnotes: [ ] a wild and animated swedish national dance. chapter ii. the morrow. how pleasant it must have been to the family the next morning to assemble round the amply-supplied breakfast-table in a handsome and spacious drawing-room. but drawing-room, and breakfast-table, and all outward comforts, signify nothing, if the inward are wanting; if affectionate dispositions and kind looks do not make the room bright, and the breakfast well-flavoured. but nothing was wanting on this morning to the family of the franks--not even the sun. it shone in brightly to illumine the bright scene. henrik made a speech to madame folette, in testimony of his love and reverence for her, and of his joy on meeting her again in so good a state of preservation. louise, with the help of eva, served tea and coffee, bread and butter, etc., taking particular care that everybody had just what they liked best. the basket which held sugar-biscuits was constantly in the neighbourhood of jacobi. "how glorious this is!" exclaimed henrik, rubbing his hands, and casting a glance of pleasure around on his parents and sisters, "it is quite paradisiacal! what does your majesty desire? ah, your most devoted servant! coffee, if i might ask it, excellent madame folette!" "after breakfast," said the mother, "i have something for you to guess." "something to guess?" said henrik, "what can it be? tell me, what is it like, sweet mamma? what name does it bear?" "a wedding," replied she. "a wedding? a most interesting novelty! i cannot swallow another morsel till i have made it out! jacobi, my best fellow, can i possess myself of a biscuit? a wedding! do i know the parties?" "perfectly well." "it cannot possibly be our excellent uncle munter, himself?" suggested he. "he seems to me very odd, and, as it were, a little touched in the heart." "oh, no, no! he'll not marry." "he is already so horribly old," said eva. "old!" exclaimed the judge. "he is something above forty, i fancy; you don't call that so horribly old, my little eva. but it is true he has always had an old look." "guess better," said the mother. "i have it! i have it!" said petrea, blushing. "it is laura! aunt evelina's laura!" "ah, light breaks in," said henrik; "and the bridegroom is major arvid g. is it not?" "precisely," said his mother. "laura makes a very good match. major g. is a very good-looking, excellent young man; and beyond this, has a good property. he has persuaded evelina to remove with karin to his beautiful seat at axelholm, and to consider laura's and his home as theirs for the future. eva dear, set the ham before henrik. what do you want, my angel gabriele? another rusk? heavens! how quick you are! leonore, may i give you some more bread and butter, my child? no?" "but i hope," exclaimed henrik, "that we shall be invited to the wedding. evelina, who is such a sensible woman, must have the good sense to invite us. most gracious sister queen-bee, these rolls--very nourishing and estimable rolls--were they baked before or after the flood?" "after," replied louise, a little piqued, yet with a smile. "oh! i humble myself in the dust," said he. "i pray your majesty most graciously to pardon me--[_aside_--but after all they taste remarkably either of the ark or of a cupboard]. but what in all the world sort of breakfast are you making, petrea? nay, dear sister, such, a superfluity in eating never can prosper. i pray you do not eat yourself ill!" petrea, who had her curious fancies, or as louise called them, her "raptures," had now for some time had the fancy to take only a glass of cold water and a piece of dry bread for her breakfast. on account of this abstinence, henrik now jested, and petrea answered him quite gaily; louise, on the contrary, took up the matter quite seriously, and thought--as many others did--that this whim of petrea's had a distant relationship to folly; and folly, louise--the sensible louise--considered the most horrible of horrors; louise, who was so very sensible! "now, really, you must not sit gossiping any longer!" exclaimed the father, when he saw their mouths only put in motion by conversation, "else i must go away and leave you; and i should very much like to go into the garden with you first." a general rising followed these words, and all betook themselves to the garden, with the exception of leonore, who was unwell, and the little gabriele, who had to be careful on account of the damp. in the mean time the garden had its own extraordinary circumstances, and all here did not go on in the usual mode; for although the place was yet not laid out, and the april snow covered the earth, and still hung in great masses on the low fruit-trees, which were the only wealth of the garden, yet these, not at all according to the commonly established laws of nature, were covered with fruit the most beautiful; rennets and oranges clustered the twigs, and shone in the sun. exclamations were uttered in every variety of tone; and although both jacobi and henrik protested that they could not discover any way of accounting for this supernatural phenomenon, still they did not escape the suspicion of being instrumental in the witchcraft, spite of all the means they used to establish their innocence. the opinion, however, was universally adopted, that good and not bad elves had been thus busily at work; and the fruit, therefore, was gathered without fear of bad consequences, and laid in baskets. the elves were praised both in prose and verse; and there never was a merrier harvest-feast. the judge had some trouble to get anybody to listen to all his plans of lilac-hedges, strawberry-beds, of his arbour, and his garden-house. the narrow space, however, in which he had to work troubled him. "if one could only get possession of the piece of land beyond this!" said he, striking with his stick upon the tall red-boarded fence which bounded one side of the garden. "look here, elise, peep through that gap; what a magnificent site it is for building--it extends down to the river!--what a magnificent promenade it would make, properly laid out and planted! it might be a real treasure to the whole city, which needs a regular walk in its neighbourhood; and now it lies there desolate, and useful to nobody, but only for a few cows, because the proprietor does not know how to make use of it; and our good men of the city have not public spirit enough to purchase it out of the common fund for the general good. if i were but rich enough to buy the place, it should soon have a different appearance, and instead of cows human beings should be walking there; these boards should be torn down, and our garden should be united to the great promenade. what a situation it would be!" "would not beehives answer very well here?" asked our sensible queen-bee; "the sun strikes directly on these boards." "you are perfectly right, louise," said her father, well pleased; "that is a good thought; this is an excellent place for beehives: to-morrow i'll see about some. two or three we must have, and that directly, that the bees may have the advantage of the apple and cherry bloom. thus we can see them working altogether, and learn wisdom from them, and watch how they collect honey for us. that will be a pleasure--don't you think so, elise?" elise rejoiced sincerely over the bees, and over the garden. it would give her great pleasure to lay it out. she would set provence-roses as soon as possible; and forcing houses also should be erected. eva thought she should give herself up to gardening. but it was necessary to leave for the present the future home of radishes and roses, because it was wet and uncomfortable out of doors. gabriele made large eyes when she saw the basketful of fruit which had been gathered in the garden. but the little princess turandotte could not unravel the riddle respecting them, as henrik presented it to her. the forenoon was spent in clearing away, and in arranging things in the house. sara alone took no part in it, but took lessons on the harp from a distinguished young musician of the name of schwartz, who had come a stranger to the city. she sate the whole morning at her music, which she loved passionately; in the mean time, petrea had promised to enact the part of lady's-maid to her, and to put all her clothes and things in order. henrik sate perfectly happy in his sisters' rooms, and nearly killed himself with laughing while he watched in part their clearing away and bustling about, and in part taking a share in all. the quantities of bundles of pieces, old bonnets, cloaks, dresses, etc., which were here in motion, and played their parts, formed a singular contrast to his student-world, in which such a thing as a piece of printed cotton or a pin might be reckoned quite a curiosity. then the seriousness with which all these things were treated, and the jokes and merriment which arose out of all this seriousness, were for him most delicious things. nothing, however, amused him more than louise and all her "properties," as well as the great care which, with a half-comic, half-grave earnestness, she took of them; but he declared solemnly that he would disclaim all relationship with her if ever he should see her wearing a certain pale green shawl, called jokingly "spinage," and a pale grey dress, with the surname of "water-gruel." none of the sisters had so many possessions as louise, and none treated them with so much importance; for she had in the highest degree that kind of passion which we will call property-passion. her bandboxes and bundles burst themselves out of the space in which she wished to stow them, and came tumbling down upon her head. she accused henrik of being guilty of these accidents; and certain it is that he helped her, not without some mischievous pleasure, to put them up again in their places. louise was well known in the family for her love of what was old; the more shabby a dress was, the more distinguished she seemed to think it; and the more faded a shawl, the more, according to her, it resembled a cashmere. this affection for old things extended itself sometimes to cakes, biscuits, creams, etc., which often occasioned henrik to inquire whether an article of a doubtful date had its origin before or after the flood. we will here add to the description of louise a few touches, which may make the reader more fully acquainted with her character. pure was she both in heart and intention, with great love of truth, and a high moral sense, although too much given to lecturing, and sometimes a little wanting in charity towards erring fellow-mortals. she had much of her father's understanding and prudence, but came, of course, far short of him in knowledge of mankind and in experience, although now, in her eighteenth year, she considered herself to have a perfect knowledge of mankind. the moral worth of her soul mirrored itself in her exterior, which, without her being handsome, pleased, and inspired a degree of confidence in her, because good sense expressed itself in her calm glance, and her whole demeanour was that of a decided and well-balanced character. a certain comic humour in her would often dissolve her solemn mien and important looks into the most hearty laughter; and when louise laughed, she bore a charming resemblance to her mother, for she possessed elise's beautiful mouth and teeth. she was as industrious as an ant, and in the highest degree helpful to those who were deserving of help, but less merciful than lafontaine's ants were to thoughtless crickets and their fellows. louise had three hobby-horses, although she never would confess that she had a single one. the first was to work tapestry; the second, to read sermons; and the third, to play patience, and more especially postillion. a fourth had of late began to discover itself, and that was for medicine--for the discovering and administering of useful family medicines; nay, she had herself decocted a certain elixir from nine bitter herbs, which henrik declared would be very serviceable in sending people to the other world. louise was no way disturbed by all this, for she did not allow herself to be annoyed by remarks. she prized, enjoyed, and sought, above all things, after "the right;" but she also set a high value on "respectability" and "property," and seemed to think that these were hers of course. she had the excellent peculiarity of never undertaking anything that she could not creditably get through with; but she had a great opinion of her own ability, in which her family participated, although they sometimes attempted to set her down. in the mean time she was in many instances the adviser and support of the family; and she had a real genius for the mighty department of housekeeping. the parents called her, with a certain satisfaction--the father with a secret pride--"our eldest daughter." the sisters styled her rather waggishly "our eldest sister," and sometimes simply "our eldest;" and "our eldest" knew exceedingly well how to regard her own dignity in respect to rank and priority. beyond this, she had a high idea of the value of woman. louise had an album, in which all her friends and acquaintance had written down their thoughts or those of others. it was remarkable what a mass of morality this book contained. we fear that our readers may be somewhat weary of hearing the names of sara, louise, eva, leonore, petrea, gabriele, repeated so often one after another, and we are very sorry that we find it unavoidable yet once more to present the whole array in connexion with louise. but we will see what little variety we can make by taking them at hap-hazard, and therefore now steps forward petrea. we are all of us somewhat related to chaos; petrea was very closely so. momentary bursts of light and long periods of confusion alternated in her. there was a great dissimilarity between louise and petrea. while louise required six drawers and more to contain her possessions, there needed scarcely half a one for the whole wardrobe of petrea; and this said wardrobe too was always in such an ill-conditioned case, that it was, according to louise, quite lamentable, and she not unfrequently lent a helping hand to its repair. petrea tore her things, and gave away without bounds or discrimination, and was well known in the sisterly circle for the bad state of her affairs. petrea had no turn for accumulation; on the contrary, she had truly, although louise would not allow it, a certain turn for art. she was always occupied by creations of one kind or another, either musical, or architectural, or poetical. but all her creations contained something of that which is usually called trash. at twelve years old she wrote her first romance: "annette and belis loved each other tenderly; they experienced adversity in their love; were at last, however, united, and lived henceforth in a charming cottage, surrounded with hedges of roses, and had eight children in one year," which we may call a very honourable beginning. a year afterwards she began a tragedy, which was to be called "gustavus adolphus and ebba brahe," and which opened with these verses spoken by one delagardie: now from germania's coast returned, i see again the much-loved strand; from war i come, without a wound, once more into my native land. say, bannér say, what woe has caused these tears, am i not true to thee, or is it idle hope alone that will befool my years? whether no sheet of paper was broad enough to contain the lengthened lines, or any other cause interfered to prevent the completion of the piece, we know not; but certain it is that it was soon laid aside. neither did a piece of a jocular nature, which was intended to emulate the fascinating muse of madame lenngren,[ ] advance much further--the beginning was thus: within the lordly castle elfvakolastie, which lay, in sooth, somewhere in sverge,[ ] there lived of yore the lovely melanie, the only daughter of count stjerneberge. at the present time petrea was engaged on a poem, the title of which, written in large letters, ran thus--"the creation of the world!" the creation of the world began thus: chaos. once in the depths etern of darkness lying, this mighty world waited expectantly the moments flying when light should be unfurled. the world was nothing then, which now is given to crowds of busy men; and all our beautiful star-spangled heaven was desolate darkness then; yet he was there, who before time existed, who will endure for ever. the creation of the world ceased with this faint glimmering of light, and was probably destined under petrea's hand never to be brought forth from chaos. petrea had an especially great inclination for great undertakings, and the misfortune to fail in them. this want of success always wounded her deeply, but in the next moment the impulse of an irresistibly vigorous temperament raised her above misfortune in some new attempt. the blood rushed up to her young head, and filled it with a mass of half-formed thoughts, fancies, and ideas; her mind and her character were full of disquiet. at times joyous and wild beyond bounds, she became on the other hand wretched and dispirited without reason. poor petrea! she was wanting in every kind of self-regulation and ballast, even outwardly; she walked ill--she stood ill--she curtseyed ill--sate ill--and dressed ill; and occasioned, in consequence, much pain to her mother, who felt so acutely whatever was unpleasing; and this also was very painful to petrea, who had a warm heart, and who worshipped her mother. petrea also cherished the warmest affection and admiration for sara, but her manner even of evidencing her affection was commonly so entirely without tact, as rather to displease than please the object of it. the consciousness of this fact embittered much of petrea's life; but it conducted her by degrees to a love in which tact and address are of no consequence, and which is never unreturned. sometimes petrea was seized with a strong consciousness of the chaoticness of her state; but then, again, at other times she would have a presentiment that all this would clear itself away, and then that something which was quite out of the common way would come forth; and then she was accustomed to say, half in jest and half in earnest, to her sisters, "you'll see what i shall turn out sometime!" but in what this extraordinary turning out should consist nobody knew, and least of all poor petrea herself. she glanced full of desire towards many suns, and was first attracted by one and then by another. louise had for petrea's prophesyings great contempt, but the little gabriele believed in them all. she delighted herself, moreover, so heartily in all that her sister began, that petrea sacrificed to her her most beautiful gold-paper temple; her original picture of shepherdesses and altars; and her island of bliss in the middle of peaceful waters, and in the bay of which lay a little fleet of nut-shells, with rigging of silk, and laden with sugar-work, and from the motion of which, and the planting of its wonderful flowers, and glorious fruit-bearing trees, petrea's heart had first had a foretaste of bliss. petrea's appearance imaged her soul;--for this too was very variable; this too had its "raptures;" and here too at times also a glimmering light would break through the chaos. if the complexion were muddled, and the nose red and swollen, she had a most ordinary appearance; but in cooler moments, and when the rose-hue confined itself merely to the cheeks, she was extremely good-looking; and sometimes too, and that even in her ugly moments, there would be a gleam in her eye, and an expression in her countenance, which had occasioned henrik to declare that "petrea was after all handsome!" to a chaotic mind, the desire for controversy is in-born; it is the conflict of the elements with each other. there was no subject upon which petrea had not her conjectures, and nothing upon which she was not endeavouring to get a clear idea; on this account she discussed all things, and disputed with every one with whom she came in contact; reasoned, or more properly made confusion, on politics, literature, human free-will, the fine arts, or anything else; all which was very unpleasant to the tranquil spirit of her mother, and which, in connexion with want of tact, especially in her zeal to be useful, made poor petrea the laughing-stock of every one; a bitter punishment this, on earth, although before the final judgment-seat of very little, or of no consequence at all. leonore. spite of the mother's embraces, and the appellation, "thou beloved, plain child!" the knowledge by degrees had come painfully to leonore that she was ugly, and that she was possessed of no charm--of no fine endowment whatever; she could not help observing what little means she had of giving pleasure to others, or of exciting interest; she saw very plainly how she was set behind her more gifted sisters by the acquaintance and friends of the family; this, together with feeble health, and the discomfort which her own existence occasioned to her, put her in a discordant state with life and mankind. she was prone to think everything troublesome and difficult; she fell easily into a state of opposition to her sisters, and her naturally quick temper led her often into contentions which were not without their bitterness. all this made poor leonore feel herself very unhappy. but none, no! none, suffer in vain, however for a while it may appear so. suffering is the plough which turns up the field of the soul, into whose deep furrows the all-wise husbandman scatters his heavenly seed; and in leonore, also, it already began to sprout, although, as yet, only under the earth. she was not aware of it herself yet; but all that she experienced in life, together with the spirit which prevailed in her family, had already awakened the beauty of her soul. she was possessed of deep feeling, and the consciousness of her many wants made her, by degrees, the most unpretending and humble of human beings; and these are virtues which, in private life, cannot be exceeded. if you come near a person of this character, the influence on you is as if you came out of the sun's heat into refreshing shadow: a soft coolness is wafted over your soul, which refreshes and tranquillises you at the same time. in the period at which we have now to meet leonore, she had just recovered from the scarlet fever, which had left behind it such an obstinate and oppressive headache as compelled her almost constantly to remain in her own room; and although her parents and her sisters visited her there, it afforded her but little pleasure, for as yet she had not learned how, by goodness and inward kindness, to make herself agreeable to others. but, poor leonore! when i see thee sitting there in deep thought, thy weak head supported by thy hand, sunk in sorrowful reflections, i am ready to lay thy head on my bosom, and to whisper a prophesying in thy ear--but this may as well remain to a future time. we leave thee now, but will return another time to thy silent chamber. and now step forth, thou, the joy and ornament of home, the beautiful eva! eva was called in the family, "our rose," "our beauty." there are many in the world like eva, and it is well that it is so; they are of a pleasing kind. it is delightful to look upon these blooming young girls, with smiles on their lips, and goodness and joy of life beaming from their beautiful eyes. all wish them so well, and they wish so well to all; everything good in life seems as if it came from themselves. they have favourable gales in life--it was so with eva. even her weakness, a desire to please, which easily went too far, and an instability of character which was very dangerous to her, exhibited themselves only on their pleasing side, within the circle of her family and of her acquaintance, and helped to make her more beloved. eva, although perhaps, strictly speaking, not beautiful, was yet bloomingly lovely. her eyes were not large, but were of the most exquisite form, and of the clearest dark blue colour, and their glance from under their long black lashes was at once modest, lively, and amiable. the silky chestnut brown hair was parted over a not lofty but classically-formed brow. her skin was white, fine, and transparent, and the mouth and teeth perfectly beautiful; add to all this, eva had the fine figure of her mother, with her light and graceful action. excellent health, the happiest temper, and a naturally well-tuned soul, gave a beautiful and harmonious expression to her whole being. whatever she did, she did well, and with grace; and whatever she wore became her; it was a kind of proverb in the family, that if eva were to put a black cat on her head it would be becoming. a similarity in understanding and talent, as well as companionship together, had made louise and eva hitherto "_les inseparables_," both at home and abroad; of late, however, without separating herself from louise, eva had been drawn, as it were, by a secret power to leonore. louise, with all her possessions, was so sufficient for herself. leonore was so solitary, so mournful, up there, that the good heart of eva was tenderly drawn towards her. but it seems to us as if gabriele looks rather poutingly, because she has been so long, as it were, pushed aside. _we_ will therefore hastily turn to the little lady. it did not please "our little lady" to be neglected at all. gabriele was, in truth, a spoiled child, and often made "_la pluie_" and the "_beau temps_" in the house. she was defended from cold, and wind, and rain, and vexation, and faddled with and indulged in all possible ways, and praised and petted as if for the best behaviour, if she were only gracious enough to take a cup of bouillon, or the wing of a chicken for dinner. she herself is still like the chicken under the mother's wing; yet she will sometimes creep from under, and attempt little flights on her own account. then she is charming and merry, makes enigmas and charades, which she gives mostly to her mother and petrea to guess. it gives her particular pain to be treated as a little girl; and nothing worse can happen to her than for the elder sisters to say, "go out just for a little while, gabriele, dear!" in order that they may then impart to each other some important affair, or read together some heart-rending novel. she will willingly be wooed and have homage paid to her; and the assessor is always out of favour with her, because he jokes with her, and calls her "little miss curlypate," and other such ugly names. learning and masters are no affairs of hers. she loves a certain "_far niente_," and on account of delicate health her tastes are indulged. her greatest delight is in dancing, and in the dance she is captivating. in opposition to petrea, she has a perfect horror of all great undertakings; and in opposition to louise, a great disinclination to sermons, be they by word of mouth or printed. the sun, the warm wind, flowers, but above all, beloved and amiable human beings, make gabriele feel most the goodness of the creator, and awaken her heart to worship. she has a peculiar horror of death, and will neither hear it, nor indeed anything else dark or sorrowful, spoken of; and, happily for gabriele, true parental love has a strong resemblance to the midsummer sun of the north, which shines as well by night as by day. if we turn from the bright-haired gabriele to sara, to "that africa," as the assessor called her, we go from day to night. sara was like a beautiful dark cloud in the house--like a winter night with its bright stars, attractive, yet at the same time repulsive. to us, nevertheless, she will become clear, since we possess the key to her soul, and can observe it in the following notices from sara's journal. "yesterday evening macbeth was read aloud; they all trembled before lady macbeth: i was silent, for she pleased me. there was power in the woman." "life! what is life? when the tempest journeys through space on strong free pinions, it sings to me a song which finds an echo in my soul. when the thunder rolls, when the lightning flames, then i divine something of life in its strength and greatness. but this tame every-day life--little virtues, little faults, little cares, little joys, little endeavours--this contracts and stifles my spirit. oh, thou flame which consumest me in the silent night, what wilt thou? there are moments in which thou illuminest, but eternities in which thou tormentest and burnest me!" "this narrow sphere satisfies _them_; they find interest in a thousand trifles; they are able to exert themselves in order to obtain little enjoyments for each other. well for them! i was made for something different." "why should i obey? why should i submit my inclination--my will, to gratify others?--why? ah, freedom--freedom!" "i have obtained 'volney's ruins' from s----. i conceal the book from these pious fearful people, who tremble at shadows; but to-night!--to-night!--when their eyes are closed in sleep, mine shall wake and read it. the frontispiece to this book gives me extraordinary pleasure. a wreck combats with stormy waves; the moon goes down amid black clouds; on the shore, among the ruins of a temple, sits a mussulman--a beautiful and thoughtful figure--and surveys the scene. i likewise observe it, and an agreeable shudder passes through me. a vast ruin is better and far more beautiful than a small and an empty happiness." "the book pleases me. it expresses what has long lain silent in me. it gives clear light to my dark anticipations. ah! what a day dawns upon me! a dazzling light that clears away all misty illusions, but my eyes are strong enough to bear it! let the net of prejudice, let the miserable bond of custom be rent asunder, let the fettering supports fall! my own strength is sufficient for me." "why am i a woman? as a man my life and my conduct would have been clear and easy; as a woman, i must bow myself in order to clear myself. miserable dependence! miserable lot of woman!" "i do not love s----, but he makes a certain impression upon me. the dark strength in his eye pleases me, the reckless strong will that will bow itself only to me; and when he takes the harp in his arms, with what powerful strength he compels it to express all that which the heart has dreamt and dreams. then he grasps the strings of my heart--then i acknowledge in him my master; but never, he shall never govern me. "his spirit is not powerful enough for that. he never can be other to me than as a means to my end. nor will i herein deceive him. i am too proud for a hypocrite. i know well whom i could love. i know well the man who could be the aim of my ambition." "nature never created me for this narrow sphere--for this narrow foot-track through life. s---- shows me another, which captivates my mind; i feel that i am created for it. "i have observed myself in the glass, and it tells me, as well as the glance of mankind, that i am handsome. my growth is strong, and accords with the character of my countenance. i cannot doubt the assurance of s----. my person, in connexion with the powers of my mind, and my talent, will ensure me a brilliant future." "what purpose would it serve to create illusions? away with all illusions! i stand upon a higher point than those around me--than they who consider themselves entitled to censure my faults, to exalt themselves in secret above me, perhaps because they have taken me out of compassion. taken me out of compassion! subjecting, humiliating thought! "yet, at the same time, they are good; yes, angelically good to me. i wish they were less so!" "to-night, now for the second time in my life, i have had the same extraordinary dream. it appeared to me that i was in my chamber, and saw in heaven vast masses of black cloud above my head driving towards the horizon, accompanied with a strong rushing sound in the air. "'save thyself, sara!' cried the voices of my sisters; 'come, come with us!' but i felt in my limbs that peculiar sluggishness which one perceives in dreams when one wishes to hasten. my chamber-window flew open before the tempest, and impelled by a strong curiosity i looked out. the sun stood opposite to me, pale, watery, without beams; but the whole firmament around me seemed to burn; a glow of fire passed over all things. before me stood a tall aspen, whose leaves trembled and crackled, whilst sparks of fire darted forth from them. upon one twig of the tree sate a huge black bird, looking on me with a fiery glance, and singing hoarsely and tunelessly, while the tempest and flame rioted around him. i heard the voices of my adopted mother and sisters anxiously calling on me from a distance ever further and further removed. "i leaned myself out of the window to hear what the black bird with the wonderful voice sang. i no longer had any fear. i awoke; but the dream has a charm for me." "the black bird sings to me, out of my dream. my adopted mother has wept to-day on my account. i am sorry for it, but----it is best that i go. they do not love me here--they cannot do it. they do not need me, nor i them any longer. it is best that we separate." thus sara. we will now cast a glance on the parents themselves, who were not greatly altered, excepting that elise's whole appearance exhibited much more health and strength than formerly. the energetic countenance of the judge had more wrinkles, but it had, besides, an expression of much greater gentleness. a slight, but perhaps not wholly unpardonable, weakness might be observed in him. he was completely captivated with his daughters. god bless the good father! footnotes: [ ] anna lenngren, a distinguished swedish poetess, admired especially for her idyls. she died in . [ ] sweden. chapter iii. the object. we must now say how the family grouped themselves in the new house. since the arrival of henrik and jacobi, the liveliness of the family had visibly increased, henrik zealously followed up his purpose of making his sisters take more active exercise, and jacobi assisted him with his whole heart. long walks were arranged, but, to henrik's annoyance, it seldom was possible to induce louise to take exercise of that kind which, according to his opinion, she needed so much. louise had always such a vast deal to do at home; sara lived only for her harp and her singing; leonore was not strong enough; and for gabriele, it was generally either too cold, or too dirty, or too windy, or she was not in the humour to walk. eva, on the contrary, was always in the humour, and petrea had always the desire to speed away. it was henrik's greatest pleasure to give one of his sisters his arm, especially when they were well and handsomely dressed. at seven o'clock in the evening all the members of the family assembled themselves in the library, where the tea-table was prepared, at which louise presided. the evenings were uncommonly cheerful, particularly when the family were alone. between tea and supper they either talked, or read aloud, or had music; after supper they mostly danced, and then louise exercised herself with remarkable grace. sometimes they had charades or social games. henrik and petrea had always some new flash of merriment or other. it was the greatest delight of the judge to see all his children around him, especially in an evening, and to see them happy too. the door of his study, which adjoined the library, always stood open, in an evening, and, whether he read or wrote there, he still was conscious of all that went forward among them. sometimes he would come out and take part in their entertainment, or would sit on the green sofa beside his wife, and watch the dance, rejoicing himself over his daughters, and sometimes was even taken out into the dance, where he was in much request. the young people remarked, that whatever might for the time occupy jacobi, he was somewhat absent and incomprehensible; he sighed frequently, and seemed rather to enjoy quiet conversation with the ladies than charades and other amusements. it was discovered, between henrik and petrea, that these fits of absence, and these sighs, must have an object; but it was a long time, that is to say, three or four days, before they could decide who it really was. "it cannot be our mamma," said petrea, "because she is married; and besides this, she is so much older than any of us, although, prettier than all of us together; and though master jacobi has such pleasure in talking with her, and conducts himself towards her as if he were her son, still it cannot be she. do you know, henrik, i fancy sara is the object--he looks at her so much; or perhaps eva, for he is always so lively with her; and i heard him say yesterday to uncle munter, that she was so uncommonly charming. but it is rather improper that he should pass 'our eldest' so!" henrik was greatly amused by petrea's difficulty and conjectures, for he had his own peculiar notions about the object, and by degrees petrea herself began to have a clearer foreknowledge, and to think that perhaps, after all, the true object might be no other than "our eldest" herself. after this insight into things, which petrea was not slow in circulating among her sisters, louise was called, in their jocular phraseology, "the object." all this while, however, "the object" herself appeared to pay very little attention to the speculations which had thus reference to herself. louise was at the present time greatly occupied by setting up a piece of weaving, and had in consequence, greatly to henrik's horror, brought again into use the dress surnamed "water-gruel." she had absolutely a sort of rage to wear out her old clothes--and as it happened, moreover, that the piece of weaving was of a pattern which was much perplexed and difficult to arrange, she assumed almost constantly the "cathedral demeanour," which occasioned her to look all the less attractive. but so it happened, jacobi looked a great deal at sara, joked with eva, and remained sitting beside louise, as if he found by her side only true happiness and satisfaction. in vain did petrea draw him into all kind of controversial subjects, in order to make him, during the contest, somewhat forgetful of "the object." he did not become abstracted; and it was particularly observable that the master had much less desire for disputation than the candidate had had; and when mrs. gunilla took the field against him more than once with a whole host of monads and nomads, he only laughed. now, indeed, jacobi had a favourite topic of conversation, and that was his excellency o----. the distinguished personal qualities of his excellency, his noble character, his goodness, his spirit, his commanding carriage, his imposing exterior, could not be sufficiently celebrated and exalted by jacobi; nay, even his broad lion-like forehead, his strong glance, and his beautiful patrician hands, were many a time described. jacobi had for some time been attached to his excellency as his secretary, and he had now the hope of his assistance in his future prospects. in the mean time his excellency had shown him the greatest kindness; had given him many opportunities of increasing his knowledge, and had offered to take him with him on a journey to foreign countries; besides all which, he had himself practised him in french. in one word, excellency o---- was the most excellent excellency in all the world, an actual excellentissimus. jacobi was devoted to him heart and soul, was rich in anecdotes about excellency o----, and in anecdotes which he had heard of his excellency. louise, more than any member of the family, had the property of being a good listener, and therefore she heard more than any one else of his excellency o----, but yet not alone of him; jacobi had always a something to relate to her, a something on which he wanted her consideration, and if louise were not too much occupied with her thoughts about the weaving, he was always quite sure, not only of her sincere sympathy, but of her most deliberate judgment, as well on moral questions as on questions of economical arrangement, dress, plans for the future, and so forth. he himself imparted to her good advice--which, however, was not often followed--for playing postillion. he drew patterns for her embroidery, and read aloud to her gladly, and that novels in preference to sermons. but he was not long permitted to sit in peace by her side, for very soon the seat on the other side of her was occupied by a person whom we will call "the landed-proprietor," from the circumstance of his most eminent distinction being the possession of an estate in the neighbourhood of the town. the landed-proprietor appeared to the candidate--we will for the future adhere to this our old appellation, for, in a certain sense, in this world, all men are candidates--quite disposed to make a quarrel about the place he was inclined to take. beside his large estate, the landed-proprietor was possessed of a large portly body, round cheeks, plump from excess of health, a pair of large grey eyes remarkable for their unmeaning expression, a little ruddy mouth, which, preferred eating rather than speaking, which laughed without meaning, and which now directed to cousin louise--he considered himself related to her father--sundry speeches which we will string together in our next chapter. chapter iv. strange questions. "cousin louise, are you fond of fish? for example, bream?" asked the landed-proprietor one evening as he seated himself beside louise, who was industriously working a landscape in her embroidery-frame. "oh, yes! bream is good fish," replied she, very phlegmatically, and without looking up from her work. "oh, with red-wine sauce," said the landed-proprietor, "delicate! i have magnificent fishing on my estate at oestanvik. big fellows of bream! i catch them myself." "who is that great fish there?" asked jacobi from henrik, with an impatient sneer, "and what matters it to him whether your sister louise likes bream or not?" "because in that case she might like him, _mon cher_," replied henrik; "a most respectable and substantial fellow is my cousin thure of oestanvik. i advise you to cultivate his acquaintance. well, now, gabriele dear, what wants your highness?--yes, what is it?--i shall lose my head about the riddle.--mamma dear, come and help your stupid son!" "no, no, mamma knows it already! mamma must not tell," exclaimed gabriele, terrified. "what king do you set up above all other kings, master jacobi?" for the second time asked petrea, who this evening had a sort of question mania. "charles the thirteenth," replied he, and listened to louise's answer to the landed-proprietor. "cousin louise, are you fond of birds?" asked the landed-proprietor. "oh, yes, particularly of fieldfares," answered louise. "nay, that's capital!" said the landed-proprietor. "there are innumerable fieldfares on my estate of oestanvik. i often go out myself with my gun and shoot them for my dinner; piff-paff! with two shots i have killed a whole dishful!" "don't you imagine, master jacobi, that the people before the flood were much wickeder than those of our time?" asked petrea, who wished to occupy the candidate, nothing deterred by his evident abstraction, and whom nobody had asked if she liked fieldfares. "oh, much--much better," answered jacobi. "cousin louise, are you fond of roast hare?" asked the landed-proprietor. "master jacobi, are you fond of roast hare?" whispered petrea, waggishly, to the candidate. "bravo, petrea!" whispered her brother to her. "cousin louise, are you fond of cold meat?" asked the landed-proprietor, as he handed louise to the supper-table. "should you like to be a landed-proprietor?" whispered henrik to her as she left it. louise answered exactly as a cathedral would have answered--looked very solemn, and was silent. petrea, like something let quite loose, after supper would not let anybody remain quiet who by any possibility could be made to answer her. "is reason sufficient for mankind?" asked she. "what is the foundation of morals? what is the proper meaning of revelation? why is the nation always so badly off? why must there be rich and poor?" etc., etc. "dear petrea," said louise, "what can be the use of asking such questions?" it was an evening for questions; there was not even an end to them when people separated for the night. "do you not think," asked the judge from his wife when they were alone together, "that our little petrea begins to be quite disagreeable with her perpetual questions and disputations? she leaves nobody at peace, and is at times in a sort of unceasing disquiet. she will, some time or other, make herself quite ridiculous if she goes on so." "yes," replied elise, "_if_ she goes on so; but i think she will not. i have observed petrea narrowly for some time, and do you know i fancy there is something out of the common way in that young girl." "yes, yes," said he, "in the common way she certainly is not; the merriment and the everlasting joviality which she occasions, and the comical devices that she has----" "yes," replied the mother, "do they not indicate a decided turn for art? and then she has a remarkable thirst for knowledge. every morning she is up between three and four, in order to read or write, or to work at her creation. it is, in fact, quite uncommon; and may not this unrest, this zeal to question and dispute, arise from a sort of intellectual hunger? ah! from such hunger, which many a woman for want of fitting aliment suffers through the whole of her life! from such an emptiness of the soul proceed unrest, discontentedness, nay, innumerable faults!" "i believe you are right, elise," said her husband; "and no condition in life is more melancholy, particularly in advanced years. but this shall not be the lot of my petrea--that we will prevent. what do you think now would be good for her?" "i fancy," said elise, "that a course of serious and well-directed study would assist in regulating her mind. she is too much left to herself, with her disarranged bent--with her enthusiasm and her attempts. i myself have too little knowledge to instruct her, you have too little time, and there is no one here who would undertake the guidance of her young unsettled mind. i am sometimes extremely grieved about her; for her sisters do not understand the workings of her mind, which i must confess sometimes give me pain. i wish i were better able to help her. petrea requires a ground on which to take her stand--as yet she has none; her thoughts require some firm holding-place; from the want of this comes her unrest. she is like a flower without roots, which is driven about by wind and wave." "she shall be firmly rooted; she shall find firm ground to stand upon, if such is to be found in the world!" said the judge, with a grave yet beaming eye, and striking his hand at the same time with such violence on a volume of west-gotha law, that it fell to the ground. "we will think about it," continued he; "petrea is yet too young for one to say with certainty what is her decided bent; but we will strengthen her powers! she shall no longer know hunger of any kind, so long as i live and can get my own bread. you know my friend, the excellent bishop b----. perhaps we can at first confide petrea to his guidance. after a few years we shall see----as yet she is only a child. but don't you think we might speak with jacobi, whether he could not read with her and talk with her--apropos! how is it with jacobi? i fancy he begins to think about louise." "yes, yes, you are not wrong," said elise; "and our cousin thure of oestanvik--have you remarked nothing there?" "yes, i did remark something," replied he. "the thousand! what stupid questions were those that he put to her! 'does cousin like this?' or, 'does cousin like that?' but i don't like that! not i! louise is not yet grown up, and already shall people come and ask her, does cousin like? nay, perhaps, after all it means nothing; that would please me best. what a pity it is, however, that our cousin thure is not more of a man! a most beautiful estate he has, and so near us." "yes, a pity," said elise; "because such as he is now, i am quite convinced louise would find it impossible to endure him." "you do not think she would like jacobi?" asked the father. "to tell the truth," returned she, "i think it probable she might." "nay," said he, "that would be very unpleasant, and very imprudent: i am very fond of jacobi, but he has nothing, and he is nothing." "but, my love," reasoned his wife, "he may become something, and he may get something. i confess, dear ernst, that he would suit louise better for a husband than almost any one else, and i would willingly call him son." "would you, elise!" exclaimed the judge, "then i suppose i must prepare myself to do the same. you have had most trouble, most labour, with the children, and you have, therefore, most to say in their affairs." "you are so good, ernst," said elise. "say reasonable--nothing more than reasonable," said he; "beyond this i have the belief that our thoughts and our inclinations do not differ much. i confess that i consider louise as a great treasure, and i know nobody whom, of my own will, i would confer her upon; still, if jacobi obtains her affections, i could not find in my heart to oppose a union between them, although, on account of his uncertain prospects, it would make me anxious. i am much attached to jacobi, and on henrik's account we have much to thank him for. his excellent heart, his honesty, his good qualities, will make him as good a citizen as husband and father, and he belongs at the same time to that class of persons with whom it is most pleasant to have daily intercourse. but, god forbid! i am talking just as if i wished the union, and i am a long way from that yet. i would much rather keep my daughters with me as long as they could feel themselves happy with me; but when girls grow up, one cannot reckon on peace. i wish all wooers and question-askers at jericho! now, we could live here as in a kingdom of heaven, since we have got all into such nice order--some little improvements, it is true, i could yet make, though things are well enough, if we could be at peace. i have been thinking that we could so easily make a wardrobe. see on this side, in the wall; don't you think that if we here opened----heavens! are you already asleep, my dear?" chapter v. an invitation. about this time the sisters of the house began to dream a great deal about conflagrations, and there was no end of the meanings of dreams, hints, little jokes, and communications among the sisters, none of whom dreamt more animated or more significant dreams than petrea. gabriele, who, in her innocence, did not dream at all, wondered what all this extraordinary talk about conflagration meant; but she could not learn much, for as often as she desired to have her part in the mysteries, it was said, "go out for a little while, gabriele dear." one evening sara, louise, eva, and petrea were sitting together at a little table, where they were deep in the discussion of something which seemed to possess extraordinary interest for them, when gabriele came and asked just for a little place at the table for herself and her books; but it was impossible, there was no room for the little one. almost at the same moment jacobi and henrik came up; they too sought for room at the circle of young ladies, and now see! there was excellent room for them both, whereupon gabriele stuck her little head between louise and petrea, and prayed her sisters to solve the following riddle: "what is that at which six places may be found, but not five?" the sisters laughed; louise kissed the little refined moralist; and petrea left the table, the gentlemen, and a political discussion, which she had begun with henrik, in order to sit on one side and relate to gabriele the travels of thiodolf, which was one of the greatest enjoyments of our little lady. "apropos!" cried henrik, "will there not be a wedding celebrated the day after to-morrow, to which we ought naturally to be invited.--n. b. according to my reckoning, aunt evelina has far less genius than i gave her credit for, if----" "aunt evelina stands here now ready, if possible, to vindicate her genius," said a friendly voice, and to the amazement of all aunt evelina stood in the middle of the room. after the first salutations and questions, evelina presented an invitation, not as henrik expected for the marriage, but for the entertainment after the marriage.[ ] laura's marriage with major g. was to be celebrated in the quietest manner, at her adopted mother's house, and only in the presence of a few relations. but the mother of the bridegroom, one of those joyous persons who in a remarkable manner lightens the world of its cares--and for which the world thanks them so little--one of those who, if possible, would entertain and make glad all mankind, and whom mankind on that account very willingly slanders;--she, the stout and cordial widow of a councillor of war, was determined to celebrate the marriage of her only and beloved son in a festive and cheerful manner, and to make the whole country partakers of the joy which she herself felt. the great marriage-festival was to last eight days, and already the great doors of axelholm were standing wide open to receive a considerable party of the notables of the place. the bride and bridegroom were to invite their respective friends and acquaintances, and commissioned now by the bride and her future mother-in-law, evelina brought a written invitation from her; she came now to beseech the family--the whole family, jacobi included, to honour the festivity with their presence; above all things, desiring that _all_ the daughters might come--every one of them was wanted for one thing or another. they reckoned on petrea, she said, who had a great turn for theatricals, to take a character in a play which was to be acted; and the others were wanted for dancing and for _tableaux vivants_. gabriele must allow herself to be made an angel of--and naturally they hoped, that out of all this the young people would find amusement. they wished and prayed that the whole family would establish themselves at axelholm, where everything was prepared for them during the whole time of the festival, and, if possible, longer, which would contribute so much to their friends' satisfaction there. pitt, fox, thiers, lafitte, platen, anckarsvärd, nay, one may even assert that all the orators in the world never made speeches which were considered more beautiful by their hearers, nor which were received with warmer or more universal enthusiasm than this little oration of aunt evelina. henrik threw himself on his knee before the excellent, eloquent aunt; eva clapped her hands, and embraced her; petrea cried aloud in a fit of rapture, and in leaping up threw down a work-table on louise; jacobi made an _entrechat_, freed louise from the work-table, and engaged her for the first _anglaise_ of the first ball. the judge, glad from his heart that his children should have so much enjoyment, was obliged, for his part, to give up the joyful festivity. business! judge frank had seldom time for anything but business! yet he would manage it so that at least he would take them there, and on the following day he would return. elise sent back her compliments, but could not take more than two, or at most three, of her daughters with her; evelina, however, overruled this, as did also her husband, who insisted that they _all_ should go. "perhaps," said he, "they may never have such another opportunity to enjoy themselves." seldom, indeed, does it happen that people beg and pray and counsel a mother to take all her six daughters with her. long may such counsellors live! but then it must be acknowledged, that the daughters of the franks were universally beloved on account of their kind, agreeable manners, and their many good qualities. elise must promise to take them all with her--sara, louise, eva, leon----no! it is true leonore could not go with her; the poor leonore must remain at home, on account of indisposition; and very soon, therefore, eva and petrea emulated each other as to which should remain with her. leonore declared coldly and peevishly that nobody should stay at home on her account; she needed nobody; she would much rather be alone; the sisters might all go, without hesitation; there was no fear of her not living through it! poor leonore had become changed by her sickness and her sedentary life;--her better self had become hidden under a cloud of vexation and ill-humour, which chilled the kindliness and friendliness that people otherwise would have shown to her. in the mean time there was a stir among the young people of the family; for much had to be bought, much to be made, and much to be put in order, that they might be able to make an honourable appearance at the marriage festival. what a review was there then of dresses, flowers, ribbons, gloves, etc.! what counsel-takings and projects regarding the new purchases! what calculations, so that the present of money which the good father had, all unsolicited, made to each daughter might not be exceeded. louise was invaluable to everybody; she had counsel and contrivance for everybody; besides all this, she was unwearied in shopping, and never disheartened in buying. she made very few compliments--would let them in a shop open all they had, if she wanted only an ell of cloth; and would go to twelve places in order to get a piece of ribbon cheaper or of better quality--she paid great regard to _quality_. according to her own opinion, as well as that of her family, she was an excellent hand at getting good bargains; that is, for obtaining good wares at unheard-of low prices. with all this our louise was held in great consideration in all the shops of the city, and was served with the greatest zeal and respect; whilst, on the contrary, petrea, who never bargained about anything, and always took that which was first offered to her, at all events when she was alone, was not esteemed in the least, and always obtained bad, and at the same time dear goods. true it is that petrea went a-shopping as little as possible; whilst louise, on the contrary, who took the difficult part of commissioner for all her friends and acquaintance, was about as much at home in a shop as in her own wardrobe. it was unanimously decided that sara, louise, and eva should all wear the same dress on the evening of the great ball at axelholm, which would be given on the day they arrived there; namely, that they should wear white muslin dresses, with pale pink sashes, and roses in their hair. petrea was enraptured by this project, and did not doubt but that her sisters would be universally known by the appellation of "the three graces." for her own part, she would willingly have been called venus, but, alas! that was not to be thought of. she studied her face in all the glasses in the house--"it is not so very bad-looking," thought she, "if the nose were only different." petrea was to appear at the ball in sky-blue; and "the little lady" was quite enraptured by the rose-coloured gauze dress which her mother was making for her. the toilet occupied every one, body and soul. footnotes: [ ] hemkommeöl, literally, coming-home-ale. the names of many of the domestic festivities of sweden remind us very much of those of our own old festivities; as church-ales, christening-ales, etc.: thus, barnsöl, the christening-feast; graföl, burial-feast; arföl, the feast given by the heir on descent of property, etc.--m. h. chapter vi. confusion. a fine mizzling rain fell without; and jacobi, with secret horror, beheld louise equipped in the "court-preacher," which became her so ill, ready to go out with eva, under shelter of the "family-roof," in order to make good bargains. in the mean time sara took her music lesson with schwartz, but had promised petrea to go out with her in the afternoon, in order to make good bargains likewise. "henrik!" said jacobi to his young friend, "i fancy that we too are going out on a 'good bargain' expedition. i want a pair of gloves, and----" "and perhaps we shall meet the sisters in the shop," said henrik, waggishly. "quite right," returned jacobi, smiling; "but, henrik, cannot you tell your sister louise that she should not wear that horrible black cloak? i declare she does not look as----indeed she does not look well in it." "don't you think that i have told her so already?" replied henrik. "i have preached so long against the 'court-preacher,' that he ought long ago to have been banished from respectable society; but it is all to no purpose. he has worked himself so completely into the good graces of our gracious oldest, that depend upon it, my brother, we must endure him all our lives long. and what think you? i almost fancy our cousin of oestanvik likes him!" "nay," said jacobi, "one can very well see that that creature has a wretched taste--a true hottentot taste!" "and is that the reason," remarked henrik, "that he likes louise?" "hum!" said jacobi. at dinner-time the bargaining young ladies came back, attended by the bargaining gentlemen, who had, after all, gone about peacefully with the "court-preacher." louise was quite full of glory; never in her whole life before had she made more lucky bargains. "look, sisters," said she, "this muslin for a crown-banco[ ] the ell! is it not a charming colour? i have saved in it alone twelve shillings.[ ] and see these ribbons which i have got for four-and-twenty shillings the ell--thirty were asked. are they not beautiful?--will they not look magnificently?--is it not a real discovery?--did you ever hear of anything like it? sara, if you will go to the same shop as i do, you will get all at the same price. i have made that agreement for you at three places: at bergvall's, and at Ã�ström's, and madame florea's for the flowers." sara thanked her, but said she had altered her plans; she did not intend to have the same dress as louise and eva, but another, which pleased her better. the sisters were astonished, and rather vexed; louise quite offended. had they not already agreed about it? what was to become of the three graces? sara answered, that the third grace might be whoever she would, but for her part she should not have that honour. the sisters thought her very ungracious. eva ran up to leonore in order to show her her purchases. "look at this rose, leonore," said she, "is it not very pretty? just as if it were natural! and these ribbons!" "yes, yes," said leonore, with a depressed voice, regarding these ornaments with a gloomy look; and then pushing them from her so hastily that they fell on the floor, burst into tears. eva was quite concerned; a book had fallen on her beautiful rose and had crushed it. for one moment eva shed tears over her flower, the next over her sister. "why have you done so, leonore?" said she; "you must be very ill, or are you displeased with me?" "no, no!" said poor leonore; "forgive me, and leave me." "why?" asked eva. "ah, do not weep--do not distress yourself. it was quite thoughtless of me to come here and----but i will bid farewell to all the magnificence; i will not go to the ball; i will stop at home with you, only tell me that you love me, and that you would like me to do so. just say so--say so!" "no, no!" said leonore, passionately, and turning away from the affectionate comforter; "i do not like it! you teaze me, all of you, with this talk of stopping at home on my account. i know very well that i am not such as any one would wish to please--i am neither merry nor good. go, eva, to those who are merry, and follow them. leave me, leave me in peace, that is all that i desire." eva retired weeping, and with the crushed rose in her hand. in the afternoon, when petrea was ready to go out on the promised expedition, she found sara also was in an ill-humour. she would go, but only on petrea's account; she had no intention of buying anything; she had not money enough wherewith to make purchases; she would not go to the festival; she could not have any pleasure if she did; nothing in the world gave one any pleasure when one had not things exactly to one's own wishes. petrea was quite confounded by this sudden change, and sought in all possible ways to discover the cause of it. "but why," asked she, with tears in her eyes, "will you not go with us?" "because i will not go," answered sara, "if i cannot go with honour, and in my own way! i will not be mixed up in a mass of every-day mediocre people! it is in my power to become distinguished and uncommon. that is now, for once, my humour. i will not live to be trammelled. i would rather not live at all!" "ah!" exclaimed petrea, who now comprehended what was working in sara, whilst her eyes flashed with sudden joy--"ah, is it nothing more than that? dear sara, take all that i possess; take it, i beseech you! do you not believe that it gives me a thousand times the pleasure if i see you happy and beautiful, than if i possessed the most glorious things in the world? take it, best, dearest sara! i pray you, on my knees, to take it, and then if there be enough you can buy what you like and go with us--else the whole splendour will be good for nothing!" "ah, petrea, and you?" asked sara. "ah," said petrea, "i'll just furbish up my gauze dress, and keep a little money for some ribbon, and then all is done; and as for the rest, it does not matter how i look. be only contented, sara, and do as i bid you." "but ought i? can i?" asked sara. "ah, no, petrea, i could not do it! your little all! and then it would not be sufficient." "ah, yes," said petrea, "make it sufficient. we can go to louise's shops, and one gets everything so cheap there. i shall never be happy again if you do not do as i pray you. see now, you are my good, dear sara! thank you, thank you! ah, now am i so light at heart! now i need not trouble myself about the blessed toilet. and that is a great gain for me!" the bird that sits on the swinging bough is not lighter of mood than petrea was as she went out with sara, who was far less cheerful, but who still had never been more friendly towards petrea. it went thus with petrea's purchase of ribbon:--in passing a gingerbread-booth she saw a little chimney-sweeper, who was casting the most loving glances on some purple-red apples, and petrea, with the money in her hand, could not resist the desire of making him a present of them, and felt more than rewarded as she saw the boy's white teeth shining forth from their black neighbourhood, first in smiles at her, and then as they attacked the juicy fruit. her own mouth watered at it, and as she now cast her eyes round the booth, and saw such beautiful bergamotte-pears--the favourite fruit of her mother--and such magnificent oranges, that would please leonore so much!--the result was, that petrea's reticule was filled with fruit, and the ribbon--for that there was not now money enough. "but," consoled herself petrea, "louise has such a deal of old ribbon--she can very well lend me some." petrea thought like all bad managers. when sara and petrea returned from the shopping expedition, louise saw directly that the things which sara had bought must far have exceeded her means; and besides this, louise justly thought that they were unseemly for a young girl of her station. she saw without saying one word the white silk; the blue gauze for the tunic; the beautiful white and yellow asters for the hair, and the other ornaments which sara, not without vanity, displayed. "and what have you bought, petrea?" now asked louise; "let us see your bargains." petrea replied, with a blush, that she--had bought nothing yet. not long afterwards petrea came to louise, and besought her, with a certain bashfulness, to lend her some ribbon. "good petrea," said louise, displeased, "i want my ribbons myself, and you have had money just as well as i or any of the others, to buy what you may want." petrea was silent, and tears were in her eyes. "i did not think, louise," said sara, hotly, "that you would have been so covetous as to refuse petrea some old ribbons which you are certain not to want yourself." "and i, sara," returned louise in the same tone, "i could not have believed that you would have so abused petrea's good-nature and weakness towards you as to take from her her little share, just to indulge your own vanity! it appears to me especially blameworthy, as it has led to expenses which far exceed the means of our parents." "sara did not desire anything from me," said petrea, with warmth; "i insisted upon it; i compelled her." "and above all, sara," continued louise, with stern seriousness, "i must tell you that the dress you have chosen appears to me neither modest nor becoming. i am quite persuaded that schwartz has induced you to deviate from our first project; and i must tell you, dear sara, that were i in your place i would not allow such a person to have such an influence with me; nor is this the only instance in which your behaviour to him has not appeared to me what it ought to be, not such as becomes the dignity of a woman, or what i should wish in a sister _of mine_. i am very sorry to say this." "oh, you are quite too good!" returned sara, throwing back her head, and with a scornful smile; "but don't trouble yourself, louise, for i assure you that it gives me very little concern what pleases you or what does not." "so much the worse for you, sara," said louise, "that you concern yourself so little for those who are your true friends. i, besides, am not the only one whom your behaviour to schwartz displeases. eva----" "yes, sara," interrupted eva, blushing, "i think too that you do not conduct yourself towards him as is becoming, for----" "sisters," said sara, with warmth and pride, "you cannot judge of what is seemly for me. you have no right to censure my conduct, and i will not endure----" "i think, too," said petrea, warmly, "that if our mother has said nothing, nobody else has any right----" "silence, dear petrea," said louise; "you are silly and blind to----" at this moment of disunion and confusion, when all the sisters were beginning to speak at once, and that with the tongues of indignation and reproof, a deep and mournful sigh was suddenly heard, which silenced all, and turned every eye to the door of the little boudoir. the mother stood there, with her hands clasped against her breast, pale, and with an expression of pain on her countenance, which sent a quick pang of conscience through the hearts of the daughters. as all remained silent, she came softly forward, and said, with a voice of emotion: "why? ah, why, my dear girls, is all this? no! now, no explanations; there is error and blame on one side, perhaps also on more. but why this bitterness, this incautious outbreak of injurious words? ah, you know not what you are doing! you know not what a hell sisters can make for one another, if they cherish such tempers. you know not how bitterness and harshness may grow among you to a dreadful habit; how you may become tormenting spirits to each other, and embitter each others' lives. and it could be so different! sisters might be like good angels the one to the other, and make the paternal home like a heaven upon earth! i have seen both the one and the other in families: a greater contrast is not to be found on earth. ah, think, think only that every day, nay, every hour, you are working to shape the future. reflect that you may gladden and beautify your lives, or embitter them, according as you now act. my dear girls, bethink you that it is in your power to make your parents, your family, yourselves, either very happy or very unhappy!" the daughters were silent, and were penetrated by the deep emotion which expressed itself in the words of their mother, in her pale countenance, and in her tearful looks. they felt strongly the truth of all that she had said. with a torrent of tears, petrea ran out of the room; sara followed her silently; eva threw herself caressingly on her mother's neck; but louise said: "i have only spoken the truth to sara. it is not my fault if it be unpleasant for her to hear it." "ah, louise!" returned her mother, "this is constantly said in the world, and yet so much division and hatred prevail between those who say it. it is the blind belief in our own faultlessness, it is the hard and assuming spirit of correction, which excite the temper, and make the truth unproductive of good. why should we present truth in a disfiguring dress, when she is in herself so pure and beautiful? i know, my dear girl, that you only wish to do that which is right and good, and whoever aims rightly at that object will not fail of the means also." "must i then dissimulate?" asked louise. "must i conceal my thoughts, and be silent respecting that which i think wrong? that may indeed be prudent, but it certainly is not christian." "become christian in temper, my child," said the mother, "and you will easily discover the means of doing what is right in a proper and effectual manner. you will learn to speak the truth without wounding; a truly pure, truly affectionate spirit wounds no one, not even in trifles. for that reason, one need not to be silent when one should speak, but----" "'_c'est le ton qui fait la chanson!_' is it not so? he, he, he!" interposed the shrill voice of mrs. gunilla, who had come in unobserved, and who thus put an end to the discourse. soon afterwards the assessor made his appearance, and they two fell into conversation, though not, as commonly, into strife with each other. mrs. gunilla lamented to him respecting pyrrhus; she was quite in trouble about the little animal, which had now for some time had a pain in the foot, which it always lay and licked, and which, spite of that and of other means, got rather worse than better. she did not know what she was to do with the little favourite. the assessor besought her, in the kindest manner, to allow him to undertake his treatment. he said he had always been much more successful in curing dogs than men, and that dogs were far more agreeable, and far nicer patients than their masters. mrs. gunilla thanked him much, and was heartily glad of his offer, and the following morning, she said, pyrrhus should be conveyed to him. the family assembled themselves for tea, and the quick eyes of mrs. gunilla soon discovered that all was not quite as it should be. "listen, now," said she, "my little elise. i know that there will be festivities, and balls, and banquets, given there at----_chose_! what do they call it? and of course the young people here should all be at them and figure a little. if there be any little embarrassments about the toilet in which i can help, tell me candidly. good heavens! one can imagine that easily. young girls!--a rosette is wanted here, and a rosette is wanted there, and one thing and another--heart's-dearest! it is so natural. i know it all so well. now tell me----" elise thanked her cordially, but must decline this offer; her daughters, she said, must learn betimes to moderate their desires to their means. "yes, yes," said mrs. gunilla, "but i must tell you, my dear friend, there is no rule without its exception, and if any trifles are wanted, so--think on me." mrs. gunilla was to-day in such a happy humour; she looked like somebody who was determined to make some fellow-creature happy. the assessor could not get into dispute with her. she rejoiced herself in the country, to which she should soon remove; in the spring which was at hand, and in the greenness which was approaching. the assessor rejoiced himself not at all. "what had one to rejoice about in such a hateful spring? it was quite impossible to live in such a climate, and it must be the will of our lord god that man should not live, or he would not have sent such springs. how could people plant potatoes in ice? and how otherwise could they be planted at all this year? and if people could get no potatoes, they must die of hunger, which was then perhaps the best part of the history of life." on her side, mrs. gunilla bethought herself that she would willingly live. "our lord god," she said, "would take care that people had potatoes!" and then she looked with an expression of cordial sympathy on the troubled and distressed countenances of the young girls. "when eva, dear, is as old as i," said she, patting her gently on her white neck, "she will know nothing more of all that which so distresses her now." "ah! to be sixty years old!" exclaimed eva, smiling, though with a tear in her eye. "you'll get well on to sixty--well on; he, he, he, he!" said mrs. gunilla, consolingly. "heart's-dearest! it goes before one thinks of it! but only be merry and cheerful. amuse yourselves at----_chose_! what do you call it? and then come and tell me all about it. do that nicely, and then i shall get my share of the fun though i am not there. that comes of the so-to-be envied sixty years, eva, dear! he, he, he, he!" the sun set bright and glorious. mrs. gunilla went to the window, and sent a little greeting towards the sun, whose beams, glancing through the trees of the opposite churchyard, seemed to salute her in return. "it looks as if one should have a fine day to-morrow," said mrs. gunilla to herself, gently, and looking very happy. people place youth and age opposite to each other, as the light and shade in the day of life. but has not every day, every age, its own youth--its own new attractive life, if one only sets about rightly to enjoy them? yes, the aged man, who has collected together pure recollections for his evening companions, is many degrees happier than the youth who, with a restless heart, stands only at the beginning of his journey. no passions disturb the coffee-cup of the other--no restless endeavours disturb the cheerful gossip of the evening twilight; all the little comforts of life are then so thoroughly enjoyed; and we can then, with more confidence, cast all our cares and anxieties on god. we have then proved him. footnotes: [ ] crown-banco, equal to one shilling and sixpence english money. [ ] a shilling swedish is equal to about one farthing english. chapter vii. disentangling. "there are certainly too many bitter almonds in this almond-mass; nothing tastes good to me this afternoon," said elise, who set down a glass of almond-milk, and sighed--but not for the almond-milk. "be pleased with us, dear mother," whispered eva, tenderly; "we are all friends again!" the mother saw it in their beautiful beaming eyes; she read it in louise's quiet glance as she turned round from the table, where she was helping sara with her tunic, and looked at her mother. elise nodded joyfully both to her and eva, and drank to them the glass of almond-milk, which now appeared to have become suddenly sweet, so pleased did she look as she again set down the glass. "mamma, dear," said gabriele, "we must certainly do something towards poor petrea's toilet, otherwise she will not be presentable." but louise took petrea's gauze-dress secretly in hand, and sate up over it till midnight, and adorned it so with her own ribbons and lace that it was more presentable than it had ever been before. petrea kissed her skilful hands for all that they had done. eva--yet we will, for the present, keep silent on her arrangements. but dost thou know, oh, reader!--yes, certainly thou dost!--the zephyrs which call forth spring in the land of the soul--which call forth flowers, and make the air pure and delicious? certainly thou knowest them--the little easy, quiet, unpretending, almost invisible, and yet powerful--in one word, human kindnesses. since these have taken up their abode in the franks' family we see nothing that can prevent a general joyful party of pleasure. but yes!--it is true-- petrea's nose! this was, as we have often remarked, large and somewhat clumsy. petrea had great desire to unform it, particularly for the approaching festivities. "what _have_ you done to your nose? what is amiss with your nose?" were the questions which assailed petrea on all sides, as she came down to breakfast on the morning of the journey. half laughing and half crying, petrea related how she had made use of some innocent machinery during the night, by which she had hoped somewhat to alter the form of this offending feature, the consequence of which had unfortunately been the fixing a fiery red saddle across it, and a considerable swelling beside. "don't cry, my dear girl," said her mother, bathing it with oatmeal-water, "it will only inflame your nose the more." "ah," burst forth poor petrea, "anybody is really unfortunate who has such a nose as mine! what in the world can they do with it? they must go into a convent." "it is very much better," said the mother, "to do as one of my friends did, who had a very large nose, much larger than yours, petrea." "ah, what did she do?" asked petrea, eagerly. "she made herself so beloved, that her nose was beloved too," said her mother. "her friends declared that they saw nothing so gladly as her nose as it came in at the door, and that without it she would have been nothing." petrea laughed, and looked quite cheerful. "ah," said she, "if my nose can but be beloved, i shall be quite reconciled to it." "you must endeavour to grow above it!" said the good, prudent mother, jestingly, but significantly. chapter viii. the day of the journey. on the morning of the important day all was in lively motion. the assessor sent eva a large bouquet of most remarkably beautiful natural flowers, which she immediately divided among her sisters. the judge himself, in a frenzy of activity, packed the things of his wife and daughters, and protested that nobody could do it better than he, and that nobody could make so many things go into one box as he could. the last was willingly conceded to him, but a little demur arose as to the excellency of the packing. the ladies asserted that he rumpled their dresses; the judge asserted that there was no danger on that account, that everything would be found remarkably smooth, and stood zealous and warm in his shirt-sleeves beside the travelling-case, grumbling a little at every fresh dress that was handed to him, and then exclaiming immediately afterwards, "have you more yet, girls? i have more room. do give me more! see now! that? and that? and that? and----now, in the name of all weathers, is there no end of your articles? give them here, my girls! let that alone, child! i shall soon lay it straight! what? rumple them, shall i? well, they can be unrumpled again, that's all! are there no smoothing-irons in the world? what? so, so, my girls! have you any more? i can yet put something more in." they were to set off immediately after dinner, in order to be at axelholm, which lay about two miles[ ] from the city, ready for the ball in the evening. by dinner-time all boxes were packed, and all tempers cleared, more especially that of the judge, who was so contented with his morning's work that he almost imparted his delight to those who at first were not altogether satisfied with it. petrea ate nothing but a pancake, with a little snow milk to it, in order that she might dance all the lighter. "above all things, my friends," prayed the judge, "be precise, and be ready at half-past three; the carriages come then to the door, do not let me have to wait for you." precisely at half-past three the judge went to the doors of his wife and daughters. "mamma! girls! it is time to go!" said he. "the clock has struck half-past three! the carriages are here!" "directly, directly!" was answered from all sides. the judge waited; he knew from experience what this "directly" meant. in the fever of his punctuality his blood began to boil, and he walked up and down the hall with great steps, talking with himself: "it is shocking, though," argued he, "that they never are ready! but i won't be angry! even if they make me angry, i will not spoil their pleasure. but patience is necessary, more than job had!" whilst he was thus moralising with himself, he heard the voice of his wife saying, with decision, in the library, "come now, dear girls! in heaven's name, don't keep the father waiting! i know, indeed, how it annoys him----!" "but he said nothing the day before yesterday," petrea's voice was heard to return, "though he had then to wait for us. (i can't think what i have done with my gloves!)" "and precisely on that account he shall not wait a moment longer for us," said the mother; "and never again, if i can help it; so, if you are not ready girls, i shall run away without you!" the mother ran, and all the daughters ran merrily after her. the father remarked with pleasure, that love has a far more effectual power than fear, and all were soon seated in the carriage. we will allow them to roll away, and will now pay a little visit to leonore's chamber. leonore sate solitary. she supported her sick head on her hand. she had impelled herself to answer kindly the leave-taking kiss of her mother and sisters; she had seen how they sought to repress their joy before her; and she had particularly remarked a sort of half-concealed roguish joy in the glance which was exchanged between eva and her mother, which had pained her. she had heard their happy voices on the stairs, and then the driving away of the carriages. now they were gone; now all was still and desolate in the house, and large tears traced their way down leonore's cheeks. she seemed to herself so forlorn, so uncared for, so solitary in the world! at that moment the door was softly opened, a smiling face looked in, and a light fascinating figure sprang forward through the chamber towards her, kissed her, laughed, and glanced with roguish and ardent affection into her astonished face. "eva!" exclaimed leonore, scarcely trusting her eyes; "eva, are you here? how! whither came you? are you not gone with the others?" "no, as you see," returned eva, embracing her, laughing, and looking quite happy; "i am here, and mean to stay here." "but why? what is the meaning of it?" asked leonore. "because i would much rather remain here with you than go anywhere else," said eva. "i have bid axelholm with all its splendours good day." "ah! why have you done so? i would much rather you had not!" said leonore. "see you! i knew that," returned her sister, "and therefore i put on a travelling dress, like the rest, and took leave of you with them. i wanted to take you by surprise, you see. you are not angry with me, are you? you must now be contented with it--you can't get rid of me! look a little happy on me, leonore!" "i cannot eva," said leonore, "because you have robbed yourself of a great pleasure on my account, and i know that it must have been difficult for you. i know that i am neither agreeable nor pleasing, and that you cannot love me, nor yet have pleasure with me, and on that account i cannot have pleasure in your sacrifice. it becomes you to be with the joyful and the happy. ah! that you had but gone with them!" "do not talk so, unless you would make me weep," said eva; "you do not know how the thought of giving up all these festivities in order to remain alone with you has given me pleasure for many days, and this precisely because i love you, leonore! yes, because i feel that i could love you better than all the rest! nay, do not shake your head--it is so. one cannot help one's feelings." "but why should you love me?" argued the poor girl; "i am, indeed, so little amiable, nobody can endure me, nobody has pleasure in me; i would willingly die. ah! i often think it would be so beautiful to die!" "how can you talk so, leonore?" said her sister; "it is not right! would you wish such horrible grief to papa and mamma, and me, and all of us?" "ah!" said leonore, "you and the sisters would soon comfort yourselves. mamma does not love me as much as any of you others; nor papa either. ottil r. said the other day that everybody talked of it--that i was beloved neither by father nor mother." "fie!" exclaimed eva, "that was wicked and unjust of ottil. i am quite certain that our parents love us all alike. have you ever observed that they unjustly make any difference between us?" "that i never have," said leonore; "they are too good and perfect for that. but, do you think i have not observed with how different an expression my father regards me to that with which he looks on you or louise? do you think that i do not feel how cold, and at times constrained, is the kiss which my mother gives me, to the two, the three, yes, the many, which, out of the fulness of her heart, she gives to you or to gabriele? but i do not complain of injustice. i see very well that it cannot be otherwise. nature has made me so disagreeable, that it is not possible people can bear me. ah! fortunate indeed are they who possess an agreeable exterior! they win the good-will of people if they only show themselves. it is so easy for them to be amiable, and to be beloved! but difficult, very difficult is it for those who are ill-favoured as i!" "but, dear leonore, i assure you, you are unjust towards yourself. your figure, for example, is very good; your eyes have something so expressive, something at the same time so soft and so earnest; your hair is fine, and is of a beautiful brown;--it would become you so if it were better dressed; but wait awhile, when you are better i will help you to do it, and then you shall see." "and my mouth," said poor leonore, "that goes from ear to ear, and my nose is so flat and so long--how can you mend that?" "your mouth?" replied eva, "why yes, it is a little large; but your teeth are regular, and with a little more care, would be quite white. and your nose?--let me see--yes, if there were a little elevation, a little ridge in it, it would be quite good, too! let me see, i really believe it begins to elevate itself!--yes, actually, i see plainly enough the beginning of a ridge! and do you know, if it come, and when you are well, and have naturally a fresh colour, i think that you will be really pretty!" "ah! if i can ever believe that!" said leonore, sighing, at the same time that an involuntary smile lit up her countenance. "and even if you are not so very lovely," continued eva, "you know that yet you can be infinitely agreeable; you have something peculiarly so in your demeanour. i heard papa say so this very day to mamma." "did he really say so?" said leonore, her countenance growing brighter and brighter. "yes, indeed he did!" replied her sister. "but, ah! leonore, after all, what is beauty? it fades away, and at last is laid in the black earth, and becomes dust; and even whilst it is blooming, it is not all-sufficient to make us either beloved or happy! it certainly has not an intrinsic value." never was the power of beauty depreciated by more beautiful lips! leonore looked at her and sighed. "no, leonore," continued she, "do not trouble yourself to be beautiful. this, it is true, may at times be very pleasant, but it certainly is not necessary to make us either beloved or happy. i am convinced that if you were not in the least prettier than you are, yet that you might if you would, in your own peculiar way, be as much in favour and as much beloved as the prettiest girls in the world." "ah!" said leonore, "if i were only beloved by my nearest connexions! what a divine thing it must be to be beloved by one's own family!" "but that you can be--that you will be, if you only will! ah! if you only were always as you are sometimes--and you are more and more so--and i love you more and more--infinitely i love you!" "oh, beloved eva," said leonore, deeply affected, whilst she leaned herself quietly on her sister, "i have very little deserved this from you; but, for the future, i will be different--i will be such as you would have me. i will endeavour to be good and amiable." "and then you will be so lovely, so beloved, and so happy!" said eva, "that it would be a real delight. but now you must come down into louise's and my room. there is something there for you; you must change the air a little. come, come!" "ah, how charming!" was leonore's exclamation as she entered eva's chamber; and in fact nothing could be imagined more charming than that little abode of peace, adorned as it now was by the coquetry of affection. the most delicious odour of fruit and flowers filled the air, and the sun threw his friendly beams on a table near the sofa, on which a basket filled with beautiful fruit stood enticingly in the midst of many pretty and tastefully arranged trifles. "here, dear leonore," said eva, "you will remain during this time. it will do you good to leave your room a little. and look, they have all left you an offering! this gothic church of bronze is from jacobi. it is a lamp! do you see? light comes through the church window;--how beautiful! we will light it this evening. and this fruit here--do you see the beautiful grapes? all these are a plot between henrik and petrea. the copperplate engravings are from my father; louise has worked you the slippers; and the little lady, she----" leonore clasped her hands. "is it possible," said she, "that you all have thought so much about me! how good you are--ah, too good!" "nay, do not weep, sweet leonore," said eva; "you should not weep, you should be joyful. but the best part of the entertainment remains yet behind. do you see this new novel of miss edgeworth's? mamma has given us this, for us to read together. i will read to you aloud till midnight, if you will. a delicate little supper has been prepared for us by louise, and we shall sup up here. we'll have a banquet in our own way. take now one of those big grapes which grow two on one stem, and i will take the other. the king's health! oh, glorious!" whilst the two sisters are banqueting at their own innocent feast, we will see how it goes on in the great company at axelholm. things are not carried on in so enviably easy and unconstrained a manner at every ball as at that of the citizens in the good little city of * * * ping, where one saw the baker's wife and the confectioner's wife waltzing together, but altogether in a wrong fashion, to which the rest only said, "it does not signify, if they only go on!" oh, no! such simplicity as that is very rarely met with, and least of all among those of whom we write. at axelholm, as at other great balls, the rocky shores of conventionality made it impossible to move without a thousand ceremonies, proprieties, dubiosities, formalities, and all the rest, which, taken together, make up a vast sum of difficulties. the great ball at axelholm was not without pretension, and on that account not without its stiff difficulties. among these may be reckoned that several of the young gentlemen considered themselves too old, or too----to dance at all, and that, in consequence, many of the dance-loving ladies could not dance at all either, because, on account of the threatening eye-glasses of the gentlemen, they had not courage to dance with one another. nevertheless the scene looked like one of pure delight. the great saloon so splendidly lighted, and a vast assembly collected there! it is now the moment just before the dancing begins; the gentlemen stand in a great group in the middle of the room, spreading themselves out in direct or wavy lines towards the circle of ladies. these sit, like flowers in the garden beds, on the benches round the room, mostly in bashful stillness; whilst a few, in the consciousness of zephyr-like lightness, float about the room like butterflies. all look happy; all talk one with another, with all that animation, that reciprocal good-will, which the sight of so much beauty, united to the consciousness that they themselves are wearing their best looks, as well as the expectation of pleasure, infuses. now the music begins to sound; now young hearts beat with more or less disquiet; now go the engaged ones, amid the jostlings of the servants, who are perpetually soliciting the young ladies to partake of the now disdained tea. there one saw several young girls numerously surrounded, who were studying the promised dances which were inscribed on the ivory of their fans, declining fervent solicitations for the third, fourth, fifth--nay, even up to the twelfth dance; but, fascinatingly-gracious, promising themselves for the thirteenth, which perhaps may never be danced; whilst others in their neighbourhood sit quiet and undisturbed, waiting for the first invitation, in order thereto to say a willing and thankful yes. among the many-surrounded and the much-solicited, we may see sara and even louise. with these emulated the three misses aftonstjerna--isabella, stella, and aurora--who stood constantly round the chair of the countess solenstrÃ¥le, which was placed before the great mirror at the far end of the saloon. among those who sat expectantly, in the most beautiful repose, we shall discover our petrea, who nevertheless, with her bandeau of pearls in her hair, and a certain bloom of innocence and goodness in her youthful countenance, looked uncommonly well. her heart beat with an indescribable desire to be engaged. "ah!" sighed she, as she saw two most elegant young men, the two brothers b----, walking round the circle of ladies, with their eye-glasses in their hands. their eye-glasses rested for a moment on petrea; the one whispered something in the ear of the other; both smiled, and went on. petrea felt humiliated, she knew not why. "now!" thought she, as lieutenant s---- approached her quickly. but lieutenant s---- came to engage miss t----, and petrea remained sitting. the music played the liveliest _anglaise_, and petrea's feet were all in agitation to be moving. "ah!" thought she, "if i were but a man i would engage petrea." the _anglaise_ streamed past petrea's nose. "where is eva?" asked jeremias munter, in a hasty and displeased tone, from louise, in the pause between the _anglaise_ and the waltz. "she has remained at home with leonore," said louise; "she was determined upon it." "how stupid!" exclaimed he; "why did i come here then." "nay, that i really cannot tell!" returned louise, smiling. "not!" retorted the assessor. "now then i will tell you, sister louise, i came here entirely to see eva dance--solely and altogether on that account, and for nothing else. what a stupid affair it was that she should stop at home! you had a great deal better, all the rest of you, have stopped at home together; you yourself, dear sister, reckoned into the bargain! petrea, there! what has she to do here? she was always a vexation to me, but now i cannot endure her, since she has not understanding enough to stay at home in eva's place; and this little curly-pate, which must dance with grown people just as if she were a regular person; could not she find a piece of sugar to keep her at home, instead of coming here to be in a flurry! you are all wearisome together; and such entertainments as these are the most horrible things i know." louise floated away in the waltz with jacobi, laughing over this sally; and the countess solenstrÃ¥le, the sun of the ball, said as she passed her chair, "charmant, charmant!" besides this couple, who distinguished themselves by their easy harmonious motion, there was another, which whirled past in wild circles, and drew all eyes upon them likewise: this was sara and the boisterous schwartz. her truly beaming beauty, her dress, her haughty bearing, her flashing eyes, called forth a universal ah! of astonishment and admiration. petrea forgot that she was sitting while she looked upon her. she thought that she had never seen anything so transporting as sara in the whirl of the dance. but the countess solenstrÃ¥le, as she sate in her chair, said of this couple--nothing; nay, people even imagined that they read an expression of displeasure in her countenance. the misses aftonstjerna sailed round with much dignity. "my dear girl," said elise kindly, but seriously, to sara after the waltz, "you must not dance thus; your chest will not allow it. how warm you are! you really burn!" "it is my climate," answered sara; "it agrees with me excellently." "i beseech you sit this dance. it is positively injurious to you to heat yourself thus," said elise. "this dance?" returned sara; "impossible! i am engaged for it to colonel h----." "then, do not dance the next," besought elise; "if you would do me a pleasure, do not dance it with schwartz. he dances in such a wild manner as is prejudicial to the health; besides which, it is hardly becoming." "it gives me pleasure to dance with him," answered sara, both with pride and insolence, as she withdrew; and the mother, wounded and displeased, returned to her seat. the countess solenstrÃ¥le lavished compliments on elise on account of her children. "they are positively the ornament of the room," said she;--"_charmant!_ and your son a most prepossessing young man--so handsome and _comme il faut_! a charming ball!" isabella aftonstjerna threw beaming glances on the handsome henrik. "what madness this dancing is!" said mr. munter, as with a strong expression of weariness and melancholy he seated himself beside evelina. "_nay_, look how they hop about and exert themselves, as if without this they could not get thin enough; then, good heavens! how difficult it seems, and how ugly it is! as if this could give them any pleasure! for some of them it seems as if it were day-labour, and as if it were a frenzy to others; and for a third, a kind of affectation; nay, i must go my ways, for i shall become mad or splenetic if i look any longer on this super-extra folly!" "if eva frank were dancing too, you would not think it so," said evelina, with a well-bred smile. "eva!" repeated he, whilst a light seemed to diffuse itself over his countenance, and his eyes suddenly beamed with pleasure--"eva! no! i believe so too. to see her dance is to see living harmony. ah! it enlivens my mind if i only see her figure, her gait, her slightest movement; and then to know that all this harmony, all this beauty, is not mere paint--not mere outside; but that it is the true expression of the soul! i find myself actually better when i am near her; and i have often a real desire to thank her for the sentiments which she instils into me. in fact, she is my benefactress; and i can assure you that it reconciles me to mankind and to myself, that i can feel thus to a fellow-creature. i cannot describe how agreeable it is, because commonly there is so much to vex oneself about in this so-called masterpiece of the creator!" "but, best friend," said evelina, "why are you so vexed? most people have still----" "ah, don't go and make yourself an _ange de clémence_ for mankind," said he, "in order to exalt secretly yourself over me, otherwise i shall be vexed with you; and you belong to the class that i can best endure. why do i vex myself? what a stupid question! why are people stupid and wearisome, and yet make themselves important with their stupidity? and wherefore am i myself such a melancholy personage, worse than anybody else, and should have withal such a pair of quick eyes, as if only on purpose to see the infirmities and perversions of the world? there may, however, in my case be sufficient reason for all this. when one has had the fancy to come into the world against all order and christian usage; has seen neither father nor mother beside one's cradle; heard nothing, seen nothing, learned nothing, which is in the least either beautiful or instructive--one has not entered upon life very merrily. and then, after all, to be called munter![ ] good heavens! munter! had i been called blannius, or skarnius, or brummerius, or grubblerius, or rhabarberius, there might have been some sense in the joke; but munter! i ask you now, is it not enough to make a man splenetic and melancholy all the days of his life? and then, to have been born into the world with a continual cold, and since then never to have been able to look up to heaven without sneezing--do you find that merry or edifying. well, and then! after i had worked my way successfully through the schools, the dust of books, and the hall of anatomy, and had come to hate them all thoroughly, and to love that which was beautiful in nature and in art, am i to thank my stars that i must win my daily bread by studying and caring for all that is miserable and revolting in the world, and hourly to go about among jaundice, and colic, and disease of the lungs? on this account i never can be anything but a melancholy creature! yes, indeed, if there were not the lilies on the earth, the stars in heaven, and beyond all these some one being who must be glorious--and were there not among mankind the human-rose eva--the beautiful, fascinating eva, then----" he paused; a tear stood in his eye; but the expression of his countenance soon was changed when he perceived no less than five young girls--they danced now the "free choice"--and among them the three enchanting miss aftonstjernas, who, all locked together, came dancing towards him with a roguish expression. he cast towards them the very grimmest of his glances, rose up suddenly, and hastened away. sara danced the second waltz with schwartz, yet wilder than the first. elise turned her eyes away from her with inward displeasure; but petrea's heart beat with secret desire for a dance as wild, and she followed their whirlings with sparkling eyes. "oh," thought she, "if one could only fly through life in a joyful whirl like that!" it was the sixth dance, and petrea was sitting yet. she felt her nose red and swollen. "see now!" thought she, "farewell to all hopes of dancing! it must be that i am ugly, and nobody will look at me!" at the same moment she was aware of the eye of her mother fixed upon her with a certain expression of discomfort, and that glance was to her like a stab at the heart; but the next moment her heart raised itself in opposition to that depressing feeling which seemed about to overcome her. "it is unpleasant," thought she, "but it cannot be altered, and it is no fault of mine! and as nobody will give me any pleasure, i will even find some for myself." scarcely had petrea made this determination, than she felt herself quite cheered; a spring of independence and freedom bubbled up within her; she felt as if she were able even to take down the chandelier from the ceiling, and all the more so when she saw so many life-enjoying people skipping around her. at this moment an old gentleman rose up from a bench opposite petrea, with a tea-cup in his hand. in a mania of officiousness she rushed forward in order to assist him in setting it aside. he drew himself back, and held the cup firmly, whilst petrea, with the most firm and unwearying "permit me, sir," seemed determined to take it. the strife about the cup continued amid the unending bows of the gentleman, and the equally unending curtseys of petrea, until a passing waltzing couple gave a jostle, without the least ceremony whatever to the compliment-makers, which occasioned a shake of the tea-cup, and revealed to petrea the last thing in the world which she had imagined, that the cup was not empty! shocked and embarrassed, she let go her hold, and allowed the old gentleman, with what remained of his cup of tea, to go and find out for himself a securer place. petrea seated herself, she hardly knew how, on a bench near an elderly lady, who looked at her very good-naturedly, and who helped very kindly to wipe off the ablution of tea which she had received. petrea felt herself quite confidential with this excellent person, and inquired from her what was her opinion of swedenborg, beginning also to give her own thoughts on spectral visions, ghosts, etc. the lady looked at her, as if she thought she might be a little deranged, and then hastened to change her place. a stout military gentleman sat himself down ponderously, with a deep sigh, on the seat which the old lady had left, as if he were saying to himself, "ah, thank god! here i can sit in peace!" but, no! he had not sate there three minutes and a half when he found himself called upon by petrea to avow his political faith, and invited by her to unite in the wish of speedy war with russia. lieutenant-colonel uh----turned rather a deaf ear to the battery by which his neighbour assailed him, but for all that he probably felt it not the less heavy, because after several little sham coughs he rose up, and left our petrea alone with her warlike thoughts. she also rose, from the necessity she felt of looking elsewhere for more sympathy and interest. "in heaven's name, dear petrea, keep your seat!" whispered louise, who encountered her on her search for adventures. petrea now cast her eyes on a young girl who seemed to have had no better dancing fortune than herself, but who seemed to bear it much worse, appeared weary of sitting, and could hardly refrain from tears. petrea, in whose disposition it lay to impart to others whatever she herself possessed--sometimes overlooking the trifling fact that what she possessed was very little desired by others--and feeling herself now in possession of a considerable degree of prowess, wished to impart some of the same to her companion in misfortune, and seated herself by her for that purpose. "i know not a soul here, and i find it so horribly wearisome," was the unasked outpouring of soul which greeted petrea, and which went directly to her sympathising heart. petrea named every person she knew in the company to the young unfortunate, and then, in order to escape from the weight of the present, began to unfold great plans and undertakings for the future. she endeavoured to induce her new acquaintance to give her her _parole d'honneur_ that she would sometime conduct a social theatre with her, which would assist greatly to make social life more interesting; and further than that, that they should establish together a society of sisters of charity in sweden, and make a pilgrimage to jerusalem; furthermore, that they would write novels together; and that on the following day, or more properly in the night, they would rise at half-past two o'clock, and climb to the top of a high mountain in order to see the sun rise; and finally, after all these, and sundry other propositions, petrea suggested to her new acquaintance a thee-and-thou friendship between them! but, ah! neither petrea's great prowess, nor her great plans; neither the social theatre, nor the pilgrimage to jerusalem, least of all the thee-and-thou friendship, availed anything towards enlivening the churlish young girl. petrea saw plainly that an invitation to dance would avail more than all her propositions, so, sighing deeply because she was not a man to offer so great a pleasure, she rose up, and left the object of her vain endeavours. she looked round for a new subject, and her eye fell on the countess solenstrÃ¥le. petrea was dazzled, and became possessed of the frenzied desire to become acquainted with her, to be noticed by her; in short, in some kind of way to approach the sun of the ball, fancying thereby that a little glory would be reflected upon herself. but how was she to manage it? if the countess would but let fall her handkerchief, or her fan, she might dart forward and pick it up, and then deliver it to her with a compliment in verse. petrea, hereupon, began to improvise to herself; there was something, of course, about the sun in it. undoubtedly this would delight the countess, and give occasion to more acquaintance, and perhaps--but, ah! she dropped neither handkerchief nor fan, and no opportunity seemed likely to occur in which she could make use of her poem with effect. in the mean time she felt drawn as by a secret influence (like the planet to the sun) ever nearer and nearer to the queen of the saloon. the aftonstjernas were now standing, beaming around her, bending their white and pearl-ornamented necks to listen to her jesting observations, and between whiles replying with smiles to the politeness and solicitations of elegant gentlemen. it looked magnificent and beautiful, and petrea sighed from the ardent longing to ascend to the _haute volée_. at this moment jacobi, quite warm, came hastening towards her to engage her for the following quadrille. petrea joyfully thanked him; but suddenly reddening to the resemblance of a peony with her mania of participation, she added, "might i accept your invitation for another person? do me the great pleasure to ask that young girl that sits there in the window at our left." "but why?" asked jacobi; "why will not you?" "i earnestly beseech you to do it!" said petrea. "it would give me greater pleasure to see her dancing than if i danced myself." jacobi made some friendly objections, but did in the end as she requested. it was a great pleasure to petrea to perceive the influence of this engagement on her young friend. but fate and the candidate seemed determined to make petrea dance this quadrille; and a young officer presented himself before her in splendid uniform, with dark eyes, dark hair, large dark moustache, martial size, and very martial mien. petrea had no occasion, and no disposition either, to return anything but a "yes" to this son of mars. in fact, she never expected to receive a more honourable invitation; and a few minutes later she found herself standing close beside the chair of the countess solenstrÃ¥le, dancing in the same quadrille with the aftonstjernas, and _vis-à-vis_ with the candidate. petrea felt herself highly exalted, and would have been perfectly prosperous had it not been for her restless demon, which incessantly spurred her with the desire of coming in closer contact with the beautiful, magnificent lady to whom she stood so near. to tread upon her foot or her dress, might, it is true, have furnished an easy occasion for many fine and reverential excuses; but, at the same time, this would be neither polite nor agreeable. to fall in some kind of way before her feet, and then, when graciously raised by the countess, to thank her in a verse, in which the _sun_ played a conspicuous part, would have been incontestibly better; but now--petrea must dance on! was it that our petrea really was so addled (if people will graciously allow us such an expression) that she had no right power over her limbs, or did it happen from want of ballast, in consequence of the slender dinner she had eaten, or was it the result of her usual distraction--we know not; but this much is certain, that she in _chassée_-ing on the right hand, on which she had to pass her _vis-à-vis_, made an error, and came directly up to him. he withdrew to the other side, but petrea was already there: and as the candidate again withdrew to the right, there was she again; and amid all this _chassée_-ing her feet got so entangled with his, that as he made a despairing attempt to pass her, it so happened that both fell down in the middle of the quadrille! when petrea, with tears in her eyes, again stood upright, she saw before her the eye-glass gentlemen, the two brothers b., who were nearly dying with laughter. a hasty glance convinced petrea that her mother saw nothing of it; and a second glance, that she had _now_ attracted the attention of the countess solenstrÃ¥le, who was smiling behind her fan. the first observation consoled her for the last; and she fervently assured jacobi, who was heartily distressed on her account, that she had not hurt herself; that it signified nothing; that it was her fault, etc., etc.; cast a tranquil glance on the yet laughing gentlemen, and _chasséed_ boldly back again. but what, however, made the deepest impression on petrea, was the conduct of her partner, and his suddenly altered behaviour. he brought the continued and unbecoming merriment of the brothers b. to an end by one determined glance; and he who hitherto had been parsimonious of words, and who had only answered all her attempts at being entertaining by a yes or a no, now became quite conversable, polite, and agreeable, and endeavoured in every possible way to divert her attention from the unpleasant accident which had just occurred, engaging her moreover for the _anglaise_ after supper. petrea understood his kindness; tears came into her eyes, and her heart beat for joy at the thought of hastening to her mother after the quadrille, and saying, "mamma, i am engaged for the _anglaise_ after supper." but no thought, no feeling, could remain in tranquillity with the poor little "chaos;" so many others came rushing in, that the first were quite effaced. her first impression of the kindness of lieutenant y. was, "how good he is!" the second was, "perhaps he may endure me!" and hereupon a flood of imagined courtesy and courtship poured in, which almost turned her head. but she would not marry, heaven forbid! yet still it would be a divine thing to have a lover, and to be oneself "an object" of passion, like sara and louise. perhaps the young lieutenant y. might be related to the countess solenstrÃ¥le, and, oh heavens! how well it would sound when it was said, "a nephew of the countess solenstrÃ¥le is a passionate admirer of petrea frank!" what a coming forth that would be! a less thing than that might make one dizzy. petrea was highly excited by these imaginings, and was suddenly changed by them into an actual coquette, who set herself at work by all possible means to enslave "her object;" in which a little, and for the moment very white, hand (for even hands have their moments), figuring about the head, played a conspicuous part. petrea's amazing animation and talkativeness directed the eye-glass of her mother--for her mother was somewhat short-sighted--often in this direction, and called forth glances besides from louise, which positively would have operated with a very subduing effect, had not petrea been too much excited to remark them. the observations and smiles of her neighbours petrea mistook for tokens of applause; but she deceived herself, for they only amused themselves with the little coquetting, but not very dangerous lady. lieutenant y., nevertheless, seemed to find pleasure in her liveliness, for when the quadrille was ended, he continued a dispute which had commenced during it, and for this purpose conducted her into one of the little side rooms, which strengthened her in the idea of having made a conquest. isabella aftonstjerna was singing there a little french song, the refrain of which was-- hommage à la plus belle, honneur au plus vaillant! the world was all brightness to petrea: the song carried her back to the beautiful days of knighthood: lieutenant y. appeared to her as the ideal of knightly honour, and the glass opposite showed her own face and nose in such an advantageous light, that she, meeting herself there all beaming with joy, fancied herself almost handsome. a beautiful rose-tree was blossoming in the window, and petrea, breaking off a flower, presented it to the lieutenant, with the words-- honneur au plus vaillant. petrea thought that this was remarkably striking and apropos, and secretly expected that her knight would lay the myrtle-spray with which he was playing at her feet, adding very appropriately-- hommage à la plus belle. "most humble thanks!" said lieutenant y., taking the rose with misfortune-promising indifference. but fate delivered petrea from the unpleasantness of waiting in vain for a politeness she desired, for suddenly there arose a disturbance in the ball-room, and voices were heard which said, "she is fainting! gracious heaven! sara!" myrtle-spray, knight, conquest, all vanished now from petrea's mind, and with a cry of horror she rushed from lieutenant y. into the ball-room at the very moment when sara was carried out fainting. the violent dancing had produced dizziness; but taken into a cool room, and sprinkled with eau de cologne and water, she soon recovered, and complained only of horrible headache. this was a common ailment of sara's, but was quickly removed when a certain remedy was at hand. "my drops!" prayed sara, in a faint voice. "where? where?" asked petrea, with a feeling as if she would run to china. "in the little box in our chamber," said sara. quick as thought sped the kind petrea across the court to the east wing. she sought through the chamber where their things were, but the box was not to be found. it must have been left in the carriage. but where was the carriage? it was locked up in the coach-house. and where was the key of the coach-house? great was petrea's fatigue before she obtained this; before she reached the coach-house; and then before, with a lantern in her hand, she had found the missing box. great also, on the other hand, was her joy, as breathless, but triumphant, she hastened up to sara with the little bottle of medicine in her hand, and for reward she received the not less agreeable commission of dropping out sixty drops for sara. scarcely, however, was the medicine swallowed, when sara exclaimed with violence: "you have killed me, petrea! you have given me poison! it is unquestionably louise's elixir!" it was so! the wrong bottle had been brought, and great was the perplexity. "you do everything so left-handedly, petrea!" exclaimed sara, in ill-humour; "you are like the ass in the fable, that would break the head of his friend in driving away a fly!" these were hard words for poor petrea, who was just about to run off again in order to redeem her error. this, added to other agitation of mind, brought tears to her eyes, and blood to her head. her nose began violently to bleed. louise, excited against sara by her severity to petrea, and some little also by her calling her elixir poison, threw upon her a look of great displeasure, and devoted herself to the weeping and bleeding petrea. whether it was the spirit of anger that dispersed sara's headache, or actually louise's elixir (louise was firmly persuaded that it was the latter), we know not; but certain it was that sara very soon recovered and returned to the company, without saying one consoling word to petrea. petrea was in no condition to appear at the supper-table, and louise kindly remained with her. aunt evelina, laura, karin, and even the lady of the war-councillor herself, brought them delicacies. amid so much kindness, petrea could not do otherwise than become again tranquil and lively. she should, she thought, after all, dance the _anglaise_ after supper with "le plus vaillant," as she called the lieutenant, who had truly captivated her evidently not steeled heart. the _anglaise_ had already begun as the sisters entered the ball-room. the candidate hastened to meet them quite in an uneasy state of mind; he had engaged louise for this dance, and they now stood up together in the crowd of dancers. petrea expected, likewise, that "le plus vaillant" would rush up to her and seize her hand; but as she cast a hasty glance around, she perceived him, not rushing towards her, but dancing with sara, who was looking more beautiful and brilliant than ever. the rose which petrea had given him--faithless knight!--together with the myrtle-sprig on which she had speculated, were both of them placed in sara's bosom. the eyes of "le plus vaillaut" were incessantly riveted upon "la plus belle," as sara was then unanimously declared to be. the glory of the aftonstjernas paled in the night, as they were too much heated by dancing, but sara's star burned brighter and brighter. she was introduced to the countess solenstrÃ¥le, who paid her charming compliments, and called her "la reine du bal," at which the aftonstjernas looked displeased. "thousand devils, how handsome she is!" exclaimed the old gentleman who had striven with petrea about the tea-cup, and who now, without being aware of it, trod upon her foot as he thrust himself before her to get a better view of "la reine du bal." overlooked, humiliated, silent, and dejected, petrea withdrew into another room. the scenes of the evening passed in review before her soul, and appeared now quite in an altered light. the mirror which a few hours before had flattered her with the notion that she might be called _la plus belle_, now showed her her face red and unsightly; she thought herself the most ridiculous and unfortunate of human beings. she felt at this moment a kind of hostility against herself. she thought on something which she was preparing for sara, and which was to be an agreeable surprise to her, and which was to be made known to her in a few days--she thought of this, and in that moment of trouble the thought of it, like a sunbeam on dark clouds, brightened the night in her soul. the thought of gratifying one, who on this evening had so deeply wounded her, gave a mild and beneficial turn to her mind. after supper, a balcony in the saloon adjoining the ball-room was opened, in order somewhat to cool the heated atmosphere of the room. two persons, a lady and gentleman, stepped into the balcony; a light white shawl was thrown over the lady's shoulders; stars garlanded her dark hair; stars flashed in her black eyes, which glanced fiercely around into free space. there lay over the landscape the deliciously mysterious half-darkness of a may-night, a magical veil which half hides and half reveals its beauty, and which calls forth mysterious forebodings. a mighty and entrancing revelation of the gloriousness of life seemed to sing in the wind, which passed tranquilly murmuring through space, shone in the stars, and wandered high above earth. "ah, life! life!" exclaimed she, and stretched forth her arms towards space, as if she would embrace it. "enchanting girl!" said he, while he seized her hand, "my life belongs to you!" "conduct me forth into free, fresh life," said she, without withdrawing her hand, and looking haughtily at him all the while, "and my hand belongs to you! but remember you this, that i will be free--free as the wind which now kisses your forehead, and lifts those topmost branches of the tree! i love freedom, power, and honour! conduct me to these, help me to obtain these, and my gratitude will secure to you my love; will fetter me to you with stronger bonds than those of ceremony and prejudice, to which i only submit out of regard to those who otherwise would weep over me, and whom i would not willingly distress more than there is need for. it shall not bind us more than we ourselves wish. freedom shall be the knitting and the loosening of our bond!" "beautiful woman!" answered he, "raised above the hypocrisy of weakness--above the darkness of prejudice--i admire you and obey you! only to such a woman can my will submit! my beautiful scholar is become my teacher! well, then, let the hand of the priest unite us; my hand shall conduct you up to that brilliant throne which your beauty and your talents deserve! i will only elevate you in order, as now, to fall before your feet the most devoted of your servants!" he dropped upon one knee before her; and she, bending herself towards him, let her lips touch his forehead. he threw his arms round her, and held her for one moment bent towards him. a supercilious, scornful expression, unobserved by her, played upon his lips. "release me, hermann! some one comes," said she; he did so, and as she raised her proud neck against his will, a dark flash of indignation burned in her eyes. they withdrew, and another couple stepped out into the balcony. he. wait, let me wrap my cloak better round you; the wind is cool. she. ah, how beautiful to feel how it wraps us both! do you see how we are here standing between heaven and earth, separated from all the world? he. i do not see it--i see my lovely world in my arms! i have you, laura! laura, tell me, are you happy? she. ah, no! he. how? she. ah, i am not happy because i am too happy! i fancy i never can have deserved this happiness. i cannot conceive how it came to my share. ah, arvid! to live thus with you, with my mother, my sister, all that i most love--and then to be yours ever, ever! he. say eternally, my laura! our union belongs as much to heaven as to earth, here as there; to all eternity i am yours, and you are mine! she. hush, my arvid! i hear my mother's voice--she calls me. let us go to her. they returned into the room, and presently another couple stepped on the balcony. he. cousin louise, do you like evening air? cousin louise, i fancy, is rather romantic. cousin, do you like the stars? i am a great friend of the stars too; i think on what the poet sings: ----silently as egypt's priests they move. look, cousin louise, towards the corner, in the west there lies oestanvik. if it would give you any pleasure to make a little tour there, i would beg that i might drive you there in my new landau. i really think, cousin louise, that oestanvik would please you: the peaches and the vines are just now in full bloom; it is a beautiful sight. a deep sigh is heard. she. who sighs so? a voice. somebody who is poor, and who now, for the first time, envies the rich. he. oh rich! rich! god forbid! rich i am not exactly. one has one's competency, thank god! one has wherewith to live. i can honestly maintain myself and a family. i sow two hundred bushels of wheat; and what do you think, cousin louise--but where is cousin louise? a voice. it seemed to her, no doubt, as if a cold wind came over here from oestanvik. at the moment when the gentlemen returned to the room, a girl came into the balcony. she was alone. the misfortunes of the evening depressed her heart, and were felt to be so much more humiliating because they were of such a mean kind. some burning tears stole quickly and silently over her cheeks. the evening wind kissed them gently away. she looked up to heaven; never had it seemed to her so high and glorious. her soul raised itself, mounted even higher than her glance, up to the mighty friend of human hearts; and he gave to hers a presentiment that a time would come, when, in his love, she would be reconciled to and forget all adversities of earth. * * * * * the days at axelholm wore on merrily amid ever-varying delights. petrea wrote long letters, in prose and in verse, to her sisters at home, and imparted to them all that occurred here. her own misfortunes, which she even exaggerated, she described in such a comic manner that those very things which were at first distressing to her, were made a spring of hearty merriment both to herself and to her family. she received one day a letter from her father, which contained the following words: "my good child, "your letters, my dear child, give me and your sisters great pleasure; not merely on account of the lively things which they contain, but more especially on account of your way of bearing that which is anything but lively. continue to do thus, my child, and you--my heart rejoices in the thought--will advance on the way to wisdom and happiness, and you will have joyfully to acknowledge the blessed truth which the history of great things, as well as of small, establishes, that there is nothing evil which may not be made conducive to good; and thus our own errors may be made steps on our way to improvement. "greet your sisters cordially from their and your tenderly devoted "father." petrea kissed these lines with tears of grateful joy. she wore them for several days near her heart; she preserved them through her whole life as one of the endeared means by which she had gone happily through the chromatic scale of existence. louise was joked much about cousin thure; cousin thure was joked much about louise; it pleased him very much to be joked about her, to be told that oestanvik wanted a mistress, that he himself wanted a pretty wife, and that without doubt louise frank was one of the most sensible as well as one of the prettiest girls in the country; and more than this, was besides of such a respectable family! the landed-proprietor received already felicitations on his betrothal. what the bride-elect, however, thought on the matter was more difficult to fathom. she was certainly always polite to cousin thure; still this politeness seemed expressive rather of indifference than friendship; and she declined, with a decision amazing to many people, his pressing and often repeated solicitations to make an excursion to oestanvik in his new landau, drawn by what he styled "his foxes--his four horses in one rein." many people asserted that the agreeable and cordial jacobi was much nearer to louise's heart than the rich landed-proprietor! but even towards jacobi her conduct was so equal, so tranquil, so unconstrained, that nobody could exactly tell how it might be. nobody knew so well as we do, that louise considered it consistent with the dignity of woman to show only perfect indifference to the attentions or _doux-propos_ of men, until they had been openly and fully declared. louise despised coquetry so far as to dread anything which bordered on the very limits of it. her young female friends joked with her upon her strict notions on this head, and fancied that she would remain unmarried. "that may be," said louise, calmly. they told her one day of a gentleman who said "i will not stand up before any girl who is not some little of a coquette." "then he may remain sitting," answered louise, with much dignity. louise's views of the dignity of woman, her grave and decided principles, and her manner of expressing them, amused her young friends, whilst at the same time they inspired for her a true esteem, and gave occasion for many little contentions and discussions, in which louise intrepidly, though not without some little warmth, maintained the rights of the cause. these contentions, however, which began in merriment, did not always terminate so. a young and rather coquettish lady was one day wounded by the severity with which louise spoke of the coquetry of her sex, and particularly of married ladies, and in revenge she used an expression which excited louise's astonishment and anger. an explanation followed between the two, the result of which was not only their perfect estrangement, but an altered state of mind in louise which she in vain endeavoured to conceal. during the first days of her stay at axelholm she had been uncommonly joyous and lively; now she was quiet, thoughtful, often absent, and towards the candidate, as it seemed, less friendly than formerly, whilst she lent a more willing ear to the landed-proprietor, although she still resolutely withstood his proposal of a drive to oestanvik. on the evening of the day after this explanation, elise was engaged in a lively conversation with jacobi on the balcony. "and if," said he, "i endeavour to win her heart, would her parents--would her mother see it without displeasure? ah, speak candidly with me; the well-being of my life depends upon it." "you have my accordance, my good wishes, jacobi," returned elise. "i say to you what i have already said to my husband, that i should willingly call you son." "oh!" exclaimed jacobi, deeply moved, and falling on one knee, whilst he pressed her hand to his lips--"oh that my whole life might evidence to you my gratitude and my love--!" at this very moment, louise, who had been seeking her mother, approached the balcony; she saw jacobi's action, and heard his words: she withdrew quickly, as if she had been stung by a snake. from this time a great change was more and more perceptible in her. still, reserved, and very pale, she moved about like one in a dream, amid the lively circles of axelholm, and agreed willingly to the proposition which her mother, who was uneasy on her account, made of their stay being shortened. jacobi, as much astonished as distressed by the sudden unfriendliness of louise towards him, began to think that the place must in some kind of way be bewitched, and desired more than anybody else to get away from it. footnotes: [ ] a mile swedish is equal to six english miles. [ ] merry, in swedish. chapter ix. the return home. what was it that jacobi and henrik had so much to arrange together before their departure from axelholm, and even whilst they were there? petrea's curiosity was terribly excited, but she could not come at any clue by which to satisfy it. some kind of plot which concerned the family, seemed to be in agitation. henrik and his friend had long intended to give a little entertainment to the family, and the opportunity to do so now seemed favourable, as well as also to combine it with an agreeable surprise; the scene of which should be a pretty and good inn, half way between axelholm and the city. here, on their return, they would halt under pretence of some repair being necessary to one of the carriages, and the ladies should be persuaded to enter the house, where, in the mean time, all should be prepared. the two friends had greatly delighted themselves over this scheme, and in order to obtain for louise her favourite luxury of ices, jacobi had drained his already reduced purse. in going to axelholm the family had so divided themselves that louise with petrea went in what is called a medewi-carriage, the judge's own equipage, which was driven by jacobi, with whom henrik sate on the driving-box, whilst the mother and the other daughters went in a covered hired carriage, driven by the judge himself. on the return, the same arrangement was to be observed, with the difference of jacobi driving the large carriage, and henrik driving his sisters. the mother, and even the young gentlemen, declared with becoming discretion that they would not confide the reins to less skilful hands, because the road was rough and hilly, and moreover bad from rain. notwithstanding all this, however, jacobi intrigued so that, contrary to the established arrangement, he mounted the coach-box of the young ladies, and henrik that of his mother. but the candidate had not much pleasure from so doing, since "the object" was no longer such as she was during the drive thither. at that time she was more cheerful than common; rejoiced so heartily over the spring air, over the song of the lark; over fields, and cows, and cottages, and over everything that she saw, communicating all her delight to jacobi, who sate all the way on the driving-box with his face turned towards the carriage (henrik solemnly advised him to fix himself in this reversed position), and their blue eyes then rested on each other with a spring of pure devotion. now, everything was otherwise: "the object" appeared to give attention to nothing. she leaned back in the carriage with her veil over her face, and a cathedral is far more conversable than she; for it speaks through the tongue in its tower, but louise's tongue was perfectly dumb, and petrea's, which once never ceased, enlivened her not. in vain jacobi sought to catch louise's eye. she avoided him, and he was quite cast down. after having been many times most properly jogged and shaken, they arrived fortunately at the wayside inn; yet no! not so fortunately either, one of the carriage-wheels was discovered to be somewhat broken: it was not dangerously so, oh no, heaven forbid that! but it must of necessity be mended before they could proceed further. henrik prayed his mother and sisters while this was doing to alight and enter the inn, the host and hostess of which now stood at the door, and with bows and curtseys besought the travellers to enter. the host came himself and opened the carriage-doors. elise was startled, and uttered an exclamation of surprise;--the host really and truly must be her husband; and the hostess, the very prettiest hostess in the world, was bodily her daughter eva! the travelling daughters, too, were as much astonished, made all kinds of exclamations, and recognised in host and hostess father and sister. but neither host nor hostess were confounded, nor allowed themselves to be confused by the confusion of the travellers; they knew themselves too well who they were, and knew, too, how to conduct themselves in their office. they led their guests, with many apologies and politenesses, up to two large and handsome rooms, and here the host, quite in despair, began to bustle about, and to summon both maid and waiter. at last the waiter came in his blue apron. a new miracle! he was a living image of the candidate! and now came the maid. a new amazement! a handsomer person, or one that more nearly resembled henrik it would have been impossible to find! but she went about clumsily, and had nearly fallen down, stumbling first with this, and then with that. the host scolded her vehemently on account of her clumsiness, and scolded the waiter also till he made them both cry, at least so it seemed; whereupon he chased them both out with the order to return instantly with refreshments. the host, now again in brilliant, excellent, polite humour, let fly with his own hand the corks of two champagne bottles, poured out, and drank with the ladies. after they had refreshed themselves with all kinds of delicious eating, amid the most lively conversation, some person, who called himself noah's grandson, was announced, requesting permission to exhibit to the company various strange animals and other beautiful curiosities, which had been found in the ark. the grandson of noah was called in by a great majority of voices, and a face presented itself at the door which, with the exception of a certain grey beard, bore a great resemblance to jeremias munter. his menagerie, and his cabinet of art, were set out in another room, into which the company were conducted; and there many strangely-formed creatures were exhibited, and little scenes represented, to which noah's grandson gave explanations and made speeches which were almost as humorous and witty (to be quite so was impossible) as those of japhet, in that wonderful and exquisite book, "noah's ark."[ ] two other grandsons of noah, who bore no resemblance to any acquaintance of the family, assisted at this exhibition, at the end of which noah's learned grandson gave to each of the spectators a little souvenir from the contents of the ark, and that with so much tact, that every one received precisely the thing which gave him pleasure. louise, moreover, received a remarkable sermon, which was preached by father noah himself on the first sunday of his abode in the ark. but near the title-page of this same sermon she found a piece of poetry which evidently bore a later date. louise did not, however, read it then, but blushing very deeply, put it carefully by. the whole affair might have been as merry as it was droll, had not louise--herself the most important person in the entertainment--been in no state of mind to enjoy it. but although she used her utmost endeavour to take part in all the diversion, and to appear cheerful, she became every moment more depressed; and when at last the ices came, and the waiter, with the utmost cordiality beaming from his eyes, urged her to take a vanilla-ice, she was only just able to taste it, upon which she set it down, rushed out of the room, and burst into a convulsive fit of weeping. this was a thing so unusual with louise, that it occasioned a general perplexity. host, hostess, maid, waiter, noah's grandson, all threw off their characters; and all illusion, as well as all reality of festivity, were at an end. it is true that louise composed herself speedily, besought pardon, and assigned as the cause of her emotion sudden spasm in the chest. elise and eva, and more particularly petrea, endeavoured, on account of henrik and jacobi, to jest back again the former merriment, but it would not come, and nothing more could succeed. everybody, but more especially jacobi, were out of tune, and they now began to speak of returning home. but now all at once the heavy trampling of horses, and a bustle at the inn door was heard, and at the same moment a splendid landau, drawn by four prancing bays, drew up before it. it was the landed-proprietor, who, unacquainted with returning there after a short absence, and who had drawn up at this inn for a moment's breathing-time for his horses, and to order for himself a glass of the beer for which the place was renowned. the company which he here so unexpectedly encountered occasioned an alteration in his first plan. he determined to accompany the family to the city, and besought his aunt and cousins to make use of his landau. it would certainly please them so much; it went with such unexampled ease; was so comfortable that one could sleep therein with perfect convenience even on the heaviest roads, etc., etc. elise, who really had suffered from the merciless shaking of the hired carriage, was inclined to accept the offer; and as it immediately began to rain, and as the judge preferred the carriage to the chaise in which he had driven with eva, the affair was quickly arranged. elise and some of the daughters were to go in the landau, which was turned in the mean time into a coach; and the judge and the rest of the company were to divide themselves among the other carriages. as these were ready to receive the company, jacobi drove his medewi-carriage close on the landau of the landed-proprietor, who looked more than once with a dark countenance to see whether any profane or injurious contact had taken place between the great and the little carriage. jacobi's heart beat violently as louise came out on the steps of the inn door. the landed-proprietor stood on one side offering her his hand, and jacobi on the other offering his also, to conduct her to her former seat. she appeared faint, and moved slowly. she hesitated for one moment, and then gave, with downcast eyes, her hand to the landed-proprietor, who assisted her triumphantly into the carriage to her mother, and mounting the box himself, away the next moment dashed the landau with its four prancing bays. jacobi laid his hand on his heart, a choking sensation seemed to deprive him of breath, and with tears in his eyes he watched the handsome departing carriage. he was roused out of his painful observations by the voice of petrea, who jestingly announced to him that the enviable happiness awaited him of driving herself and the assessor in the medewi-carriage. he took his former seat in silence; his heart was full of disquiet; and intentionally he remained far behind the others, in order that he might not have the least glimpse of the landau. scarcely had the medewi-carriage again made acquaintance with the ruts of the road, than a violent shock brought off one of the fore wheels, and the candidate, petrea, and the assessor, were tumbled one over the other into the mud. quickly, however, they were all three once again on their feet; petrea laughing, and the assessor scolding and fuming. when jacobi had discovered that all which had life was unhurt, he looked lightly on the affair, and began to think how best it might be remedied. a short council was held in the rain, and it was concluded that jacobi should remain with the carriage till some one came to his assistance, and that in the mean time petrea and the assessor should make the best of their way on foot towards the city, and send, as soon as possible, some people to his help. a labourer, who came by immediately afterwards, promised to do the same, and petrea and assessor munter, who, however, was anything but consistent with his name, began their walk through rain and mud. all this while, however, petrea became more joyful and happy: firstly, all this was an adventure for her; secondly, she never before had been out in such weather; thirdly, she felt herself so light and unencumbered as she scarcely ever had done before; and because she looked upon her clothes as given up to fate--to a power against which none other on earth could contend, she walked on in joy of heart, splashing through the puddles, and feeling with great delight how the rain penetrated her dress, and seeing how the colour was washed away both from shawl and bonnet. she held her nose high in the air, in order to enjoy the glorious rain. petrea had in all this a resemblance to her brother, and flattered herself also that she might have some resemblance to diogenes; and as her inclination lay towards extremes, she would very willingly be diogenes, since she could not, as she very well knew, be alexander. now she perceived that in reality she needed very little of outward comforts to make her happy; she felt herself in her adverse circumstances so free and rich; she had become on thee-and-thou terms with the rain-drops, with the wind, with the shrubs and grass, with all nature in short; she had not here the mishaps and the humiliations to fear which annoyed her so often in company. if the magpies laughed at her, she laughed at them in return. long life to freedom! with all these feelings, petrea got into such excessively high spirits, that she infected therewith her companions in misfortune; or, according to her vocabulary, good fortune. but now, however, came on a horrible tempest, with hail, whose great stones made themselves _thou_ to such a degree with petrea's nose as astonished and almost offended her. the assessor looked out for shelter; and petrea, quite charmed that she was nearly blown away, followed him along a narrow footpath that led into the wood, onward in the direction of a smoke, which, driven towards them by the storm, seemed to announce that a hospitable hut was at hand where they might obtain shelter from the tempest. whilst they were wandering about to discover this, petrea's fancy, more unrestrained than the storm, busied itself with unbounded creations of robbers' castles, wise hermits, hidden treasures, and other splendours, to which the smoke was to conduct her. but ah! they were altogether built up of smoke, since it arose from no other than a charcoal-burner's kiln, and petrea had not the smallest desire to make a nearer acquaintance with the hidden divinity of which this smoke was the evidence. the small hut of the charcoal-burner, in the form of a sugar-loaf, stood not far from the kiln, the unbolted door of which was opened by the assessor. no hermit, nor even robber, had his abode therein; the hut was empty, but clean and compact, and it was with no little pleasure that the assessor took possession of it, and seated himself with petrea on the only bench which it possessed. petrea sighed. what a miserable metamorphosis of her glorious castle in the air! the prospect which the open door of the hut presented, and which had no interest for petrea, appeared, on the contrary, captivating to her companion. he was there deep in the wood, in a solitude wild, but still of an elevating character. the hut stood in an open space, but round about it various species of pine-trees stood boldly grouped, and bowed themselves not before the storm which howled in their tops. several lay fallen on the ground, but evidently from age; grass and flowers grew on the earth, which these patriarchs of the wood had torn up with their powerful roots. among others, two tall pine-trees stood together: the one was decayed, and seemed about to separate itself from its root; but the other, young, green, and strong, had so entwined it in its branches, that it stood upright, mingling its withered arms with the verdure of the other, and yielding not, although shook by the tempest. the expressive glance of the assessor rested long on these trees; his eyes filled with tears; his peculiar, beautiful, but melancholy smile played about his lips, and kindly sentiments seemed to fill his breast. he spoke to petrea of a people of antiquity who dwelt in deserts; he spoke of the pure condition of the essenes, a morning dawn of christendom, and his words ran thus: "a thirst after holiness drove men and women out of the tumult of the world, out of great cities, into desert places, in order that they might dedicate themselves to a pure and perfect life. there they built for themselves huts, and formed a state, whose law was labour and devotion to god. no earthly possession was enjoyed merely on account of pleasure, but only as the means of a higher life. they strove after purity in soul and body; tranquillity and seriousness characterised their demeanour. they assembled together at sunrise, and lifted up hymns and prayers to the supreme being. seventeen hours of each day were devoted to labour, study, and contemplation. their wants were few, and therefore life was easy. their discourse was elevated, and was occupied by subjects of the sublime learning which belonged to their sect. they believed on one eternal god, whose existence was light and purity. they sought to approach him by purity of heart and action, by renunciation of the pleasures of the world, and by humility of heart and mind to understand the works of the allwise creator. they believed in quiet abodes on the other side of the desert pilgrimage, where clear waters ran and soft winds blew, where spring and peace had their home; there they hoped to arrive at the end of their journey through life." there is no want of rays of light on earth; they penetrate its misty atmosphere in manifold directions, although human perception is not as much aware of them at one time as at another. the words of the assessor made at this moment an indescribable impression on petrea. she wept from the sweet emotion excited by the description of a condition which was so perfect, and of endeavours which were so holy. it appeared to her as if she knew her own vocation, her own path through life; one which would release her soul from all trifles, all vanities, all disquiets, and which would speed her on to light and peace. whilst these thoughts, or rather sentiments, swelled in her breast, she looked through her tears on her companion, as he sate there with his expressive countenance and his large beautiful eyes fixed on the scene before him, and she saw in him, not jeremias munter, but a wise hermit, with a soul full of sublime and holy knowledge. she longed to throw herself at his feet, and beseech his blessing; to propose to him that he should remain in this solitude, in this hut, with her; that he should teach her wisdom; and she would wait upon him as a daughter, or as a servant, would rise with him and pray at sunrise, and do in all things like the essenes. thus would they die to the world, and live only for heaven. overpowered by her excited feelings, surrendered to the transports of the moment, and nearly choked with tears, petrea sank on the breast of jeremias, stammering forth her undefined wishes. if a millstone had fallen round his neck, our good assessor could not have been more confounded than he was at that moment. deeply sunk in his own thoughts, he had quite forgotten that petrea was there, till reminded of her presence in this unexpected manner. but he was a man, nevertheless, who could easily understand the excitement of mind in a young girl, and with a pure fervour of eye, whilst a good-humoured satire played about his mouth, he endeavoured to tranquillise her over-wrought feelings. beautiful, then, was the discourse he held with her on all that which calms and sanctifies life; on all that on which man may found his abode whether in the desert or in the human crowd. he spoke words then which petrea never forgot, and which often, in a future day, broke the chaotic state of her soul like beams of pure light. in the mean time the tempest had dispersed itself, and the assessor began to think of a return; for petrea thought nothing about it, but would willingly have seen herself compelled to pass the night in the gloomy wood. but now the thought of relating her adventures at home attracted her, and before she got out of the wood these adventures were increased, since fate presented her with the good fortune of assisting, with the help of her companion, an old woman, who had fallen with her bundle of sticks, upon her legs again, and of carrying the said bundle to her cottage, and of lighting her fire for her; with releasing two sparrows which a boy had made captive; and, last of all, with releasing the assessor himself from a thorn-bush, which, as it appeared, would have held him with such force as vexed even himself. petrea's hands bled in consequence of this operation, but that only made her the livelier. when they came out of the wood, the rain had ceased altogether, the wind had abated, and the setting sun illumined the heavens, and diffused over the landscape a peculiar and beautiful radiance. the countenance of jeremias munter was cheerful; he listened to the ascending song of the lark, and said, "that is beautiful!" he looked upon the rain-drops which hung on the young grass, and saw how heaven reflected itself in them, and smiled, and said, "that is pure indeed!" petrea gave to little children that she met with all her savings from the feast at axelholm, and would willingly also have given them some of her clothes, had she not had the fear of louise and her mother before her eyes. she wished in her bravery for more adventures, and more particularly for a longer way than it at this time appeared to be; she thought she arrived at home too soon; but the assessor thought not, neither did the rest of the party, who were beginning to be very uneasy on account of their long absence. in the mean time petrea and her companion had become very good friends on the walk; petrea was complimented for her courage, and henrik pathetically declaimed in her praise-- not every one such height as xenophon can gain, as scholar and as hero, a laurel-wreath obtain; and they laughed. footnotes: [ ] half-dramatic poem, remarkable for its wit and humour, from the pen of the swedish poet fahlcrantz. chapter x. fireside scenes. "from home may be good, but at home is best!" said elise from the bottom of her heart, as she was once more in her own house, and beside her own husband. the young people said nothing in opposition to this sentiment as they returned to their comfortable every-day life, which they now enlivened with recollections and relations out of the lately-past time. they hoped that louise would become pleasant and contented with her calm activity in the house and family as formerly, but it was not so; a gnawing pain seemed to consume her; she became perceptibly thinner; her good humour had vanished, and her eyes were often red with weeping. in vain her parents and sisters endeavoured, with the tenderest anxiety, to fathom the occasion of the change; she would confess it to no one. that the root of her grief lay at her heart she would not deny, but she appeared determined to conceal it from the eye of day. jacobi also began to look pale and thin, since he lamented deeply her state of feeling, and her altered behaviour, especially towards himself, which led him to the belief that he unconsciously had wounded her, or in some other way that he was the cause of her displeasure; and never had he felt more than now what a high value he set upon her, nor how much he loved her. this tension of mind, and his anxiety to approach louise, and bring back a friendly understanding between them, occasioned various little scenes, which we will here describe. first scene. louise sits by the window at her embroidery-frame: jacobi seats himself opposite to her. jacobi (sighing). ah, mamselle louise! louise looks at her shepherdess, and works on in silence. jacobi. everything in the world has appeared to me for some time wearisome and oppressive. louise works on, and is silent. jacobi. and you could so easily make all so different. ah, louise! only one kind word, one friendly glance!--cannot you bestow one friendly glance on him who would gladly give everything to see you happy? [_aside._ she blushes--she seems moved--she is going to speak! ah, what will she say to me!] louise. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten stitches to the nose--the pattern is here not very distinct. jacobi. you will not hear me, will not understand me; you play with my distress! ah, louise! louise. i want some more wool;--i have left it in my room. [she goes.] second scene. the family is assembled in the library; tea is just finished. louise, at petrea's and gabriele's urgent request, has laid out the cards on a little table to tell them their fortunes. the candidate seats himself near them, and appears determined to amuse himself with them, and to be lively; but "the object" assumes all the more her "cathedral air." the landed-proprietor steps in, bows, snorts, and kisses the hand of the "gracious aunt." landed-proprietor. very cold this evening; i fancy we shall have frost. elise. it is a gloomy spring. we have lately read a most affecting account of the famine in the northern provinces. it is the misfortune of these late springs. landed-proprietor. oh, yes, the famine up there. no, we'll talk of something else--that's too gloomy. i've had my peas covered with straw. cousin louise, are you fond of playing patience? i am very fond of it too; it is so composing. at my seat at oestanvik i have little, little patience-cards. i fancy really that they would please my cousin. the landed-proprietor seats himself on the other side of louise: the candidate gives some extraordinary shrugs. louise. this is not patience, but a little witchcraft, by which i read fate. shall i prophesy to you, cousin thure? landed-proprietor. oh, yes! prophesy something to me. nothing disagreeable! if i hear anything disagreeable in an evening, i always have bad dreams at night. prophesy me prettily--a little wife--a wife as lovely and as amiable as cousin louise. the candidate (with a look as if he would send the landed-proprietor head-over-heels to oestanvik). i don't know whether mamselle louise likes flattery. landed-proprietor (who seems as if he neither heard nor saw his rival). cousin louise, are you fond of blue? louise. blue? that is truly a lovely colour; but yet i prefer green. landed-proprietor.. nay, that is good! that is excellent! at oestanvik my dressing-room furniture is blue, beautiful light blue silk damask; but in my sleeping-room i have green moreen. i fancy really, cousin louise, that---- the candidate coughs, and then rushes out of the room. louise looks after him, sighs, and then examines the cards, in which she finds so many misfortunes for cousin thure that he is quite terrified: the peas frosted, conflagration in the dressing-room, and last of all a rejection! the landed-proprietor declares, notwithstanding, that he finds nothing of this unpleasant. the sisters smile, and make remarks. third scene. the family assembled after supper: the assessor puts the question--what is the bitterest affliction? jacobi. unreturned love. petrea. not to know what one shall be. eva. to have offended some one that one loves beyond reconciliation. the mother. i am of eva's opinion; i think nothing can be more painful. louise. ah! there is yet something more painful than that--something more bitter--and that is to lose one's faith in those whom one has loved; to doubt--(louise's lip trembles, she can say no more, becomes pale, rises, and goes out quickly; a general sensation ensues). the father. what is amiss with louise? elise, we must know what it is! she should, she must tell us! i cannot bear any longer to see her thus; and i will go this moment and speak with her, if you will not rather do it. but you must not be satisfied till you know her very inmost feelings. the most horrible thing, i think, is mystery and vapours! the mother. i will go directly to her. i have now an idea what it is, dearest ernst; and if i am somewhat long with her, let the others go to bed; i shall then find you alone. [she goes out.] fourth scene. _the mother and daughter._ the daughter on her knees, her face buried in her hands; the mother goes softly up to her and throws her arms around her. mother. louise, my good girl, what is amiss with you? i have never seen you thus before. you must tell me what is at your heart--you must! louise. i cannot! i ought not! mother. you can! you ought! will you make me, will you make all of us wretched by going on in this way? ah, louise, do not let false shame, or false tenderness mislead you. tell me, do you break any oath, or violate any sacred duty, by confessing what it is which depresses you? louise. no oath; no sacred duty--and yet----yet---- mother. then speak, in heaven's name, my child! unquestionably some unfounded suspicion is the cause of your present state. what do the words mean with which you left us this evening? you weep! louise, i pray, i beseech of you, if you love me, conceal nothing from me! who is it that you love, yet can no more have faith in--no longer highly esteem? answer me--is it your mother? louise. my mother! my mother! ah, while you look on me thus i feel a pain, and yet a confidence! ah, my god! all may be an error--a miserable slander, and i----well then, it shall out--that secret which has gnawed my heart, and which i conceived it my duty to conceal! but forgive me, my mother, if i grieve you; forgive me if my words disturb your peace; forgive me, if in my weakness, if in my doubt i have done you injustice, and remove the grief which has poisoned my life! ah, do you see, mother, it was mine, it was my sisters' happiness, to consider you so spotless--so angelically pure! it was my pride that you were so, and that you were my mother! and now---- mother. and now, louise? louise. and now it has been whispered to me----oh, i cannot speak the words! mother. speak them--i demand it! i desire it from you! we both stand before the judgment-seat of god! louise. i have been led to believe that even my mother was not blameless--that she---- mother. go on, louise! louise. that she and jacobi loved one another--that evil tongues had not blamed them without cause, and that still--i despised these words, i despised the person who spoke them! i endeavoured to chase these thoughts as criminal from my soul. on this account it happened that i went one day to find you--and i found jacobi on his knee before you--i heard him speaking of his love. now you know all, my mother! mother. and what is your belief in all this? louise. ah, i know not what i ought to believe! but since that moment there has been no peace in my soul, and i have fancied that it never would return--that i should never lose the doubt which i could make known to no one. mother. let peace return to your soul, my child! good god! how unfortunate i should be at this moment if my conscience were not pure! but, thank heaven, my child, your mother has no such fault to reproach herself with; and jacobi deserves your utmost esteem, your utmost regard. i will entirely and freely confess to you the entire truth of that which has made you so uneasy. for one moment, when jacobi first came to us, a warmer sentiment towards me awoke in his young, thoughtless heart, and in part it was returned by me. but you will not condemn me on account of an involuntary feeling which your father looked on with pardoning eyes. in a blessed hour we opened to each other our hearts, and it was his love, his strength and gentleness, which gave me power to overcome my weakness. jacobi, at the same moment, woke to a consciousness of his error, struggled against it, and overcame it. we separated soon after, and it was our mutual wish not to meet again for several years. in the mean time henrik was committed to his care, and jacobi has been for him an exemplary friend and instructor. three years later, when i again met him, i extended my hand to him as a sister; and he----yes, my dear girl! and i err greatly if he did not then begin in his heart to love me as a mother. but that which then had its beginning, has since then had its completion--it was in the character of a son that you saw him kneel to me; thanking me that i would favour his love to my daughter--to my louise, who, therefore, has so unnecessarily conjured up a spectre to terrify herself and us all. in the latter part of this conversation the mother spoke in a quiet jesting tone, which, perhaps, did more even than her simple explanation to reassure the heart of her daughter. she pressed her hands on her heart, and looked thankfully up to heaven. "and if," continued her mother, "you yet entertain any doubt, talk with your father, talk with jacobi, and their words will strengthen mine. but i see you need it not--your heart, my child, is again at peace!" "ah, thank god! thank god!" exclaimed louise, sinking on her knees before her mother, and covering her hands and even her dress with kisses. "oh, that i dared look up again to you, my mother! oh, can you forgive my being so weak: my being so easy of belief? never, never shall i forgive myself!" louise was out of herself, her whole frame trembled violently; she had never before been in a state of such agitation. her mother was obliged to apply remedies both for mind and body, tender words and soothing drops--to tranquillise her excited state. she besought her therefore to go to rest, seated herself beside her bed, took her hands in hers, and then attempted to divert her mind from the past scene, endeavouring with the utmost delicacy to turn her mind on the candidate and on the landed-proprietor as lovers. but louise had only one thought, one sentiment--the happy release from her doubt, and thankfulness for it. when her mother saw that she was calmer, she embraced her, "and now go to sleep, my dear girl," said she; "i must now leave you, in order to hasten to one who waits impatiently for me, and that is your father. he has been extremely uneasy on your account, and i can now make him easy by candidly communicating all that has passed between us. for the rest i can assure you that you have said nothing that can make us uneasy. that i was calumniated by one person, and am so still, he knows as well as i do. he has assisted me to bear it calmly, he is truly so superior, so excellent! ah, louise, it is a great blessing when husband and wife, parents and children, cherish an entire confidence in each other! it is so beautiful, so glorious, to be able to say everything to each other in love!" fifth scene. the garden. it is morning! the larks sing, the jonquils fill the air with odour; the bird's cherry-tree waves in the morning breeze; the cherry blossoms open themselves to the bees which hum about in their bosom. the sun shines on all its children. louise is walking in the middle alley, father noah's sermon in her hand, but with her eyes fixed on the little poem appended to it, which by no means had anything to do with father noah. the candidate comes towards her from a cross walk, with a gloomy air, and with a black pansy in his hand. the two meet, and salute each other silently. jacobi. might i speak one moment with you? i will not detain you long. louise bows her head, is silent, and blushes. jacobi. in an hour's time i shall take my departure, but i must beseech of you to answer me one question before i say farewell to you! louise. you going! where? why? jacobi. where, is indifferent to me, so that i leave this place; why, because i cannot bear the unkindness of one person who is dear to me, and who, i once thought, cherished a friendship for me! for fourteen days you have behaved in such a way to me as has embittered my life; and why? have i been so unfortunate as to offend you, or to excite your displeasure? why then delay explaining the cause to me? is it right to sentence any one unheard, and that one a friend--a friend from childhood? is it right--pardon me, louise--is it christian, to be so severe, so immovable? in the sermons which you are so fond of rending, do you find nothing said of kindness and reconciliation! jacobi spoke with a fervour, and with such an almost severe seriousness, as was quite foreign to his gentle and cheerful spirit. "i have done wrong," replied louise, with a deep emotion, "very wrong, but i have been misled; at some future time, perhaps, i may tell you how. since last evening, i know how deceived i have been, how i have deceived myself; and now god be thanked and praised, i know that nobody is to blame in this affair but myself. i have much, very much, to reproach myself with, on account of my reserve towards my own family, and towards you also. forgive me, best jacobi," continued she, offering her hand with almost humility; "forgive me, i have been very unkind to you; but believe me," added she, "neither have i been happy either!" "thanks! thanks, louise!" exclaimed jacobi, grasping her hand, and pressing it to his breast and to his lips; "oh, how happy this kindness makes me! now i can breathe again! now i can leave you with a cheerful heart!" "but why will you leave us?" asked she, in a half-discontented tone. "because," answered jacobi, "it would not give me pleasure to witness a betrothal which will soon be celebrated; because, from your late behaviour, i must be convinced you cannot entertain any warmer sentiments towards me." "if that were the case," replied she, in the same tone as before, "i should not have been depressed so long." "how!" exclaimed jacobi, joyfully. "ah, louise, what words! what bold hopes may they not excite! might i mention them to you? might i venture to say to you what i some time have thought, and still now think?" louise was silent, and jacobi continued: "i have thought," said he, "that the humble, unprovided-for jacobi could offer you a better fortune than your rich neighbour of oestanvik. i have hoped that my love, the true dedication of my whole life, might make you happy; that a smaller portion of worldly wealth might satisfy you, if it were offered you by a man who know deeply your worth, and who desired nothing better than to be ennobled by your hand. oh, if this beloved hand would guide me through life, how bright, how peaceful would not life be! i should fear neither adversity nor temptation! and how should i not endeavour to be grateful to providence for his goodness to me! ah, louise! it is thus that i have thought, and fancied, and dreamed! oh, tell me, was it only a dream, or may not the dream become a reality?" louise did not withdraw the hand which he had taken, but looked upon the speaker with infinite kindness. "one word," besought jacobi, "only one word! might i say _my_ louise? louise--mine?" "speak with my parents," said louise, deeply blushing, and turning aside her head. "my louise!" exclaimed jacobi, and, intoxicated with tenderness and joy, pressed her to his heart. "think of my parents," said louise, gently pushing him back; "without their consent i will make no promise. their answer shall decide me." "we will hasten together, my louise," said he, "and desire their blessing." "go alone, dear jacobi," said louise. "i do not feel myself calm enough, nor strong enough. i will wait your return here." * * * * * with this fifth scene we conjecture that the little drama has arrived at the desired conclusion, and therefore we add no further scene to that which naturally follows. as the candidate hastened with lover's speed to louise's parents he struck hard against somebody in the doorway, who was coming out. the two opponents stepped back each a few paces, and the candidate and the landed-proprietor stared in astonishment on each other. "pardon me," said the candidate, and was advancing; but the landed-proprietor held him back, whilst he inquired with great earnestness, and with a self-satisfied smile, "hear you, my friend: can you tell me whether cousin louise is in the garden? i came this moment from her parents, and would now speak with her. can you tell me where she is?" "i--i don't know!" said jacobi, releasing himself, and hastening with a secret anxiety of mind up to her parents. in the mean time the landed-proprietor had caught a glimpse of "cousin louise's" person in the garden, and hastened up to her. it was, in fact, no surprise to louise, when, after all the preliminary questions, "cousin, do you like fish? do you like birds?" there came at last the principal question, "cousin, do you like me?" to this question, it is true, she gave a somewhat less blunt, but nevertheless a decided negative reply, although it was gilded over with "esteem and friendship." the candidate, on his side, in the fulness and warmth of his heart, laid open to louise's parents his love, his wishes, and his hopes. it is true that jacobi was now without any office, as well as without any property; but he had many expectations, and amid these, like a sun and a support, his excellency o----. the judge was himself no friend to such supports, and elise did not approve of long engagements: but then both of them loved jacobi; both of them wished, above all things, the true happiness and well-being of their daughter; and so it happened that, after much counsel, and after louise had been questioned by her parents, and they found that she had sincerely the same wishes as jacobi, and that she believed she should be happy with him, and after jacobi had combated with great fervency and effect every postponement of the betrothal--that, after all this had been brought to a fortunate issue, he received a formal yes, and he and louise, on the afternoon of the same day, whose morning sun had seen their explanation, were betrothed. jacobi was beyond description happy; louise tranquil but gentle. henrik declared that her majesty appeared too merciful. perhaps all this proceeded from her thoughts being already occupied with the increasing and arranging of jacobi's wardrobe. she began already to think about putting in hand a fine piece of linen-weaving. she actually had consented to the quick betrothal, principally, as she herself confessed to eva, "in order to have him better under her hands." good reader--and if thou art a candidate, good candidate--pardon "our eldest" if she gave her consent somewhat in mercy. we can assure thee, that our jacobi was no worse off on that account; so he himself seemed to think, and his joy and cordiality seemed to have great influence in banishing "the cathedral" out of louise's demeanour. this view of the connexion, and the hearty joy which louise's brother and sisters expressed over this betrothal, and which proved how beloved jacobi was by them all, smoothed the wrinkles from the brow of the judge, and let elise's heart feel the sweetest satisfaction. henrik, especially, declared loudly his delight in having his beloved friend and instructor for a brother-in-law--an actual brother. "and now listen, brother-in-law," said he, fixing his large eyes on louise; "assume your rights as master of the house properly, brother dear; and don't let the slippers be master of the house. if you marry a queen, you must be king, you understand that very well, and must take care of your majesty; and if she look like a cathedral, why then do you look like the last judgment, and thunder accordingly! you laugh; but you must not receive my advice so lightly, but lay it seriously to heart, and----but, dear friend, shall we not have a little bowl this evening? shall we not, mamma dear? yes, certainly we will! i shall have the honour of mixing it myself. shall we not drink the health of your majesties? i shall mix a bowl--sugar and oranges!--a bowl! a bowl!" with this exclamation henrik rushed with outstretched arms to the door, which at that moment opened, and he embraced the worthy mrs. gunilla. "he! thou--good heaven! best-beloved!" exclaimed she, "he, he, he, he! what is up here? he never thought, did he, that he should take the old woman in his arms! he, he, he, he!" henrik excused himself in the most reverential and cordial manner, explained the cause of his ecstasy, and introduced to her the newly-betrothed. mrs. gunilla at first was astonished, and then affected to tears. she embraced elise, and then louise, and jacobi also. "god bless you!" said she, with all her beautiful quiet cordiality, and then, somewhat pale, seated herself silently on the sofa, and seemed to be thinking sorrowfully how often anxious, dispiriting days succeed the cheerful morning of a betrothal. whether it was from these thoughts, or that mrs. gunilla really felt herself unwell, we know not, but she became paler and paler. gabriele went out to fetch her a glass of water, and as she opened the door ran against the assessor, who was just then entering. with a little cry of surprise she recovered from this unexpected shock. he looked at her with an astonished countenance, and the next moment was surrounded by the other young people. "now, see, see! what is all this?" exclaimed he; "why do you overwhelm me thus? cannot one move any longer in peace? i am not going to dance, monsieur henricus! do not split my ears, miss petrea! what? betrothed! what? who? our eldest? body and bones! let me sit down and take a pinch of snuff. our eldest betrothed! that is dreadful! usch!--usch! that is quite frightful! uh, uh, uh, uh! that is actually horrible! hu, u, u, hu!" the assessor took snuff, and blew his nose for a good while, during which the family, who knew his way so well, laughed heartily, with the exception of louise, who reddened, and was almost angry at his exclamations, especially at that of horrible. "nay," said he, rising up and restoring the snuff-box again to his pocket, "one must be contented with what cannot be helped. what is written is written. and, as the scripture says, blessed are they who increase and multiply the incorrigible human race, so, in heaven's name, good luck to you! good luck and blessing, dear human beings!" and thus saying, he heartily shook the hands of jacobi and louise, who returned his hand-pressure with kindness, although not quite satisfied with the form of his good wishes. "never in all my life," said henrik, "did i hear a less cheerful congratulation. mrs. gunilla and good uncle munter to-day might be in melancholy humour: but now they are sitting down by each other, and we may hope that after they have had a comfortable quarrel together, they will cheer up a little." but no; no quarrel ensued this evening between the two. the assessor had tidings to announce to her which appeared difficult for him to communicate, and which filled her eyes with tears--pyrrhus was dead! "he was yesterday quite well," said the assessor, "and licked my hand as i bade him good night. to-day he took his morning coffee with a good appetite, and then lay down on his cushion to sleep. as i returned home, well pleased to think of playing with my little comrade, he lay dead on his cushion!" mrs. gunilla and he talked for a long time about the little favourite, and appeared in consequence to become very good friends. jeremias munter was this evening in a more censorious humour than common. his eyes rested with a sad expression on the newly betrothed. "yes," said he, as if speaking to himself, "if one had only confidence in oneself; if one was only clear as to one's own motives--then one might have some ground to hope that one could make another happy, and could be happy with them." "one must know oneself thus well, so far," said louise, not without a degree of confidence, "that one can be certain of doing so, before one would voluntarily unite one's fate with that of another." "_thus well!_" returned he, warmly. "yes, prosit! who knows thus well? you do not, dear sister, that i can assure you. ah!" continued he, with bitter melancholy, "one may be horribly deceived in oneself, and by oneself, in this life. there is no one in this world who, if he rightly understand himself, has not to deplore some infidelity to his friend--his love--his better self! the self-love, the miserable egotism of human nature, where is there a corner that it does not slide into? the wretched little _i_, how it thrusts itself forward! how thoughts of self, designs for self, blot actions which otherwise might be called good!" "do you then acknowledge no virtue? is there, then, no magnanimity, no excellence, which you can admire?" asked some one. "does not history show us----" "history!" interrupted he, "don't speak of history--don't bring it forward! no, if i am to believe in virtue, it is such as history cannot meddle with or understand; it is only in that which plays no great part in the world, which never, never could have been applauded by it, and which is not acted publicly. of this kind it is possible that something entirely beautiful, something perfectly pure and holy, might be found. i will believe in it, although i do not discover it in myself. i have examined my own soul, and can find nothing pure in it; but that it _may_ be found in others, i believe. my heart swells with the thought that there may exist perfectly pure and unselfish virtue. good heaven, how beautiful it is! and wherever such a soul may be found in the world, be it in palace or in hut, in gold or in rags, in man or in woman, which, shunning the praise of the world, fearing the flattery of its own heart, fulfils unobserved and with honest zeal its duties, however difficult they may be, and which labours and prays in secrecy and stillness--such a being i admire and love, and set high above all the cæsars and ciceros of the world!" during this speech the judge, who had silently risen from his seat, approached his wife, laid his hand gently on her shoulder, and looked round upon his children with glistening eyes. "our time," continued the assessor, with what was an extraordinary enthusiasm for him, "understands but very little this greatness. it praises itself loudly, and on that account it is the less worthy of praise. everybody will be remarkable, or at least will appear so. everybody steps forward and shouts i! i! women even do not any longer understand the nobility of their incognito; they also come forth into notoriety, and shout out their _i!_ scarcely anybody will say, from the feeling of their own hearts, _thou!_--and yet it is this same _thou_ which occasions man to forget that selfish _i_, and in which lies his purest part; his best happiness! to be sure it may seem grand, it may be quite ecstatic, even if it be only for a moment, to fill the world with one's name; but as, in long-past times, millions and millions of men united themselves to build a temple to the supreme, and then themselves sank silently, namelessly, to the dust, having only inscribed his name and his glory; certainly that was greater, that was far worthier!" "you talk like king solomon himself, uncle munter!" exclaimed petrea, quite enraptured. "ah, you must be an author: you must write a book of----" "write!" interrupted he, "on what account should i write? only to increase the miserable vanity of men? write!--bah!" "every age has its wise men to build up temples," said henrik, with a beautiful expression of countenance. "no!" continued the assessor, with evident abhorrence, "i will not write! but i will live! i have dreamed sometimes that i could live----" he ceased; a singular emotion was expressed in his countenance; he arose, and took up a book, into which he looked without reading, and soon after stepped quietly out of the house. the entertainment in the family this evening was, spite of all that had gone before, very lively; and the result, which was expressed in jesting earnestness, was, that every one, in the spirit which the assessor had praised, should secretly labour at the temple-building, every one with his own work-tool, and according to his own strength. the judge walked up and down in the room, and took only occasional part in the entertainment, although he listened to all, and smiled applaudingly. it seemed as if the assessor's words had excited a melancholy feeling in him, and he spoke warmly in praise of his friend. "there does not exist a purer human soul than his," said he, "and he has thereby operated very beneficially on me. many men desire as much good, and do it also; but few have to the same extent as he the pure mind, the perfectly noble motive." "ah! if one could only make him happier, only make him more satisfied with life!" said eva. "will you undertake the commission?" whispered petrea, waggishly. rather too audible a kiss suddenly turned all eyes on the candidate and louise; the latter of whom was punishing her lover for his daring by a highly ungracious and indignant glance, which henrik declared quite pulverised him. as they, however, all separated for the night, the candidate besought and was permitted, in mercy, a little kiss, as a token of reconciliation and forgiveness of his offence regarding the great one. "my dear girl," said the mother to louise as the two met, impelled by a mutual desire to converse together that same night in her boudoir, "how came jacobi's wooing about so suddenly? i could not have believed that it would have been so quickly decided. i am perfectly astonished even yet that you should be betrothed." "so am i," replied louise; "i can hardly conceive how it has happened. we met one another this morning in the garden; jacobi was gloomy, and out of spirits, and had made up his mind to leave us because he fancied i was about to be betrothed to cousin thure. i then besought him to forgive my late unkindness, and gave him some little idea of my friendliness towards him; whereupon he spoke to me of his own feelings and wishes so beautifully, so warmly, and then--then i hardly know how it was myself, he called me _his_ louise, and i--told him to go and speak with my parents." "and in the mean time," said the mother, "your parents sent another wooer to their daughter, in order for him to receive from her a yes or no. poor cousin thure! he seemed to have such certain hope. but i trust he may soon console himself! but do you know, louise, of late i have fancied that oestanvik and all its splendour might be a little captivating to you! and now do you really feel that you have had no loss in rejecting so rich a worldly settlement?" "loss!" repeated louise, "no, not now, certainly; and yet i should say wrong if i denied that it has had temptations for me; and for that reason i never would go to oestanvik, because i knew how improper it would be if i allowed it to influence me, whilst i never could endure such a person as cousin thure; and, besides that, i liked jacobi so much, and had done so for many years! once, however, the temptation was very powerful, and that was on our return from axelholm. as i rode along in cousin thure's easy landau, it seemed to me that it must be very agreeable to travel through life so comfortably and pleasantly. but at that time i was very unhappy in myself; life had lost its best worth for me; my faith in all that i loved most was poisoned! ah! there arose in me then such a fearful doubt in all that was good in the world, and i believed for one moment that it would be best to sleep out life, and therefore the easy rocking of the landau seemed so excellent. but now, now is this heavy dream vanished! now life is again bright, and i clearly see my own way through, it. now i trouble myself no more about a landau than i do about a wheelbarrow; nay, i would much rather now that my whole life should be a working day, for which i could thank god! it is a delight to work for those whom one highly esteems and loves; and i desire nothing higher than to be able to live and work for my own family, and for him who is to-day become my promised husband before god!" "god will bless you, my good, pure-hearted girl!" said the mother, embracing her, and sweet affectionate tears were shed in the still evening. chapter xi. yet more wooing. early on the following morning eva received a nosegay of beautiful moss-roses, among which was a letter to herself; she tore it open, and red the following words: "i have dreamed that i could live; and truly a life more beautiful and more perfect than any romance makes one dream of. little miss eva, whom i have so often carried in my arms--good young girl, whom i would so willingly sustain on my breast through, life, thou must hear what i have dreamed, what i sometimes still dream. "i dreamed that i was a rough, unsightly rock, repulsive and unfruitful. but a heart beat in the rock--a chained heart. it beat against the walls of its prison till it bled, because it longed to be abroad in the sunshine, but it could not break its bonds. i could not free myself from myself. the rock wept because it was so hard, because it was a prison for its own life. there came a maiden, a light gentle angel, wandering through the wood, and laid her warm lily-white hand on the rock, and pressed her pure lips upon it, breathing a magical word of freedom. the rocky wall opened itself, and the heart, the poor captive heart, saw the light! the young girl went into the chamber of the heart, and called it her home; and suddenly beautiful roses, which diffused odours around, sprang forth from that happy heart towards its liberator, whilst the chambers of the heart vaulted itself high above her into a temple for her, clothing its walls with fresh foliage and with precious stones, upon which the sunbeams played. "i awoke from a sense of happiness that was too great to be borne on earth; i awoke, and ah! the roses were vanished, the lovely girl was vanished, and i was once again the hard, unsightly, and joyless rock. but do you see, young maiden, the idea will not leave me, that those roses which i saw in my dream are hidden in me; that they may yet bloom, yet rejoice and make happy. the idea will remain with me that this reserved, melancholy heart might yet expand itself by an affectionate touch; that there are precious stones within it, which would beam brightly for those who called them forth into light. "good young maiden, will you not venture on the attempt? will you not lay your warm hand on the rock? will you not breathe softly upon it? oh, certainly, certainly under your touch it would soften--it would bring forth roses for you--it would exalt itself into a temple for you, a temple full of hymns of thanksgiving, full of love! "i know that i am old, old before my time; that i am ugly and disagreeable, unpleasant, and perhaps ridiculous; but i do not think that nature intended me to be so. i have gone through life in such infinite solitude; neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, have followed my path; no sunshine fell upon my childhood or my youth; i have wandered solitarily through life, combating with difficulties. once i bound myself to a friend--he deserted me, and thence grew the rock about my heart; thence became my demeanour severe, unattractive, and rough. is it to remain so always? will my life never bloom upon earth? will no breath of heaven call forth my roses? "do you fear my melancholy temperament? oh, you have not seen how a glance, a word of yours chases every cloud from my brow; not because you are beautiful, but because you are good and pure. will you teach me to be good? i will learn willingly from you! from you i would learn to love mankind, and to find more good in the world than i have hitherto done. i will live for you, if not for the world. by my wish the world should know nothing of me till the cross upon my grave told 'here rests----' "oh, it is beautiful to live nameless under the poisoned glance of the world; poisoned, whether it praise or blame; beautiful, not to be polluted by its observation, but more beautiful to be intimately known to one--to possess one gentle and honest friend, and that one a wife! beautiful to be able to look into her pure soul as in a mirror, and to be aware there of every blot on one's own soul, and to be able thus to purify it against the day of the great trial. "but i speak only of myself and my own happiness. ah, the egotist--the cursed egotist! can i make you happy also, eva? is it not audacity in me to desire--ah, eva, i love you inexpressibly! "i leave the egotist in your hand: do with him what you will, he will still remain "yours." this letter made eva very anxious and uneasy. she would so willingly have said yes, and made so good a man happy, but then so many voices within her said no! she spoke with her parents, with her brother and sisters. "he is so good, so excellent!" said she. "ah, if i could but properly love him! but i cannot--and then he is so old; and i have no desire to marry; i am so happy in my own home." "and do not leave it!" was the unanimous chorus of all the family. the father, indeed, was actually desperate with all this courtship; and the mother thought it quite absurd that her blooming eva and jeremias munter should go together. no one voice spoke for the assessor but the little petrea's, and a silent sigh in eva's own bosom. the result of all this consideration was, that eva wrote with tearful eyes the following answer to her lover: "my best, my truly good friend! "ah! do not be angry with me that i cannot become for you that which you wish. i shall certainly not marry. i am too happy in my own home for that. ah! this to be sure is egotistical, but i cannot do otherwise. forgive me! i am so very much, so heartily attached to you; and i should never be happy again if you love not hitherto as formerly "your little "eva." in the evening eva received a beautiful and costly work-box, with the following lines: "yes, yes, i can very well believe that the rough rock would be appalling. you will not venture to lay your delicate white hand upon it, little miss eva; will not trouble yourself to breathe warmth upon my poor roses! let them then remain in their grave! "i shall now make a journey, nor see you again for a year and a day. but, good heavens! as you have given me a basket,[ ] you shall receive in return a little box. i bought it for my--bride, eva! yet now, after all, eva shall have it; shall keep it for my sake. she may return it when i cease to be "her true and devoted friend." "do you think she is sorry for what she has done?" asked the judge anxiously from his wife, as he saw eva's hot tears falling on the work-box;--"but it cannot be helped. she marry! and that too with munter! she is indeed nothing but a child! but that is just the way; when one has educated one's daughters, and taught them something of good manners, just when one has begun to have real pleasure in them, that one must lose them--must let them go to china if the lover chance to be a chinese! it is intolerable! it is abominable! i would not wish my worst enemy the pain of having grown-up daughters. is not schwartz already beginning to draw a circle about sara? good gracious! if we should yet have the plague of another lover!" footnotes: [ ] to say that "a gentleman has received a basket," is the same as saying he is a rejected lover.--m. h. chapter xii. more courtship still. judge frank had, unknown to himself, spoken a striking word. it was true that schwartz had drawn ever narrower and darker circles around sara, and at the very time when she would appear free from his influence her temper became more uncertain and suspicious. the mother, uneasy about this connexion, no longer allowed her to be alone with him during the music lesson, and this watchfulness excited sara's pride, as well as the grave yet gentle remonstrances which were made on account of her behaviour were received with much impatience and disregard. the judge was the only person before whom sara did not exhibit the dark side of her character. his glance, his presence, seemed to exercise a certain power over her; besides which, she was, perhaps, more beloved by him than by all the other members of the family, with the exception of petrea. one evening, sara sate silent by one of the windows in the library, supporting her beautiful head on her hand. petrea sate at her feet on a low stool; she also was silent, but every now and then looked up to sara with a tender troubled expression, whilst sara sometimes looked down towards her thoughtfully, and almost gloomily. "petrea," said she, quickly, "what would you say if i should leave you suddenly to go into the wide world, and should never return?" "what should i say?" answered petrea, with a violent gush of tears: "ah, i should say nothing at all, but should lie down and die of grief!" "do you really love me then so, petrea?" asked she. "do i love you!" returned petrea; "ah, sara, if you go away, take me with you as maid, as servant--i will do everything for you!" "good petrea!" whispered sara, laying her arm round her neck, and kissing her weeping eyes, "continue to love sara, but do not follow her!" "it seems terribly sultry to me this evening!" said henrik, wearily: "we cannot manage any family assembling to-night; not a bit of music; not a bit of entertainment. the air seems as if an earthquake were at hand. i fancy that africa sends us something of a tempest. petrea is weeping like the cataract of trollhätten; and there go the people in twos-and-twos and weep, and set themselves in corners and whisper and mutter, and kiss one another, from my god-fearing parents down to my silly little sisters! the king and queen, they go and seat themselves just has it happens, on living or dead things; they had nearly seated themselves on me as i sate unoffensively on the sofa; but i made a turn about _tout d'un coup_.--betrothed! horribly wearisome folks! are they not, gabriele? they cannot see, they cannot hear; they could not speak, i fancy, but with one another!" a light was burning in sara's chamber far into the night. she was busied for a long time with her journal; she wrote with a flying but unsteady hand. "so, to-morrow; to-morrow all will be said, and i----shall be bound. "i know that is but of little importance, and yet i have such a horror of it! oh, the power of custom and of form. "i know very well whom i could love; there is a purity in his glance, a powerful purity which penetrates me. but how would he look on me if he saw---- "i must go! i have no choice left! s. has me in his net--the money which i have borrowed from him binds me so fast!--for i cannot bear that they should know it, and despise me. i know that they would impoverish themselves in order to release me, but i will not so humiliate myself. "and why do i speak of release? i go hence to a life of freedom and honour. i bow myself under the yoke but for a moment, only in order to exalt myself the more proudly. now there is no more time to tremble and to waver--away with these tears! and thou, volney, proud, strong thinker, stand by me! teach me, when all others turn away, how i may rely on my own strength!" sara now exchanged the pen for the book, and the hour of midnight struck before she closed it, and arose tranquil and cold in order to seek the quiet of sleep. * * * * * the earthquake of which henrik had spoken came the next day, the signal of which was a letter from schwartz to the judge, in which he solicited the hand of sara. his only wealth was his profession; but with this alone he was convinced that his wife would want nothing: he was just about to undertake a journey through europe, and wished to be accompanied by sara, of whose consent and acquiescence he was quite sure. a certain degree of self-appreciation in a man was not at any time displeasing to judge frank, but this letter breathed a supercilious assurance, a professional arrogance, which were extremely repugnant to him. besides this, he was wounded by the tone of pretension in which schwartz spoke of one who was as dear to him as his own daughter; and the thought of her being united to a man of schwartz's character was intolerable to him. he was almost persuaded that sara did not love him, and burned with impatience to repel his pretensions, and to remove him at the same time from his house. elise agreed perfectly in the opinion of her husband, but was less confident than he regarding sara's state of feeling with respect to the affair. she was summoned to their presence. the judge handed to her schwartz's letter, and awaited impatiently her remarks upon it. her colour paled before the grave and searching glance which was riveted upon her, but she declared herself quite willing to accept schwartz's proposal. astonishment and vexation painted themselves on the countenance of her adopted father. "ah, sara," said the mother, after a short silence, "have you well considered this? do you think that schwartz is a man who can make a wife happy?" "he can make me happy," returned sara; "happy according to my own mind." "you can never, never," said the mother, "enjoy domestic happiness with him!" "he loves me," returned sara, "and he can give me a happiness which i never enjoyed here. i lost early both father and mother, and in the home into which i was received out of charity, all became colder and colder towards me!" "ah, do not think so, sara!" said the mother. "but even if this were the case, may not some little of it be your own fault? do you really do anything to make yourself beloved? do you strive against that which makes you less amiable?" "i can renounce such love," said sara, "as will not love me with my faults. nature gave me strong feelings and inclinations, and i cannot bring them into subjection." "you will not, sara," was the reply. "i cannot! and it may be that i will not," said she, "submit myself to the subjugation and taming which has been allotted as the share of the woman. why should i? i feel strength in myself to break up a new path for myself. i will lead a fresh and an independent life! i will live a bright artiste-life, free from the trammels and the lilliputian considerations of domestic life. i will be free! i will not, as now, be watched and suspected, and be under a state of espionage! i will be free from the displeasure and blame which now dog my footsteps! this treatment it is, mother, which has determined my resolution." "if," answered the mother, in a tremulous voice, and deeply affected by sara's words and tone, "i have erred towards you--and i may have done so--i know well that it has not been from temper, or out of want of tenderness towards you. i have spoken to and warned you from the best conviction; i have sincerely endeavoured and desired that which is best for you, and this you will some time or other come to see even better than now.[ ] you will perhaps come to see that it would have been good for you if you had lent a more willing ear to my maternal counsellings; will perhaps come to deplore that you rewarded the love i cherished for you with reproaches and bitterness!" "then let me go!" said sara, with gentler voice; "we do not accord well together. i embitter your life, and you make--perhaps you cannot make mine happy. let me go with him who will love me with all my faults, who can and will open a freer scope to my powers and talents than i have hitherto had." "ah, sara," returned elise, "will you obtain in this freer field a better happiness than can be afforded you by a domestic circle, by the tenderness of true friends, and a happy domestic life?" "are you then so happy, my mother?" interrupted sara with an ironical smile, and a searching glance; "are you then so happy in this circle, and this domestic life, which you praise so highly, that you thus repeat what has been said on the subject from the beginning of the world. those perpetual cares in which you have passed your days, those trifling cares and thoughts for every-day necessities, which are so opposite to your own nature, are they then so pleasant, so captivating? have you not renounced many of your beautiful gifts--your pleasure in literature and music--nay, in short, what is the most lovely part of life, in order to bury yourself in concealment and oblivion, and there, like the silkworm, to spin your own sepulchre of the threads which another will wind off? you bow your own will continually before that of another; your innocent pleasures you sacrifice daily either to him or to others: are you so very happy amid all these renunciations?" the judge rose up passionately; went several times up and down the room, and placed himself at last directly opposite to sara, leaning his back to the stove, and listening attentively for the answer of his wife. "yes, sara, i am happy!" answered she, with an energy very unusual in her; "yes, i am happy! whenever i make any sacrifice, i receive a rich return. and if there be moments when i feel painfully any renunciation which i have made, there are others, and far more of them, in which i congratulate myself on all that i have won. i am become improved through the husband whom god has given to me; through my children, through my duties, through the desires and the wants which i have overcome at his side--yes, sara, above all things, through him, his affection, his excellence, am i improved, and feel myself happier every day. love, sara, love changes sacrifice into pleasure, and makes renunciation sweet! i thank god for my lot, and only wish that i were worthier of it!" "it may be!" said sara, proudly; "every one has his own sphere. but the tame happiness of the dove suits not the eagle!" "sara!" exclaimed the judge, in a tone of severe displeasure. the mother, unable longer to repress the outbreak of excited feeling, left the room with her handkerchief to her eyes. "for shame, sara," said the judge with severe gravity, and standing before her with a reproving glance, "for shame! this arrogance goes too far!" she trembled now before his eye as she had done once before; a remembrance from the days of her childhood awoke within her; her eyelids sunk, and a burning crimson covered her face. "you have forgotten yourself," continued he, calmly, but severely, "and in your childish haughtiness have only shown how far you are below that worth and excellence which you cannot understand, and which, in your present state of mind, you never can emulate. your own calm judgment will make the sharpest reproaches on this last scene, and will, nay, must lead you to throw yourself at the feet of your mother. all, however, that i now ask from you is, that you think over your intentions rationally. how is it possible, sara, that you overlook your own inconsistency? you argue zealously against domestic life--against the duties of marriage, and yet, at the same time, wilfully determine to tie those bonds with a man who will make them actual fetters for you." "he will not fetter me," returned she; "he has promised it--he has sworn it! i shall not subject myself to him as a wife, but i shall stand at his side as an equal, as an artiste, and step with him into a world beautiful and rich in honours, which he will open to me." "ah, mere talk!" exclaimed the judge. "folly, folly! how can you be so foolish, and believe in such false show? the state gives your husband a power over you which he will not fail to abuse--that i can promise you from what i know of his character, and from what i now discover of yours. no woman can withdraw from a connexion of this kind unpunished, more especially under the circumstances in which you are placed. sara, you do not love the man to whom you are about to unite yourself, and it is impossible that you can love him. no true esteem, no pure regard binds you to him." "he loves me," answered sara, with trembling lips; "i admire his power and artistical genius;--he will conduct me to independence and honour! it is no fault of mine that the lot of woman is so contracted and miserable--that she must bind herself in order to become free!" "only as a means?" asked he; "the holiest tie on earth only as a means, and for what? for a pitiable and ephemeral chase after happiness, which you call honour and freedom. poor, deceived sara! are you so misled, so turned aside from the right? is it possible that the miserable book of a writer, as full of pretension as weak and superficial, has been able thus to misguide you?" and with these words he took volney's ruins out of his pocket, and threw it upon the table. sara started and reddened. "ah," said she, "this is only another instance of espionage over me." "not so," replied the judge, calmly. "i was this day in your room; you had left the book lying on the table, and i took it, in order that i might speak with you about it, and prevent petrea's young steps from treading this path of error without a guide." "people may think what they please," said sara, "of the influence of the book, but i conceive that author deserves least of all the epithet weak." "when you have followed his counsel," returned he, "and resemble the wreck which the waves have thrown up here, then you may judge of the strength and skill of the steersman! my child, do not follow him. a more mature, a more logical power of mind, will teach you how little he knows of the ocean of life, of its breakers and its depths--how little he understands the true compass." "ah!" said sara, "these storms, these dangers, nay, even shipwreck itself, appear to me preferable to the still, windless water which the so-much-be-praised haven of domestic life represents. you speak, my father, of chimeras; but tell me, is not the so-lauded happiness of domestic life more a chimera than any other? when the saloon is set in order, one does not see the broom and the dusting-brush that have been at work in it, and the million grains of dust which have filled the air; one forgets that they have ever been there. so it is with domestic and family life; one persists wilfully in only seeing its beautiful moments, and in passing over, in not noticing at all, what are less beautiful, or indeed are 'repulsive.'" "all depends upon which are the predominant," replied he, half smiling at sara's simile. "thus, then, if it be more frequently disorderly than orderly, if the air be more frequently filled with dust than it is pure and fresh, then the devil may dwell there, but not i! i know very well that there are homes enough on earth where there are dust-filled rooms, but that must be the fault of the inhabitants. on them alone depends the condition of the house; from those which may not unjustly be called ante-rooms of hell, to those again which, spite of their earthly imperfections, spite of many a visitation of duster and dusting-brush, yet may deserve the names of courts of heaven. and where, sara, where in this world will you find an existence free from earthly dust? and is that of which you complain so bitterly anything else than the earthly husk which encloses every mortal existence of man as well as of woman?--it is the soil in which the plant must grow; it is the chrysalis in which the larva becomes ripe for its change of life! can you actually be blind to that higher and nobler life which never developes itself more beautifully than in a peaceful home? can you deny that it is in the sphere of family and friendship where man lives most perfectly and best, as citizen of an earthly and of a heavenly kingdom? can you deny how great and noble is the efficacy of woman in private life, be she married or single, if she only endeavour----" "ah," said sara, interrupting him, "the sphere of private life is too narrow for me. i require a larger one, in order to breathe freely and freshly." "in pure affection," replied the judge, "in friendship, and in the exercise of kindness, there is large and fresh breathing space; the air of eternity plays through it. in intellectual development--and the very highest may be arrived at in private life--the whole world opens itself to the eye of man, and infinite treasures are offered to his soul, more, far more, than he can ever appropriate to himself!" "but the artist," argued sara--"the artist cannot form himself at home--he must try himself on the great theatre of the world. is his bent only a chimera, my father? and are those distinguished persons who present the highest pleasures to the world through their talents; to whom the many look up with admiration and homage; around whom the great, and the beautiful, and the agreeable collect themselves, are they fools?--are they blind hunters after happiness? ah, what lot can well be more glorious than theirs! oh, my father, i am young; i feel a power in myself which is not a common one--my heart throbs for a freer and more beautiful life! desire not that i should constrain my own nature: desire not that i should compress my beautiful talents into a sphere which has no charms for me!" "i do not depreciate, certainly, the profession of the artist," replied the judge, "nor the value of his agency: in its best meaning, his is as noble as any; but is it this pure bent, this noble view of it, which impels you, which animates you? sara, examine your own heart; it is vanity and selfish ambition which impel you. it is the arrogance of your eighteen years, and some degree of talent, which make you overlook all that is good in your present lot, which make you disdain to mature yourself nobly and independently in the domestic circle. it is a deep mistake, which will now lead you to an act blamable in the eyes of god and man, and which blinds you to the dark side of the life which you covet. nevertheless, there is none darker, none in which the changes of fortune are more dependent on miserable accidents. an accident may deprive you of your beauty, or your voice, and with these you lose the favour of the world in which you have placed your happiness. besides this, you will not always continue at eighteen, sara: by the time you are thirty all your glory will be past, and then--then what will you have collected for the remaining half of life? you will have rioted for a short time in order then to starve; since, so surely as i stand here, with this haughty and vain disposition, and with the husband whom you will have chosen, you will come to want; and, too late, you will look back in your misery, full of remorse, to the virtue and to the true life which you have renounced." sara was silent; she was shaken by the words and by the countenance of her adopted father. "and how perfectly different it might be!" continued he, with warmth; "how beautiful, how full of blessing might not your life and your talents be! sara! i have loved you, and love you still, like my own daughter--will you not listen to me as to a father? answer me--have you had to give up anything in this house, which, with any show of reason, you might demand? and have we spared any possible care for your education or your accomplishments?" "no," replied sara, sighing; "all have been kind, very kind to me." "well, then," exclaimed the judge, with increasing warmth and cordiality, "depend upon your mother and me, that you will have no cause of complaint. i am not without property and connexions. i will spare no means of cultivating your talents, and then if your turn for art is a true one, when it has been cultivated to its utmost it shall not be concealed from a world which can enjoy and reward it. but remain under our protection, and do not cast yourself, inexperienced as you are, on a world which will only lead you more astray. do not, in order to win an ideal liberty, give your hand to a man inferior to you in accomplishments; to a man whom you do not love, and whom, morally speaking, you cannot esteem. descend into your own heart, and see its error while there is yet time to retrieve it, before you are crushed by your own folly. do not fly from affectionate, careful friends--do not fly from the paternal roof in blind impatience of disagreeables, to remove which depends perhaps only on yourself! sara, my child! i have not taken you under my roof in order to let you become the victim of ruin and misfortune! pause, sara, and reflect, i pray you, i conjure you! make not yourself wretched! when i took you from the death-bed of your father, i threw my arms around _you_ to shield you from the winds of autumn--i clasp them once again around you, in order to shield you from far more dangerous winds--sara, my child, fly not from this house!" sara trembled; she was violently agitated, and leaned her head with indescribable emotion against her adopted father, who clasped her tenderly to his bosom. it is not difficult to say whether they were good or bad angels who triumphed in sara, as she, after a moment of violent inward struggle, pushed from her the paternal friend, and said, with averted countenance, "it is in vain; my determination is taken. i shall become the wife of schwartz, and go where my fate leads me!" the judge started up, stamped on the floor, and pale with anger, exclaimed, with flashing eyes, "obdurate one! since neither love nor prayers have power over you, you must listen to another mode of speech! i have the right of a guardian over you, and i forbid this unholy marriage! i forbid you to leave my house! you hear me, and you shall obey!" sara stood up as pale as death, and with an insolent expression riveted her large eyes upon him, whilst he, too, fixed his upon her with all the force of his peculiar earnestness and decision. it seemed as if each would look the other through--as if each in this contest would measure his strength against the other. suddenly her arms were flung wildly round his neck, a burning kiss was pressed upon his lips, and the next moment she was out of the room. elise sate in her boudoir. she still wept bitter tears. it was twilight, and her knees were suddenly embraced, and her hands and her dress were covered with kisses and with tears. when she put forth her hands to raise the one who embraced her, she had vanished. "sara, sara! where are you?" exclaimed she, full of anxiety. petrea came down from her chamber; she met some one, who embraced her, pressed her lips to her forehead, and whispered, "forget me!" "sara, sara! where are you going?" exclaimed she, terrified, and running after her to the house door. "where is sara?" inquired the judge, violently, above in the chambers of his daughters. "where is sara?" inquired he, below in the library. "ah!" exclaimed petrea, who now rushed in weeping, "she is this moment gone out--out into the street; she almost ran. she forbade me to follow her. ah, she certainly never will come back again!" "the devil!" said the judge, hastening from the room, and taking up his hat, went out. far off in the street he saw a female figure, which, with only a handkerchief thrown over her head and shoulders, was hastening onward, and who, spite of the twilight, he recognised to be sara. he hastened after her; she looked round, saw him, and fled. certain now that he was not mistaken, he followed, and was almost near enough to take hold of her, when she suddenly turned aside, and rushed into a house--it was that of schwartz. he followed with the quickness of lightning; followed her up the steps, and was just laying his hand on her, when she vanished through a door. the next moment he too opened it, and saw her--in the arms of schwartz! the two stood together embracing, and evidently prepared to defy him. he stood for some moments silent before them, regarding them with an indescribable look of wrath, contempt, and sorrow. he looked upon the pale breathless sara, and covered his eyes with his hand; the next moment, however, he seemed to collect himself, and with all the calm and respect-commanding dignity of a parent, he grasped her hand, and said, "you now follow me home. on sunday the banns shall be proclaimed." sara followed. she took his arm, and with a drooping head, and without a word, accompanied him home. all there was disquiet and sorrow. but, notwithstanding the general discontent with sara and her marriage, there was not one of the family who did not busy themselves earnestly in her outfit. louise, who blamed her more than all the rest, gave herself most trouble about it. sara behaved as if she never observed how everybody was working for her, and passed her time either over her harp, or solitary in her own room. any intercourse with the members of the family seemed to have become painful to her, whilst petrea's tenderness and tears were received with indifference--nay, even with sternness. footnotes: [ ] all mothers speak thus--but not all, nay, not many with the same right as elise. chapter xiii. departure. sara's joyless marriage was over; and the hour was come in which she was to leave that home and family which had so affectionately received her, and which now with solicitude and the tenderest care provided for her wants in her new position. in the hour of separation, the crust of ice which had hitherto surrounded her being broke, she sank, weeping violently, at the feet of her foster-parents. the judge was deeply affected. "you have had your own will, sara," said he, in a firm but mournful voice, "may you be happy! some few warnings i have given you, do not forget them; they are the last! if you should be deceived in the hopes which now animate you--if you should be unfortunate--unfortunate, or criminal, then remember--then remember, sara, that here you have father and mother, and sisters, who will receive you with open arms; then remember that you have here family and home!" he ceased: drew her a little aside, took her hand, and pressed a bank-note in it. "take this," said he, tenderly, "as a little help in the hour of need. no, you must not refuse it from your foster-father. take it for his love's sake, you will some time need it!" it was with difficulty that the judge had so far preserved his calmness; he now pressed her violently to his breast; kissed her brow and lips, whilst his tears flowed abundantly. the mother and sisters too surrounded her weeping. at that moment the door opened, and schwartz entered. "the carriage waits," said he, with a dark glance on the mournful group. sara tore herself from the arms which would have held her fast, and rushed out of the room. a few seconds more, and the travelling carriage rolled away. "she is lost!" exclaimed the judge to his wife with bitter pain. "i feel it in myself that she is lost! her death would have been less painful to me than this marriage." for many days he continued silent and melancholy. chapter xiv. little scenes. the past episode had gone through the house like a whirlwind. when it was over, the heaven cleared itself anew, and they were able to confess that a more joyful tranquillity had diffused itself over all. there was no one who did not think of sara with sympathy, who did not weep sometimes at her violent separation from the family; but there was no one, with the exception of the judge and petrea, who did not feel her absence to be a secret relief; for one unquiet temper, and one full of pretension, can disturb a whole household, and make the most exquisite natural gifts of no account. the judge missed a daughter from the beloved circle; missed that beautiful, richly-endowed girl, and could not think of her future prospects without bitter anxiety. petrea wept the object of her youthful admiration and homage, but consoled herself with the romantic plans she formed for seeing her again, in all of which she gave to herself the province of guardian angel, either as the queen of a desert island, or as a warrior bleeding for her, or as a disguised person who unloosed her bonds in the depths of a dungeon in order to put them on herself: in short, in all possible ways in the world except the possible one. sara wrote soon after her separation from her friends; she spoke of the past with gratitude, and of the future with hope. the letter exhibited a certain decision and calmness; a certain seriousness, which diffused through the family a satisfactory ease of mind with regard to her future fate. elise was ever inclined to hope for the best, and young people are always optimists: the judge said nothing which might disturb the peace of his family, whilst louise alone shook her head and sighed. after the many disturbing circumstances which had lately occurred in the family, all seemed now to long after repose, and the ability to enjoy a quieter domestic life. occupations of all kinds--those simple but cheerful daughters of well-regulated life, went on cheerfully and comfortably under the eye of louise. there was no want in the house of joyful hours, sunshine of every kind, and entertainment full of interest. the newspapers which the judge took in, and which kept the family _au courant_ of the questions of the day, furnished materials for much development of mind, for much conversation and much thought, especially among the young people. the father had great pleasure in hearing thus their interchange of opinion, although he himself seldom mingled in their discussions, with the exception of now and then a guiding word. "i fancy all is going on quite right," said he, joyfully, to his wife one day. "the children live gaily at home, and are preparing themselves for life. indeed, if they only once open their eyes and ears, they will find subjects enough on which to use them; and will be astonished at all that life will present them with. it is well when home furnishes nourishment for mind as well as heart and body. i rejoice too, extremely, over our new house. every land, every climate, has its own advantages as well as its own difficulties, and the economy of life must be skilfully adjusted if it is to be maintained with honour and advantage. our country, which compels us to live so much in the house, seems thereby to admonish us to a more concentrated, and at the same time more quiet and domestic life, on which account we need, above all things, comfortable houses, which are able to advance and advantage soul as well as body. thank god! i fancy ours is pretty good for that purpose, and in time may yet be better; the children too look happy; gabriele grows now every day, and louise has grown over all our heads!" the young people were very much occupied with plans for the future. eva and leonore built all their castles in the air together. a great intimacy had grown up between these two sisters since they were alone during the absence of the others at axelholm. one might say, that ever since that evening, when they sate together eating grapes and reading a novel, the seed of friendship which had long been sprouting in their hearts, shot forth thence its young leaves. their castles in the air were no common castles of romance; they had for their foundation the prosaic but beautiful thought of gaining for themselves an independent livelihood in the future--for the parents had early taught their daughters to direct their minds to this object--and hence beautiful establishments were founded, partly for friendship and partly for humanity: for young girls are always great philanthropists. jacobi also had many schemes for the future of himself and his wife, and louise many schemes how to realise them. in the mean time there were many processes about kisses. louise wished to establish a law that not more than three a day should be allowed, against which jacobi protested both by word and deed, on which occasions gabriele always ran away hastily and indignantly. petrea read english with louise, arranged little festivities for her and the family; wept every evening over sara, and beat her brains every morning over "the creation of the world," whilst the good parents watched ever observantly over them all. no one, however, enjoyed the present circumstances of the family so much as henrik. after he had succeeded in inducing his sisters to use more lively exercise and exhilaration, he devoted himself more exclusively to his favourite studies, history and philosophy. often he took his book and wandered with it whole days in the country, but every evening at seven he punctually joined the family circle, and was there the merriest of the merry. "we live now right happily," said he one evening in confidential discourse with his mother; "and i, for my part, never enjoyed life so much. i feel now that my studies will really mend, and that something can be made of me. and when i have studied for a whole day, and that not fruitlessly either, and then come of an evening to you and my sisters, and see all here so friendly, so bright and cheerful, life seems so agreeable! i feel myself so happy, and almost wish it might always remain as it is now." "ah, yes!" answered the mother, "if we could always keep you with us, my henrik! but i know that won't do; you must soon leave us again; and then, when you have finished your studies, you must have your own house." "and then, mother, you shall come to me!" this had been years before, and still was henrik's favourite theme, and the mother listened willingly to it. several poems which henrik wrote about this time seemed to indicate the most decided poetical talent, and gave his mother and sisters the greatest delight, whilst they excited, at the same time, great attention among the friends of the family. the judge alone looked on gloomily. "you will spoil him," exclaimed he one evening to his wife and daughters, "if you make him fancy that he is something extraordinary, before he is in anything out of the common way. i confess that his poetising is very much against my wish. when one is a man, one should have something much more important to do than to sigh, and sing about this and that future life. if he were likely to be a thorild,[ ] or any other of our greatest poets----but i see no signs of that! and this poetasterism, this literary idleness, which perpetually either lifts young people above the clouds, or places them under the earth, so that for pure cloud and dust they are unable to see the good noble gifts of actual life--i would the devil had it! the direction which henrik is now taking grieves me seriously. i had rejoiced myself so in the thought of his being a first-rate miner; in his being instrumental in turning to good account our mines, our woods and streams, those noblest foundations of sweden's wealth, and to which it was worth while devoting a good head; and now, instead of that, he hangs his on one side; sits with a pen in his hand, and rhymes 'face' and 'grace,' 'heart' and 'smart!' it is quite contrary to my feelings! i wish stjernhök would come here soon. now there's a fellow! he will turn out something first-rate! i wish he were coming soon; perhaps he might influence henrik, and induce him to give up this verse-making, which, perhaps, at bottom, is only vanity." elise and the daughters were silent. for a considerable time now, elise had accustomed herself to silence when her husband grumbled. but often--whenever it was necessary--she would return to the subject of his discontent at a time when he was calm, and then, talk it over with him; and this line of tactics succeeded admirably. she made use of them on the present occasion. "ernst," said she to him in the evening, "it grieves me that you are so displeased with henrik's poetical bent. ah! it has delighted me so much, precisely because i fancied that it is real, and that in this case it may be as useful as any other can be. still i never will encourage anything in him which is opposed to your wishes." "my dear elise," returned he mildly, "manage this affair according to your own convictions and conscience. it is very probable that you are right, and that i am wrong. all that i beseech of you is, that you watch over yourself, in order that affection to your first-born may not mislead you to mistake for excellence that which is only mediocre, and his little attempts for masterpieces. henrik may be, if he can, a distinguished poet and literary man; but he must not as yet imagine himself anything; above all things, he must not suppose it possible to be a distinguished man in any profession without preparing himself by serious labour, and without first of all becoming a thinking being. if he were this, i promise you that i should rejoice over my son, let him be what profession he would--a worker in thought or a worker in mountains. and for this very reason one must be careful not to value too highly these poetical blossoms. if vanity remains in him he never will covet serious renown in anything." "you are right, ernst," said his wife, with all the cordiality of inward conviction. * * * * * henrik also longed earnestly for stjernhök's arrival. he wished to show him his work; he longed to measure his new historical and philosophical knowledge against that of his friend; he longed, in one word, to be esteemed by him; for henrik's gentle and affectionate nature had always felt itself powerfully attracted by the energetic and, as one may say, metallic nature of the other, and ever since the years of their boyhood had the esteem and friendship of stjernhök been the goal of henrik's endeavours, and of his warm, although till now unattainable, wishes. stjernhök had hitherto always behaved towards henrik with a certain friendly indifference, never as a companion and friend. stjernhök came. he was received by the whole family with the greatest cordiality, but by no one with a warmer heart than henrik. there was even externally the greatest dissimilarity between these two young men. henrik was remarkable for extraordinary, almost feminine beauty; his figure was noble but slender, and his glance glowing though somewhat dreamy. stjernhök, some years henrik's senior, had become early a man. all with him was muscular, firm, and powerful; his countenance was intelligent without being handsome, and a star as it were gleamed in his clear, decided eye; such a star as is often prophetic of fate, and over whose path fortunate stars keep watch. some days after stjernhök's arrival henrik became greatly changed. he had become quiet, and there was an air of depression on his countenance. stjernhök now, as he had always done, did not appear unfriendly to henrik, but still paid but little attention to him. he occupied himself very busily, partly with trying chemical experiments with jacobi and the ladies, and partly in the evening, and even into the night, in making astronomical observations with his excellent telescope. one of the beaming stars to which the observations of the young astronomer were industriously directed was called afterwards in the family stjernhök's star. all gathered themselves around the interesting and well-informed young man. the judge took the greatest delight in his conversation, and asserted before his family more than once his pleasure in him, and the hopes which the nation itself might have of him. the young student of mining was a favourite with the judge also because, besides his extraordinary knowledge, he behaved always with the greatest respect towards older and more experienced persons. "see, henrik," said his father to him one day, after a conversation with stjernhök, "what _i_ call poetry, real poetry; it is this--to tame the rivers, and to compel their wild falls to produce wealth and comfort, whilst woods are felled on their banks and corn-fields cultivated; human dwellings spring up, and cheerful activity and joyful voices enliven the country. look! that may be called a beautiful creation!" henrik was silent. "but," said gabriele, with all her natural refinement, "to be happy in these homes, they must be able to read a pleasant book or to sing a beautiful song, else their lives, spite of all their waterfalls, would be very dry!" the judge smiled, kissed his little daughter, and tears of delight filled his eyes. henrik, in the mean time, had gone into another room and seated himself at a window. his mother followed him. "how do you feel, my henrik?" said she affectionately, gently taking away the hand which shaded his eyes. his hand was concealing his tears. "my good, good youth!" exclaimed she, her eyes also overflowing with tears, and throwing her arms around him. "now see!" began she consolingly, "you should not distress yourself when your father speaks in a somewhat one-sided manner. you know perfectly well how infinitely good and just he is, and that if he be only once convinced of the genuineness of your poetic talent, he will be quite contented. he is only now afraid of your stopping short in mediocrity. he would be pleased and delighted if you obtained honour in your own peculiar way." "ah!" said henrik, "if i only knew whether or not i had a peculiar way--a peculiar vocation. but since stjernhök has been here, and i have talked with him, everything, both externally and internally, seems altered. i don't any longer understand myself. stjernhök has shown me how very little i know of that which i supposed myself to know a great deal, and what bungling my work is! i see it now perfectly, and it distresses me. how strong-minded and powerful stjernhök is! i wish i were able to resemble him! but it is impossible, i feel myself such a mere nothing beside him! and yet, when i am alone, either with my books, or out in the free air with the trees, the rocks, the waters, the winds around me, and with heaven above, thoughts arise in me, feelings take possession of me, nameless sweet feelings, and then expressions and words speak in me which affect me deeply, and give me inexpressible delight; then all that is great and good in humanity is so present with me; then i have a foretaste of harmony in everything, of god in everything; and it seems to me as if words thronged themselves to my lips to sing forth the gloriousness of that which i perceive. in such moments i feel something great within me, and i fancy that my songs would find an echo in every heart. yes, it is thus that i feel sometimes; but when i see stjernhök all is vanished, and i feel so little, so poor, i am compelled to believe that i am a dreamer and a fool!" "my good youth," said the mother, "you mistake yourself. your gifts and stjernhök's are so dissimilar: but if you employ your talents with sincerity and earnestness, they will in their turn bring forth fruit. i confess to you, henrik, that it was, and still is, one of my most lively wishes that one of my children might become distinguished in the fields of literature. literature has furnished to me my most beautiful enjoyments; and in my younger years i myself was not without my ambition in this way. i see in you my own powers more richly blossoming. i myself bloom forth in them, my henrik, and in my hopes of you. ah! might i live to the day in which i saw you honoured by your native land; in which i saw your father proud of his son, and i myself able to gladden my heart with the fruit of your genius, your work--oh, then i would gladly die!" enthusiastic fire flamed in henrik's looks and on his cheeks, as whilst, embracing his mother, he said, "no, you shall live, mother, to be honoured on account of your son. he promises that you shall have joy in him!" the sunbeam which just then streamed into the room fell upon henrik's beautiful hair, which shone like gold. the mother saw it--saw silently a prophesying in it, and a sun-bright smile diffused itself over her countenance. * * * * * petrea read the "magic king." she ought properly to have read it aloud to the family circle in an evening, and then its dangerous magic would have been decreased; but she read it beforehand, privately to herself during the night, and it drew her into the bewildering magic circle. she thought of nothing, dreamed of nothing, but wonderful adventure; wonderfully beautiful ladies, and wonderfully brave heroes! she was herself always one of them, worshipped or worshipping; now combating, cross in hand, against witches and dragons; now wandering in dreamy moonlight among lilies in the lady minnetrost's castle. it seemed as if the chaotic confusion of petrea's brain had here taken shape and stature, and she now took possession with redoubled force of the phantasy world, which once before, under the guise of the wood-god, had carried away her childish mind and conducted her into false tracks; and it was so even now; for while she moved night and day in a dream-world in which she luxuriated to exultation, in magnificent and wonderful scenes, in which she herself always played a part, she got on but lamentably in real and every-day life. the head in which so many splendid pictures and grand schemes were agitating, looked generally something like a bundle of flax; she never noticed the holes and specks in her dress, nor her ragged stockings and trodden-down shoes; she forgot all her little, every-day business, and whatever she had in her hand she either lost or dropped. she had, besides, a passion for cracking almonds. "a passion," louise said, "as expensive as it was noisy, and which never was stronger than when she went about under the influence of the magic ring; and that perpetual crack! crack! which was heard wherever she went, and the almond shells on which people trod, or which hung to the sleeve of whoever came to the window, were anything but agreeable." whenever petrea was deservedly reproved or admonished for these things, she fell out of the clouds, or rather out of her heaven, down to the earth, which seemed to her scarcely anything else than a heap of nettles and brambles, and very gladly indeed would she have bought with ten years of her life one year of the magic power of the "magic ring," together with beauty, magic charms, power, and such-like things, which she did not possess, except in her dreams. petrea's life was a cleft between an ideal and a real world, of both of which she knew nothing truly, and which, therefore, could not become amalgamated in her soul. rivers of tears flowed into the separating gulf, without being able to fill it or to clear her vision, while she now complained of circumstances, and now of her own self, as being the cause of what she endured. it was at this time that, partly at the wish of the parents, and partly also out of his own kind-heartedness, jacobi began seriously to occupy himself with petrea; and he occupied her mind in such a manner as strengthened and practised her thinking powers, whereby the fermentation in her feelings and imagination was in some measure abated. all this was indescribably beneficial to her, and it would have been still more so had not the teacher been too----but we will leave the secret to future years. * * * * * the judge received one day a large letter from stockholm, which, after he had read, he silently laid before his wife. it came from the highest quarter, contained most honourable and flattering praise of the services of judge frank, of which the government had long been observant, and now offered him elevation to the highest regal court of justice. when elise had finished the letter she looked up inquiringly to her husband, who stood beside her. "what think you of it, ernst?" asked she, with a constrained and uneasy glance. the judge walked more quickly up and down the room, as was his custom when anything excited him. "i cannot feel indifferent," said he; "i am affected by this mark of confidence in my sovereign. i have long expected this occurrence; but i feel, i see that i cannot leave my present sphere of operation. my activity is suited to it; i know that i am of service here, and the confidence of the governor gives me unrestrained power to work according to my ability and views. it is possible that he, instead of me, may get the credit of the good which is done in the province; but, in god's name, let it be so! i know that what is good and beneficial is actually done, and that is enough; but there is a great deal which is only begun which must be completed, and a great deal, an infinite great deal, remains yet to be done. i cannot leave a half-finished work--i cannot and i will not! one must complete one's work, else it is good for nothing! and i know that here i am--but i am talking only of myself. tell me, elise, what you wish--what you would like." "let us remain here!" said elise, giving her hand to her husband, and seating herself beside him. "i know that you would have no pleasure in a higher rank, in a larger income, if you on that account must leave a sphere where you feel yourself in your place, and where you can work according to the desire of your own heart, and where you are surrounded by persons who esteem and love you! no; let us remain here!" "but you, you elise," said he; "speak of yourself, not of me." "yes, you!" answered she, with the smile of a happy heart, "that is not so easy to do--for you see all that belongs to the one is so interwoven with what belongs to the other. but i will tell you something about myself. i looked at myself this morning in the glass--no satirical looks, my love!--and it seemed to me as if i appeared strong and healthy. i thought of you, thought how good and kind you were, and how, whilst i had walked by your side, i had been strengthened both in body and mind; how i must still love you more and more, and how we had become happier and happier together. i thought of your activity, so rich in blessing both for home and for the general good; thought on the children, how healthy and good they are, and how their characters have unfolded so happily under our hands. i thought of our new house which you have built so comfortable and convenient for us all, and just then the sun shone cheerfully into my little, beloved boudoir, and i felt myself so fortunate in my lot! i thanked god both for it and for you! i would willingly live and die in this sphere--in this house. let us then remain here." "god bless you for these words, elise!" said he. "but the children--the children! our decision will influence their future; we must also hear what they have to say; we must lay the matter before them: not that i fear their having, if they were aware of our mode of reasoning, any wish different to ours, but at all events they must have a voice in the business. come, elise! i shall have no rest till it is all talked over and decided." * * * * * when the judge laid the affair before the family council, it occasioned a great surprise; on which a general silence ensued, and attractive visions began to swarm before the eyes of the young people, not exactly of the highest court of judicature, but of the seat of the same--of the capital. louise looked almost like a counsellor of justice herself. but when her father had made known his and his wife's feelings on the subject, he read in their tearful eyes gratitude for the confidence he had placed in them, and the most entire acquiescence with his will. no one spoke, however, till "the little one"--the father had not said to her, "go out for awhile, gabriele dear;" "let her stop with us," he said, on the contrary, "she is a prudent little girl!"--no, none spoke till gabriele threw her arms about her mother's neck, and exclaimed, "ah, don't let us go away from here--here we are so happy!" this exclamation was echoed by all. "well, then, here we remain, in god's name!" said the judge, rising up and extending his arms, with tears in his eyes, towards the beloved circle. "here we remain, children! but this shall not prevent your seeing stockholm, and enjoying its pleasures and beauties! i thank god, my children, that you are happy here; it makes me so, too. do you understand that?" * * * * * on this day, for the first time after a long interval, leonore dined with the family. everybody rejoiced on that account; and as her countenance had a brighter and more kindly expression than common, everybody thought her pretty. eva, who had directed and assisted her toilet, rejoiced over her from the bottom of her heart. "don't you see, leonore," said she, pointing up to heaven, where light blue openings were visible between clouds, which for the greater part of the day had poured down rain--"don't you see it is clearing up, leonore? and then we will go out together, and gather flowers and fruit." and as she said this her blue eyes beamed with kindness and the enjoyment of life. * * * * * "what, in all the world, are these doing here?" asked henrik, as he saw his mother's shoes standing in the window in the pale sunshine; "they ought to be warmed, i fancy, and the sun has no desire to come out and do his duty. no, in this case, i shall undertake to be sun!" "that you are to me, my summer-child!" said the mother, smiling affectionately as she saw henrik had placed her shoes under his waistcoat, to warm them on his breast. * * * * * "my sweet louise!" exclaimed jacobi, "you can't think what lovely weather it is! should we not take a little walk? you come with us? you look most charming--but, in heaven's name, not in the court-preacher!" footnotes: [ ] thomas thorild, born , died , an eminent swedish poet. part iii. chapter i. leonore to eva. "and so you are coming home? coming really home soon, sweet eva? ah! i am so happy, so joyful on that account, and yet a little anxious: but don't mind that; come, only come, and all will be right! when i can only look into your eyes, i feel that all will be clear. your good eyes!--gabriele and i call them 'our blue ones'--how long it is that i have not seen you--two long years! i cannot conceive, dear eva, how i have lived so long without you; but then it is true that we have not been in reality separated. i have accompanied you into the great world; i have been with you to balls and concerts; i have enjoyed with you your pleasures and the homage which has been paid to you. ah! what joy for me that i have learned to love you! since then i have lived twofold, and felt myself so rich in you! and now you are coming back; and then, shall we be as happy as before? "forgive, forgive this note of interrogation! but sometimes a disquiet comes over me. you speak so much of the great world, of joys and enjoyments, which--it is not in home to afford you. and your grand new acquaintance--ah, eva! let them be ever so agreeable and interesting, they would not love you as we do, as i do! and then this major r----! i am afraid of him, eva. it appears to me the most natural thing in the world that he should love you, but--ah, eva! it grieves me that you should feel such affection for him. my dear, good eva, attach yourself not too closely to him before--but i distress you, and that i will not. come, only come to us; we have so much to talk to you about, so much to hear from you, so much to say to you! "i fancy you will find the house yet more agreeable than formerly; we have added many little decorations to it. you will again take breakfast with us--that comfortable meal, and my best-beloved time; and tea with us--your favourite hour, in which we were assembled for a merry evening, and were often quite wild. this morning i took out your breakfast-cup, and kissed that part of the edge on which the gold was worn off. "we will again read books together, and think about and talk about them together. we will again go out together and enjoy all the freshness and quiet of the woods. and would it not be a blessed thing to wander thus calmly through life, endeavouring to improve ourselves, and to make all those around us happier; to admire the works of god, and humbly to thank him for all that he has given to us and others? should we not then have lived and flourished enough on earth? truly i know that a life quiet as this might not satisfy every one; neither can it accord with all seasons of life. storms will come;--even i have had my time of unrest, of suffering, and of combat. but, thank god! that is now past, and the sensibility which destroyed my peace is now become as a light to my path; it has extended my world; it has made me better: and now that i no longer covet to enjoy the greater and stronger pleasures of life, i learn now, each passing day, to prize yet higher the treasures which surround me in this quiet every-day life. oh, no one can be happy on earth till he has learned the worth of little things, and to attend to them! when once he has learned this, he may make each day not only happy, but find in it cause of thankfulness. but he must have peace--peace both within himself and without himself; for peace is the sun in which every dewdrop of life glitters! "would that i could but call back peace into a heart which--but i must prepare you for a change, for a great void in the house. you will not find petrea here. you know the state of things which so much distressed me for some time. it would not do to let it go on any longer either for louise or jacobi's sake, or yet for her own, and therefore petrea must go, otherwise they all would have become unhappy. she herself saw it; and as we had tidings of jacobi's speedy arrival here, she opened her heart to her parents. it was noble and right of her, and they were as good and prudent as ever; and now our father has gone with her to his friend bishop b. may god preserve her, and give her peace! i shed many tears over her; but i hope all may turn out well. her lively heart has a fresh-flowing fountain of health in it; and certainly her residence in the country, which she likes so much, new circumstances, new interests---- "i was interrupted: jacobi is come! it is a good thing that petrea is now whiling away her time in the shades of furudal; good for her poor heart, and good too for the betrothed pair, who otherwise could not have ventured to have been happy in her presence. but now they are entirely so. "now, after six years' long waiting, sighing, and hoping, jacobi sees himself approaching the goal of his wishes--marriage and a parsonage! and the person who helps him to all this, to say nothing of his own individual deserts, is his beloved patron the excellent excellency o----. through his influence two important landed-proprietors in the parish of great t. have been induced to give their votes to jacobi, who, though yet young, has been proposed; and thus he will receive one of the largest and most beautiful livings in the bishopric, and louise will become a greatly honoured pastor's wife--'provost's wife' she herself says prophetically. "the only _but_ in this happiness is, that it will remove jacobi and louise so far from us. their highest wish had been to obtain the rural appointment near this city; and thus we might in that case have maintained our family unbroken, even though louise had left her home; but--'but,' says our good, sensible 'eldest,' with a sigh, 'all things cannot be perfect here on earth.' "the day of nomination falls early in the spring; and jacobi, who must enter upon his office immediately after his appointment, wishes to celebrate his marriage at whitsuntide, in order that he may conduct his young wife into his shepherd's hut along flower-bestrewn paths, and by the song of the lark. mrs. gunilla jestingly beseeches of him not to become too nomadic: however, this is certain, that no living being has more interest about cows and calves, sheep and poultry, than louise. "the future married couple are getting their whole household in order beforehand; and gabriele heartily amuses herself with such fragments of their entertaining conversation as reach her ear, while they sit on the sofa in the library talking of love and economy. but it is not talking _alone_ that they do, for jacobi's heart is full of warm human love; and our father has not the less imparted to all his children somewhat of his love for the general good, although gabriele maintains that her portion thereof is as yet very small. "it gives one great pleasure to see the betrothed go out to make purchases, and then to see them return so cordially well pleased with all they have bought. louise discovers something so unsurpassably excellent in everything with which she furnishes herself, whether it be an earthen or a silver vessel. when i look at these two, like a pair of birds carrying together straws to their nest, and twittering over them, i cannot help thinking that it must be a greater piece of good fortune to come to the possession of a humbly supplied habitation which one has furnished oneself, than to that of a great and rich one for which other people have cared. one is, in the first place, so well acquainted with, so on thee-and-thou terms with one's things; and certainly nobody in this world can be more so than louise with hers. "we are all of us now working most actively for the wedding, but still our father does not look with altogether friendly eyes on an occasion which will withdraw a daughter from his beloved circle. he would so gladly keep us all with him, for which i rejoice and am grateful. apropos! we have a scheme for him which will make him happy in his old age, and our mother also. you remember the great piece of building-land overgrown with bushes, which the people had not understanding enough either to build upon or to give up to us, this we intend--but we will talk about it mouth to mouth. petrea has infected us all, even 'our eldest,' with her desire for great undertakings; and then--truly it is a joy to be able to labour for the happiness of those who have laboured for us so affectionately and unweariedly. "now something about friends and acquaintance. "all friends and acquaintance ask much after you. uncle jeremias wrangles because you do not come, all the time he breakfasts with us (generally on wednesday and saturday mornings), and while he abuses our rusks, but notwithstanding devours a great quantity of them. for some time he has appeared to me to have become more amiable than formerly; his temper is milder, his heart always was mild. he is the friend and physician of all the poor. a short time ago he bought a little villa, a mile distant from the city; it is to be the comfort of his age, and is to be called 'the old man's rose,'--does not that sound comfortable? "annette p. is very unhappy with her coarse sister-in-law. she does not complain; but look, complexion, nay, even her whole being, indicate the deepest discontent with life; we must attract her to us, and endeavour to make her happier. "here comes gabriele, and insists upon it that i should leave some room for her scrawl. a bold request! but then who says no to her? not i, and therefore i must make a short ending. "if a certain baron rutger l. be introduced to you when you return, do not imagine that he is deranged, although he sometimes seems as if he were so. he is the son of one of my father's friends; and as he is to be educated by my father for a civil post, he is boarded in our family. he is a kind of '_diamant brute_,' and requires polishing in more senses than one; in the mean time i fancy his wild temper is in a fair way of being tamed. one word from our mother makes impression upon him; and he is actually more regardful of the ungracious demeanour of our little lady, than of the moral preaching of our eldest. he is just nineteen. old brigitta is quite afraid of him, and will hardly trust herself to pass him lest he should leap over her. oh, how happy she, like everybody else, will be to see you back again! she fears lest you should get married, and stop in 'the hole,' as she calls stockholm. "henrik will remain with us over christmas, but you must come and help to enliven him; he is not so joyous as formerly. i fancy that the misunderstanding between him and stjernhök distresses him. ah! why would not these two understand one another! for the rest, many things are now at stake for henrik; god grant that all may go well, both on his account and mamma's! "we shall not see petrea again till after louise's marriage. when shall we all be again all together at home? sara! ah? it is now above four years since we heard anything of her, and all inquiry and search after her has been in vain. perhaps she lives no longer! i have wept many tears over her; oh! if she should return! i feel that we should be happier together than formerly; there was much that was good and noble in her, but she was misled--i hear my mother's light steps, and that predicts that she has something good for me---- "ah, yes! she has! she has a letter from you, my eva! you cannot fix the day of your return, and that is very sad--but you come soon! you love stockholm; so do i also; i could embrace stockholm for that reason. "i am now at the very edge of my paper. gabriele has bespoken the other side. i leave you now, in order to write to _her_ who left us with tears, but who, as i cordially hope, will return to us with smiles." from gabriele. in the morning. "i could not write last evening, and am now up before the sun in order to tell you that nothing can console me for petrea's absence, excepting your return. we are all of us terribly longing after 'our rose.' i know very well who beside your own family longs for this same thing. "i must tell you that a little friendship has been got up between uncle jeremias and me. all this came about in the fields, for he is never particularly polite within doors; whilst in a walk, the beautiful side of his character always comes out. petrea and i have taken such long excursions with him, and then he was mild and lively; then he botanised with us, told us of the natural families in the vegetable kingdom, and related the particular life and history of many plants. do you know it is the most agreeable thing in the world to know something of all this; one feels oneself on such familiar terms with these vegetable families. ah! how often when i feel thus am i made aware how indescribably rich and glorious life is, and i fancy that every one must live happily on earth who has only eyes and sense awakened to all that is glorious therein, and then i can sing like a bird for pure life-enjoyment. in the mean time, uncle jeremias and i cultivate flowers in the house quite enthusiastically, and intend at christmas to make presents of both red and white lilacs; but, indeed, i have almost a mind to cry that the nose of my petrea cannot smell them. "but i must come to an end, for you must know that occasionally i have undertaken to have a watchful eye over the breakfast-table, and therefore i go now to look after it. bergström has fortunately done all this, so that i have nothing now to do; next i must go and look after my moss-rose, and see whether a new bud has yet made its appearance; then i shall go and see after mamma; one glance must i give through the window to the leaves in the garden, which nod a farewell to me before they fall from the twigs; and to the sun also, which now rises bright and beaming, must i send a glance--a beam from the sun of my eyes and out of the depth of my thankful heart; and therefore that i may be able, for the best well-being of the community, to attend to all these important matters, i must say to you, farewell! to you who are so dear to me." chapter ii. petrea to leonore. from the inn at d----. "it is evening, and my father is gone out in order to make arrangements for our to-morrow's voyage. i am alone: the mist rises thick without, before the dirty inn-windows; my eyes also are misty; my heart is heavy and full, i must converse with you. "oh, leonore! the bitter step has thus been taken--i am separated from my own family, from my own home; and not soon shall i see again their mild glances, or hear your consoling voice! and all this--because i have not deserved--because i have destroyed the peace of my home! yes, leonore! in vain will you endeavour to excuse me, and reconcile me with myself! i know that i am criminal--that i have desired, that i have wished, at least, for a moment--oh, i would now press the hem of louise's garment to my lips and exclaim 'forgive, forgive! i have passed judgment on myself--i have banished myself; i fly--fly in order no more to disturb your happiness or his!' "i was a cloud in their heaven; what should the cloud do there? may the wind disperse it! oh, leonore, it is an indescribably bitter feeling for a heart which burns with gratitude to be able to do nothing more for the object of its love than to keep itself at a distance, to make itself into nothing! but rather that--rather a million-times hide myself in the bosom of the earth, than give sorrow either to him or to her! truly, if thereby i could win anything for them; if i could moulder to dust like a grain of corn, and then shoot forth for them into plentiful blessing--that would be sweet and precious, leonore! people extol all those who are able to die for love, for honour, for religion, for high and noble ends, and wherefore? because it is, indeed, a mercy from god to be able so to die--it is life in death! "i know a life which is death--which, endured through long clinging years, would be a burden to itself, and a joy to no one. oh, how bitter! wherefore must the craving after happiness, after enjoyment, burn like an eternal thirst in the human soul, if the assuaging fountain, tantalus like----? "leonore, my eyes burn, my head aches, and my heart is wildly tempested! i am not good--i am not submissive--my soul is a chaos--a little earth on forehead and breast, that might be good for me. on board the steam-boat. "thanks, leonore, thanks for your pillow; it has really been an ear-comfort for me.[ ] yesterday i thought that i was in the direct way to become ill. i shivered; i burned; my head ached fearfully: i felt as if torn to pieces. but when i laid my head upon your little pillow, when my ear rested upon the delicate cover which you had ornamented with such exquisite needlework, then it seemed to me as if your spirit whispered to me out of it; a repose came over me; all that was bad vanished so quickly, so wonderfully; i slept calmly; i was quite astonished when they woke me in the morning to feel that, bodily, i was quite well, and mentally like one cured. this has been done by your pillow, leonore. i kissed it and thanked you. "it is related in the acts of the apostles that they brought the sick and laid them in the way on which the holy men went, that at least their shadows might fall upon them, and make them sound. i have faith in the power of such a remedy; yes, the good, the holy, impart somewhat of their life, of their strength, to all that belong to them: i have found that to-night. "we went on board. the 'sea-witch' thundered and flew over the sea. i know that she conveyed me away from you all, and leaning over the bulwarks i wept. i felt then a pair of arms tenderly and gently surrounding me; they were my father's! he wrapped a warm cloak around me, and leaning on his breast, i raised my head. the morning was clear; white flame-like clouds chased by the morning wind flew across the deep blue; the waves beat foaming against the vessel; green meadows, autumnally beautiful parks, extended themselves on either side of us; space opened itself. i stood with my face turned towards the wind and space, let the sea-spray wet my lips and my eyelids, a soft shudder passed through me, and i felt that life was beautiful. yes, in the morning hour, filled with its beaming-light, in this pure fresh wind, i felt the evil demons of my soul retreat, and disperse themselves like mist and vapour. i drank in the morning winds; i opened my heart to life; i might also have opened my arms to them, and at the same time to all my beloved ones, that thus i might have expressed to them the quiet prediction of my heart, that love to them will heal me, will afford me strength some time or other to give them joy. the second day on board. "i should like to know whether a deep heart-grief would resist the influence of a long voyage. there is something wonderfully strengthening, something renovating in this life, this voyaging, this fresh wind. it chases the dust from the eyes of the soul; one sees oneself and others more accurately, and gets removed from one's old self. one journeys in order to stand upon a new shore, and amid new connexions. one begins, as it were, anew. "we had a storm yesterday, and with the exception of my father, i was the only passenger who remained well, and on this account i could help the sufferers. it is true it was not without its discomforts; it is true that i reeled about sometimes with a glass of water, and sometimes with a glass of drops in the hand; but i saw many a laughable scene; many an odd trait of human nature. i laughed, made my own remarks, forgot myself, and became friendly with all mankind. certainly it would be a very good thing for me to be maid-servant on board a steam-boat. "towards evening, the storm, as well within as without the vessel, abated itself. i sate solitary on dock till midnight. the waves still foamed around the agreeably rocking vessel; the wind whistled in the rigging; and the full moon, heralded by one bright little star, rose from the sea, and diffused her mild wondrous light over its dark expanse. it was infinitely glorious! nameless thoughts and feelings arose in me, full of love and melancholy, and yet at the same time elevating and strengthening; a certain longing after that for which i knew no name. i desired i knew not what. "but i fear and know that which i do not desire. i fear the quiet measured life into which i am about again to enter--conventionalities, forms, social life, all this cramps my soul together, and makes it inclined to excesses. instead of sitting in select society, and drinking tea in 'high life,' would i rather roam about the world in viking expeditions--rather eat locusts with john the baptist in the wilderness, and go hither and thither in a garment of camel's hair; and after all, such apparel as this must be very convenient in comparison with our patchwork toilet. manifold are the changing scenes of life, and how shall i find my way, and where shall i find my place in the magic circle of the world. forgive me, leonore, that i talk so much about myself. thou good one, thou hast spoiled me in this respect. "we reached furudal to-day in the afternoon. furudal. "here are we on land; i would that i were at sea! i come even now from the sitting-room, and in the sitting-room i always suffer shipwreck. an evil genius always makes me say or do something there unbecoming. this evening i entangled the reel of the bishop's lady, and told a stupid anecdote about a relation of hers. i wished to be witty, and i succeeded badly, as i always do. "they are very neat people here. the bishop is a small pale man, with something angelic in voice and expression, but--he will not have much time to bestow on me; he lives in his books and his official duties, and moreover he is almost always in the city; and his lady, who remains here perpetually, has very delicate health; but i will wait upon her, and read aloud to her, and that will give me pleasure. i only hope she may endure me. "both husband and wife were amiable towards my father's daughter, but i very well believe that they did not find me very loveable. intolerably hot, too, was their blessed drawing-room, and i was tanned with the wind, and as red as a peony. such things as these are enough to make one a little desperate; all these things are trifles, yet they are nevertheless annoying; and then it is depressing, everlastingly to displease exactly where one wishes most to please! * * * * * "i have unpacked the trunk which you all so carefully packed for me; and now new and newly-repaired articles of clothing flew into my arms one after another. oh, sisters! it was you who have thus brought my toilet in order for the whole winter! how good you are! i recognised louise's hand again. oh, i must weep, my beloved ones!--my home! some days later. "the pine-trees rustle fresh and still. i have been out;--mountains, woods, solitude with nature--glorious! "oh, leonore, i will begin a new life; i will die to my ancient self, to vanity, to error, to self-love. every flattering token of remembrance--notes, keepsakes--be they from man or woman, i have destroyed. i send you herewith a little sum of money, which i received for ornaments and for some of my own manufactures, which i sold. buy something with it which will give pleasure to louise and jacobi; but do not let them surmise, i earnestly beseech you, that it comes from petrea. if i could only sell myself for a respectable price, and make them rich, then---- "i shall have a deal of time for myself here, and i know how i shall employ it. i will go out a great deal. i will wander through wood and field, in storm, snow, and every kind of weather, till i am, at least, bodily weary. perhaps then it may be calmer in the soul! i desire no longer to be happy. what does it matter if one is not happy, if one is only pure and good? were the probation-day of life only not so long! leonore, my good angel, pray for me! "may all be happy! "greet all tenderly from your "petrea. "p. s.--my nose makes its compliments to gabriele, and goes in the accompanying picture to pay her a visit. she must not imagine that i am cast down. i send also a little ballad or romance; the wood sung it to me last evening, and every harmonious sound, which life in my soul sings, must--go home! oh, how i love you all!" * * * * * and now, whilst our petrea appears in rural solitude to prepare herself for a new life, whilst the snow fell upon the earth in order to prepare it for now springs, we turn back to our well-known home in the town, and describe the occurrences there. footnotes: [ ] poor petrea makes a little pun here. the swedish word örongodt (pillow) meaning literally good for the ear.--m. h. chapter iii. a conversation. jacobi had left. october was come, with its storms and its long twilight, which is so dark and heavy for all such as have it not cheered by kindly glances and bright thoughts. one evening, as henrik came down to tea, he was observed to look uncommonly pale, and in answer to the inquiry of his sisters as to the cause, he replied that he had headache, and added, half in jest, half in earnest, that it would be very beautiful to be only once freed from this heavy body--it was so sadly in one's way! "how you talk!" said louise; "at all events, it is right to treat it well and rationally; not to go sitting up all night and studying so that one has headache all day!" "thank your majesty most submissively for the moral!" said henrik; "but if my body will not serve my soul, but will subject it, i have a very great desire to contend with it, and to quarrel with it!" "the butterfly becomes matured in the chrysalis," said gabriele, smiling sweetly, whilst she strewed rose-leaves upon some chrysalises which were to sleep through the winter on her flower-stand. "ah, yes," replied henrik; "but how heavily does not the shell press down upon the wings of the butterfly! the earthly chrysalis weighs upon me! what would not the soul accomplish? how could it not live and enjoy, were it not for this? in certain bright moments, what do we not feel and think? what brilliancy in conception! what godlike warmth of feeling in the heart!--one could press the whole world to one's bosom at such a time, seeing, with a glance, through all, and penetrating all as with fire. oh, there is then an abundance, a clearness! yes, if our lord himself came to me at such a moment, i should reach forth my hand to him and say, 'good day, brother!'" "dear henrik!" said louise, somewhat startled, "now i think you do not rightly know what you say." "yes," continued he, without regarding the interruption, "so can one feel, but only for a moment; in the next, the chrysalis closes heavily again its earthly dust-mantle around our being, and we are stupified and sleep, and sink deep below that which we so lately were. then one sees in books nothing but printed words, and in one's soul one finds neither feeling nor thought, and towards man, for whom so shortly before the very heart seemed to burn, one feels oneself stiff and disinclined. ah, it were enough to make one fall into despair!" "it would be far better," said louise, "that such people went to sleep, and then they would get rid of headache and heaviness." "but," said henrik, smiling, "that is a sorrowful remedy according to my notions. it is horrible to require so much sleep! how can any one who is a seven-sleeper become great? 'les hommes puissans veillent et veulent,' says balzac with reason; and because my miserable heavy nature requires so much sleep, so certainly shall i never turn out great in any way. besides, this entrancement, this glorification produces such wakeful moments in the soul, that one feels poor and stripped when they are extinguished. ah! i can very well comprehend how so many make use of external excitement to recal or to prolong them, and that they endeavour through the fire of wine to wake again the fire of the soul." "then," said louise, "you comprehend something which is very bad and irrational. they are precisely such excitements as these that we have to thank for there being so many miserable men, and so many drunkards in sweden, that one can scarcely venture to go out in the streets for them!" "i do not defend it, dear louise," said henrik, gently smiling at the zeal of his sister, "but i can understand it, and in certain cases i can excuse it. life is often felt to be so heavy, and the moments of inspiration give a fulness to existence; they are like lightning flashes out of the eternal life!" "and so they certainly are," said leonore, who had listened attentively to her brother, and whose mild eyes had become moist by his words; "and life will certainly," continued she, "feel thus clear, thus full, when we shall have become ever entirely freed from the chrysalis; not from the bonds of the body only, but of the soul also. perhaps these moments are given to us here on earth to allure us up to the father's house, and to let us feel its air." "a beautiful thought, leonore," said her brother. "thus these gleams of light are truly revelations of our inward, actual, here-yet-enslaved life. good god! how glorious that--but ah! the long, long moments of darkness, what are they?" "trials of patience, times of preparation," replied leonore, tenderly smiling. "besides, the bright moments come again and gladden us with their light, and that so much the more frequently the further one advances in perfection. but one must, at the same time, learn to have patience with oneself, henrik, and here, in this life, to wait for oneself." "you have spoken a true word, sister. i must kiss your hand for it," said henrik. "ah, yes, if----" "be now a little less sensible and æsthetic," exclaimed "our eldest," "and come here and drink a cup of tea! see here, henrik, a cup of strong warm tea, which will do your head good. but this evening and to-morrow morning you must take a table-spoonful of my elixir!" "from that defend us all, ye good--_vi ringrazia carissima sorella!_" said henrik. "but--but charming gabriele! a drop of port wine in the tea would make it more powerful, without turning me into one of those miserable beings of whom louise is so afraid! thanks, sister dear! _fermez les yeux_, o mahomet!" and with an obeisance before louise, henrik conveyed the cup to his lips. later in the evening henrik stood in one of the library windows looking out into the moonlight. leonore went up to him and looked into his face with that mild, humbly questioning glance to which the heart so willingly opened itself, and which was peculiar to her. "you are so pale, henrik," said she, disquieted. "it is extraordinary," said he, half laughing at himself; "do you see, leonore, how the tops of the fir-trees there in the churchyard bow themselves in the wind and beckon? i cannot conceive why, but this nodding and beckoning distresses me wonderfully; i feel it in my very heart." "that comes naturally enough, henrik," returned she, "because you are not well. shall we not go out a little? it is such lovely moonshine! the fresh air will perhaps do you good." "will you go with me, leonore?" said he. "yes, that is a good idea!" gabriele found it, however, rather poor, and called her brother and sister samoyedes, laplanders, esquimaux, and such like, who would go wandering about in the middle of a winter's night. nevertheless these two went forth jestingly and merrily arm in arm. "is it not too windy for you?" asked henrik, whilst he endeavoured carefully to shield his sister from the wind. "the wind is not cold," replied leonore, "and it is particularly charming to me to walk by your side while it roars around us, and while the snow-flakes dance about in the moonshine like little elves." "nay, you feel then like me!" said henrik; "with you, sisters, i am ever calm and happy; but i don't know how it is, but now for some time other people often plague and irritate me----" "ah, henrik," remarked leonore, "is not that someway your own fault?" "are you thinking of stjernhök, leonore?" asked he. "yes." "so am i," continued he, "and perhaps you are right; yes, i will willingly concede that i have often been unjust towards him, and unreasonably violent, but he has excited me to it. why has he made me so often oppressively feel his superiority? so often taken away from me my own joy in my own endeavours, and almost always treated me with coldness and depreciation?" leonore made no answer, the moonlight lit a quiet tear in her eye, and henrik continued with increasing violence: "i could have loved him so much! he had, through the originality of his character, his strength, and his whole individuality, a great influence, a great power over me; but he has misused it; he has treated me severely, precisely in the instances in which i approached him nearest. he has flung from him the devotion which i cherished for him. i will tell you the whole truth, leonore, and how this has happened between us. you know that in the university, about three years ago, a sort of literary society of young men gathered themselves about me. perhaps they esteemed my literary talents too highly, and might mislead me--i could almost believe so myself, but i was the favourite of the day in the circle in which my life moved; perhaps, on that account, i became presumptuous; perhaps a tone of pretension betrayed itself in me, and a false, one-sided direction was visible in the poems which i then published: nevertheless, these poems made some little noise in the world. shortly, however, after their appearance a criticism on them came out, which made a yet greater noise, on account of its power, its severity, and also its satirical wit. its acrimony spared neither my work nor my character as a poet, and it produced almost universally a re-action against me. it appeared to me severe and one-sided; and even now, at this moment, it appears to me not otherwise, although i can now see its justice much better than at the time. "the anonymous author of the critique upon me was stjernhök, and he did not in the slightest deny it. he considered it as being much less directed against me personally, than against the increasing influence of the party of which i was a sort of chief. even before this i had begun to withdraw myself from his power, which i always felt to be oppressive; and this new blow did not, by any means, tend to reunite us. his severe criticism had made me observant of my faults; but yet i do not know whether it would have produced any other effect than pain, had i not at this time returned home to you; and at home, through the beneficial influence of my own family, a new strength and a purer direction had been aroused in me. that was the time in which my father, with indescribable goodness, and in complot with you all, sold the half of his library to furnish me with the means of foreign travel. yes, you have called forth a new being in me; and all my poems, and all my writings, are now designed to prove to you that i am not unworthy of you. ah, yes! i love you warmly and deeply--but it is all over with stjernhök; the love which i cherished for him has changed itself into bitterness." "ah, henrik, henrik, do not let it be so!" said leonore. "stjernhök is indeed a noble, a good man, even if, at the same time, too severe. but really he loves you as well as we, but you two will not understand one another; and henrik, the last time you were really unjust to him--you seemed as if you could hardly bear him." "i hardly can, leonore," said he. "it is a feeling stronger than myself. i don't know what evil spirit it is which now, for some time, has set itself firmly in my heart; but there it is steadfastly rooted; and if i am aware only of stjernhök's presence, it is as if a sharp sword passed through me; before him my heart contracts itself; and if he only touch me, i feel as if burning lead went through my veins." "henrik! dearest henrik!" exclaimed leonore with pain, "it is really terrible! ah! make only the attempt with yourself; conquer your feelings, and extend the hand of reconciliation to him." "it is too late for that, leonore," said henrik. "yes, if it were necessary for him, it would be easy; but what does he trouble himself about me? he never loved me, never esteemed either my efforts or my ability. and perhaps it may be with some justice that he does not think so very highly of my talents. what have i done? and sometimes it seems to me, even in the future, that i never shall do any thing great; that my powers are limited, and that my spring-time is past. stjernhök's, on the contrary, is yet to come; he belongs to that class which mounts slowly, but on that account all the more steadily. i see now, much better than i did formerly, how far he stands beyond me, and how much higher he will rise--and his knowledge is martyrdom to me." "but wherefore," pleaded leonore, "these dark thoughts and feelings, dear henrik, when your future appears fuller of hope than ever before? your beautiful poetry; your prize essay, which is certain to bring you honour; the prospect of an advantageous post, a sphere of action which will be dear to you--all this, which in a few months will so animate your heart--why has it at this time so lost its power over you?" "i cannot tell," replied he; "but for some time now i have been, and am much changed; i have no faith in my good fortune; it seems to me as if all my beautiful hopes will vanish like a dream." "and even if it were so," said leonore questioningly, with humility and tenderness, "could you not find happiness and peace at home; in the occupation of your beloved studies; in the life with us, who love you solely, and for your own sake?" henrik pressed his sister's arm to his side, but answered nothing; and a violent passing gust of wind compelled him to stand still for a moment. "horrible weather!" said he, wrapping his cloak round his sister at the same time. "but this is your favourite weather," remarked she jestingly. "_was_, you should say," returned he; "now i do not like it, perhaps because it produces a feeling in me which distresses me." with these words he took his sister's hand and laid it on his heart. his heart beat wildly and strongly; its beating was almost audible. "heavens!" exclaimed leonore, alarmed, "henrik, what is this?--is it often thus?" "only occasionally;--i have had it now for some time," replied he; "but don't be uneasy on this account; and, above all things, say nothing to my mother or gabriele about it. i have spoken with munter on the subject; he has prescribed for me, and does not think it of much consequence. to-day i have had it without intermission, and perhaps i am from that cause somewhat hypochondriacal. forgive me, dear leonore, that i have teased you about it. i am much better and livelier now; this little walk has done me good--if you only don't get cold, leonore, or you would certainly be punished, or at all events be threatened, with louise's elixir. but does there not drive a travelling carriage towards our door, exactly as if it would stop there? can it be eva? the carriage stops--it is certainly eva!" "eva! eva!" exclaimed leonore, with cordial delight; and both brother and sister ran so quickly to the gate that she was received into their arms as she dismounted from the carriage. chapter iv. eva. among the agreeable circumstances which occur in a happy home may certainly be reckoned the return to its bosom of one of its beloved members. so returns the bee to the safe hive with her harvest of honey, after her flight abroad over the meadows of the earth. how much is there not mutually to relate, to hear, to see, and to enjoy! every cloud in the heaven of home vanishes then; all is sunshine and joy; and it must be bad indeed if they do not find one another lovelier and improved, for when everything goes on right here, every advancing footstep in life must tend in a certain manner to improvement. bright, indeed, did eva's return make the hours of sunshine in the frank family! the mutual love which demonstrated itself in embraces, smiles, tears, laughter, sweet words of greeting, and a thousand tokens of joy and tenderness, made the first hours vanish in a lively intoxication, and then, when all had become quieter and they looked nearer about them, all looks and thoughts gathered themselves still about eva with rapture; her beauty seemed now in its full bloom, and a captivating life seemed to prevail in her looks, in her behaviour, in her every motion, which hitherto had not been seen. her dress of the most modern fashion, a certain development and style about her, a bewitching case of manner, all evinced the elegant circles of the capital, and exerted their magic over her friends, and charmed them all, but especially gabriele, who followed her beautiful sister with beaming looks. bergström gave way to his feelings in the kitchen, and exclaimed, "mamselle eva is quite divine!" never had the blond ulla so entirely agreed with him before. leonore was the only one who regarded eva with a tender yet at the same time troubled eye. she saw a something worldly in eva's exterior and demeanour, which was a presage to her that a great and not happy change had taken place in her beloved sister. nor was it long before leonore's foreboding proved itself to be right. eva had not been many hours in the house before it was plainly visible that domestic affairs had but little interest for her, and that parents and family and friends were not to her all that they had been before. eva's soul was entirely occupied by one object, which laid claim to all her thoughts and feelings, and this was major r----. his handsome person, his brilliant talents; his amiability, his love; the parties in which she had met him, the balls in which she had danced with him; the occasions on which they had played parts together--in short, all the romantic unfoldings of their connexion, were the pictures which now alone lived in her heart, and danced around her fancy, now heated by worldly happiness. the grave expression of her father's countenance, as he heard her first mention the major, prevented her during this first evening from repeating his name. but when afterwards she was alone with her sisters, when the sweet hour of talk came, which between dear friends, on such occasions, generally extends itself from night till morning, eva gave free course to all with which her soul was filled, and related to her sisters at large her romance of the last year, in which several rival lovers figured, but of which major r---- was the hero. nor was it without self-satisfaction that eva represented herself as the worshipped and conquering heroine amid a crowd of rival ladies. her soul was so occupied by all these circumstances, her mind was so excited, that she did not observe the embarrassment of her sisters during her relation; she saw neither their disquiet, their constrained smiles, nor their occasionally depressed looks. nor was it till when, with eyes beaming with joy, she confided to them that major r---- would soon come to the city, where he had relatives; that he would spend the christmas with them, and then ask her hand from her parents, that the veil fell from her eyes. louise expressed herself strongly against major r----, wondered at her sister, and lamented that she could endure such a man; it was not, she said, what she had expected from her. eva, very much wounded, defended the major with warmth, and talked of intolerance and prejudice. in consequence of this, louise's indignation was increased; gabriele began to weep, and louise bore her company; she seemed to look upon eva as on one lost. leonore was calmer; she spoke not one word which could wound her sister, but sighed deeply, and looked with quiet grief upon the beloved but misguided sister; and then seeing what a tragical turn the conversation was taking, said, with all that expression of calm sincerity so peculiarly her own: "do not let us this evening speak further on this subject; do not let us disturb our joy. we have now eva with us at home, and shall have time enough to talk and to think--and then all will be cleared up. is it not quite for the best that we sleep on this affair? eva must be weary after her journey, and our 'blue-eyed one' must not weep on this first evening." leonore's advice was taken, and with a mutual "forgive," louise, eva, and gabriele embraced and separated for the night. leonore was happy to be alone with eva, and listened undisturbedly through the whole night to her relations. the good leonore! major victor r. was universally known as one of those who make sport with female hearts, and judge frank regarded sport of this kind with a severity very uncommon among his sex, especially where, as was the case in this instance, selfishness, and not thoughtlessness, led to it. the major, ten years before this time, had married a young and rich girl connected with the judge's family; and the only fault of the young wife, then sixteen, had been that of loving her husband too tenderly--nay, even in adoring one who repaid her love with relentless severity and faithlessness, under which the poor amelia drooped, and, in the second year of her marriage, died; but not without having bequeathed to the unworthy husband all the property over which she had any control. these were the very means by which r. now was enabled to pursue his brilliant and reckless career. he always made his court to one of the beauties of the day. he had been several times betrothed, but had broken off the affair again without the smallest regard to the reputation or to the feelings of the girl, upon whom by this means he had cast a stain--nay, indeed, he secretly regarded it as an honour to himself to make such victims, and to cause hearts to bleed for him--that cooled the burning thirst of his self-love. the world did justice to his agreeable and splendid talents; but the noble of his own sex, as well as of the other, esteemed him but very lightly, inasmuch as they considered him a person without true worth. the thoughts of a union between this man and his beloved daughter occasioned a storm in the bosom of the judge. such was the information regarding the man whom she loved that met eva on her return home. everybody was unanimously against him. what eva spoke in his excuse produced no effect; what she said of his true and deep devotion to her, evidently nobody credited; and over her own love, which had made the world so beautiful, which had produced the most delicious feelings in her breast, and had opened to her a heaven of happiness, people mourned and wept, and regarded it as a misfortune, nay, even as a degradation. wounded to the inmost of her soul, eva drew herself back, as it were, from her own family, and accused them to herself of selfishness and unreasonableness. louise, perhaps, deserved somewhat of this reproach; but leonore was pure, pure as the angels of heaven; still leonore mourned over eva's love, and on that account eva closed her heart against her also. the variance, which in consequence of all this existed between eva and her family, became only yet greater when major r. arrived, shortly after her, at the city. he was a tall handsome man, of perhaps five-and-thirty; of a haughty, but somewhat trifling exterior; his countenance was gay and blooming, and his look clear and bold. great practice in the world, and an inimitable ease and confidence, gave to his demeanour and conversation that irresistible power which these qualities exercise so greatly in society. on his visit to the franks, the judge and he exchanged some glances, in which both read that neither could endure the other. the major, however, let nothing of all this be seen; was perfectly candid and gay; and while he directed his conversation especially to elise, spoke scarcely one word to eva, though he looked much at her. after the first stiff salutation, the judge went again into his study, for the very appearance of this man was painful to him. leonore was polite, nay, almost friendly to him, for she would willingly have loved one whom eva loved. assessor munter was present during this visit; but when he had seen, for a few minutes, the glances which the major cast upon eva, and their magic influence over her, and had observed and had read her whole heart in a timid glance which she raised to her beloved, he withdrew silently and hastily. the major came but seldom to the house, for the eye of the judge appeared to have the power of keeping him at a distance; on the contrary, he managed it so that he saw eva almost daily out of the house. he met her when she went out, and accompanied her home from church. invitations came; sledging-parties and balls were arranged; and eva, who formerly was so well pleased with home, who had often given up the pleasures of the world for the domestic evening circle, eva appeared to find nothing now pleasing at home; appeared only to be able to live in those circles and those pleasures in which major r. shone, and where she could see herself distinguished by him. precisely, therefore, on account of these rencontres of the two, the family went as little as possible into society. still, notwithstanding all this, eva's wishes upon the whole were favoured. leonore accompanied her faithfully wherever she wished. the judge was gloomy and disturbed in temper; the mother was mild and accommodating; and as to eva, she was in a high degree sensitive; whilst whatever concerned her love, or seemed to oppose her wishes in the slightest degree, brought her to tears and hysterical sobs, and her friends became ever more and more aware how violent and exclusive her love was to major r. the mere glimpse of him, the sound of his steps, the tone of his voice, shook her whole frame. all earlier affectionate relationships had lost their power over her heart. it not unfrequently happens that people, whether it arises from physical or moral causes, become wonderfully unlike themselves. irritability, violence, indiscretion, and unkindness, suddenly reveal themselves in a hitherto gentle and amiable character, and, as if by a magic stroke, a beautiful form has been transformed into a witch. it requires a great deal, under such circumstances, to keep friends warm and unchanged. a great demand of goodness, a great demand of clearness of vision, is made from any one when, under these circumstances, he is required to remain true in the same love, to persevere in the same faith, to wait patiently for the time when the magic shall lose its power, when the changed one shall come back again; and yet he, all the time, be able only to present himself by quiet prayers, mild looks, and affectionate care! probably otherwise he never might have come back again. i say _great purity of vision_, because the true friend never loses sight of the heavenly image of his friend; but sees it through every veil of casualty, even when it is concealed from all, nay, even from the faulty one's self! he has faith in it; he loves it; he lives for it, and says, "wait! have patience! it will go over, and then he (or she) comes back again!" and whoever has such a friend, comes back indeed! so stood the quiet, affectionate leonore on the side of her altered sister. all this time henrik was beneficial to his whole family, and appeared to have regained all his former amiable animation, in order therewith to eradicate every disturbing sensation from the bosom of home. he accompanied his family, more than he had ever done before, into society, and had always a watchful eye on his sister and the major. before long the major declared himself, and asked for eva's hand. her parents had prepared themselves for this event, and had decided on their line of conduct. they intended not to make their child unhappy by a decided negative to the wishes of her heart; but they had determined to demand a year of trial both from her and her lover, during which time they should have no intercourse with each other, should exchange no letters, and should consider themselves as free from every mutual obligation; and that then again after this interval of time, if they two, the major and eva, still wished it, the question of their union might again he brought forward. this middle path had been proposed by elise, who, through a progressively inward, and more perfect fulfilment of duties, had acquired an ever-increasing power over her husband, and thus induced him to accede to it, at the same time that she endeavoured to infuse into him the hope which she herself cherished, namely, either that eva, during the time of probation, would discover the unworthiness of the major, and won over by the wishes and the tenderness of her family, would conquer her love, or, on the other hand, that the major, ennobled by love and constant to her, would become worthy of her. it was one of the most favourite and cherished axioms of the judge, that every man had the power of improving himself, and he willingly conceded that for this end there existed no more powerful means than a virtuous love. the judge now talked energetically yet tenderly with his daughter; explained clearly to her the terms of this connexion, without concealing from her how bitter to him had been, and still was, the thought of this union, and appealed to her own sense and reason whether too much had been required in this prescribed time of trial. eva shed many tears; but deeply affected by the goodness of her parents, consented to their wishes, and promised, though not without pain, to fulfil them. the judge wrote to the major, who had made his declaration by letter, a candid and noble, but by no means sugared, answer; wherein he required from him, as a man of honour, that he should by no means whatever induce eva to swerve from the promises which she had made to her parents, and by this means disturb her hitherto so happy connexion with her own family. this letter, which the father allowed his daughter to read, and which occasioned her fresh tears, whilst she in vain endeavoured to persuade him to remove expressions which she considered too severe, but which he, on the contrary, considered too mild, was despatched the same day, and all was again quieter. probably eva would strictly have adhered to the wishes of her parents, which they endeavoured to make pleasant to her by much kindness, had not a letter from the major been conveyed to her on the next evening, which quite excited and unhinged her again. he complained violently therein of her father's unreasonableness, injustice, and tyranny; and spoke, in the most passionate terms, of his love, of his unbounded sufferings, and of his despair. the consequence of this letter was that eva was ill--but more so, however, in mind than body, and that she demanded to have an interview with assessor munter. the friend and physician of the house came immediately to her. "do you love me?" was eva's first question when they were alone. "do i love you, eva?" answered he, and looked at her with an expression of eye which must have moved any heart to tenderness that had been otherwise occupied than hers was. "if you love me, if you desire that i should not be really ill," continued eva, speaking with quickness and great warmth, "you must convey this letter to major r----, and bring his answer back into my hands. my father is set against him, everybody is set against him; nobody knows him as well as i do! i am in a state of mind which will drive me to despair, if you have not compassion on me! but you must be my friend in secret.--you will not? if you love me you must take this letter and----" "desire all things from me, eva," interrupted he, "but not this! and precisely because you are so dear to me. this man in fact is not worthy of you; he does not deserve----" "not a word about him!" interrupted eva, with warmth: "i know him better than you all--_i_ alone know him; but you all are his enemies, and enemies to my happiness. once again i pray you--pray you with tears! is it then so much that i desire from you? my benefactor, my friend, will you not grant this prayer of your eva?" "let me speak with your father," said he. "on this subject? no, no! impossible!" exclaimed she. "then, eva, i must refuse your prayer. it gives me more pain than i can express to refuse you anything in this world; but i will not stain my hand in this affair. i will not be a means of your unhappiness. farewell!" "stop, stop," cried eva, "and hear me! what is it that you fear for me?" "everything from a man of r----'s character." "you mistake him, and you mistake me," returned she. "i know him, and i know you," said he, "and on that account i would rather go into fire than convey letters between him and you. this is my last word." "you will not!" exclaimed she; "then you love me not, and i have not a friend in this world!" "eva, eva, do not say so! you sin against yourself. you know not--ask everything from me--ask my life--ah, through you, life has already lost its worth for me!--ask----" "empty words!" interrupted eva, and turned impatiently away. "i desire nothing more from you, assessor munter! pardon me that i have given you so much trouble!" munter looked at her for some moments in silence, laid his hand hastily on his heart as if he had a violent pain there, and went out more bowed than commonly. not long after this, an unexpected ray of light gladdened the painful condition of affairs between eva and her family. she was calmer. the major removed from the city into the country, to pass the christmas with a relation of his there; and on the same day eva came down into the library at the customary hour of tea, after she had passed several days in her own room. every one received her with joy. her father went towards her with open arms, called her sweet names, placed her on the sofa by her mother, and took her tea to her himself: a lover could not have been more tender or more attentive to her. one might see that eva was not indifferent to these marks of affection, and that yet she did not receive them altogether with joy. a burning red alternated with paleness on her cheek, and at times it seemed that a tear, a repentant tear, filled her eyes. from this time, however, the old state of feeling, and the old quiet, returned in part to the bosom of the family. nobody named the major; and as, when spring-time comes, the grass grows and the leaves burst forth, although the heaven is yet dark, and many a northern blast yet lingers in the air, so did affectionate feelings and joyful hours spring up again in the family of the franks, from the spontaneous vernal spirit which reigned there. you might have seen the mother there, like the heart of the family, taking part in all that went forward, making every one so cheerful and comfortable, as she moved about here and there, so rich in grace and joy and consolation! wherever she came, there came with her a something pleasant or animating, either in word or deed; and yet all this time she was very far from being herself calm. care for her daughter was accompanied by anxiety on account of henrik's prospects and happiness. she understood, better than any one else, his feelings, his wishes, and his thoughts; and on this account glances of friendly understanding were often exchanged between them, and from this cause also was it that on those days on which the post came in from stockholm, she became paler and paler the nearer post-time came--for it perhaps might bring with it important news for henrik. "my dear elise," said the judge, jesting affectionately, "to what purpose is all this unquiet, this incomprehensible anxiety? i grant that it would be a happiness to us all, and a piece of good luck, if henrik could obtain the solicited situation--but if he do not get it--well, what then?--he can get another in a little while. he is yet a mere youngster, and can very well wait for some years. and his poem--suppose it should now and never more be regarded as a masterpiece, and should not obtain the prize--now, in heaven's name! what does it matter? he would perhaps, from the very circumstance of his having less fortune as a poet, be only the more practical man, and i confess that would not mortify me. and i shall wish both the poem and the appointment at the place where pepper grows if you are to become pale and nervous on its account! promise me now next post-day to be reasonable, and not to look like the waning moon, else i promise you that i shall be downright angry, and will keep the whole post-bag to myself!" to his children the father spoke thus: "have you really neither genius nor spirit of invention enough to divert and occupy your mother on the unfortunate post-day? henrik, it depends upon you whether she be calm or not; and if you do not convince her that, let your luck in the world be whatever it may, you can bear it like a man, i must tell you that you have not deserved all the tenderness which she has shown you!" henrik coloured deeply, and the judge continued: "and you, gabriele! i shall never call you my clever girl again, if you do not make a riddle against the next post-day which shall so occupy your mother that she shall forget all the rest!" the following post-day was an exceedingly merry one. never before had more interesting topics of conversation been brought forward by henrik; never before had the mother been so completely seduced into the discussions of the young people. at the very moment when the post-hour arrived she was deeply busied in solving a riddle, which henrik and gabriele endeavoured to make only the more intricate by their fun and jokes, whilst they were pretending to assist her in the discovery. the riddle ran as follows: raging war and tumult am i never nigh; and from rain and tempest to far woods i fly. in cold, worldly bosoms my deep grave is made; and from conflagration death has me affrayed. no one e'er can find me in the dungeon glooms; i have no abiding, save where freedom blooms. my morning sun ariseth, light o'er mind to fling; o'er love's throbbing bosom rests my downy wing! like our lord in heaven, i am ever there and like him of children have i daily care. what though i may sever from thee now and then, i forget thee never---- i come back again! in the morning's brightness, dear one, if thou miss me, with the sunset's crimson come i back and kiss thee! this riddle, which it must be confessed was by no means one of gabriele's best, gave rise to a fund of amusement, and occasioned the maddest propositions on henrik's part. the mother, however, did not allow herself to be misled; but exclaimed, whilst she laughingly endeavoured to overpower the voices of her joking children, "the riddle is----" what the riddle was, the reader may see by the title of our next chapter. chapter v. happiness. "happiness!" repeated the judge, as he entered the room at the same moment, with letters and newspapers in his hand. "i fancy you have been busying yourselves here with prophesyings," said he: "gabriele, my child, you shall have your reward for it--read this aloud to your mother!" laying a newspaper before her. gabriele began to read--but threw the paper hastily down, gave a spring for joy, clapped her hands, and exclaimed, "henrik's poetry has won the highest prize!" "and here, henrik," said the father, "are letters--you are nominated to----" the voice of the judge was drowned in the general outbreak of joy. henrik lay in the arms of his mother, surrounded by his sisters, who, amid all their jubilation, had tearful eyes. the judge walked up and down the room with long strides; at length he paused before the happy group, and exclaimed, "nay, only see! let me also have a little bit! elise--my thanks to thee that thou hast given him to me--and thou boy, come here--i must tell thee----" but not one word could he tell him. the father, speechless from inward emotion, embraced his son, and returned in the same manner the affectionate demonstrations of his daughters. many private letters from stockholm contained flattering words and joyful congratulations to the young poet. all henrik's friends seemed to accord in one song of triumph. there was almost too much happiness for one time. during the first moments of this news the joy was calm and mingled with emotion; afterwards, however, it was lively, and shot forth like rockets in a thousand directions. every thing was in motion to celebrate the day and its hero; and while the father of the family set about to mix a bowl--for he would that the whole house should drink henrik's health--the others laid plans for a journey to stockholm. the whole family must be witnesses of henrik's receiving the great gold medal--they must be present on the day of his triumph. eva recovered almost her entire liveliness as she described a similar festival which she had witnessed in the swedish academy. henrik talked a deal about stockholm; he longed to be able to show his mother and sisters the beautiful capital. how they would be delighted with the gallery of mineralogy--how they would be charmed with the theatres! how they would see and hear the lovely demoiselle högquist and the captivating jenny lind![ ]--and then the castle!--the promenades--the prospects--the churches--the beautiful statues in the public places--henrik would have been almost ready to have overthrown some of them. oh, there was so much that was beautiful and delightful to see in stockholm! the mother smiled in joy over----the occasion of the journey to stockholm; the father said "yes" to that and every thing; the countenances of the young people beamed forth happiness; the bowl was fragrant with good luck. the young baron l., who liked henrik extremely, and who liked still more every lively excitement to every uproar, was possessed by a regular frenzy to celebrate the day. he waltzed with everybody; louise might not sit still; "the little lady" must allow herself to be twirled about; but the truth was that in her joy she was about as wild for dancing as he was himself--the very judge himself must waltz with him; and at last he waltzed with chairs and tables, whilst the fire of the punch was not very much calculated to abate his vivacious spirits. it was very hard for the judge that he was compelled on this very day to leave home, but pressing business obliged him to do so. he must make a journey that same evening, which would detain him from home for three or four days, and although he left his family in the full bloom of their joy and prosperity, the short separation appeared to him more painful than common. after he had taken his leave he returned--a circumstance very unusual with him--to the room again; embraced his wife yet a second time, flourished about with his daughters in his wolf's-skin cloak as if out of liveliness, and then went out hastily, giving to the young baron, who, in his wild joy, had fallen upon his wolf's-skin like a dog, a tolerably heavy cuff. a few minutes afterwards, as he cast from his sledge a glance and a hand-greeting to his wife and daughters at the library window, they saw with astonishment that his eyes were full of tears. but the joy of the present, and the promises of the future, filled the hearts of those who remained behind to overflowing, and the evening passed amid gaiety and pleasure. baron l. drank punch with the domestics till both he and they were quite wrong in the head, and all louise's good moral preaching was like so many water-drops on the fire. henrik was nobly gay, and the beaming expression of his animated, beautiful head, reminded the beholder of an apollo. "where now are all your gloomy forebodings?" whispered leonore, tenderly joyful; "you look to me as if you could even embrace stjernhök." "the whole world!" returned henrik, clasping his sister to his breast, "i am so happy!" and yet there was one person in the house who was happier than henrik, and that was his mother. when she looked on the beautiful, glorified countenance of her son, and thought of that which he was and on what he would become; when she thought on the laurels which would engarland his beloved head, on the future which awaited her favourite, her summer child--oh! then bloomed the high summer of maternal joy in her breast, and she revelled in a nameless happiness--a happiness so great that she was almost anxious, because it appeared to her too great to be borne on earth! and yet for all that--and we say it with grateful joy--the earth can bear a great degree of happiness; can bear it for long without its either bringing with it a curse or a disappointment. it is in stillness and in retirement where this good fortune blooms the best, and on that account the world knows little of it, and has little faith in it. but, thank god! it may be abundantly found in all times and in all countries; and it is--we whisper this to the blessed ones in order that we may rejoice with them--it is of extremely rare occurrence when it happens in actual life, as, for the sake of effect, it happens in books, that a strong current of happiness carries along with it unhappiness as in a drag-rope. footnotes: [ ] emilie högquist and jenny lind are two great ornaments of the stockholm theatre; the first an actress, the second a singer. chapter vi. unhappiness. night succeeded the joyful evening, and the members of the frank family lay deep in the arms of sleep, when suddenly, at the hour of midnight, they were awoke by the fearful cry of "fire! fire!" the house was on fire, and smoke and flames met them at every turn; for the conflagration spread with incredible speed. an inconceivable confusion succeeded: one sought for another; one called on another; mother and children, inmates and domestics! only half-dressed, and without having saved the least thing, the inhabitants of the house assembled themselves in the market-place, where an innumerable crowd of people streamed together, and began to work the fire-engines; whilst church bells tolled violently, and the alarm-drums were beaten wildly and dully up and down the streets. henrik dragged with him the young baron l----, who was speechless, and much injured by the fire. the mother cast a wild searching look around among her children, and suddenly exclaiming "gabriele!" threw herself with a thrilling cry of anguish into the burning house. a circle of people hastily surrounded the daughters, in order to prevent their following her, and at the same moment two men broke forth from them, and hastened with the speed of lightning after her. the one was her beautiful, now more than ever beautiful, son. the other resembled one of the cyclops, as art has represented them at work in their subterranean smithies, excepting that he had two eyes, which in this moment flashed forth flames, as if bidding defiance to those with which he was about to combat. both vanished amid the conflagration. a moment's silence ensued: the alarm-drum ceased to beat; the people scarcely breathed; the daughters wrung their hands silently, and the fire-bell called anxiously to the ineffectual engine-showers, for the flames rose higher and higher. all at once a shout was sent from the mass of the people; all hearts beat joyfully, for the mother was borne in the arms of her son from amid the flames, which stretched forth their hissing tongues towards her!--and--now another shout of exultation! the modern cyclop, in one word the assessor, stood in a window of the second story, and, amid the whirlwind of smoke, was seen a white form, which he pressed to his bosom. a ladder was quickly raised, and jeremias munter, blackened and singed, but nevertheless happy, laid the fainting but unhurt gabriele in the arms of her mother and sisters. after this, he and henrik returned to the burning house, from which they were fortunate enough to save the desk containing the judge's most valuable papers. a few trifles, but of no great importance, were also saved. but this was all. the house was of wood, and spite of every effort to save it, was burned, burned, burned to the ground, but, as it stood detached, without communicating the fire to any other. when henrik, enfeebled with his exertions, returned to his family, he found them all quartered in the small dwelling of the assessor, which also lay in the market-place; while jeremias seemed suddenly to have multiplied himself into ten persons, in order to provide his guests with whatever they required. his old housekeeper, what with the fire, and what with so many guests who were to be provided for in that simply-supplied establishment, was almost crazed. but he had help at hand for everybody: he prepared coffee, he made beds, and seemed altogether to forget his own somewhat severe personal injuries by the fire. he joked about himself and his affairs at the same time that he wiped tears from his eyes, which he could not but shed over the misfortunes of his friends. affectionate and determined, he provided for everything and for every one; whilst louise and leonore assisted him with quiet resolution. "wilt thou be reasonable, coffee-pot, and not boil over like a simpleton, since thou hast to provide coffee for ladies!" said the assessor in jesting anger. "here, miss leonore, are drops for the mother and eva. sister louise, be so good as to take my whole storeroom in hand; and you, young sir," said he to henrik, as he seized him suddenly by the arm, and gazed sharply into his face, "come you with me, for i must take you rather particularly in hand." there was indeed not a moment to lose; a violent effusion of blood from the chest, placed the young man's life in momentary danger. munter tore off his coat, and opened a vein at the very moment in which he lost all consciousness. "what a silly fellow!" said the assessor, as henrik breathed again, "how can anybody be so silly when he is such--a clever fellow! nay, now all danger for the time is over. death has been playing his jokes with us to-night! now, like polite knights, let us be again in attendance on the ladies. wait, i must just have a little water for my face, that i need not look, any more than is necessary, like 'the knight of the rueful countenance!'" chapter vii. the consequences. the sun of the next morning shone brightly on the glistening snow-covered roofs round the market-place, and dyed the smoke-clouds, which rose slowly from the ruins of the burnt-down house, with the most gorgeous tints of purple, gold, and sulphur-blue, whilst hundreds of little sparrows raked and picked about in the ashy flakes which were scattered over the snow in the market-place and churchyard, with exulting twitterings. mother and daughters looked with tearful eyes towards the smoking place where had so lately stood their dearly beloved home; but yet no one gave themselves up to sorrow. eva alone wept much, but that from a cause of grief concealed in her own heart. she knew that major r. had passed the night in the city, and yet for all that--she had not seen him! with the morning came much bustle, and a crowd of people into the dwelling of the assessor. families came who offered to the roofless household both shelter and entertainment; young girls came with their clothes; servants came with theirs for the servants of the family; elegant services and furniture were sent in; the baker left great baskets full of bread; the brewer, beer; another sent wine, and so on. it was a scene in social life of the most beautiful description, and which showed how greatly esteemed and beloved the franks were. mrs. gunilla came so good and zealous, ready to contend with anybody who would contend with her, to convey her old friends in her carriage to the dwelling which she had prepared for them in all haste. the assessor did not strive with her now, but saw in silence his guests depart, and with a tear in his eye looked after the carriage which conveyed eva away from his house. it seemed now so dark and desolate to him. on the evening of this same day the father returned into his family circle, and pressed them all to his breast with tears of joy. yes, with tears of joy, for all were left to him! a few days after this, he wrote thus to one of his friends: "till now, till after this unfortunate occurrence, i knew not how much i possessed in my wife and children; knew not that i had so many good friends and neighbours. i thank god, who has given me such a wife, such children, and such friends! these last have supplied, nay, over-supplied all the necessities of my family. i shall begin in spring to rebuild my house on the old foundation. "how the fire was occasioned i know not, and do not trouble myself to discover. the misfortune has happened, and may serve as a warning for the future, and that is enough. my house has not become impoverished in love, even though it may be so in worldly goods, and that sustains and heals all. the lord hath given and the lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the lord!" probably the judge would listen to no conjectures respecting the origin of the fire. we will venture, however, not the less on that account to give our conjectures;--thus, it is very probable that the fire had its origin in the chamber of the young baron l., and that also he, in his scarcely half sober state, might have been the occasion of it. probably he himself regarded the affair in this light; but this however is certain, that this event, in connexion with the behaviour of the franks towards him, occasioned a great change in the temper and character of this young man. his father came for him shortly after this, and took him to consult a celebrated oculist in copenhagen, in consequence of his eyes having suffered severely in the fire. our eyes will see him again, only at a much later period of our history. the daughters of the house busied themselves earnestly with the already-spoken-of plans for discovering a means of independent subsistence for themselves, that they might lighten the anxieties of their parents in their present adverse circumstances, and that without being burdensome to anybody else. eva wished at first to accept an invitation to a country-seat in the neighbourhood, not far from that where major r. was at present. axelholm opened itself, heart, arms, main-building and wings, for the members of the frank family. there were wanting no opportunities for colonisation; but the judge besought his children so earnestly to decline all these, and for the present to remain altogether. "in a few months," said he, "perhaps in spring, you can do what you like; but now--let us remain together. it is needful to me to have you now all around me, in order to feel that i really possess you all. i cannot bear the thoughts of losing any one of you at present." the thought of parting appeared likewise soon to weigh heavily upon him. henrik, since the night of the conflagration, had scarcely had a moment free from suffering; a violent, incessant beating of the heart had remained since then, and the pain of this was accompanied by dangerous attacks of spasms, which, notwithstanding all remedies, appeared rather to increase than otherwise. this disturbed the judge so much the more, as now, more than ever, he loved and valued his son. since the night of the fire it might be said that, for the first time, affection was warm between father and son. the mahomedan says beautifully, that when the angel of death approaches man, the shadow of his wings falls upon him from a distance. from the beginning of his illness henrik's soul appeared to be darkened by unfriendly shadows, and the first serious outbreak of disease revealed itself in depression and gloom. oh! it was not easy for the young man, richly gifted as he was with whatever could beautify life on earth, standing as he did at the commencement of a path where fresh laurels and the roses of love beckoned to him, it was not easy to turn his glance from a future like this, to listen to the words which night and day his beating heart whispered to him--"thou wilt descend to thy grave! nor will i cease knocking till the door of the tomb opens to thee!" but to a mind like henrik's the step from darkness to light was not wide. there was that something in his soul which enables man to say to the lord of life and death-- the dreaded judgment-doom in thine own hand is writ,-- we kiss it; bow our heads, and silently submit. henrik had one day a long conversation with his skilful and anxious physician munter, who when he left him had tears in his eyes; but over henrik's countenance, on the contrary, when he returned to his family, although he was paler than usual, was a peculiarly mild and solemn repose, which seemed to diffuse itself through his whole being. from this moment his temper of mind was changed. he was now mild and calm, yet at the same time more joyous and amiable than ever. his eyes had an indescribable clearness and beauty; the shadow had passed away from his soul altogether. but deeper and deeper lay the shadow over one person, who from the beginning of henrik's illness was no longer like herself--and that was henrik's mother. it is true that she worked and spoke as formerly, but a gnawing anguish lived in her; she appeared absent from the passing business of life; and every occupation which had not reference, in some way or other, to her son, was indifferent or painful to her. the daughters kept carefully from her any thing which might be disturbing to her. she devoted herself almost exclusively to her son; and many hours full of rich enjoyment were spent by these two, who soon, perhaps--must separate for so long! every strong mental excitement was interdicted to henrik; his very illness would not admit of it. he must renounce his beloved studies: but his living spirit, which could not sleep, refreshed itself at the youthful fountains of art. he occupied himself much with the works of a poet who, during his short life, had suffered much and sung much also, and from amid whose crown of thorns the loveliest "lilies of sharon" had blossomed. the works of stagnelius[ ] were his favourite reading. he himself composed many songs, and his mother sang them to him during the long winter evenings. according to his opinion, his mother sang better than his sisters; and he rejoiced himself in the pure strength which triumphantly exalted him in this poet above the anguish and fever of life. it was observed that about this time he often turned the conversation, in the presence of his mother, to the brighter side of death. it seemed as if he wished to prepare her gradually for the possibly near separation, and to deprive it beforehand of its bitterness. elise had formerly loved conversations of this kind; had loved whatever tended to diffuse light over the darker scenes of life: but now she always grew pale when the subject was introduced; uneasiness expressed itself in her eyes, and she endeavoured, with a kind of terror, to put an end to it. one evening as the family, together with the assessor, were assembled in the confidential hour of twilight, they began to speak about dreams, and about the nature of sleep. henrik mentioned the ancient comparison of sleep and death, which he said he considered less striking as regarded its unconsciousness than in its resemblance in the awaking. "and in what do you especially consider this resemblance to consist?" asked leonore. "in the perfect retention and re-animation of consciousness, of memory, of the whole condition of the soul," replied he, "which is experienced in the morning after the dark night." "good," said the assessor, "and possible; but what can we _know_ about it?" "all that revelation has made known to us," replied henrik, with an animated look: "do we really need any stronger light on this subject than that afforded us by one of our own race, who was dead, and yet rose again from the grave, and who exhibited himself after his sleep in the dark dwelling with precisely the same dispositions, the same friendships, and with the most perfect remembrance of the least as well as the greatest events of his earthly existence? what a clear, what a friendly light has not this circumstance diffused around the dark gates of the tomb! it has united the two worlds! it has thrown a bridge over the gloomy deep; it enables the drooping wanderer to approach it without horror; it enables him to say to his friends on the evening of life, 'good night!' with the same calmness with which he can speak those words to them on the evening of the day." an arm was thrown convulsively round henrik, and the voice of his mother whispered, in a tone of despair, to him, "you must not leave us, henrik! you must not!" and with these words she sunk unconscious on his breast. from this evening henrik never again introduced in the presence of his mother a subject which was so painful to her. he sought rather to calm and cheer her, and his sisters helped him truly in the same work. they now had less desire than ever to leave home and to mingle in society generally; yet notwithstanding they did so occasionally, because their brother wished it, and it enabled them to have something to tell at home, which could entertain and enliven both him and his mother. these reports were generally made in henrik's room, and how heartily did they not laugh there! ah! in a cordially united family, care can hardly take firm footing there: if it come in for one moment, in the very next it will be chased away! eva appeared during this time to forget her own trouble, that she also might be a flower in the garland of comfort and tenderness which was bound around the favourite of the family; the judge too, tore himself more frequently than hitherto from his occupations, and united himself to the family circle. a more attractive sick chamber than henrik's can hardly be imagined. that he himself felt. enfeebled by the influence of disease, his beautiful eyes often became filled with tears from slight causes, and he would exclaim "i am happy--too happy! what a blessedness to be able to live! that is happiness! that is the summer of the soul! even now, amid my sufferings, i feel myself made through you so rich, so happy!" and then he would stretch forth his hand to those of his mother or his sisters, and press them to his lips or his bosom. an interval of amendment occurred in henrik's illness, and he suffered much less. a sentiment of joy diffused itself through the house, and henrik himself appeared at times to entertain hopes of life. he could now go out again and inhale the fresh winter air--his favourite air. the judge often accompanied him; it was then beautiful to see the powerful vigorous father supporting with his arm the pale but handsome son, whenever his steps became weary; to see him curbing his own peculiarly hasty movements, and conducting him slowly homewards; it was beautiful to see the expression in the countenance of each. people talk a great deal about the beauty of maternal love--paternal love has perhaps something yet more beautiful and affecting in it; and it is my opinion that he who has had the happiness of experiencing the careful culture of a loving, yet at the same time upright father, can, with fuller feeling and with more inward understanding than any other, lift his heart to heaven in that universal prayer of the human race, "our father which art in heaven!" several weeks passed on. a lady, an intimate friend of the family, was about this time undertaking a journey with her daughter to the city where petrea was visiting, and desired greatly to take gabriele with her, who was the dearest friend of the young amalie. gabriele would very gladly have embraced this opportunity of visiting her beloved sister, and of seeing at the same time something of the world, but now when henrik was ill, she could not think of it; she was quite resolved not to separate herself from him. but henrik was zealously bent upon gabriele making this journey, which would be so extremely agreeable to her. "don't you see," said he, "that gabriele sits here and makes herself pale with looking at me? and that is so utterly unnecessary, especially now i am so much better, and when i certainly in a little time shall be quite well again. journey, journey away, sweet gabriele, i beseech you! you shall cheer us in the mean time with your letters; and when at easter you return with petrea, then--then you will no longer have an ailing suffering brother; i will manage it so that i will be quite well by that time!" she was talked to also on other sides, especially by the young, lively amalie, and at length gabriele permitted herself to be persuaded. convinced that for the present all danger for her brother was over, she commenced the journey with a jest on her lips, but with tears in her eyes. it was the first flight of "our little lady" from home. not a word was heard from major r.; and although eva continued reserved towards her own family, she appeared to be so much calmer than formerly that they all began to be easy on her account. the judge, who, in consequence of her behaviour evinced towards her a grateful tenderness, endeavoured to gratify her slightest wishes, and gave his consent that in the early commencement of spring she should go to m----s. he hoped that by that time the major would be far removed from the country; but it was not long before a painful discovery was made. * * * * * on a dark evening at the beginning of march, two persons stood in deep but low discourse under a tree in st. mary's churchyard. "how childish you are, eva!" said the one, "with your fears and your doubts! and how pusillanimous is your love. if you would learn, lovely angel! how true love speaks, listen to me:-- "pourquoi fit on l'amour, si son pouvoir n'affronte, et la vie et la mort, et la haine et la honte! je ne demande, je ne veux pas savoir si rien a de ton coeur terni le pur miroir: je t'aime! tu le sais! que l'importe tout le reste?" "oh victor," answered the trembling voice of eva, "my fault is not the having too little love for you. ah, i feel indeed, and i evince it by my conduct, that my love to you is greater than my love for father and mother and sisters, more than for all the world! and yet i know that it is wrong! my heart raises itself against me--but i cannot resist your power." "on that account am i called victor, my angel," said he; "heaven itself has sanctioned my power. and _your_ victor am i also, my sweet eva; is it not so?" "ah! only too much so," sighed eva. "but now, victor, spare my weakness; do not desire to see me again till i go in spring in a month's time to m----s. do not demand----" "demand no such promises from victor, eva," said he; "he will not bind himself so! but you--you must do what your victor wills, else he cannot believe that you love him. what--you will refuse to take a few steps in order to gladden his eyes and his heart--in order to see and to hear him--in truth you do not love him!" "ah, i love you, i adore you," returned eva; "i could endure anything on your account--even the pangs of my own conscience; but my parents, my brother and sisters! ah, you know not what it costs me to deceive them! they are so good, so excellent; and i! yet sometimes the love which i have for them contends with the love which i have for you. do not string the bow too tightly, victor! and now--farewell, beloved, farewell! in a month's time you will see me, your eva, again, in m----s." "stop!" said he, "do you think you are to leave me in that way? where is my ring?" "on my heart," returned she, "day and night it rests there--farewell! ah, let me go!" "say once more that you love me above every thing in this world!" said he, "that you belong only to me!" "only to you! farewell!" and with these words eva tore herself away from him, and hastened with flying feet, like one terrified, across the churchyard. the major followed her slowly. a dark form stepped at that moment hastily forward, as if it had arisen from one of the graves, and met the major face to face. it seemed to him as if a cold wind passed through his heart, for the form tall and silent, and at that dark hour, and in the churchyard, had something in it ominous and spectre-like, and as it had evidently advanced to him with design, he paused suddenly, and asked, sharply, "who are you?" "eva's father!" replied a suppressed but powerful voice, and by the up-flaring light of a lamp which the wind drove towards them, the major saw the eyes of the judge riveted upon him with a wrathful and threatening expression. his heart sank for a moment; but in the next he said, with all his accustomed haughty levity: "now there is no necessity for me to watch longer after her;" and so saying he turned hastily aside, and vanished in the darkness. the judge followed his daughter without nearing her. when he came home, such a deep and painful grief lay on his brow as had never been observed there before. for the first time in his life the powerful head of the judge seemed actually bowed. * * * * * at this time stjernhök came to the city quite unexpectedly. he had heard of the misfortune which had befallen the franks, as well as of the part which henrik acted on this occasion, and of the illness which was the consequence of it, and he came now in order to see him before he travelled abroad. this visit, which had occasioned stjernhök to diverge as much as sixty english miles out of his way, surprised and deeply affected henrik, who as he entered the room met him with the most candid expression of cordial devotion. stjernhök seized his outstretched hand, and a sudden paleness overspread his manly countenance as he remarked the change which a few weeks' illness had made in henrik's appearance. "it is very kind of you to come to me--my thanks for it, stjernhök!" said henrik from his heart; "otherwise," continued he, "you would probably have seen me no more in this world; and i have wished so much to say one word to you before we separated thus." both were silent for some minutes. "what would you say to me, henrik?" at length asked stjernhök, whilst an extraordinary emotion was depicted in his countenance. "i would thank you," returned henrik, cordially, "thank you for your severity towards me, and tell you how sincerely i now acknowledge it to have been just, and wholesome for me also. i would thank you, because by that means you have been a more real friend, and i am now perfectly convinced how honestly and well you have acted towards me. this impression, this remembrance of our acquaintance, is the only one which i will take away with me when i leave this world. you have not been able to love me, but that was my own fault. i have sorrowed over the knowledge of that, but now i have submitted to it. in the mean time it would be very pleasant to me to know that my faults--that my late behaviour towards you, had not left behind it too repulsive an impression; it would be very pleasant for me to believe that you were able to think kindly of me when i am no more!" a deep crimson flamed on stjernhök's countenance, and his eyes glistened as he replied, "henrik, i feel more than ever in this moment that i have not shown justice towards you. several later circumstances have opened my eyes, and now--henrik, can you give me your friendship! mine you have for ever!" "oh, this is a happy moment!" said henrik, with increasing emotion; "through my whole life i have longed for it, and now for the first time it is given me--now when--but god be praised even for this!" "but why," said stjernhök, warmly, "why speak so positively about your death? i will hope and believe that your condition is not so dangerous. let me consult a celebrated foreign physician on your case--or better still, make the journey with me, and put yourself under the care of dr. k----. he is celebrated for his treatment of diseases of the heart; let me conduct you to him; certainly you can and will recover!" henrik shook his head mournfully. "there lies his work," said he, pointing to an open book in the window, "and from it i know all concerning my own condition. do you see, nils gabriel," continued he, with a beautiful smile, as he placed his arm on the shoulder of his friend, and pointed with his other towards heaven, gazing on him the while with eyes which seemed larger than ever--for towards death the eyes increase in size and brilliancy--"do you see," said he, "there wanders your star. it ascends! for certain a bright path lies before you; but when it beams upon your renown it will look down upon my grave! i have no doubt whatever on this point. some time ago this thought was bitter to me; it is so now no more! when the knowledge depresses me that i have accomplished so very little on earth, i will endeavour to console myself with the conviction that you will be able to do so much more, and that either in this world or the next i shall rejoice over your usefulness and your happiness!" stjernhök answered not a word; large tears rolled down his cheeks, and he pressed henrik warmly to his breast. on henrik's account he endeavoured to give the conversation a calmer turn, but the heart of his poor friend swelled high, and it was now too full of life and feeling to find rest in anything but the communication of these. the connexion between the two young men seemed now different to what it had ever been before. it was henrik who now led the conversation, and stjernhök who followed him, and listened to him with attention and the most unequivocal sympathy, whilst the young man gave such free scope to his thoughts and presentiments as he had never ventured to do before in the presence of the severe critic. but the truth is, there belongs to a dweller on the borders of the kingdom of death a peculiar rank, a peculiar dignity, and man believes that the whispering of spirits from the mysterious land reaches the ear which bows itself to them; on this account the wise and the strong of earth listen silently like disciples, and piously like little children, to the precepts which are breathed forth from dying lips. the entrance of the judge gave another turn to the conversation, which stjernhök soon led to henrik's last works. he directed his discourse principally to the judge, and spoke of them with all the ability of a real connoisseur, and with such entire and cordial praise as surprised henrik as much as it cheered him. it is a very great pleasure to hear oneself praised, and well praised too, by a person whom one highly esteems, and particularly when, at the same time, this person is commonly niggardly of his praise. henrik experienced at that moment this feeling in its highest degree; and this pleasure was accompanied by the yet greater pleasure of seeing himself understood, and in such a manner by stjernhök as made himself more clear to himself. in this moment he seemed, now for the first time, to comprehend in a perfectly intelligible manner his own talents, and what he wished to do, and what he was able to do. the fountain of life swelled forth strongly in his breast. "you make me well again, nils gabriel!" exclaimed he; "you give me new life. i will recover; recover in order again to live, in order to work better and more confidently than i have hitherto done. as yet i have done nothing; but now, now i could--i feel new life in me--i have never yet felt myself so well as now! certainly i shall now recover, or indeed--is the best wine reserved for me till the last?" the evening sped on agreeably, and with animation in the family circle. the blessed angels of heaven were not more beautiful or more joyous than henrik. he joked with his mother and sisters, nay, even with stjernhök, in the gayest manner, and was one of the liveliest who partook of the citron-soufflé which louise served up for supper, and which she herself had helped to prepare, and of which she was not a little proud. yes, indeed, she was almost ready to believe that it was this which had given new life to henrik, and the power of which she considered to be wonderfully operative. but ah!---- at the very moment when henrik jested with louise on this very subject, he was seized by the most violent suffering. this suffering continued interruptedly for three days, and deprived the sick young man of consciousness; whilst it seemed to be leading him quickly to that bound which mercy has set to human sufferings. on the second day after this paroxysm henrik was seized with that desire for change of resting-place which may be commonly regarded as the sign that the soul is preparing for its great change of abode. the judge himself bore his son in his arms from room to room, and from bed to bed. no sleep visited the eyes of his family during these terrible days; whilst his mother, with eyes tearless and full of anguish riveted upon her son, followed him from room to room, and from bed to bed; now hanging over his pillow, now seated at the foot of his bed, and smiling tenderly upon him when he appeared to know her, and articulating his name in a low and almost inaudible voice. on the evening of the third day the poor youth regained his consciousness. he recognised his family again, and spoke kindly to them. he saw that they were pale and weary, and besought them incessantly to go to rest. the assessor, who was present, united earnestly in this request, and assured them that, according to all appearances, henrik would now enjoy an easy sleep, and that he himself would watch by him through the night. the father and daughters retired to rest; but when they endeavoured to persuade the mother, she only waved with her hand, whilst a mournful smile seemed to say, "it is of no use whatever to talk to me about it." "i may remain with you, henrik?" said she, beseechingly. he smiled, took her hand, and laid it on his breast; and in the same moment closing his eyes, a calm refreshing sleep stole over him. the assessor sate silently beside them, and observed them both: it was not long, however, before he was obliged to leave them, being summoned suddenly to some one who was dangerously ill. he left them with the promise to return in the course of the night. munter was called in the city the night-physician, because there was no one like him who appeared earnestly willing to give his help by night as by day. the mother breathed deeply when she saw herself alone with her son. she folded her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven with an expression which through the whole of the foregoing days had been foreign to them. it was no longer restless, almost murmuring anxiety; it was a mournful, yet at the same time, deep, perfect, nay, almost loving resignation. she bent over her son, and spoke in a low voice out of the depths of her affectionate heart. "go, my sweet boy, go! i will no longer hold thee back, since it is painful to thee! may the deliverer come! thy mother will no longer contend with him to retain thee! may he come as a friendly angel and make an end of thy sufferings! i--will then be satisfied! go then, my first-born, my summer-child; go, and if there may never more come a summer to the heart of thy mother--still go! that thou mayst have rest! did i make thy cradle sweet, my child! so would i not embitter by my lamentations thy death-bed! blessed be thou! blessed be he also who gave thee to me, and who now takes thee from me to a better home! some time, my son, i shall come home to thee; go thou beforehand, my child! thou art weary, so weary! thy last wandering was heavy to thee; now thou wilt rest. come thou good deliverer, come thou beloved death, and give rest to his heart; but easily, easily. let him not suffer more--let him not endure more. never did he give care to his parents----" at this moment henrik opened his eyes, and fixed them calmly and full of expression on his mother. "thank god!" said he, "i feel no more pain." "thanks and praise be given to god, my child!" said she. mother and son looked on each other with deep and cheerful love! they understood each other perfectly. "when i am no more," said he, with a faint and broken voice, "then--tell it to gabriele, prudently; she has such tender feelings--and she is not strong. do not tell it to her on a day--when it is cold and dull--but--on a day--when the sun shines warm--when all things look bright and kindly--then, then tell her--that i am gone away--and greet her--and tell her from me--that it is not difficult--to die!--that there is a sun on the other side----" he ceased, but with a loving smile on his lips, and his eyes closed their lids as if from very weariness. presently afterwards he spoke again, but in a very low voice. "sing me something, mother," said he, "i shall then sleep more calmly, 'they knock! i come!'" these words were the beginning of a song which henrik had himself written, and set to music some time before, during a night of suffering. the genius of poetry seemed to have deserted him during the latter part of his illness; this was painful to him; but his mind remained the same, and the spirit of poetry lived still in the hymn which his mother now, at his request, sang in a trembling voice: they knock! i come! yet ere on the way to the night of the grave i am pressing, thou angel of death, give me yet one lay-- one hymn of thanksgiving and blessing. have thanks, o father! in heaven high, for thy gift, all gifts exceeding; for life! and that grieved or glad i could fly to thee, nor find thee unheeding. oh thanks for life, and thanks too for death, the bound of all trouble and sighing; how bitter! yet sweet 't is to yield our breath when thine is the heart of the dying! by our path of trial thou plantest still thy lilies of consolation; but the loveliest of all--to do thy will-- be it done in resignation! farewell, lovely earth, on whose bosom i lay; farewell, all ye dear ones, mourning; farewell, and forgive all the faults of my day: my heart now in death is burning! "it is burning!" repeated henrik in a voice of suffering. "it is terrible! mother! mother!" said he, looking for her with a restless glance. "your mother is here!" said she, bending over him. "ah! then all is right!" said he again, calmly. "sing, my mother," added he, again closing his eyes--"i am weary." she sang-- we part! but in parting our steps we bend alone towards that glorious morrow, where friend no more shall part from friend, where none knoweth heart-ache or sorrow! farewell! all is dark to my failing sight, your loved forms from my faint gaze rending, 't is dark, but oh!--far beyond the night i see light o'er the darkness ascending! "oh! if you only knew how serene it is! it is divine!" said the dying one, as he stretched forth his arms, and then dropped them again. a change passed over the countenance of the young man; death had touched his heart gently, and its pulsations ceased. at the same moment a wonderful inspiration animated the mother; her eyes beamed brightly, and never before had her voice had so beautiful, so clear a tone as whilst she sang thou callest, o father! with glad accord i come!--ye dear ones we sever!-- now the pang is past!--now behold i the lord-- praise be thine, o eternal, for ever! judge frank was awoke out of his uneasy sleep by the song, whose tone seemed to have a something supernatural in it. a few moments passed before he could convince himself that the voice which he heard was really that of his wife. he hastened with indescribable anxiety to the sick room; elise yet sang the last verse as he entered, and casting his eyes on her countenance, he exclaimed "my god!" and clasped his hands together. the song ceased: a dreadful consciousness thrust itself like a sword through the heart of the mother. she saw before her the corpse of her son, and with a faint cry of horror she sank, as if lifeless, upon the bed of death. footnotes: [ ] eric stagnelius, who was born in , and died in , would have been, it is probable, had a longer life been granted to him, one of the most distinguished poets of the age. his poems, epic, dramatic, and lyric, fill three volumes. "liljor i saron"--lilies of sharon, is the general title of his lyrics. chapter viii. elise to cecilia. _two months later._ "when i last wrote to you, my cecilia, it was winter. winter, severe icy winter, had also gathered itself about my heart--my life's joy was wrapped in his winding-sheet, and it seemed to me as if no more spring could bloom, no more life could exist; and that i should never again have the heart to write a cheerful or hopeful word. and now--now it is spring! the lark sings again the ascension-song of the earth; the may sun diffuses his warming beams through my chamber, and the grass becomes already green upon the grave of my first-born, my favourite! and i----oh lord! thou who smitest, thou also healest, and i will praise thee! for every affliction which thou sendest becomes good if it be only received with patience. and if thou concealest thyself for a season--as it appears to our weak vision--thou revealest thyself yet soon again, kinder and more glorious than before! for a little while and we see thee not, and again for a little while and we see thee, and our hearts rejoice and drink strength and enjoyment out of the cup which thou, almighty one! fillest eternally. yes, every thing in life becomes good, if that life be only spent in god! "but in those dark wintry hours it was often gloomy and tumultuous within me. ah, cecilia, i would not that he should die! he was my only son, my first-born child. i suffered most at his birth; i sang most beside his cradle; my heart leapt up first and highest with maternal joy at his childish play. he was my summer child, born in the midsummer of nature and of my life and my strength, and then--he was so full of life, so beautiful and good! no, i would not that he should die, or that my beautiful son should be laid in the black earth! and as the time drew nearer and nearer, and i saw that it must be--then it was dark in me. but the last night--oh, it was a most wonderful night!--then it was otherwise. do you know, cecilia, that i sung gaily, triumphantly, by the death-bed of my first-born! now i cannot comprehend it. but this night--he had during the foregoing day suffered much, and his sufferings had reconciled me to his death. they abated as death approached, and he besought of me, as he had often done in the years of his childhood, to sing him to sleep. i sang--i was able to sing. he received pleasure from the song, which increased in power, and with a heavenly smile, whilst heavenly pictures seemed to float before his eyes, he said, 'ah, it is divine!' and i sang better and ever clearer. i saw his eyes change themselves, his breath become suspended, and i knew that then was the moment of separation between soul and body--between me and him! but i did not then feel it, and i sang on. it seemed to me as if the song sustained the spirit and raised it to heaven. in that moment i was happy; for even i, as well as he, was exalted above every earthly pain. "the exclamation of my name awoke me from my blessed dream, and i saw the dead body of my son--after this i saw nothing more. "there was a long, deep stupor. when i recovered consciousness, i felt a heart beating against my temples. i raised my eyes and saw my husband; my head was resting on his breast, and with the tenderest words he was calling me back to life. my daughters stood around me weeping, and kissing my hands and my clothes. i also wept, and then i felt better. it was then morning, and the dawn came into my chamber. i threw my arms around my husband's neck, and said, 'ernst, love me! i will endeavour----' "i could say no more, but he understood me, thanked me warmly, and pressed me close to his bosom. "i did endeavour to be calm, and with god's help i succeeded. for several hours of the day i lay still on my bed. eva, whose voice is remarkably sweet, read aloud to me. i arose for tea, and endeavoured to be as usual; my husband and my daughters supported me, and all was peace and love. "but when the day was ended, and ernst and i were alone in our chamber, a fear of the night, of bed, and a sleepless pillow, seized hold of me; i, therefore, seated myself on the sofa, and prayed ernst to read to me, for i longed for the consolations of the gospel. he seated himself by me and read; but the words, although spoken by his manly, firm voice, passed at this time impressionless over my inward sense. i understood nothing, and all within me was dark and vacant. all at once some one knocked softly at the door, and ernst, not a little astonished, said, 'come in;' the door was opened, and eva entered. she was very pale, and appeared excited; but yet at the same time firm and determined. she approached us softly, and sinking down on her knees between us, took our hands between hers. i would have raised her, but ernst held me back, and said, mildly but gravely, 'let her alone!' "'my father, my mother!' said eva, with tremulous voice, 'i have given you uneasiness--pardon me! i have grieved you--i will not do it again. ah! i will not now lay a stone on your burden. see, how disobedient i have been--this ring, and these letters, i have received against your will and against my promises from major r. i will now send them back. see here! read what i have written to him. our acquaintance is for ever broken! pardon me, that i have chosen these hours to busy you with my affairs, but i feared my own weakness when the force of this hour shall have passed. oh, my parents! i feel, i know, that he is not worthy to be your son! but i have been as it were bewitched--i have loved him beyond measure;--ah, i love him still--nay, do not weep, mother! you shall never again shed a tear of grief over me--you have wept already enough on my account. since henrik's death every thing in me is changed. fear nothing more for me; i will conquer this, and will become your obedient, your happy child. only require not from me that i should give my hand to another--never will i marry, never belong to another! but for you, my parents, will i live; i will love you, and with you be happy! here, my father, take this, and send it back to him whom i will no more see! and--oh, love me! love me!' "tears bedewed the face which she bowed down to her father's knee. never had she looked so lovely, so attractive! ernst was greatly affected; he laid his hand as if in blessing upon her head, which he raised, and said: "'when you were born, eva, you lay long as if dead; in my arms you first opened your eyes to the light, and i thanked god. but i thank him manifold more for you in this moment, in which i see in you the joy and blessing of our age--in which you have been able to combat with your own heart, and to do that which is right! god bless you! god reward you!' "he held her for a long time to his bosom, and his tears wetted her forehead. i also clasped her in my arms, and let her feel my love and my gratitude, and then, with a look which beamed through tears, she left us. "we called her 'our blessed child' at that time, for she had blessed us with a great consolation. she had raised again our sunken hearts. "ernst went to the window and looked silently into the star-lighted night; i followed him, and my glance accompanied his, which in this moment was so beautiful and bright, and laying his arm around me he spoke thus, as if to himself: "'it is good! it is so intended--and that is the essential thing! he is gone! what more? we must all go; all, sooner or later. he might not perfect his work; but he stood ready, ready in will and ability when he was called to the higher work-place! lord and master, thou hast taken the disciple to thyself. well for him that he was ready! that is the most important for us all!' "ernst's words and state of mind produced great effect upon me. peace returned to my spirit. in the stillness of the night i did not sleep, but i rested on his bosom. it was calm around me and in me. and in the secret of my soul i wished that it might ever remain so, that no more day might dawn upon me, and no more sun shine upon my weary, painful eyes. "how the days creep on! on occasions of great grief it always appears as if time stood still. all things appear to stand still, or slowly and painfully to roll on, in dark circles; but it is not so! hours and days go on in an interminable chain; they rise and sink like the waves of the sea; and carry along with them the vessel of our life: carry it from the islands of joy it is true, but carry it also away from the rocky shores of grief. hours came for me in which no consolation would appease my heart, in which i in vain combated with myself, and said--'now i will read, and then pray, and then sleep!' but yet anguish would not leave me, but followed me still, when i read; prevented me from prayer, and chased away sleep; yes, many such hours have been, but they too are gone; some such may perhaps come yet, but i know also that they too will go. the tenderness of my husband and of my children--the peace of home--the many pleasures within it--the relief of tears--the eternal consolation of the eternal word--all these have refreshed and strengthened my soul. it is now much, much better. and then--he died pure and spotless, the youth with the clear glance and the warm heart! he stood, as his father said, ready to go into the higher world. oh! more than ever have i acknowledged, in the midst of my deep pain, that there is pain more bitter than this; for many a living son is a greater grief to his mother than mine--the good one there, under the green mound! "we have planted fir-trees and poplars around the grave, and often will it be decorated with fresh flowers. no dark grief abides by the grave of the friendly youth.--henrik's sisters mourn for him deep and still--perhaps gabriele mourns him most of all. one sees it not by day, for she is generally gay as formerly; a little song, a gay jest, a little adornment of the house, all goes on just as before to enliven the spirits of her parents. but in the night, when all rest in their beds, she is heard weeping, often so painfully--it is a dew of love on the grave of her brother; but then every morning is the eye again bright and smiling. "on the first tidings of our loss jacobi hastened to us. he took from ernst and me, in this time of heavy grief, all care upon himself, and was to us as the tenderest of sons. alas! he was obliged very soon to leave us, but the occasion for this was the most joyful. he is about to be nominated to the living of t----; and his promotion, which puts him in the condition soon to marry, affords him also a respectable income, and a sphere of action agreeable to his wishes and accordant with his abilities, and altogether makes him unspeakably happy. louise also looks forward towards this union and establishment for life with quiet satisfaction, and that, i believe, as much on account of her family as for herself. "the family affection appears, through the late misfortune, to have received a new accession: my daughters are more amiable than ever in their quiet care to sweeten the lives of their parents. mrs. gunilla has been like a mother to me and mine during this time; and many dear evidences of sympathy, from several of the best and noblest in sweden, have been given to henrik's parents;--the young poet's pure glory has brightened their house of mourning. 'it is beautiful to have died as he has died,' says our good assessor, who does not very readily find any thing beautiful in this world. "and i, cecilia, should i shut my heart against so many occasions for joy and gratitude, and sit with my sorrow in darkness? oh no! i will gladden the human circle in which i live; i will open my heart to the gospel of life and of nature; i will seize hold on the moments, and the good which they bring. no friendly glance, no spring-breeze, shall pass over me unenjoyed or unacknowledged; out of every flower will i suck a drop of honey, and out of every passing hour a drop of eternal life. "and then--i know it truly--be my life's day longer or shorter, bear it a joyful or a gloomy colour, the day will never endure so long but at length the evening cometh. the evening in which i may go home--home to my son, my summer-child! and then--oh then shall i perhaps acknowledge the truth of that prophetic word which has so often animated my soul: 'for behold i create new heavens and a new earth; and the former shall not be remembered nor come into mind. but be ye glad and rejoice for ever in that which i create.' "i have wept much whilst i have written this, but my heart has peace. it is now late. i will creep in to my ernst, and i feel that i shall sleep calmly by his side. "good-night, my cecilia." chapter ix. new adversities. it was afternoon. the sisters were busily quilting louise's bridal bed-cover; because at the end of may, as was determined in the family council, that she was to be married. the coverlet was of green silk, and a broad wreath of leafy oak branches formed its border. this pattern had occasioned a great deal of care and deliberation; but now, also, what joy did it not give rise to, and what ever-enduring admiration of the tasteful, the distinguished, the indescribably good effect which it produced, especially when seen from one side! gabriele, to be sure, would have made sundry little objections relative to the connexion of the leaves, but louise would not allow that there was any weight in them: "the border," said she, "is altogether charming!" gabriele had placed a full-blown monthly rose in the light locks of the bride, and had arranged with peculiar grace, around the plaited hair at the back of her head, the green rose-leaves like a garland. the effect was lovely, as at this time the sun-light fell upon her head, and her countenance had more than ordinary charm; the cheeks a high colour; the eyes a clearer blue, as they were often raised from the green rose-wreath and directed towards the window. jacobi, the new pastor, was expected that evening. gabriele went up to her mother, and besought her to notice how well louise looked, and the rose, how becoming it was to her! the mother kissed her, but forgot to notice louise in looking at the lovely face of "the little lady." the industrious up-and-down picking of the needles accompanied the joyful conversation of the sisters. now they talked about the management of the living; now about the school; now about milk, and now about cheese. they settled about household matters; about mealtimes; the arrangement of the table, and such like. in many things louise intended to follow the example of home; in others, she should do differently. "people must advance with the age." she intended that there should be great hospitality in the parsonage-house--that was jacobi's pleasure. some one of her own family she hoped to have always with her;--an especial wing should be built for beloved guests. she would go every sunday to church, to hear her husband preach or sing the service. if the old wives came to the parsonage with eggs, or other little presents, they should always be well entertained, and encouraged to come again. all sick people should be regaled with louise's elixir, and all misdoers should be more or less reproved by her. she would encourage all, to the very best of her power, to read, to be industrious, to go to church, and to plant trees. every sunday several worthy peasants should be invited with their wives to dine at the parsonage. if the ladies of the captain and the steward came to visit her, the coffee-pot should be immediately set on, and the card-table prepared. every young peasant girl should live in service a whole year at the parsonage before she was married, in order to learn how to work, and how to behave herself.--n. b. this would be wages enough for her. at all marriages the pastor and his wife would always be present, the same at christenings; they would extend their hand in sponsorship over the youth, that all might grow up in good-breeding and the fear of god. at midsummer and in harvest-time there should be a dance, and great merry-making at the parsonage for the people--but without brandy;--for the rest, nothing should be wanting: none she forgets, the mistress of the feast, the beer flows free, the bunch of keys it jingles, and, without pause, goes on the stormy dance! work should be found for all beggars at the parsonage, and then food; for lazy vagabonds a passing lecture, and then--march! and thus, by degrees, would preparation be made for the golden age. ah! ruin to the golden plans and to the golden age which they planned! two letters which were delivered to louise put a sudden end to them all! one of the letters was from jacobi, was very short, and said only that the parsonage was quite gone from him; but that louise would not blame him on that account, as soon as she understood the whole affair. "i long for you inexpressibly," continued jacobi, "but i must postpone my arrival in x. in order to pay my respects to his excellency o----, who is detained in p. from an attack of gout, which seized him on his journey from copenhagen to stockholm. but by the th of may i hope certainly to be with you. i have new plans, and i long to lay down all my feelings and all my thoughts on your true breast. my louise! i will no longer wait and seek. since fortune perpetually runs out of my way, i will now take a leap and catch it, and in so doing trust in heaven, in you, and lastly also--in myself. but you must give me your hand. if you will do that, beloved, i shall soon be much happier than now, and eternally, "your tenderly devoted, "j. jacobi." the other letter was from an unknown hand--evidently a woman's hand, and was as follows: "do not hate me, although i have stood in the way of your happiness. do not hate me--for i bless you and the noble man with whom you have united your fate. he is my benefactor, and the benefactor of my husband and my children. oh, these children whose future he has made sure, they will now call on heaven to give a double measure of happiness to him and you for that which he has so nobly renounced. the object of my writing is to obtain your forgiveness, and to pour forth the feelings of a grateful heart to those who can best reward my benefactor. will you be pleased on this account to listen to the short, but uninteresting relation of a condition, which, at the same time, is as common as it is mournful? "perhaps mr. jacobi may at some time or other have mentioned my husband to you. he was for several years jacobi's teacher, and each was much attached to the other. my husband held the office of schoolmaster in w., with honour, for twenty years. his small income, misfortunes which befel us, a quick succession of children, made our condition more oppressive from year to year, and increased the debt which from the very time when we settled down first we were obliged to incur. my husband sought after a pastoral cure, but he could have recourse to none of those arts which are now so almost universally helpful, and which often conduct the hunter after fortune, and the mean-spirited, rather than the deserving, to the gaol of their wishes; he was too simple for that, too modest, and perhaps also too proud. "during the long course of years he had seen his just hopes deceived, and from year to year the condition of his family become more and more melancholy. sickness had diminished his ability to work, and the fear of not being able to pay his debts gnawed into his health, which was not strong, and the prospect--of his nine unprovided-for children! i know i should deeply affect your heart, if i were to paint to you the picture of this family contending with want; but my tears would blot my writing. jacobi can do it--he has seen it, he has understood it; for this picture which i have so carefully concealed from every other eye--this pale, family misery i revealed to him, for i was in despair! "the name of my husband stood on the list of candidates for the living of t----. he had three-fold the legally-demanded requisites of jacobi, and was, over and above, known and beloved by the parish; all the peasants capable of voting, openly declared their intention of choosing him. two great landed proprietors, however, had the ultimate decision: count d., and mr. b. the proprietor of the mines, could, if they two were agreed, they two alone, elect the pastor. they also acknowledged the esteem in which they held my husband, and declared themselves willing to unite in the general choice. "for the first time in many years did we venture to look up to a brighter future. presently, however, we learnt that a powerful patron of mr. jacobi had turned the whole scale in his favour, and that it would be soon decided; the two great proprietors had promised their votes to him, and our condition was more hopeless than ever. "the day of nomination approached. i did not venture to speak with my strictly conscientious husband of the design which i cherished. i had heard much said of jacobi's excellent character; i was a distracted wife and mother. i sought out jacobi, and spoke to him out of the depths of my heart, spoke to his sense of right--to his sense of honour; i showed him how the affair stood for us before he disturbed it, by means which could not be justly called honourable. i feared that my words were bitter, but all the more angel-like was it in jacobi to hear me with calmness. i pictured to him our present condition; told him how he might save us from misery, and besought him to do it. "my prayer at first was almost wild, and in the beginning jacobi seemed almost to think it so, but he heard me out; he let me conduct him to the house of his former teacher, saw the consuming anxiety depicted on his pale emaciated countenance; saw that i had exaggerated nothing; he wept, pressed my hand with a word of consolation, and went out hastily. "the day of nomination came. jacobi renounced all claims. my husband was elected to the living in t----. good god! how it sounded in our ears and in our hearts! for a long time we could not believe it. after fifteen years of deceived hopes we hardly dared to believe in such happiness. i longed to embrace the knees of my benefactor, but he was already far distant from us. a few friendly lines came from him, which reconciled my husband to his happiness, and jacobi's renunciation, and which made the measure of his noble behaviour full. i have not yet been able to thank him; but you, his amiable bride, say to him----" we omit the outpourings which closed this letter; they proceeded from a warm, noble heart, overflowing with happiness and gratitude. the needles fell from the fingers of the sisters as the mother, at louise's request, read this letter aloud, and astonishment, sympathy, and a kind of admiring pleasure might be read in their looks. they all gazed one on the other with silent and tearful eyes. gabriele was the first who broke silence: "so, then, we shall keep our louise with us yet longer," said she gaily, while she embraced her; and all united cordially in the idea. "but," sighed leonore, "it is rather a pity, on account of our wedding and our parsonage; we had got all so beautifully arranged." louise shed a few quiet tears, but evidently not merely over the disappointed expectation. later in the evening the mother talked with her, and endeavoured to discover what were her feelings under these adverse circumstances. louise replied, with all her customary candour, that at first it had fallen very heavily upon her. "i had now," continued she, "fixed my thoughts so much on an early union with jacobi; i saw so much in my new condition which would be good and joyful for us all. but though this is now--and perhaps for ever, at an end, yet i do not exactly know if i wish it otherwise; jacobi has behaved so right, so nobly right, i feel that i now prize him higher, and love him more than ever!" it was difficult to the judge not to be more cheerful than common this evening. he was inexpressibly affectionate towards his eldest daughter; he was charmed with the way in which she bore her fate, and it seemed to him as if she had grown considerably. on the following day they quietly went on again with the quilting of the bed-cover, whilst gabriele read aloud; and thus "the childhood of eric menved" diverted with its refreshing magic power all thoughts from the parsonage and its lost paradise to the rich middle age of denmark, and to its young king eric. chapter x. new views and new schemes. jacobi was come: gabriele complained jestingly to her mother, "that the brother-in-law-elect had almost overturned her, the little sister-in-law-elect, in order to fly to his louise." louise received jacobi with more than customary cordiality; so did the whole family. that which jacobi had lost in worldly wealth he seemed to have won in the esteem and love of his friends; and it was the secret desire of all to indemnify him, as it were, for the loss of the parsonage. jacobi on this subject had also his own peculiar views; and after he had refreshed himself both with the earthly and the "angels' food," which louise served up to him in abundance, and after he had had a conference of probably three hours' length with her, the result of the same was laid before the parents, who looked on the new views thus opened to them not without surprise and disquiet. it was jacobi's wish and intention now immediately to celebrate his marriage with louise, and afterwards to go to stockholm, where he thought of commencing a school for boys. to those who knew that all jacobi's savings amounted to a very inconsiderable capital; that his yearly income was only fifty crowns; that he had displeased his only influential patron; that his bride brought him no dowry; and thus, that he had nothing on which to calculate excepting his own ability to work--to all those then who knew thus much, this sudden establishment had some resemblance to one of those romances with their "_diner de man coeur, et souper de mon âme_," which is considered in our days to be so infinitely insipid. but jacobi, who had already arranged and well considered his plans, laid them with decision and candour before the parents, and besought their consent that he might as soon as possible be able to call louise his wife. elise gasped for breath; the judge made sundry objections, but for every one of these jacobi had a reasonable and well-devised refutation. "are jacobi's plans yours also, louise?" asked the judge, after a momentary silence; "are you both agreed?" louise and jacobi extended a hand to each other; looked on each other, and then on the father, with tearful, yet with calm and assured eyes. "you are no longer children," continued the father; "you know what you are undertaking. but have you well considered?" both assented that they had. already, before there had been any expectation of the living, they had thought on this plan. "it is a fatiguing life that you are stepping into," continued the judge, seriously, "and not the least so for you, louise. the result of your husband's undertaking will depend for the greatest part on you. will you joyfully, and without complaint, endure that which it will bring with it; will you, from your heart, take part in his day's work?" "yes, that i will!" replied louise, with entire and hearty confidence. "and you, jacobi," continued he, with unsteady voice, "will you be father and mother and sisters to her? will you promise me that she neither now, nor in the future, so far as in you lies, shall miss the paternal home?" "god help me! so certainly as i will exert myself to effect it, she shall not!" answered jacobi with emotion, and gave his hand to the judge. "go then, children," exclaimed he, "and ask the blessing of your mother--mine you shall have," and with tearful eyes he clasped them in his arms. elise followed the example of her husband. she felt now that louise and jacobi's firm devotion to each other; their willingness to work; and their characters, so excellent, and beyond this, so well suited to each other, were more secure pledges of happiness than the greatest worldly treasure. with respect to the time of the marriage, however, she made serious objections. all that the parents could give to their daughter was a tolerably handsome outfit; and this could not, by any possibility, be so speedily prepared. louise took her mother's view of the question, and jacobi saw himself, although reluctantly, compelled to agree that it should remain as at first arranged, namely, for the second day in whitsuntide, which, in this year, fell at the end of may. after this the betrothed hastened to the sisters to communicate to them the new views and schemes. there was many an "oh!" and "ah!" of astonishment; many a cordial embrace; and then, of course, what industry in the oak-leaf garland! but as the mother at the usual time came in, she saw plainly that "the little lady" was somewhat impatient towards the brother-in-law-elect, and but little edified by his plans. from that kind of sympathy which exists between minds, even when not a single word is spoken, especially between persons who are dear to each other, the dissatisfaction of gabriele took possession also of the mother, who began to discover that jacobi's plans were more and more idle and dangerous. thus when jacobi, not long afterwards, sought to have a _tête-à-tête_ with her, in order to talk about his and louise's plans, she could not help saying that the more she thought about the undertaking the more foolish did it appear to be. to which jacobi answered gaily, "heaven is the guardian of all fools!" elise recollected at that moment how it had fared with a person with whom she was acquainted, who hoped for this guardianship in an undertaking that in most respects resembled jacobi's, yet nothing had prevented all his affairs from going wrong altogether, and at length ending in bankruptcy and misery. elise related this to jacobi. "have you not read, mother," replied he, "a wise observation which stands at the end of a certain medical work?" "no," said she; "what observation is it?" "that what cured the shoemaker killed the tailor," said jacobi. elise could not help laughing, and called him a conceited shoemaker. jacobi laughed too, kissed elise's hand, and then hastened to mingle in the group of young people, who assembled themselves round the tea-table to see and to pass judgment on an extraordinary kind of tea-bread wherewith louise would welcome her bridegroom, and which, according to her opinion, besides the freshest freshness, was possessed of many wonderful qualities. whilst at tea, the mother whispered slyly into louise's ear as jacobi put sugar into his tea, "my dear child, there will be a deal of sugar used in your house--your husband will not be frugal." louise whispered back again, "but he will not grumble because too much sugar is used in the house. so let him take it then, let him take it!" both laughed. later in the evening, as the mother saw jacobi dance the gallopade with louise and gabriele, whilst he made all happy with his joy, and his eyes beamed with life and goodness, she thought to herself--even virtue has her carelessness; and she was well satisfied with his plans. one day jacobi related the particulars of his audience with his excellency o----, at p., to louise and her mother; his relation was as follows: "when i came up into the saloon the bishop n. was coming backwards, with low bows, out of the chamber of his excellency. within, a powerful voice was heard speaking polite and jocular words, and immediately afterwards his excellency himself, with his foot wrapped in a woollen sock, accompanied the bishop out. the lofty figure, clothed now in a dark-green morning coat, seemed to me more imposing than ever. he swung a stick in his hand, upon which a grey parrot was sitting, which, while it strove to maintain its balance, screamed with all its might after the bishop, 'adieu to thee! adieu to thee!' "the sunshine which was diffused over the expressive countenance of his excellency as he came out of his room, vanished the moment he saw me (i had already informed him by letter of the use i had made of his goodness), and a severe repulsive glance was the only greeting which i received. when the bishop at length, accompanied by the parting salutations of the parrot, had left, his excellency motioned the servants out, and riveted upon me his strong, bright, grey eyes, and with an actually oppressive look inquired short and sharp, 'what want you, sir?' "i had never seen him behave thus to me before, and whilst i endeavoured to overcome a really choking sensation, i answered, 'i would thank your excellency for the goodness which--' "'which you have thrown away as if it were a very trifle,' interrupted his excellency. 'you must have a confounded many livings at command, i think. you can, perhaps, throw such away on all sides.' "he spoke these words in a hard, ironical tone. i conjured him to hear me, and laid before him shortly, but with the utmost clearness, the reasons which had compelled me to give up the good fortune which his favour had procured for me. i concluded by saying, that the only consolation which i had for my loss, and the danger of having displeased my benefactor, was the feeling that i had done my duty, and acted according to my conscience, and the persuasion that i had acted right. "'you have acted like a fool!' interrupted his excellency, with violence, 'like a regular bedlamite have you behaved yourself! things like this, sir, may do in novels, but in actual life they serve to no other purpose than to make their actors and all that belong to them beggars. but you have unpardonably compromised me! the thousand! you should have thought over all these things and these feelings before you had obtained my recommendation! can i know of all supplicants with poverty, merits, and nine children? on your account in this business i have written letters, given dinners, made fine speeches, paid compliments, in order to silence other claimants. i obtained for you that living, one of the best in the whole bishoprick, and now you have given it away as if it were a----it is really too bad! don't come any more to me, and don't mix me up again in your concerns, that i say to you! i shall for the future meddle in nothing of the kind. don't you ask me ever again for anything!' "i was wounded, but still more distressed than wounded, and said, 'the only thing which i shall ask from you, and shall ask for till i obtain it, is the forgiveness of your excellency! my error in this affair was great; but after i had seen it, there was nothing for me to do but to retrieve it as well as lay in my power, and then to bear the consequences, even though they be as bitter as i now find them. never again shall i make any claim to your goodness--you have already done more than enough for me. my intention is now to try if i cannot maintain myself by my own powers as teacher. i intend to establish a school for boys in stockholm, whither i shall travel as soon as----' "'attempt, and travel, and do whatever you like!' interrupted his excellency, 'i don't trouble myself about it. i have occupied myself in your affairs for the last time! if i were to get for you ten livings, you would give all away the next moment to the first, best poor devil that prayed you for them, with his full complement of wife and ten children! "'lundholm, wash me the glass! i never drink out of a glass from which a bishop has drunk!' "his excellency had already turned his back upon me, and went again into his chamber cursing his gout, without the slightest parting word to me. the parrot, however, on the contrary, turned itself about on the stick, and cried out with all its might, 'adieu to thee! adieu to thee!' "with this greeting, perhaps the last in the house of his excellency, i retired; but not without, i must confess, stopping a few moments on the steps, and wetting the stones with my tears. it was not the loss of a powerful patron which gave me so much pain, but--i had so admired this man, i had loved him with such an actual devotion; i looked up to him as to one of the noblest and most distinguished of men. he also seemed really to like me--at least i thought so; and now all at once he was so changed, so stern towards me, and as it seemed to me so unreasonable. it actually gave me pain to find so little that was noble in him, so little that was just! these were my feelings in those first bitter moments. when i came to think over the whole event more calmly, i could almost believe that he had received beforehand an unjust representation of the whole affair, and that i encountered him while under its influence. over and above, he had reason to be dissatisfied with the whole thing, and then just at that moment a fit of the gout seized him! i have written to him from this place, and i feel it impossible to give up the hope of seeing his sentiments mollified towards me." louise, however, did not think so favourably of his sentiments; thought jacobi quite too indulgent, and was altogether irritated against his excellency. "it is quite the best not to trouble oneself about him," said she. jacobi smiled. "his poor excellency!" said he. chapter xi. a relapse. whilst may wrote its romance in leaves and life; whilst jacobi and louise wrote many sweet chapters of theirs in kisses; whilst all the house was in motion on account of the marriage, and joy and mirth sprang up to life like butterflies in the spring sun, one glance was ever darker, one cheek ever paler, and that was eva's. people say commonly that love is a game for the man, and a life's-business for the woman. if there be truth in this, it may arise from this cause, that practical life makes commonly too great a demand on the thoughts and activity of the man for him to have much time to spend on love, whilst on the contrary the woman is too much occupied with herself to have the power of withdrawing herself from the pangs of love (may the chamberlain's lady forgive us talking so much about man and woman! it has not been our lot here in the world to scour either a room or a kettle, though, to speak the truth, we do not consider ourselves incapable of so doing). eva found nothing in her peaceful home which was powerful enough to abstract her from the thoughts and feelings which for so long had been the dearest to her heart. the warm breezes of spring, so full of love, fanned up that glimmering fire; so did also that innocent life of the betrothed, so full of cordiality and happiness; so did also a yet more poisonous wind. one piece of news which this spring brought was the betrothal of major r. with one of the beauties of the capital, a former rival of eva--news which caused a deep wound to her heart. she wished to conceal, she wished to veil what was yet remaining of a love which no one had favoured, and over which she could not now do other than blush; she had determined never again to burden and grieve her family with her weakness, her sorrows; she would not disturb the peace, the cheerfulness, which now again began to reign in the family after the misfortunes which had shaken it; but under the endeavour to bear her burden alone, her not strong spirit gave way. she withdrew more and more from the family circle; became ever more silent and reserved; sought for solitude, and was unwilling to have her solitude disturbed by any one. she even was reserved before leonore; although she, like a good angel, stood by her side, resting her soft eyes upon her with a tender disquiet, endeavouring to remove from her every annoyance, taking upon herself every painful occupation, and evincing towards her all that anxious care which a mother shows to a sick child. eva permitted all this, and was daily more and more consumed by her untold mental sufferings. the engrossing cares which at this time occupied the family, prevented almost every one from paying attention to eva's state of mind, and thus she was often left to herself. for several of the last evenings eva had gone down into her own chamber directly after tea--for in their present dwelling some of the daughters occupied the ground-floor--and on the plea of headache had excused herself from again returning to her family during the evening. it was a principle of the parents never to make use of any other means of compulsion with their children, now that they were grown up, than love, be it in great things or in small. but then love had a great power in this family; and as the daughters knew that it was the highest delight of their father to see them all round him in an evening, it became a principle with them neither to let temper nor any other unnecessary cause keep them away. as now, however, this was the third evening on which eva had been absent, the father became uneasy, and the mother went down to her, whilst the rest of the family and some friends who were with them were performing a little concert together. but eva was not to be found in her chamber, and the mother was hastening back again, full of disquiet, when she met ulla, who was going to make the beds. "where is eva?" asked she, with apparent indifference. ulla started, was red and then pale, and answered hesitatingly, "she is--gone out--i fancy." "where is she gone?" asked elise, suddenly uneasy. "i fancy--to the grave of the young master," returned ulla. "to the grave?--so late! has she gone there for several evenings?" inquired the mother. "this is now the third evening," said ulla: "ah, best gracious lady, it goes really to my heart--it is not justly right there!" "what is not justly right, ulla?" "that mamselle eva goes out to the grave so late, and does not come back again till it has struck ten, and that she will be so much alone," returned ulla. "yesterday mamselle leonore even cried, and begged of her not to go, or to allow her to go with her. but mamselle eva would not let her, but said she would not go, and that mamselle leonore should go up-stairs, and leave her alone; but as soon as mamselle leonore had left her she went out for all that, with only a thin kerchief over her head. and this evening she is gone out also. ah! it must be a great grief which consumes her, for she gets paler every day!" greatly disturbed by what she had heard, elise hastened to seek her husband. she found him deeply engaged over his books and papers, but he left all the moment he saw the troubled countenance of his wife. she related to him what she had heard from ulla, and informed him that it was her intention to go now immediately to the churchyard. "i will go with you," said the judge, "only tell louise to defer supper for us till we come back; i fancy nobody will miss us, they are so occupied by their music." no sooner said than done. the husband and wife went out together; it was half-past nine in the middle of may, but the air was cold, and a damp mist fell. "good heavens!" said the judge softly, "she'll get her death of cold if she stops in the churchyard so late, and in air like this!" as they approached the churchyard, they saw that a female form passed hastily through the gate. it was not eva, for she sat on the grave of her brother! she sat there immovably upon the earth, and resembled a ghost. the churchyard was, with this exception, deserted. the figure which had entered before them, softly approached the grave, and remained standing at the distance of a few paces. "eva!" said a beseeching mournful voice; it was leonore. the parents remained standing behind some thick-leaved fir-trees. on precisely the same spot had the father stood once before, and listened to a conversation of a very different kind. "eva!" repeated leonore, with an expression of the most heartfelt tenderness. "what do you want with me, leonore?" asked eva impatiently, but without moving. "i have already prayed you to let me alone." "ah! i cannot leave you, dear eva," replied her sister, "why do you sit here on the ground, on this cold, wet evening? oh, come home, come home with me!" "do you go home, leonore! this air is not proper for you! go home to the happy, and be merry, with them," returned eva. "do you not remember," tenderly pleaded leonore, "how i once, many years ago, was sick both in body and mind? do you know who it was then that left the gay in order to comfort me? i prayed her to leave me--but she went not from me--neither will i now go away from you." "ah, go! leave me alone!" repeated eva, "i stand now alone in the world!" "eva, you distress me!" said her sister, "you know that there is no one in this world that i love like you: i mourned so much when you left us; the house without you seemed empty, but i consoled myself with the thought that eva will soon come back again. you came, and i was so joyful, for i believed that we should be so happy together. but i have seen since then of how little consequence i am to you! still i love you as much as ever, and if you think that i have not sympathised in your sorrows, that i have not wept with you and for you, you do me certainly injustice! ah, eva, many a night when you have believed perhaps that i lay in sweet sleep, have i sat at your door, and listened how you wept, and have wept for you, and prayed for you, but i did not dare to come in to you because i imagined your heart to be closed to me!" and so saying, leonore wept bitterly. "you are right, leonore," answered eva, "much has become closed in me which once was opened. this feeling, this love for him--oh, it has swallowed up my whole soul! for some time i believed i should be able to conquer it--but now i believe so no longer----" "do you repent of your renunciation?" asked leonore;--"it was so noble of you! would you yet be united to him!" "no! no! the time for that is gone by," said eva. "i would rather die than that; but you see, leonore, i loved him so--i have tasted love, and have felt how rapturous, how divine life might be!--oh, leonore, the bright sun-warm summer-day is not more unlike this misty evening hour, than the life which i lived for a season is unlike the future which now lies before me!" "it seems so to you now, eva--you think so now," answered her sister; "but let a little time pass over, and you will see that it will be quite otherwise; that the painful feelings will subside, and life will clear up itself before you. think only how it has already afforded you pleasure to look up to heaven when the clouds separated themselves, and you said, 'see how bright it will be! how beautiful the heaven is!' and your blue eyes beamed with joy and peace, because it was so. believe me, eva, the good time will come again, in which you will thus look up to heaven, and feel thus joyful, and thus gay!" "never!" exclaimed eva, weeping; "oh, never will that time return! then i was innocent, and from that cause i saw heaven above me clear;--now so much that is bad, so much that is impure has stained my soul--stains it yet!--oh, leonore, if you only knew all that i have felt for some time you would never love me again! would you believe it that louise's innocent happiness has infused bitterness into my soul; that the gaiety which has again began to exist in the family has made me feel bitterness--bitterness towards my own family--my own beloved ones! oh, i could detest myself! i have chastised myself with the severest words--i have prayed with bitter tears, and yet----" "dear eva, you must have patience with yourself," said leonore, "you will not----" "ah! i am already weary of myself--of my life!" hastily interrupted eva; "i am like some one who has already travelled far, who is already spent, but who must still go on, and can never come to his journey's end. it seems to me as if i should be a burden to all who belong to me; and when i have seen you all so happy, so gay one with another, i have felt my heart and my head burn with bitterness; then have i been obliged to go out--out into the cold evening dew, and i have longed to repose in the earth upon which it fell--i have longed to be able to hide myself from every one--deep, deep in the grave below!" "but from me," said leonore, "you will not be able to hide yourself--nor to go from me, since where you go there will i follow. oh, what were life to me if you were to leave it in despair! you would not go alone to the grave, eva! i would follow you there--and if you will not allow that i sit by your side, i will seat myself on the churchyard wall, that the same evening damps which penetrate you may penetrate me also; that the same night wind which chills your bosom may chill mine; that i may be laid by your side and in the same grave with you! and willingly would i die for you, if--you will not live for me, and for the many who love you so much! we will try all things to make you happier! god will help us; and the day will come in which all the bitter things of this time will seem like a dream, and when all the great and beautiful feelings, and all the agreeable impressions of life will again revive in you. you will again become innocent--nay, become more, because virtue is a higher, a glorified innocence! oh, eva! if he whose dust reposes beneath us, if his spirit invisibly float around us--if he who was better and purer than all of us, could make his voice audible to us at this moment, he would certainly join with me in the prayer--'oh, eva! live--live for those who love thee! mortal life, with all its anguish and its joy, is soon past--and then it is so beautiful that our life should have caused joy to one another on earth--it causes joy in heaven! the great comforter of all affliction will not turn from thee--only do not thou turn from _him!_ have patience! tarry out thy time! peace comes, comes certainly----'" the words ceased; both sisters had clasped their arms around each other, and mingled their tears. eva's head rested on leonore's shoulder as she, after a long pause, spoke in a feeble voice: "say no more, leonore; i will do what you wish. take me--make of me what you will--i am too weak to sustain myself at this moment--support me--i will go with you--you are my good angel!" other guardian angels approached just then, and clasped the sisters in a tender embrace. conducted by them, eva returned home. she was altogether submissive and affectionate, and besought earnestly for forgiveness from all. she was very much excited by the scenes which had just occurred, drank a composing draught which her mother administered, and then listened to leonore, who read to her, as she lay in bed, till she fell asleep. the judge paced up and down his chamber uneasily that night, and spoke thus to his wife, who lay in bed: "a journey to the baths, and that in company with you, would be quite the best thing for her. but i don't know how i can now do without you; and more than that, where the money is to come from! we have had great losses, and see still great expenses before us: in the first place louise's marriage--and then, without a little money in hand, we cannot let our girls go from home; and the rebuilding of our house. but we must borrow more money--i see no other way. eva must be saved; her mind must be enlivened and her body strengthened, let it cost what it may. i must see and borrow----" "it is not necessary, ernst," said elise; and the judge, making a sudden pause, gazed at her with astonishment; whilst she, half raising herself in bed, looked at him with a countenance beaming with joy. "come," continued she, "and i will recall something to your memory which occurred fifteen years ago." "what sort of a history can that be?" said he, smiling gaily, whilst he seated himself on the bed, and took the hand which elise extended to him. "five-and-twenty years ago," began she. "five-and-twenty years!" interrupted he, "heaven help me! you promised to go no farther back than fifteen." "patience, my love!--this is part the first of my story. do you not remember, then," said she, "how, five-and-twenty years ago, at the commencement of our married life, you made plans for a journey into the beautiful native land of your mother? i see now, ernst, that you remember it. and how we should wander there you planned, and enjoy our freedom and god's lovely nature. you were so joyful in the prospect of this; but then came adversity, and cares, and children, and never-ending labour for you, so that our norwegian journey retreated year by year more into the background. nevertheless, it remained like a point of light to you in the future; but now, for some time, you seem to have forgotten it; yes, for you have given up all your own pleasures in labouring for your family; have forsaken all your own enjoyments, your own plans, for your own sphere of activity and your home. but i have not forgotten the norwegian journey, and in fifteen years have obtained the means of its accomplishment." "in fifteen years!--what do you mean?" asked he. "now i am arrived," she answered, "at part the second of my history. do you still remember, ernst, that fifteen years ago we were not so happy as we are now? you have forgotten? well, so much the better; i scarcely remember it myself any more, for the expansive rind of love has grown over the black scar. what i, however, know is, that at that time i was not so properly at home in actual life, and did not rightly understand all the good that it offered me, and that to console myself on that account i wrote a romance. but now it happened that by reason of my novel i neglected my duties to my lord and husband--for the gentlemen are decidedly unskilled in serving themselves----" "very polite!" interposed the judge, smiling. "be content!" continued she: "now it happened that one evening his tea and my novel came into collision--a horrible history followed. but i made a vow in my heart that one of these days the two rivals should become reconciled. now you see my manuscript--you had the goodness to call it rubbish--i sent to a very enlightened man, to a man of distinguished taste and judgment, and thus it befel, he found taste in the rubbish; and, what say you to it? paid me a pretty little sum for permission to bring it before the world. do not look so grave, ernst; i have never again taken up the pen to write novels; my own family has found me enough to do; and besides, i never again could wish to do anything which was not pleasant to you. you have displaced all rivals, do you see! but this one i decided should be the means of your taking the norwegian journey. the little sum of two hundred crowns banco which it produced me have i placed in the savings' bank for this purpose; and in fifteen years it has so much augmented itself, that it will perfectly accomplish that object; and if ever the time for its employment will come, it is now. the desire for travelling is gone from me--i covet now only rest. but you and----" "and do you think," said the judge, "that i shall take your----" "oh, ernst! why should you not?" exclaimed she; "if you could but know what joy the thought of this has prepared for me! the money, which from year to year increased, in order to give you pleasure, has been to me like a treasure of hidden delight, which has many a time strengthened and animated my soul! make me only perfectly happy by allowing yourself to have enjoyment from it. take it, my ernst, and make yourself pleasure with it, this summer; i pray you to do so, on account of our children. take eva with you, and if possible leonore also. nothing would refresh eva's soul more than such a journey with you and leonore in a magnificent and beautiful country. the money can be obtained in a month's time, and a few months' leave of absence cannot possibly be denied to one who has spent more than thirty years in incessant service for the state; and when louise and her husband have left us, and spring and nature are in their very loveliest, then you shall set out: you shall be refreshed after so many years of painful labour, and the wounded heart of our sick child shall be healed." chapter xii. plans and counter plans. eva entered her father's study the next morning. he immediately left his work, received her with the greatest tenderness, drew her to his side on the sofa, and placing one arm round her waist, took her hand in his, and inquired, with a searching glance, "do you want anything from me, my child? can i do anything for you? tell me!" encouraged by his kindness, eva described the state of her mind to her father, and explained how she wished to commence a more active life in order to overcome her weakness, and to regain strength and quiet. the situation of teacher in a girl's school in the city was vacant, and she wished immediately to take it, but only for the summer, during which time she and leonore would prepare themselves to open a school in autumn. it was a plan of which they had long thought, and which would afford them a useful and independent life. eva besought the acquiescence of her father to this proposition. "leonore and i," continued she, "have this morning talked a deal on the subject; we hope that with the counsel and countenance upon which we may reckon, to be able to make it succeed. ah, father! i am become quite anxious about it on account of my own weakness. i must speedily resort to external means, that i may overcome it. i will become active; i will work; and whilst thus employed i shall forget the past and myself, and only live for the happiness of those who love me, and to whom i have caused so much trouble." "my child! my dear child, you are right; you do rightly!" said the father, deeply affected, and clasping his daughter in his arms; "your wish shall be granted, and whatever is in my power will i do to forward your plans. what a many institutions for education will there not proceed from our house! but there is no harm at all in that--there are no more useful institutions on the face of the earth! one reservation, however, i must make from your and leonore's determination. you may dedicate the autumn and the winter to your school--but the summer you must devote to your father!--and madame b. may find a teacher where she can, only not from my family--for i am not now in a condition to furnish her one." "ah, father," said she, "every unemployed hour is a burden to me!" "we will bear the burden together, my child! leonore, i, and you, in our wanderings towards the west. in a few weeks i am thinking of undertaking a journey, after which i have longed for these many years; i will visit the beautiful native land of my mother. will you, eva, breathe this fresh mountain air with me? i should have very little pleasure in the journey alone, but in company with you and leonore it will make me young again! our heads are become bowed, my child, but in god's beautiful nature we will lift them up again! you will go with me--is it not so? good! come then with me to your mother, for it is she alone who has managed this journey!" with an arm round the waist of his daughter the judge now went to his wife; they found leonore with her; nor was ever a quartet of mozart's more harmonious than that which was now performed among them. eva was uncommonly animated all day, but in the evening she was in a burning fever. a feeling of anxiety went through the whole family; they feared that a new grave was about to be opened, and disquiet was painted on all countenances. eva demanded, with a fervour which was not without its feverish excitement, that the assessor should be fetched. he came immediately. "forgive me!" exclaimed eva, extending her hand to him, "i have been so ungrateful to you! but my heart was so disordered that it was quite changed; but it will recover itself again. leonore has given it health. i am very ill now; my hands burn, my head aches! give me my little work-box--that i may hold it between my hands--that i may lean my head upon it--else i shall be no better! you, my friend, will cure me that i may again make my family happy!" the assessor dried his tears. as eva leaned her head on the work-box, she talked earnestly, but not quite coherently of the plans for the future. "very good, very good," said the physician, interrupting her; "i too will be of the establishment; i will give instruction in botany to the whole swarm of girls, and between us we will drive them out into the woods and into the fields, that we may see them learn all that is beautiful in the world. but now, eva, you must not talk any more--but you must empty this glass." eva took the composing draught willingly, and was soon calmer. she was the most obedient and amiable of patients, and showed a confidence in her old friend which penetrated his heart. he would have sate night and day by her bed. eva's sickness was a violent fever, which confined her to her bed for nearly three weeks, and occasioned her family great uneasiness. this sickness was, however, very beneficial for herself and for the health of her mind; but still more beneficial was the infinite love with which she saw herself encompassed on all sides. one day in the beginning of her convalescence, as she sate up and saw herself surrounded by all the comforts which love and home could gather about a beloved sufferer, she said to leonore as she leaned upon her, "ah, who would not be willing to live when they see themselves so beloved!" in the meantime louise's wedding-day was approaching nearer. chapter xiii. a surprise. three days before the wedding a grand travelling-carriage drawn by four horses rolled through the streets of the town of x----, and from the prodigious clatter which it made drew all the inquisitive among the inhabitants to their windows. "did you see, dear sister," cried the general shopkeeper madame suur to madame bask, the wife of the postmaster, "the grand travelling-carriage that has just gone by? did you see the sweet youth that sate on the left and looked so genteel, with his snow-white neck and open shirt-collar? lawk! how he looked at me--so sweet as he was! how like a real prince he looked!" "dear sister!" answered the postmistress, "then you did not see the gentleman who sate on the right? he was a grand gentleman, that i can positively assert! he sate so stately leaning back in the carriage, and so wrapped up in grand furs that one could not see the least bit of his face. positively he is a great somebody!" "i got a shimmer of the youth," said the grey-brown handed and complexioned annette p----, as she glanced up from her coarse sewing, with such a look as probably a captive casts who has glanced out of his prison into a freer and more beautiful state of existence; "he looked so calm, with large blue eyes, out of the plate-glass windows of the carriage! as pure and grave he looked as one of god's angels!" "ay, we know to be sure how the angels look!" said the postmistress, snubbingly, and with a severe glance at annette; "but that's absolutely all one! yet i should like to know what grandees they are. i should not be a bit surprised if it were his royal highness or gracious crown-prince, who with his eldest son is travelling _incondito_ through the country." "dear sister says what is true," returned madame suur. "yes, it must be so! for he looked like a regular prince, the sweet youth, as he sate there and glanced at me through the window; really, he smiled at me!" "nay, my ladies, we've got some genteel strangers in the city!" exclaimed mr. alderman nyberg as he came into the room. "have they stopped here?" cried both ladies at once. "my wife saw the carriage draw up and----" "nay, heaven defend us! mr. alderman what are you thinking about that you don't make a stir in the city and send a deputation to wait upon them? for goodness sake let the city-council come together!" "how? what? who?" asked the alderman, opening wide his grey eyes like some one just awoke out of sleep; "can it indeed----" "yes, very likely his royal highness himself in his own proper person--possibly his majesty!" "gracious heavens!" said the alderman, and looked as if the town-house had fallen. "but speed off in all the world's name, and run and look about you, and don't stand here staring like a dead figure!" exclaimed the postmistress, quite hoarse, while she shook up and down her great mass of humanity on the creaking sofa. "dear sister, cannot you also get on your legs a little, and annette too, instead of sitting there hum-drumming with her sewing, out of which nothing comes. annette run quick, and see what it is all about--but come back in an instant-minute and tell me, poor soul, whom our lord has smitten with calamity and sickness--nay, nay, march pancake!" the alderman ran; dear sister suur ran; mamselle annette ran; we ran also, dear reader, in order to see a large-made gentleman somewhat in years, and a youth of eleven, of slender figure and noble appearance, dismount from the travelling carriage. it was his excellency o---- and his youngest son. they alighted and went into the house of the franks. his excellency entered the drawing-room without suffering himself to be announced, and introduced himself to elise, who though surprised by the visit of the unexpected stranger, received him with all her accustomed graceful self-possession; lamenting the absence of her husband, and thinking to herself that jacobi had not in the least exceeded the truth in his description of the person of his excellency. his excellency was now in the most brilliant of humours, and discovered, as by sudden revelation, that he and elise were related; called her "my cousin" all the time, and said the handsomest things to her of her family, of whom he had heard so much, but more especially of a certain young man on whom he set the highest value. further he said, that however much he must rejoice in having made the personal acquaintance of his cousin, still he must confess that his visit at this time had particular reference to the young man of whom he had spoken; and with this he inquired after jacobi. jacobi was sent for, and came quickly, but not without evident emotion in his countenance. his excellency o----approached him, extended his hand cheerfully, and said, "i rejoice to see you; my cursed gout has not quite left me; but i could not pass so near the city without going a little out of my way in order to wish you happiness on your approaching marriage, and also to mention an affair--but you must introduce me to your bride." jacobi did it with glowing eyes. his excellency took louise's hand, and said, "i congratulate you on your happiness, on being about to have one of the best and the most estimable of men for your husband!" and with these words he riveted a friendly penetrating glance upon her, and then kissed her hand. louise blushed deeply, and looked happier than when she agreed to her own proposition of not troubling herself about his excellency. upon the other daughters also who were present, his keen eyes were fixed with a look which seemed rather to search into soul than body, and rested with evident satisfaction on the beautifully blushing gabriele. "i also have had a daughter," said he, slowly, "an only one--but she was taken from me!" a melancholy feeling seemed to have gained possession of him, but he shook it quickly from him, stood up, and went to jacobi, to whom he talked in a loud and friendly voice. "my best jacobi," said he, "you told me the last time we were together that you thought of opening a school for boys in stockholm. i am pleased with it, for i have proved that your ability as teacher and guide of youth is of no ordinary kind. i wish to introduce to you a pupil, my little boy. you will confer upon me a real pleasure if you will be able to receive him in two months, at which time i must undertake a journey abroad, which perhaps may detain me long, and would wish to know that during this my absence my son was in good hands. i wish that he should remain under your care at least two or three years. you will easily feel that i should not place in your hands him who is dearest to me in the world, if i had not the most perfect confidence in you, and therefore i give you no prescribed directions concerning him. and if prayers can obtain motherly regard," continued he, turning to louise, "i would direct myself with them to you. take good care of my boy--he has no longer a mother!" louise drew the boy hastily to her, embraced him, and kissed him with warmth. a smile as of sunshine diffused itself over the countenance of the father, and certainly no words which louise could have spoken would have satisfied him more than this silent but intelligent answer of the heart. jacobi stood there with tears in his eyes; he could not bring forth many words, but his excellency understood him, and shook him cordially by the hand. "may we not have the horses taken out? will not your excellency have the goodness to stay to dine with us?" were the beseeching questions which were repeated around him. but however willing his excellency would have been to do it, it was impossible. he had promised to dine at strö with count y----, eighteen miles distant from the town. "but breakfast? a little breakfast at least? it should be served in a moment. the young count axel would certainly be glad of a little breakfast!" asserted louise, with friendly confidence, who seemed already to have taken under her protection the future pupil of her husband. the young count axel did not say no; and the father, whose behaviour became every moment more cordial and gay, said that a little breakfast in such company would eat excellently. bergström prepared with rapture and burning zeal the table for the lofty guest, who in the mean time chatted with evident satisfaction with elise and jacobi, directing often also his conversation to louise as if insensibly to test her; and from their inmost hearts did both mother and bridegroom rejoice that with her calm understanding she could stand the test so well. gabriele entertained the young count axel in one of the windows by listening to the repeater of his new gold watch, which set the grave and naturally silent boy at liberty to lead the entertainment in another way; and gabriele, who entered into all his ideas, wondered very much over the wonderful properties of the watch; and let it repeat over and over again, whilst her lovely and lively smiles and her merry words called forth more and more the confidence of the young axel. breakfast was ready; was brought in by the happy bergström; was eaten and praised by his excellency, who was a connoisseur; a description of the capitally preserved anchovies was particularly desired from louise; and then her health and that of her bridegroom was drunk in madeira. towards the conclusion of the breakfast the judge came home. the trait of independence, bordering on pride, which sometimes revealed itself in judge frank's demeanour, and which perhaps was visible at the very time of his respectful but simple greeting of his excellency, called forth in him also a momentary appearance of height. but this pride soon vanished from both sides. these two men knew and valued each other mutually; and it was not long before they were so deeply engrossed by conversation, that his excellency forgot his journey, not for one only, but for two hours. "i lament over strö and its dinner," said his excellency, preparing to take his departure; "how they must have waited there! but we could not possibly help it." after his excellency had departed, he left behind him a bright impression on all the family of franks, not one of whom did not feel animated in a beneficial manner by his behaviour and his words. jacobi in his joy made a high _entre-chat_, and embracing louise, said, "now, louise, what say you to the man? and we have got a pupil that will draw at least twenty after him!" louise was perfectly reconciled to his excellency. from this day forth bergström began a new era; whatever happened in the family was either before or after the visit of his excellency. * * * * * "ah, then, my goodness! that it should be excellency o----!" said the dear sister bask to the dear sister suur. "yes, just think! that he should come solely, and for no other purpose, than to visit the franks, and breakfast there, and stop several hours there! he is a cousin, of the judge's lady." "her cousin! bah! no more her cousin than i am the king's cousin; positively not!" "yes, yes! or why else should he have called her 'my gracious cousin?' and one must confess that there is something refined and genteel about her--and such hands as she has have i never seen!" "hum! there's no art in looking genteel and having beautiful hands, when one goes about the house like a foolish thing, washing one's hands in rose-water, and all the livelong day doing not one sensible act. that i know well enough!" "yes, yes! they who will be of any use in their house cannot keep such hands, and sit the whole day and read romances! i should like to know how it would have gone with the blessed suur's baking business--to which at last he added the grocery--if i had been a genteel lady! not at all, because i should not have done it. sweet sister, know that i once had my whims--yes, and a turn for scribbling and writing. yes, so help me heaven! if it had not been for my little bit of sound sense, which showed me my folly in time, i might have become a regular learned lady, another--what do you call her?--madame de staël! but when i married the late suur i determined to give up all that foolishness, and do honour to the baking; and now i have quite let my little talent slip away from me, so that it is as good as buried. but on that account i am, to be sure, no fitting company for the franks--think only!--and shall be only less and less so, if they are always climbing higher and higher." "let them climb as high as they will, i don't intend to make obeisances before them, that i can promise them! that i absolutely will not! it vexes me enough that annette is so mad after them. before one is aware of it, they will be taking her away from me, skin and hair; and that's my thanks for all i have lavished upon her! but i'll tell the gentry that i'm positively determined to make no compliments to them or to their excellencies, and that one person is just as good as another! positively i'll tell them that!" chapter xiv. the evening before the wedding. "god bless the little ones! but when one considers how little of a rarity children are in this world, one has only to open one's mouth to say so, and people are all up in arms and make such a stir and such an ado about their little ones! heart's-dearest! people may call them angels as much as ever they will, but i would willingly have my knees free from them! but worst of all is it with the first child in a family! oh, it is a happiness and a miracle, and cannot be enough overloaded with caresses and presents from father and mother, and aunts and cousins, and all the world. does it scream and roar--then it is a budding genius; is it silent--then it is a philosopher in its cradle; and scarcely is it eight days old but it understands swedish and almost german also! and--it bites, the sweet angel!--it has got a tooth! it bites properly. ah, it is divine! then comes the second child:--it is by far less wonderful already; its cry and its teeth are not half so extraordinary. the third comes;--it is all over with miracles now! the aunts begin to shake their heads, and say, 'no lack of heirs in the house! nay, nay, may there be only enough to feed them all.' after this comes a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth--yes, then people's wits are set in full play! the parents resign themselves, but the friends defend themselves! heart's-dearest, what is to become of it? the house full of children, there's soon a dozen of them! poor mrs. this and this--it makes one quite weak both in body and mind only to think of it! yes, yes, my friends, people don't put these things down in romances, but it goes on in this way in real life! yes!" it was the chamberlain's lady who preached this little sermon, in the zeal of her spirit, to the young couple who the next day were to be man and wife. she ate on this evening whitsuntide-porridge[ ] with the franks, and all the while gave sundry lessons for the future. jacobi laughed heartily over the history of the children, and endeavoured to catch louise's eye; but this was fixed upon the postillion, which she was arranging with a very important and grave aspect. the judge and elise looked smilingly on each other, and extended to each other their hands. the state of feeling in the family, for the rest of the evening, was quite rose-coloured. letters had been received from petrea which gave contentment to all her friends, and eva sate in the family circle with returning, although as yet pale roses on her cheeks. the judge sate between eva and leonore, laying out on the map the plan of the summer tour. they would visit thistedal, ringerig, and tellemark, and would go through trondhiem to norland, where people go to salute the midnight sun. gabriele looked after her flowers, and watered the myrtle tree from which next morning she would break off sprays wherewith to weave a crown and garland for louise. jacobi sate near the mother, and seemed to have much to say to her; what it was, however, nobody heard, but he often conveyed her hand to his lips, and seemed as if he were thanking her for his life's happiness. he looked gentle and happy. every thing was prepared for the morrow, so that this evening would be spent in quiet. according to jacobi's wish the marriage was to take place in the church, and after this they were all to dine _en famille_. in the evening, however, a large company was to be assembled in the s. saloon, which with its adjoining garden had been hired for the purpose. this was according to the wish of the father, who desired that for the last time, perhaps for many years, his daughter should collect around her all her acquaintance and friends, and thus should show to them, at the same time, welcome politeness. he himself, with the help of jacobi and leonore, who was everybody's assistant, had taken upon himself the arrangement of this evening's festival, that his wife might not be fatigued and disturbed by it. at supper the betrothed sat side by side, and jacobi behaved sometimes as if he would purposely seize upon his bride's plate as well as his own, which gave rise to many dignified looks, to settings-to-rights again, and a deal of merriment besides. later in the evening, when they all went to rest, louise found her toilet-table covered with presents from bridegroom, parents, sisters, and friends. a great deal of work was from petrea. these gifts awakened in louise mingled feelings of joy and pain, and as she hastened yet once again to embrace the beloved ones from whom she was about so soon to separate, many mutual tears were shed. but evening dew is prophetic of a bright morrow--that was the case here. footnotes: [ ] there is some new kind of porridge for almost every week in the year in sweden, with which the table is most religiously served.--m. h. chapter xv. the wedding-day. the sun shone bright and warm on that morning of whit-monday. flowers and leaves glistened in the morning dew; the birds sang; the bells of the city rang festively and gaily; the myrtle-crown was ready woven early, and the mother and leonore were present at the toilet of the bride. they expected that jacobi would make his appearance in the highest state of elegance, and hoped that his appearance would not dim that of the bride. louise's sisters made her appearance on this occasion of more importance than she herself did. gabriele dressed her hair--she possessed an actual talent for this art--half-blown rose-buds were placed in the myrtle wreath; and what with one, and what with another little innocent art of the toilet, a most happy effect was produced. louise looked particularly well in her simple, tasteful, bridal dress--for the greatest part of the work of her own skilful hands--and the content, and the beautiful repose which diffused itself over her countenance, spread a glorification over all. "you look so pale to-day in your white dress, my little eva," said leonore, as she helped her to dress--"you must have something pink on your neck to brighten you up, else our bride will be anxious when she sees you." "as you will, leonore! i can put this handkerchief on, that it may give a little reflected colour to my cheek. i will not distress any one." * * * * * when the festally-arrayed family assembled for breakfast they presented a beautiful appearance. the family-father, however, looked more gloomy than gay; and as jacobi entered they saw, with astonishment, that his toilet was considerably negligent. he had been out; his hair was in disorder, and he evidently was in an excited state of mind; but he was handsome for all that. he kissed his bride tenderly on hand and lips, and gave her a nosegay of beautiful wild-flowers, and several splendidly bound books,--the sermons of franzén and wallin, which gift was very valuable, and was received by "our sensible" and sermon-loving louise with the greatest pleasure. after breakfast jacobi hastened to arrange his toilet, and then they all went to church. the weather was uncommonly beautiful, and crowds of festally-dressed people thronged about, in part to hear the provost, who was to preach that day, but principally to see the bridal pair. it was an agreeable surprise to the family when at the entrance of the churchyard many young girls began to strew flowers before the bridal couple the whole way to the church-door. the church also was decorated with flowers and foliage. when the judge took the hand of his daughter in the church, she perceived that his was cold, and that it trembled. she looked at him, and read in his countenance the disquiet with which his soul laboured. "my father," said she to him, "i feel so calm, so happy!" "then i am so too, my child," said he, pressing her hand; and after this moment his demeanour was calm and decided as usual. jacobi, both before and after the ceremony, was excited in the highest degree; he wept much. louise, on the contrary, was externally quite calm. she looked rather pale, but her eyes were bright and almost joyous; an altogether unusual contrast in a bridal pair. on their return from the church a little circumstance occurred which gave pleasure to all, but more especially to the judge. as they went past the remains of the burnt-down house, they saw a great swarm of bees suddenly mount up from the trees of the garden; it flew several times round the market-place as if seeking for a habitation, and at last turning back, struck directly down among the ruins of the former kitchen fireplace; it seemed as if it had selected the hearth for its abiding home. this was regarded as the happiest omen, and no sooner had the judge conducted his daughter home, than he returned in order to remove his bees to a convenient resting-place; gabriele following him with baron l----'s treatise on the management of bees in her hand. when louise was again locked in the arms of her mother--the mother and eva had remained at home--she was seized by a slight trembling fit which lasted several hours, but which was unobserved by all excepting her mother; and through the whole of the day she continued graver than common. jacobi, on the contrary, after his fit of weeping was over, and he had embraced everybody, and kissed his bride on lips, hair, hand, and foot, was seized with a real desire of dancing with the whole world. he was so wildly joyous and happy, and at the same time so amiable, that he imparted his state of mind to everybody else. at half-past four in the afternoon they assembled themselves in the s---- garden, where the time was passed in the most agreeable manner, with music, walking about, entertainment, and eating of ices and fruit, to which also the almighty added the brightest heaven and the calmest air. later in the evening they danced in the great saloon; no lady could sit still, and scarcely a gentleman stand; all must dance! we have nothing more to say of the ball, but we must not pass over in silence that which occurred afterwards. when the company wished to go across the garden to the eating-room, they perceived that it had rained considerably, and that it still dropped; this occasioned a great commotion among the ladies, because all the wrapping shawls and cloaks were on the other side; they had quite forgotten to bring them over in the fine weather. but it was, according to popular belief in sweden, fortunate, and quite according to the order of things, that rain-drops should fall on the crown of the bride; but at the same time it was also against all sense of prudence and propriety that she should wet her silken shoes. and then all the other ladies! they must have the wrapping things fetched to this side! "i will provide for it!" exclaimed jacobi, and with these words seized his astonished bride in his arms and carried her across the garden. what he whispered in her ear during this journey we know not, but thus far we can say, that this action set jacobi very high in the favour of the ladies. * * * * * the new-married pair spent several days after the wedding under the paternal roof, and joyful days they were, only rather too much given up to dissipation, for all friends and acquaintance would see and entertain the two young people. mrs. gunilla gave them a dinner, in which she communicated to them that she should, at the same time with them, journey to stockholm, where important affairs would oblige her to stay a considerable time. however much it grieved elise to lose so excellent and almost motherly a friend, she rejoiced very much over what louise and jacobi would win thereby. louise and mrs. gunilla, it is true, had not perfectly harmonised together, because each would instruct the other; but jacobi and she agreed all the better, and she had already invited the young people to dine with her as often as they would in stockholm. in the hour of parting she spoke thus to elise and her husband with tears in her eyes: "who knows when we may meet again? the old woman is in years--is not of much more use in the world--na, na! our lord will care for her as he has hitherto done! and listen," continued she with an arch, roguish air, "don't be uneasy on account of the young folks;--i shall see that it all goes on right there. i invite myself as sponsor to the first child. perhaps we shall meet then! yes, yes, i have a presentiment that we shall see one another again in stockholm! nay! now farewell, dear elise! god bless you, my kind friends, and make all go well with you! think of the old woman sometimes! adieu!" * * * * * after the trouble of the packing was over--we mean packing louise's things, of course--and the still sorrow of parting, quiet returned back into the house, and was only agreeably interrupted by preparations for the journey to the west. the judge seemed at this time to be young again, and an increased union of heart showed itself between him and his wife. so wear away, sometimes, the most beautiful summer days, even after the autumn has made advances into the year. from what cause is this? god knows. the invisible genius of our history leads us at this moment far from the home of peace to a distant shore, in order to give us a glimpse into--the subject of our next chapter. chapter xvi. a sick chamber. if the sun shine on the head of the crucified, if a bird lift up its joyous song in presence of a broken heart, it seems to us cruel. but beautiful is the unconscious irony of nature in comparison with that which exists in human circumstances. we have here an example of this before us. see these sparkling false diamonds, this red gauze finery, these ruins of theatrical ornament. they seem to mock the misery of the room about which they are strewn. in that wretched room is want of light; want, not only of all the comforts of life, but also of its most necessary things. and yet--where could they be more useful than here? forlorn, upon a miserable bed lay a woman, who appeared to have seen better days; still is she handsome, although passion and suffering seem early to have wasted her yet young countenance. fever burned on the sunken cheek and in the dark eye, and her lips moved themselves wildly; but no one was there to refresh with friendly hand the dry lips and the hot brow; no cooling fever-draught stood near her bed. two new-born babes lay weeping near the mother. uneasy phantoms seemed to agitate the unhappy one: sometimes she raised herself in the bed with wild gestures, but sunk back again powerless; whilst her pale, convulsed, and wandering lips spoke from the depths of her torn heart the following incoherent words: "it is a bitter, bitter path! but i must, must fly for help! my strength is broken--i can do nothing--the children cry to be heard, hungry, half-naked! parents! sisters! help! * * * * * "it is night--the wind is cold--i freeze! the waves swell and swell--they drive a wreck ashore--they strike on the rocks--ah! wherefore did it not go down in the storm on the open sea? how dreadful in full consciousness to be dashed to pieces! and thou, thou who art the cause of all, thou sittest by and lookest coldly on me! miserable egotist! dost thou bear a heart in thy breast? the temple is dashed to pieces, and thou that has ruined it treadest upon its ruins! i knew not how misfortune looked--i knew not what it really is! misery! but thou miserable one who---- "hush! is it she? is it my foster-mother who comes here so lightly, so gently, so softly? it becomes bright! she will lay her warm hands on my little children, and wrap them in the warm coverlet which she made for me-- there sits a dove so fair and white all on the lily spray. is it she? no! it is the moon, which rises palely out of black clouds. how coldly she looks on my misery! away, away! "sisters, i thirst! will no one give me a drop of water? have you all, all left me? i thought i saw you again. it is so strange in my head. perhaps i shall become mad if i thirst much longer. it is dark--i am afraid! i am afraid of the dark bird! if it come again it will begin to rend my heart; but if i am ever again strong, fresh and strong, i will kill it--with my own hands will i murder it! day and night a wick burns in my heart; its name is hate, and the oil that supplies it is bitterness! "when shall i be strong again? do you see how he has misused me; has fettered me to the sick-bed? do you hear the children cry? the children which, through the abuse of the father, have come into the world before their time, and now will die? give nourishment to the children, for the mercy of god, sisters! let me die, but help the children! now they are quiet! thanks! thanks! shall i die this morning? no, no, not yet! * * * * * "the gulf is so dark! ah, what an abyss! "again comes the black bird; i had fled from him, but he followed me, tore off my wings, so that i can fly no longer! * * * * * "help me up, i must dress myself! here, with my handsome attire! haste! to-night i must appear anew before the public, and be admired; must hear the clapping of hands and bravos; must see garlands showered before my feet! see you, sisters; it is so glorious! it is an hour of life! it is a real burst of joy! see how i glitter--how i beam forth! listen to the tempest of applause! how it thunders! but wherefore is it now again so still?--still and dark as the grave? it was a short joy! cursed be he who made it so short! "do not look so sternly upon me, foster-father! am i not already sufficiently cast down! your stern look penetrates me. give me your hand, that i may lay it on my burning brow. you turn from me! you go! oh! * * * * * "it is so desolate! the strand has such sharp stones! it is so dreadful to be wounded against them! "i will not die! i am so young, have so much strength of life in my soul! i will not yet go down into eternity! no! * * * * * "who saves me? there come foaming waves!--or are they your white arms, sisters, which you stretch out towards me? is it you whom i see like grey misty ghosts wandering on the corpse coast! are you then dead? do you hear the noise? it is death--it is the black bird which comes!--now i must fly--fly--fly--or die!" * * * * * with a violent effort the delirious woman rose from the bed--took a few steps, and then fell down as if lifeless. her head struck against the bedstead, and a stream of blood gushed forth from her temples. at this moment a tall man habited in black entered the room softly; light locks surrounded the noble but somewhat aged head; the mild, serious expression of the countenance, and the affectionate look of the blue eyes showed, still more than the dress, whose servant he was. a lady, who was not handsome, but whose countenance bore the stamp of beauty of the soul, like her husband's, followed him. with a look of the deepest compassion this couple surveyed the room, and then drew near the sick-bed. "merciful heaven!" whispered they, "we are come too late! the children are dead--and so is the mother!" * * * * * let us now turn our eyes away from this dark picture that they may rest upon a brighter one. chapter xvii. a landscape. on one of the heights of the dofrine mountains we see three travellers--an elderly man and two young ladies. he seems neither afraid of trouble for himself nor for them; he seems as if he were accustomed to it and could play with it. but he does all so affectionately; he goes before them so friendly and kind, reaches out his hand and encourages them to yet another effort, and they would then enjoy the magnificent view; they would then be able to rest, and obtain refreshment at the "säter-hut"[ ] above them! the daughters follow him smiling, and overcome weakness and weariness for his sake! now they are above on the heights--and well are they rewarded for all the labour of climbing up there! the earth lies below so rich, with its hills and valleys, dark woods, fruitful plains--and there, in the far distance, sea and heaven unite themselves in majestic repose! with an exclamation of rapture the father extended his arms towards the magnificent prospect; and the mountain wind--not keen here, but mild from the breath of spring, agreeably cooled the cheeks of the wanderers. the father went to the hut to obtain milk for himself and his daughters, and in the mean time one of the daughters rested upon a moss-covered stone and supported herself against a rock. almond-scented linnea formed a garland around her feet, and the joyous singing-birds ascended from the valley. the sister, who stood near her and against whom she leaned her lovely head whilst the wind played in her brown tresses, looked on the comfortable dwellings which gleamed forth below from amid green trees and beside clear waters, and her affectionate but unimpassioned heart rejoiced itself over the scene, which seemed to say to her, "here may one live calmly and happily!" at that moment she heard her name spoken by a loving voice; it was eva's, who, while she pointed with hand and eye towards heaven, where the clouds began to divide themselves, and stripes of blue light gleamed forth like friendly eyes, "seest thou, leonore," said she, gently smiling, "it will be bright!" "will it be bright? ah, thank god!" whispered leonore in reply, with eyes full of joyful tears, as she laid her cheek against the brow of her sister. footnotes: [ ] säter-hütte among the mountains of norway answer to the senne of the swiss mountains. during the summer the inhabitants of many parts of norway withdraw from their villages to others, especially when situated higher on the mountains, where they can fell wood and find better pasturage for their cattle. they dwell with their herds in these säters, which are generally abandoned in winter.--m. h. chapter xviii. ups and downs. when a new swarm is ready in a hive to attempt its own flight, warning voices may be heard on still evenings in the little state, calling forth, "out! out!" people have interpreted it to be the old queen bee, which thus warns the young ones forth into the world to fashion their own kingdom. i should rather imagine it to be the young ones who in this manner sing forth their longing. but let it be with them as it may, certain it is that in the human hive, home, a similar cry sometimes makes itself heard. then also there, when the young swarm is become strong with the honey and wax of home, it finds the house too narrow and longs to get abroad. this is common to all homes; but it is peculiar to the good and happy home, that the same voice which exclaims, "out! out!" exclaims afterwards yet more animatedly, "in! in!" so was it in the home of the franks. the period to which we must now cast our eyes conducts us several years beyond the time when we saw father and daughters on the heights of the dofrine mountains, and shows us our petrea returned home after a long absence. the mother, petrea, and gabriele, are deep in a conversation which appears to interest them all three in a very lively manner, and the mild voice of the mother is heard saying-- "you may freely decide for yourself, my good child, that you know perfectly well; but as you describe mr. m., and with the feelings, or more properly speaking, the want of feeling you have for him, i can never believe that you will be happy with him, and i cannot therefore advise this marriage. see, here are some almonds in the shell, my dear girl! we have not forgotten so soon your love for them--i set the basket before you." "and the countess solenstrÃ¥le," said the lively gabriele, archly, "has herself spoken for her nephew, and invited you to her house. very polite and handsome of her! and you, petrea, no longer covet this exaltation?" "ah, no, gabriele!" answered petrea, "this childish desire is long past; it is another kind of exaltation than this, that i pine for." "and this is called?" asked gabriele, with a light in her lovely eyes, which showed her that she very well knew that, which however she had not pronounced in words. "i do not know what i should call it; but there lives and moves here a longing difficult to describe," said petrea, laying her hand upon her breast, and with eyes full of tears; "oh, if i could only rise upwards to light--to a higher, freer life!" "you do not wish to die!" said gabriele, warmly; "not that i now fear death. since henrik has trod this path, i feel so entirely different to what i used to do. heaven is come quite near to the grave. to die is to me to go to him, and to his home. but i am yet so happy to be living here with my family, and you, my petrea, must feel so too. ah! life on earth, with those that we love, may indeed be so beautiful!" "so i think, and so i feel, gabriele," replied petrea, "and more so than ever when i am at home, and with my own family. on that account i will gladly live on the earth, at least till i am more perfect. but i must have a sense of this life having in it a certain activity, by which i may arrive at the consciousness of that which lives within me--there moves in me a fettered spirit, which longs after freedom!" "extraordinary!" said gabriele, half displeased, "how unlike people are one to another. i, for my part, feel, not the least desire for activity. i, unworthy mortal, would much rather do nothing." and so saying she leaned her pretty head with half-shut eyes against her mother, who looked on her with an expression that seemed to say, "live only; that is enough for thee!" petrea continued: "when i have read or heard of people who have lived and laboured for some great object, for some development of human nature, who have dedicated all their thoughts and powers to this purpose, and have been able to suffer and to die for it; oh! then i have wept for burning desire that it also might be granted to me to spend and to sacrifice my life. i have looked around me, have listened after such an occasion, have waited and called upon it; but ah! the world goes past me on its own way--nobody and nothing has need of me." petrea both wept and laughed as she spoke, and with smiles and tears also did both gabriele and the mother listen to her, and she continued-- "as there was now an opportunity for my marrying, i thought that here was a sphere in which i might be active--but, ah! i feel clearly that it is not the right one for me, neither is it the one for which i am suitable--especially with a husband whose tastes and feelings are so different to mine." "but, my good girl," said the mother, disconcerted, "how came it then, that he could imagine you sympathised so well together; it seems from his letter that he makes himself quite sure of your consent, and that you are very well suited to each other." "ah!" replied petrea, blushing, and not without embarrassment, "there are probably two causes for that, and it was partly his fault and partly mine. in the country, where i met him, he was quite left to himself; nobody troubled themselves about him; he had _ennui_, and for that reason i began to find pleasure for him." "very noble," said gabriele, smiling. "not quite so much so as you think," replied petrea, again blushing, "because--at first i wished really to find pleasure for _him_, and then also a little for myself. yes, the truth is this--that--i--had nothing to do, and while i busied myself about mr. m., i did not think it so very much amiss to busy him a little about me; and for this reason i entered into his amusements, which turned upon all sorts of petty social tittle-tattle; for this reason i preserved apricots for him, i told stories to him, and sang to him in an evening in the twilight--'welcome, o moon!' and let him think if he would, that he was the moon. mother, gabriele, forgive me, i know how little edification there is in all this, it is quite too----but you cannot believe how dangerous it is to be idle, when one has an active spirit within one, and an object before one that----you laugh! god bless you for it! the affair is not worth anything more, for it is anything but tragic--yet it might become so, if on account of my sins i were to punish myself by marrying mr. m. i should be of no worth to him, excepting as housekeeper and plaything, and this would not succeed in the long run; for the rest he does not love me, cannot love me seriously, and would certainly easily console himself for my refusal." "then let him console himself, and do not think any further on the affair," cried gabriele, with animation. "i am of gabriele's opinion," said the mother; "for to marry merely to be married; merely to obtain a settlement, an establishment, and all that, is wrong; and, moreover, with your family relationships, the most unnecessary thing in the world. you know, my dear child, that we have enough for ourselves and for you, and a sphere of action suitable for you will present itself in time. your father will soon return home, and then we can talk with him on the subject. he will assist us directly in the best way." "i had, indeed, presentiments," said petrea, with a sigh, "and hopes, and dreams, perhaps--of a way, of an activity, which would have made me useful and happy according to my own abilities. i make now much humbler demands on life than formerly; i have a much less opinion of myself than i had--but, oh! if i might only ally myself, as the least atom of light, to the beams which penetrate humanity at the same time that they animate the soul of man, i would thank god and esteem myself happy! i have made an attempt--you know, mother, and gabriele--to express in a book somewhat of that which has lived in me and which still lives; you know that i have sent the manuscript to an enlightened printer for his judgment, and also--if his judgment be favourable--that he should publish it. if this should succeed, if a sphere of action should open itself to me in this way, oh! then some time or other i might become a more useful and happy being; should give pleasure to my connexions, and----" petrea was here interrupted by the arrival of a large packet directed to herself. a shuddering apprehension went through her; her heart beat violently as she broke the seal, and--recognised her own manuscripts. the enlightened, intelligent printer sent them back to her, accompanied by a little note, containing the pleasant tidings that he would not offer the merest trifle for the book, neither could he undertake the printing of it at his own cost. "then this path is also closed against me!" said petrea, bowing her head to her hand that nobody might see how deeply she felt this. thus then she had deceived herself regarding her talents and her ability. but now that this way also was closed against her--what should she undertake? marriage with mr. m. began again to haunt her brain. she stumbled about in the dark. gabriele would not allow, however, that the path of literature was closed against her; she was extremely excited against the printer. "he was certainly," she said, "a man without any taste." "ah!" said petrea, readily smiling, "i also will gladly flatter myself with that belief, and that if the book could only be printed, then we soon--but that is not to be thought of!" gabriele thought it was quite worth while to think about it, and did not doubt but that means might be found, some time or other, to make the gentleman printer make a long face about it. the mother agreed; spoke of the return of her husband, who, she said, would set all right. "keep only quietly with us, petrea, calmly, and don't be uneasy about the means for bringing out your book; they will be found without difficulty, if we only give ourselves time." "and here," added gabriele, "you shall have as much quiet as you desire. if you would like to spend the whole day in reading and writing, i will take care that nobody disturbs you. i will attend to all your friends and acquaintance, if it be needful, to insure your quiet. i will only come in to you to tell you when breakfast is ready and when dinner; and on the post-day, i'll only come at the post-hour and knock at your door, and take your letters and send them off. and in the evening, then--then we may see you amongst us--you cannot believe how welcome you will be! ah! certainly you will feel yourself happy among those who love you so much! and your book! we will send it out into the world, and it too shall succeed one of these days!" loving voices! domestic voices in happy families, what adversity, what suffering is there which cannot be comforted by you! petrea felt their healing balsam. she wept tears of love and gratitude. an hour afterwards, much calmer in mind, she stood at the window, and noticed the scene without. christmas was at hand, and every thing was in lively motion, in order to celebrate the beautiful festival joyously. the shops were ornamented, and people made purchases. a little bird came and sate on the window, looked up to petrea, twittered joyfully, and flew away. a lively sentiment passed through petrea's heart. "thou art happy, little bird," thought she; "so many beings are happy. my mishap grieves no one, hurts no one. wherefore, then, should it depress me? the world is large, and its creator rich and good. if this path will not succeed for me, what then? i will find out another." in the evening she was cheerful with her family. but when night came, and she was alone; when the external world presented no longer its changing pictures; when loving, sweet voices no more allured her out of herself,--then anguish and disquiet returned to her breast. in no condition to sleep, and urged by irresistible curiosity, she sate herself down sighingly to go through her unlucky manuscripts. she found many pencil-marks, notes of interrogation, and traces of the thumb on the margin, which plainly proved that the reader had gone through the manuscript with a censorious hand, and had had satisfaction in passing his judgment of "good for nothing!" ah! petrea had built so many plans for herself and her family upon this, which was now good for nothing; had founded upon it so many hopes for her ascent upwards. was nothing now to come out of them all? petrea read; she acknowledged the justice of many marginal remarks, but she found, more and more, that the greater part of them had reference to single expressions, and other trifles. petrea read and read, and was involuntarily captivated by that which she read. her heart swelled, her eyes glowed, and suddenly animated by that feeling which (we say it _sans comparaison_) gave courage to correggio, and which comforted galileo, she raised herself, and struck her hand upon the manuscript with the exclamation, "it is good for something after all!" animated to the depths of her heart, she ran to gabriele, and laughing, embraced her with the words, "you shall see that some fine day i'll ascend upwards yet." part iv. chapter i. petrea to ida. from my hermitage in the garret. "'illusions! illusions!' you cry over all joys, all faith, all love in life. i shout back with all my might over your own words, 'illusions! illusions!' all depends upon what we fix our faith and our affections. must the beauty of love and worth of life be at an end to woman when her first spring, her bloom of love, her moments of romance are past? no, do not believe that, ida. nothing in this world is such an illusion as this belief. life is rich; its tree blossoms eternally, because it is nourished by immortal fountains. it bears dissimilar fruits, varies in colour and glory, but all beautiful; let us undervalue none of them, for all of them are capable of producing plants of eternal life. "youthful love--the beaming passion-flower of earth! who will belie its captivating beauty, who will not thank the creator that he gave it to the children of earth? but ah! i will exclaim to all those who drink of its nectar, and to those who must do without it--'there are flowers which are as noble as this, and which are less in danger than it of being paled by the frosts of the earth--flowers from whose chalices also you may suck life from the life of the eternal!' "ah! if we only understood how near to us providence has placed the fountains of our happiness--if we had only understood this from the days of our childhood upwards, acted upon it, and profited by it, our lives would then seldom lead through dry wildernesses! happy are those children whose eyes are early opened by parents and home to the rich activity of life. they will then experience what sweetness and joy and peace can flow out of family relationships, out of the heartfelt union between brothers and sisters, between parents and children: and they will experience how these relations, carefully cherished in youth, will become blessings for our maturer years. "you pray me to speak of my home and my family. but when i begin with this subject, who can say, ida, whether i shall know how to leave off! this subject is so rich to me, so dear--and yet how weak will not my description be, how lifeless in comparison with the reality! "the dwelling-house--which may be said to have the same relation to home as the body has to the soul--arisen, now out of its ashes, stands on the same place on which, twelve years ago, it was burnt down. i wish you had been with me yesterday in the library at breakfast. it was leonore's birthday, and the family had occasioned her a surprise by a little gift which was exactly according to her taste--ornament combined with convenience. it was an insignificant gift--wherefore then did it give us all so much pleasure? wherefore were there sweet tears in her pious eyes, and in ours also? we were all so still, and yet we felt that we were very happy--happy because we mutually loved one another, and mutually pleased one another so much. the sun shone at that time into the room--and see, ida! this sunbeam which shines day by day into the house is the best image of its state; it is that which chases hence all darkness, and turns all shadows into the glorification of its light! "i will now, lively ida, talk to you some little about the daughters of the house, and in order that you may not find my picture too sentimental, i will introduce first to you--'honour to whom honour is due!'-- 'our eldest,' well known for industry, morality, moral lecturing, cathedral airs, and many good properties. she married eleven years ago upon a much smaller than common capital of worldly wealth; but both she and her husband knew how to turn their pound to account, and so, by degrees, their house, under her careful hands, came to be what people call a well-to-do house. "eight wild jacobis during this time sprung up in the house without bringing about any revolution in it, so good were the morals which they drew in with the mother's milk. i call them the 'berserkers,' because when i last saw them they were perfect little monsters of strength and swiftness, and because we shall rely upon their prowess to overturn certain planks--of which more anon; on which account i will inspire them and their mother beforehand with a certain old-gothic ambition. "so now! after the married couple had kept school eleven years--he instructing the boys in history, latin, and such like; and she washing, combing, and moralising the same, and in fact, becoming a mother to many a motherless boy, it pleased the mercy of the almighty to call them--not directly to heaven, but through his angel the consistorium to the pastoral care of the rural parish adjoining this town--the highest goal of their wishes ever since they began to have wishes one with another. their approaching journey here has given rise to great pleasure--it is hard to say in which of the two families the greatest. thus, then, louise will become a pastor's wife--perhaps soon also an archdeacon's, and then she arrives at the desired situation in which she can impart moral lectures with power--of which sister petrea might have the benefit of a good part, and pay it back with interest. "but the moral lectures of our eldest have a much milder spirit than formerly, which is owing to the influence of jacobi; for it has occurred in their case, as in the case of many another happily-married couple, they have ennobled one another; and it is a common saying in our family, that she without him would not have become what she now is, neither would he have been without her what he now is. "the rose of the family, the daughter eva, had once in her life a great sorrow--a bitter conflict; but she came forth victorious. true it is that an angel stood by her side and assisted her. since then she has lived for the joy of her family and her friends, beautiful, and amiable, and happy, and has from time to time rejected lovers; but she may soon be put out of the position to continue this course. i said that an angel stood beside her in the bitter conflict. there was a time when this angel was an ugly, uncomfortable girl, a trouble to herself, and properly beloved by none. but there is no one in the family now who is more beloved or more in favour than she is. never, through the power of god, did there take place a greater change than in her. now it gives one pleasure to look at her and to be near her. her features, it is true, have not improved themselves, nor has her complexion become particularly red-and-white; but she has become lovely, lovely from the heartfelt expression of affection and intelligence; beautiful from the quiet, unpretending grace of her whole being. her only pretension is that she will serve all and help all; and thus has she attached every one, by degrees, to her, and she is become the heart, the peace of the house; and, for herself, she has struck deep root down into the family, and is become happy through all these charms. she has attached herself, in the closest manner, to her sister eva, and these two could not live separated from each other. "you know the undertaking which these two sisters, while yet young, commenced together. you know also how well it succeeded; how it obtained confidence and stability, and how it won universal respect for its conductors, and how also, after a course of ten years--independent of this institution--they had realised a moderate income; so that they can, if they are so disposed, retire from it, and it will still continue to prosper under the direction of annette p., who was taken as assistant from the beginning, and who in respect of character and ability has proved herself a person of rare worth. the name of the sisters frank stood estimably at the head of this useful establishment; but it is a question whether it would have prospered to such an extent, whether it would have developed itself so beautifully and well without the assistance of a person who, however, has carefully concealed his activity from the eye of the public, and whose name, for that reason, was never praised. without assessor munter's unwearied care and assistance--so say the sisters--the undertaking could never have gone forward. what a wonderful affectionate constancy lies in the soul of this man! he has been, and is still, the benefactor of our family; but if you would see and hear him exasperated, tell him so, and see how he quarrels with all thanks to himself. the whole city is now deploring that it is about to lose him. he is going to reside on his estate in the country, for it is impossible that he could sustain much longer the way in which he is at present overworked both night and day. his health has for some time evidently declined, and we rejoice that he can now take some rest, by which he may regain new strength. we all love him from our hearts; but one of us has set on foot a plot to oblige another of us to--ally herself with him, and therefore our good assessor is now exposed to a secret proceeding, which--but i forget that i was to write about the daughters of the family. "there is a peculiar little world in the house--a world into which nothing bad can enter--where live flowers, birds, music, and gabriele. the morning would lose its sweetest charms, if during the same gabriele's birds and flowers did not play a part, and the evening twilight would be duskier if it were not enlivened by gabriele's guitar and songs. her flower-stand has extended itself by degrees into an orangery--not large to be sure, but yet large enough to shelter a beautiful vine, which is now covered with grapes, and many beautiful and rare plants also, so as to present to the family a little italy, where they may enjoy all the charms of the south, in the midst of a northern winter. a covered way leads from the dwelling-house down into the orangery, and it is generally there that in winter they take their afternoon coffee. the aviary is removed thither; and there upon a table covered with a green cloth, lie works on botany, together with the writings of the swedish gardening society, which often contain such interesting articles. there stand two comfortable armed chairs, on which the most magnificent birds and flowers are worked, you can easily imagine for whom. there my mother sits gladly, and reads or looks at her 'little lady' (she never grows out of this appellation) as she tends her flowers in the sun, or plays with her tame birds. one may say, in fact, that gabriele strews the evening of her mother's days with flowers. "a man dear to the swedish heart has said, 'that the grand natural feature of northern life is a conquered winter,' and this applies equally to life individually, to family life, and to that of human nature. it so readily freezes and grows stiff, snow so readily falls upon the heart; and winter makes his power felt as much within as without the house. in order to keep it warm within, in order that life may flourish and bloom, it is needful to preserve the holy fire everburning. love must not turn to ashes and die out; if it do, then all is labour and heaviness, and one may as well do nothing but--sleep. but if fire be borrowed from heaven, this will not happen; then will house and heart be warm, and life bloom incessantly, and a thousand causes will become rich sources of joy to all. if it be so within the house--then may it snow without--then winter thou mayst do thy worst! "but i return to gabriele, whose lively wit and joyous temper, united to her affectionate and innocent heart, make her deservedly the favourite of her parents, and the joy of every one. she asserts continually her own good-for-nothingness, her uselessness, and incorrigible love to a sweet '_far niente_;' but nobody is of her opinion in this respect, for nobody can do without her, and one sees that when it is necessary, she can be as decided and as able as any one need be. it is now some time since gabriele made any charades. i almost fancy that the cause of this is a certain baron l., who was suspected for a long time of having set fire to a house, and who now is suspected of a design of setting fire to a heart, and who, with certain words and glances, has put all sorts of whims into her head--i will not say heart. "and so then we have nothing bad to say of 'this petrea,' as one of the friends of the house still calls her, but no longer in anger. this petrea has had all kind of botherations in the world: in the first place with her own nose, with which she could not get into conceit, and then with various other things, as well within her as without her, and for a long time it seemed as if her own world would never come forth out of chaos. "it has however. with eyes full of grateful tears i will dare to say this, and some time i may perhaps more fully explain how this has been done. and blessed be the home which has turned back her wandering steps, has healed the wounds of her heart, and has offered her a peaceful haven, an affectionate defence, where she has time to rest after the storms, and to collect and to know herself. without this home, without this influence, petrea certainly might have become a witch, and not, as now, a tolerably reasonable person. "you know my present activity, which, whilst it conducts me deeper into life, discovers to me more beauty, more poetry, than i had ever conceived of it in the dreams of my youth. not merely from this cause, although greatly owing to it, a spring has began to blossom for me on the other side of my thirty years, which, were it ever to wither, would be from my own fault. and if even still a painful tear may be shed over past errors or present faults; if the longing after what is yet unattainably better, purer, and brighter, may occasion many a pang--what matters it? what matter if the eye-water burn, so that the eye only become clear; if heaven humiliate, so that it only draw us upwards? "one of petrea's means of happiness is, to require very few of the temporal things of earth. she regards such things as nearly related to the family of illusions, and will, on that account, have as little as possible to do with them. and thus has she also the means of obtaining for herself many a hearty and enduring pleasure. i will not, however, be answerable for her not very soon being taken by a frenzy of giving a feast up in her garret, and thereby producing all kinds of illusions; such, for example, as the eating little cakes, the favourite illusion of my mother, and citron-soufflé, the almost perfect earthly felicity of 'our eldest,' in which a reconciliation skÃ¥l with the frenzy-feast might be proposed to her beloved 'eldest.' "would you now make a _summa summarum_ of petrea's state, it stands thus: that which was a fountain of disquiet in her is now become a fountain of quiet. she believes in the actuality of life, and in her own part therein. she does not allow her peace to be disturbed by accidental troubles, be they from within or from without; she calls them mist-clouds, passing storms, after which the sun will come forth again. and should her little garret tumble to pieces one of these days, she would regard even that as a passing misfortune, and hold herself ready, in all humility--to mount up yet a little higher. "but enough of petrea and her future ascension. "yet one daughter dwelt in the family, and her lovely image lives still in the remembrance of all, but a mourning veil hangs over it; for she left home, but not in peace. she was not happy, and for many years her life is wrapped in darkness. people think that she is dead; her friends have long believed so, and mourned her as such; but one among them believes it not. _i_ do not believe that she is dead. i have a strong presentiment that she will return; and it would gladden me to show her how dear she is to me. i have built plans for her future with us, and i expect her continually, or else a token where i may be able to find her; and be it in greenland or in arabia deserta whence her voice calls me, i will find out a way to her. "i would that i could now describe to you the aged pair, to whom all in the house look up with love and reverence, who soon will have been a wedded couple forty years, and who appear no longer able to live the one without the other--but my pen is too weak for that. i will only venture upon a slight outline sketch. my father is nearly seventy years old--but do you think he indulges himself with rest? he would be extremely displeased if he were to sleep longer in a morning than usual: he rises every morning at six, it being deeply impressed upon him to lose as little of life as possible. it is unpleasant to him that his declining sight compels him now to less activity. he likes that we should read aloud to him in an evening, and that--romances. my mother smilingly takes credit to herself for having seduced him to that kind of reading; and he confesses, with smiles, that it is really useful for old people, because it contributes to preserve the heart young. for the rest, he is in all respects equally, perhaps more, good, more noble-hearted than ever; and from that cause he is to us equally respect-inspiring and dear. oh, ida, it is a happy feeling to be able intrinsically to honour and love those who have given us life! "and now must i, with a bleeding heart, throw a mournful shadow over the bright picture of the house, and that shadow comes at the same time from a beautiful image--from my mother! i fear, i fear, that she is on the way to leave us! her strength has been declining for two years. she has no decided malady, but she becomes visibly weaker and feebler, and no remedy, as yet, has shown itself availing for her. they talk now of the air of next spring--of selzer-water, and a summer journey;--my father would travel to the world's end with her--they hope with certainty that she will recover; she hopes so herself, and says smilingly yes, to the selzer-water, and the journey, and all that we propose; says she would gladly live with us, that she is happy with us,--yet nevertheless there is a something about her, and even in her smiles, that tells me that she herself does not cherish full faith in the hope which she expresses. ah! when i see daily her still paler countenance; the unearthly expression in her gentle features--when i perceive her ever slower gait, as she moves about, still arranging the house and preparing little gratifications for her family; then comes the thought to me that she perhaps will soon leave us, and it sometimes is difficult to repress my tears. "but why should i thus despair? why not hope like all the rest? ah, i will hope, and particularly for the sake of him who, without her, could no more be joyful on earth. for the present she is stronger and livelier than she has been for a long time. the arrival of louise and her family have contributed to this, as also another day of joy which is approaching, and which has properly reference to my father. she goes about now with such joy of heart, with the almanack in her hand, and prepares everything, and thinks of everything for the joyful festival. my father has long wished to possess a particular piece of building land which adjoins our little garden, in order to lay it out for a great and general advantage; but he has sacrificed so much for his children, that he has nothing remaining wherewith to carry out his favourite plan. his children in the mean time have, during the last twelve years, laid by a sum together, and now have latterly borrowed together what was wanting for the purchase of the land. on the father's seventieth birthday therefore, with the joint help of the 'berserkers,' will the wooden fence be pulled down, and the genius of the new place, represented by the graceful figure of gabriele, will deliver over to him the purchase-deed, which is made out in his name. how happy he will be! oh, it makes us all happy to think of it! how he will clear away, and dig, and plant! and how it will gladden and refresh his old age. may he live so long that the trees which he plants may shake their leafy branches over his head, and may their rustling foretel to him the blessing, which his posterity to the third and fourth generation will pronounce upon his beneficent activity. "i would speak of the circle of friends which has ever enclosed our home most cordially, of the new governor stejernhök and his wife, whom we like so much, and whose removal here was particularly welcome to my father, who almost sees a son in him. i would speak also of the servants of the house, who are yet more friends than servants--but i fear extending my letter to too great a length. "perhaps you blame me secretly for painting my picture in colours too uniformly bright, perhaps you will ask, 'come there then not into this house those little knocks, disturbances, rubs, overhastinesses, stupidities, procrastinations, losses, and whatever those spiritual mosquitoes may be called, which occasion by their stings irritation, unquiet, and vexation, and whose visits the very happiest families cannot avoid?' "yes, certainly. they come, but they vanish as quickly as they come, and never leave a poisonous sting behind, because a universal remedy is employed against them, which is called 'forgive, forget, amend!' and which the earlier applied the better, and which makes also the visits of these ugly fiends of rarer occurrence; they come, indeed, in pure and mild atmospheres never properly forth. "would you, dearest ida, be convinced of the truth of the picture, come here and see for yourself. we should all like it so much. come, and let our house provide for you the divertisement, perhaps also the rest which is so needful to your heart. come, and believe me, ida, that when one observes the world from somewhat of an elevation--as for instance, a garret--one sees illusions like mist, passing over the earth, but above it heaven vaulting itself in eternal brightness." chapter ii. a morning hour "good morning!" said jeremias munter, as with his pockets full of books he entered petrea's garret, which was distinguished from all other rooms merely by its perfect simplicity and its lack of all ornament. a glass containing beautiful fresh flowers was its only luxury. "oh, so heartily welcome!" exclaimed petrea as she looked with beaming eyes on her visitor and on his valuable appendages. "yes, to-day," said he, "i am of opinion that i am welcome! here's a treat for miss petrea. see here, and see here!" so saying, the assessor laid one book after another upon the table, naming at the same time their contents. they belonged to that class of books which open new worlds to the eye of reflecting minds. petrea took them up with a delight which can only be understood by such as have sought and thirsted after the same fountains of joy, and who have found them. the assessor rejoiced quietly in her delight, as she looked through the books and talked about them. "how good, how cordially good of you," said petrea, "to think about me. but you must see that i also have expected you to-day;" and with eyes that beamed with the most heartfelt satisfaction she took out of a cupboard two fine china-plates, on one of which lay cakes of light wheaten bread, and on the other, piled up, the most magnificent grapes reposing amid a garland of their own leaves, which were tastefully arranged in various shades against the golden border of the plate. these petrea placed upon a little table in the window, so that the sun shone upon them. the assessor regarded them with the eye of a dutch fruit painter, and appeared to rejoice himself over a beautiful picture after his own manner. "you must not only look at your breakfast, but you must eat it," said the lively petrea; "the bread is home-baked, and--eva has arranged the grapes on the plate and brought them up here." "eva!" said he, "now, she could not know that i was coming here to-day?" "and precisely because she thought so as well as i, would she provide your breakfast." with these words petrea looked archly at the assessor, who did not conceal a pleasurable sensation--broke off a little grape, seated himself, and--said nothing. petrea turned herself to her books: "oh," said she, "why is life so short, when there is such an infinite deal to learn? yet this is not right, and it evidences ignorance to imagine the time of learning limited; besides, this remark about the shortness of time and the length of art proceeds from the heathen writer hippocrates. but let us praise god for the hope, for the certainty, that we may be scholars to all eternity. ah, uncle munter, i rejoice myself heartily over the industrial spirit of our age! it will make it easy for the masses to clothe and feed themselves, and then will they begin also to live for mind. for true is that sentiment, which is about two thousand years old, 'when common needs are satisfied, man turns himself to that which is more universal and exalted.' thus when the great week of the world is past, the sabbath will commence, in which a people of quiet worshippers will spread themselves over the earth, no more striving after decaying treasures, but seeking after those which are eternal; a people whose life will be to observe, to comprehend, and to adore, revering their creator in spirit and in truth. then comes the day of which the angels sung 'peace on earth!'" "peace on earth!" repeated jeremias in a slow and melancholy voice, "when comes it? it must first enter into the human heart; and there, there live so many demons, so much disquiet and painful longing--but what--what is amiss now?" "ah, my god!" exclaimed petrea wildly, "she lives! she lives!" "what her? who lives? no, really petrea all is not right with you," said the assessor, rising. "see! see!" cried petrea, trembling with emotion, and showing to the assessor a torn piece of paper, "see, this lay in the book!" "well, what then? it is indeed torn from a sepia picture--a hand strewing roses on a grave, i believe. have i not seen this somewhere already?" "yes, certainly; yes, certainly! it is the girl by the rose-bush which i, as a child, gave to sara! sara lives! see, here has she written!" the back of the picture seemed to have been scrawled over by a child's hand; but in one vacant spot stood these words, in sara's own remarkably beautiful handwriting: no rose on sara's grave! oh petrea! if thou knew'st---- the sentence was unfinished, whilst several drops seemed to prove that it had been closed by tears. "extraordinary!" said the assessor: "these books which i purchased yesterday were bought in u. could she be there? but----" "certainly! certainly she is there," exclaimed petrea, "look at the book in which the picture lay--see, on the first page is the name, sara schwartz--although it has been erased. oh! certainly she is in u., or there we can obtain intelligence of her! oh, sara, my poor sara! she lives, but perhaps in want, in sorrow! i will be with her to-day if she be in u.!" "that miss petrea will hardly manage," said the assessor, "unless she can fly. it is one hundred and two (english) miles from here to u." "alas, that my father should at this time be absent, should have the carriage with him; otherwise he would have gone with me! but he has an old chaise, i will take it----" "very pretty, indeed," returned he, "for a lady to be travelling alone in an old chaise, especially when the roads are spoiled with rain;--and see what masses of clouds are coming up with the south wind--you'll have soaking rain the whole day through in the chaise." "and if it rain pokers," interrupted petrea, warmly, "i must go. oh, heavens! she was indeed my sister, she is so yet, and she shall not call on me in vain! i will run down to my mother in this moment and----" petrea took her bonnet and cloak in her hand. "calm yourself a little, miss petrea," he said; "i tell you, you could not travel in this way. the chaise would not hold together. alas, i have tried it myself--you could not go in it!" "now then," exclaimed petrea determinately, "i will go; and if i cannot go i'll creep--but go i will!" "is that then your firm determination?" "my firm and my last." "well, then, i must creep with you!" said the assessor, smiling, "if it be only to see how it goes with you. i'll go home now, but will be back in an hour's time. promise me only to have patience for so long, and not without me to set off--creep off, i should say!" the assessor vanished, and petrea hastened down to her mother and sisters. but before her communications and consultations were at an end, a light travelling carriage drew up at the door. the assessor alighted from it, came in, and offered petrea his arm. soon again was he seated in the carriage, petrea by his side, and was protesting vehemently against the bag of provisions, and the bottle of wine, which leonore thrust in, spite of his protestations, and so away they went. chapter iii. adventures. it was now the second time in their life that the assessor and petrea were out together in such a manner, and now as before it seemed as if no favourable star would light their journey, for scarcely had they set out when it began to rain, and clouds as heavy and dark as lead gathered together above their heads. it is rather depressing when in answer to the inquiring glances which one casts upwards at the commencement of an important journey, to be met by a heaven like this. other omens also little less fortunate added themselves; the horses pranced about as if they were unwilling to go farther, and an owl took upon itself to attend the carriage, set itself on the tree-branches and points of the palings by the wayside, and then on the coming up of the carriage flew a little farther, there to await its coming up at a little distance. as the travellers entered a wood, where on account of the deep road they were compelled to travel slowly, they saw on the right hand a little black-grey old woman step forth, as ugly, witch, and kobold like in appearance as an old woman ever can be. she stared at the travellers for a moment, and then vanished among the trunks of the trees. the assessor shuddered involuntarily at the sight of her, and remarked, "what a difference is there between woman and woman--the loveliest upon earth and the most horrible is yet--woman!" after he had seen the old witch he became almost gloomy. in the meantime the owl vanished with her; perhaps, because "birds of a feather flock together." yet it may be that i am calumniating all this time the little old mother in the most sinful manner; she may be the most good-tempered woman in the world. it is well that our lord understands us better than we do ourselves. all this time petrea sate silent, for however enlightened and unprejudiced people may be, they never can perfectly free themselves from the impression of certain circumstances, such as presentiments, omens, apparitions, and forebodings, which, like owls on noiseless wings, have flown through the world ever since the time of adam, when they first shouted their ominous "too-who! too-whit!" people know that hobbes, who denied the resurrection in the warmest manner, never could sleep in the neighbourhood of a room in which there had been a corpse. petrea, who had not the least resemblance in the world to hobbes, was not inclined to gainsay anything within the range of probability. her temperament naturally inclined her to superstition; and like most people who sit still a great deal, she felt always at the commencement of a journey a degree of disquiet as to how it would go on. but on this day, under the leaden heaven, and the influence of discomforting forebodings, this unquiet amounted to actual presentiment of evil; whether this had reference to sara or to herself she knew not; but she was disposed to imagine the latter, and asked herself, as she often had done, whether she were prepared for any occasion which might separate her for ever from all those whom she loved on earth. by this means petrea most livingly discovered--discovered almost with horror, how strongly she was fettered to her earthly existence, how dear life had become to her. all human souls have their heights, but then they have also their morasses, their thickets, their pits (i will not speak of abysses, because many souls are too shallow to have these). a frequent mounting upwards, or a more constant abode upon these heights, is the stipulated condition of man's proximity to heaven. petrea's soul was an uneven ground, as is the case with most people; but there existed in her nature, as we have before seen, a most determined desire to ascend upwards; and at this time, in which she found her affections too much bound to earthly things, she strove earnestly to ascend up to one of those heights where every limited attraction vanishes before more extended views, and where every fettered affection will become free, and will revive in what is loftier. the attempt succeeded--succeeded by making her feel that whatever was most valuable in this life was intimately connected with that life which only first begins when this ends. her lively imagination called forth, one after another, a great variety of scenes of misfortune and death; and she felt that in the moment before she resigned life, her heart would be able to raise itself with the words, "god be praised in all eternity." with this feeling, and convinced by it that her present undertaking was good and necessary, whatever its consequences might be, petrea's heart became light and free. she turned herself with lively words and looks to her travelling companion, and drew him by degrees into a conversation which was so interesting to them both, that they forgot weather and ways, forebodings, evil omens, and preparations for death. the journey prospered as well as any autumn journey could prosper. not a trace of danger met them by the way. the wind slumbered in the woods; and in the public-houses they only heard one and another sleepy peasant open his mouth with a "devil take me!" in the forenoon of the following day our travellers arrived happily at u. petrea scarcely allowed herself time to take any refreshments before she commenced her inquiries. the result of all her and the assessor's labours we give shortly thus: it soon became beyond a doubt to them that sara, together with a little daughter, had been in the city, and had resided in the very inn in which petrea and the assessor now were, although they travelled under a foreign name. she was described as being in the highest degree weak and sickly; and, as might be expected in her circumstances, it appeared that she had besought the host to sell some books for her, which he had done. one of these books it was which, with its forgotten mark, had fallen into the hands of petrea. sara, on account of her debility, had been compelled to remain several days in that place, but she had been gone thence probably a week; and they saw by the day-book[ ] that it had been her intention to proceed thence to an inn which lay on the road to petrea's native place; not, however, on the road by which they had travelled to u., but upon one which was shorter, although much worse. sara then also was on her way home--yes, perhaps might be there already! this thought was an indescribable consolation for petrea's heart, which from the account she had received of sara's condition, was anxious in the highest degree. but when she thought on the long time which had passed since sara's journey from the city, she was filled with anxiety, and feared that sara might be ill upon the road. willingly would petrea have turned back again on the same evening to seek out traces of sara; but care for her old friend prevented her from doing more than speaking of it. the assessor, indeed, found himself unwell, and required rest. the cold and wet weather had operated prejudicially upon him, both mind and body. it was adopted as unquestionable that they could not continue the journey till the following morning. the assessor had told petrea that this was his birthday, and perhaps it was this thought which caused him to be uncommonly melancholy the whole day. petrea, who was infinitely desirous of cheering him, hastened, whilst he was gone out to seek an acquaintance, to prepare a little festival for his return. with flowers and foliage which petrea obtained, heaven knows how!--but when people are resolutely bent on anything they find out the means to do it--with these, then, with lights, a good fire, with a table covered with his favourite dishes and such like, although in a somewhat disagreeably public-house room, such a picture of comfort and pleasantness was presented as the assessor much loved. fathers and mothers, and all the members of happy families, are accustomed to birthday festivals, flower-garlands, and well-covered tables; but nobody had celebrated the birthday of the assessor during his solitary wandering; he had not been indulged with those little flower-surprises of life--if one may so call them; hence it happened that he entered from the dark, wet street into this festal room with an exclamation of astonishment and heartfelt pleasure. petrea, on her part, was inexpressibly cordial, and was quite happy when she saw the pains which she had taken to entertain her old friend succeed so well. the two spent a pleasant evening together. they made each other mutually acquainted with the evil omens and the impressions which they had occasioned, and bantered one another a little thereon; but decided positively that such fore-tokenings for the most part--betoken nothing at all. as they separated for the night the assessor pressed petrea's hand with the assurance that very rarely had a day given him such a joyous evening. grateful for these words, and grateful for the hope of soon finding again the lost and wept friend of her youth, petrea went to rest, but the assessor remained up late--midnight saw him still writing. man and woman! there is a deal, especially in novels, said about man and woman, as of separate beings. however that may be, human beings are they both--and as human beings, as morally sentient and thinking creatures, they influence one another for life. their ways and means are different; and it is this very difference which, by mutual benefits, and mutual endeavours to sweeten life to one another, produces what is so beautiful and so perfect. the clearest sun brightened the following morning; but the eyes of the assessor were troubled, as if he had enjoyed but little repose. whilst he and petrea were breakfasting, he was called out to inspect something relative to the carriage. was it now the hereditary sin of mother eve, or was it any other cause which induced petrea at this moment to approach the table on which the assessor's money lay, together with papers ready to be put into a travelling writing-case. enough! she did it--she did certainly what no upright reader will pardon her for doing, quickly ran her eyes over one of the papers which seemed just lately to have received from the pen impressions of thought, and she took it. shortly afterwards the assessor entered, and as it was somewhat late, he hastily put together his papers, and they set off on their journey. the weather was glorious, and petrea rejoiced like--nay, even more than a child, over the objects which met her eyes, and which, after the rain, stood in the bright sunshine, as if in the glory of a festive-day. the world was to her now more than ever a magic ring; not the perplexing, half-heathenish, but the purely christian, in which everything, every moment has its signification, even as every dewdrop receives its beaming point of light from the splendour of the sun. autumn was, above all, petrea's favourite season, and its abundance now made her soul overflow with joyful thoughts. it is the time in which the earth gives a feast to all her children, and joyous and changing scenes were represented by the waysides. here the corn-field raised to heaven its golden sheaves, and the harvesters sang; there, around the purple berries of the service-tree, circled beautiful flocks of the twittering silktails; round the solitary huts, the flowering potato-fields told that the fruit was ripe, and merry little barefooted children sprang into the wood to gather bilberries. petrea thanked heaven in her heart for all the innocent joys of earth. she thought of her home, of her parents, of her sisters, of sara, who would soon again be one of their circle, and of how she (petrea) would cherish her, and care for her, and reconcile her to life and to happiness. in the blessed, beautiful morning hour, all thoughts clothed themselves in light. petrea felt quite happy, and the joke which she thought of playing on her friend the assessor with the stolen piece of paper, contributed not a little to screw up her life's spirit to greater liveliness. "from the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh," and petrea involuntarily influenced her travelling companion so far that they both amused themselves with bombarding little children on the waysides with apples and pears, whereby they were not at all terrified. they had now taken the same road upon which sara had travelled, and in the first inn at which they stopped, their hopes were strengthened; for sara had been there, and had taken thence a horse to the next public-house. all was on the way towards home. so continued it also at the three following stations; but at the fifth, they suddenly lost all traces of her. no one there had seen a traveller answering to her description, nor was her name to be found in the travellers' day-book. no! a great uneasiness for petrea. after some deliberation, she and the assessor determined to return to the public-house whence they were just come, in order to discover clearly in what direction sara had gone thence. in the mean time the evening had come on, and the sun was descending as our friends were passing through one of the gloomiest woods in sweden, and one in such ill-report that not long ago a writer speaking of it, said, "the forest shrouds memories as awful as itself, and monuments of murder stand by the wayside. probably the mantle of the mountains falls not now in such thick folds as formerly, but yet there still are valleys where the stroke of the axe has never yet been heard, and rocky ranges which have never yet been smitten by the rays of the sun." "here two men murdered the one the other," said the postilion with the gayest air in the world, whilst the carriage stopped to give the horses breath, on account of the heaviness of the road, and as he spoke he pointed with his whip to a heap of twigs and pieces of wood which lay to the left of the road, directly before the travellers, and which presented a repulsive aspect. it is customary for every passer-by to throw a stone or a piece of wood upon such a blood-stained spot, and thus the monument of murder grows under the continued curse of society. thus it now stands there, hateful and repulsive amid the beautiful fir-trees, and it seemed as if the earth had given forth the ugliest of its mis-shaped boughs, and the most distorted of its twisted roots, wherewith to build up the heap. from the very midst of this abomination, however, a wild-rose had sprung forth and shot upwards its living twigs from among the dry boughs, whilst, like fresh blood-drops above the pile, shone its berries illuminated by the sun, which now in its descent threw a path of light over the broad road. "when this wild-rose is full of flowers," said jeremias, as he regarded it with his expressive glance, "it must awaken the thought, that that which the state condemns with justice, a higher power can cover with the roses of his love." the sun withdrew his beams. the carriage set itself again in motion, but at the very moment when the horses passed the heap, they shyed so violently that the carriage was backed into a ditch and overturned. "farewell life!" cried petrea, internally; but before she herself knew how, she was out of the carriage, and found herself standing not at all the worse upon the soft heather. with the assessor, however, it did not fare so well; a severe blow on the right leg made it impossible for him to support himself upon it without great suffering. his old servant, who had acted as coachman on the journey, lay in a fainting fit at a few paces from him, bleeding profusely from a wound in the head, whilst the little post-boy stood by his horses and cried. time and situation were not the most agreeable. but petrea felt herself after the fright of the first moment perfectly calm and collected. by the help of the rain-water, which was there in abundance, she brought the fainting man back to consciousness, and bound up his head with her pocket-handkerchief. she then helped him to sit up--to stand he was not able from dizziness. soon sate master and man by each other, with their backs by a strong fir-tree, and looked sadly troubled; for although the assessor was far more concerned on account of his servant than himself, and asserted that his own accident was a mere trifle, still he was quite pale from the pain which it occasioned him. what was to be done? could the carriage have been raised out of the ditch and the two wounded men put into it, petrea would have placed herself on the coach-box and have driven them as well as anybody; nothing could be easier, she thought; but the accomplishing of the two first conditions was the difficulty, and in the present circumstances an impossibility, for our poor petrea's arms and hands were not able to second her good-will and courage. the post-boy said that at about three-quarters of a mile (english) there lay a peasant's hut in the wood by the road side; but it was impossible to induce him to run there, or under any condition to leave his horses. "let us wait," said the assessor, patiently and calmly, "probably somebody will soon come by from whom we can beg assistance." they waited, but nobody came, and every moment the shades became darker; it seemed as if people avoided this horrible wood at this hour. petrea, full of anxiety for her old friend, if he must remain much longer on the damp ground, and in the increasing coolness of evening, determined with herself what she would do. she wrapped up the assessor and his old servant in every article of clothing of which she could gain possession, amongst which was her own cloak, rejoicing that this was unobserved by her friend, and then said to him decidedly, "now i go myself to obtain help! i shall soon be back again!" and without regarding the prohibitions, prayers, and threats, with which he endeavoured to recal her, she ran quickly away in the direction of the hut, as the post-boy had described it. she hastened forward with quick steps, endeavouring to remove all thoughts of personal danger, and only to strengthen herself by the hope of procuring speedy help for her friend. the haste with which she went compelled her after some time to stand still to recover breath. the quick motion which set her blood in rapid circulation, the freshness of the air, the beautiful and magnificent repose of the wood, diffused through her, almost in opposition to her own will and heart, an irresistible feeling of satisfaction and pleasure, which however quickly left her as she heard a something crackling in the wood. the wind it could not be? perhaps it was an animal! petrea held her panting breath. it crackled; it whispered;--there were people in the wood! however bold, or more properly speaking, rash, petrea might be at certain moments, her heart now drew itself together, when she thought on her solitary, defenceless situation, and on the scenes of horror for which this wood was so fearfully renowned. beyond this, she was now no longer in those years when one stands in life on a flying foot, careless and presumptuous: she had planted herself firmly in life; had her own quiet room; her peaceful sphere of activity, which she now loved more than the most brilliant adventures in the world! it was not therefore to be wondered at, that she recoiled tremblingly from the unlovely and hateful which is at home by the road sides. petrea listened with a strongly beating heart; the rustling came nearer and nearer; for one moment she thought of concealing herself on the opposite side of the way, but in the next she boldly demanded "who is there?" all was still. petrea strained her eyes to discover some one in the direction of the sound, but in vain: the wood was thick, and it had become quite dark. once again, exclaimed petrea, "if any one be there let him come to the help of unfortunate travellers!" even the heart of robbers, thought she, would be mollified by confidence; and prayers for help might remove thoughts of murder. the rustling in the wood began afresh, and now were heard the voices of--children. an indescribable sensation of joy went through petrea's heart. a whole army, with napoleon at their head, could not at this moment have given that feeling of security and protection which came from those children's voices; and soon came issuing from the wood two little barefooted human creatures, a boy and a girl, who stared on petrea with astonishment. she quickly made herself acquainted with them, and they promised to conduct her to the cottage, which lay at a little distance. on their way they gave petrea bilberries out of their full birch-wood measure, and related to her that the reason of their being out so late was, that they had been looking for the cow which was lost in the wood; that they should have driven her home, but had not been able to find her; which greatly troubled the little ten-years-old girl, because, she said, the sick lady could not have any milk that evening. whilst petrea, led by her little guardian-angels, wandered through the wood, we will make a little flight, and relate what had occurred there a few days before. a few days before, a travelling-car drove along this road, in which sate a lady and a little girl. as they came within sight of a small cottage, which with its blossoming potato-field looked friendly in the wood, the lady said to the peasant boy who drove, "i cannot go farther! stop! i must rest!" she dismounted, and crawled with his help to the cottage, and besought the old woman, whom she found there, for a glass of water, and permission to rest upon the bed for a moment. the voice which prayed for this was almost inaudible, and the countenance deathly pale. the little girl sobbed and cried bitterly. scarcely had the poor invalid laid herself upon the humble and hardly clean bed, when she fell into a deep stupor, from which she did not revive for three hours. on her return to consciousness she found that the peasant had taken her things into the cottage; taken his horse out of the car, and left her. the invalid made several ineffectual attempts during three days to leave the bed, but scarcely had she taken a few steps when she sunk back upon it; her lips trembled, and bitter tears flowed over her pale cheeks. the fourth day she lay quite still; but in the afternoon besought the old woman to procure her an honest and safe person, who, for a suitable sum, would conduct the little girl to a place which would be made known to him by a letter that would be given with her. the old woman proposed her brother's son as a good man, and one to be relied on for this purpose, and promised in compliance with the prayer of the sick woman to seek him out that same day and speak with him; but as he lived at a considerable distance she feared that she should only be able to return late in the evening. after she was gone, the invalid took paper and a lead pencil, and with a weak and trembling hand wrote as follows: "i cannot arrive--i feel it! i sink before i reach the haven. oh, foster-parents, good sisters, have mercy on my little one, my child, who knocks at your door, and will deliver to you my humble, my last prayer! give to her a warm home, when i am resting in my cold one! see, how good she looks! look at her young countenance, and see that she is acquainted with want--she is not like her mother! i fancy her mild features resemble hers whose name she bears, and whose angelic image never has left my soul. "foster-mother, foster-father! good sisters! i had much to say, but can say only a little! forgive me! forgive me the grief which i have occasioned you! greatly have i erred, but greatly also have i suffered. a wanderer have i been on the earth, and have had nowhere a home since i left your blessed roof! my way has been through the desert; a burning simoom has scorched, has consumed my cheek---- "about to leave the world in which i have erred so greatly and suffered so much, i call now for your blessing. oh, let me tell you that that sara, which you once called daughter and sister, is yet not wholly unworthy! she is sunk deep, but she has endeavoured to raise herself; and your forms, like good angels, have floated around the path of her improvement. "it will do your noble hearts good to know that she dies now repentant, but hopeful--she has fixed her humble hope upon the father of mercy. "the hand of mercy cherished on earth the days of my childhood--later, it has lifted my dying head, and has poured into my heart a new and a better life; it has conducted me to hope in the mercy of heaven. foster-father, thou who wast his image to me on earth, thou whom i loved much--gentle foster-mother, whose voice perhaps could yet call forth life in this cold breast--have mercy on my child--call it your child! and thanks and blessings be upon you! "it never was my intention to come, as a burden, into your house. no; i wished only to conduct my child to your door--to see it open to her, and then to go forth--go forth quietly and die. but i shall not reach so far! god guide the fatherless and the motherless to you! "and now farewell! i can write no more--it becomes dark before my eyes. i write these last words upon my knees. parents, sisters, take my child to you! may it make you some time forget the errors of its mother! pardon all my faults! i complain of no one. "god reward you, and be merciful to me! "sara." sara folded her letter hastily, sealed it and directed it, and then, enfeebled by the exertion, sank down beside her sleeping child, kissed her softly, and whispered, "for the last time!" her feet and hands were like ice; she felt this icy coldness run through all her veins, and diffuse itself over her whole body; her limbs stiffened; and it seemed to her as if a cold wind blew into her face. "it is death!" thought sara; "my death-bed is lonesome and miserable; yet--i have deserved no better." her consciousness became ever darker; but in the depths of her soul combated still the last, perhaps the noblest powers of life--suffering and prayer. at length they too also became benumbed, but not for long, for new impressions waked suddenly the slumbering life. it appeared to sara as if angel voices had spoken and repeated her name, tender hands had rubbed her stiffened limbs with electrical fire; her feet were pressed to a bosom that beat strongly; hot drops fell upon them, and thawed the icy coldness. she felt a heart throbbing against hers, and the wind of death upon her face vanished before warm summer breath, kisses, tears. oh! was it a dream? but the dream became ever more living and clear. life, loving, affectionate, warm life, contended with death, and was the victor! "sara, sara!" cried a voice full of love and anxiety, and sara opened her eyes, and said, "oh! petrea, is it you?" yes, indeed, it was our poor petrea, whose distress at sara's condition, and whose joy over her now returning life, can neither of them be described. sara took petrea's hand, and conveyed it to her lips, and the humility of this action, so unlike the former sara, penetrated petrea's heart. "give me something to drink," prayed sara, with a feeble voice. petrea looked around for some refreshing liquid, but there was nothing to be found in the cottage excepting a jug containing a little muddy water; not a drop of milk, and the cow was lost in the wood! petrea would have given her heart's blood for a few drops of wine, for she saw that sara was ready to die from feebleness. and now, with feelings which are not to be told, must she give sara to drink from the muddy water, in which, however, to make it more refreshing, she bruised some bilberries. sara thanked her for it as if it had been nectar. "is there anywhere in this neighbourhood a place where one can meet with people, and obtain the means of life?" asked petrea from her little guide. the little guide knew of none excepting in the village, and in the public-house there they could obtain everything, "whatever they wished," said the child; to be sure it was a good way there, but she knew a footpath through the wood by which they might soon reach it. petrea did not stop thinking for a moment; and after she had encouraged sara to courage and hope, she set out most speedily with the little nimble maiden on the way to the village. the girl went first: her white head-kerchief guided petrea through the duskiness of the wood. but the footway which the girl trod so lightly and securely, was an actual way of trial for petrea. now and then fragments of her clothes were left hanging on the thick bushes; now a branch which shot outwards seized her bonnet and struck it flat; now she went stumbling over tree-roots and stones, which, on account of the darkness and the speed of her flight, she could not avoid; and now bats flew into her face. in vain did the wood now elevate itself more majestically than ever around her; in vain, did the stars kindle their lights, and send their beams into the deep gullies of the wood; in vain sang the waterfalls in the quiet evening as they fell from the rocks. petrea had now no thought for the beauty of nature; and the lights which sparkled from the village were to her a more welcome sight than all the suns and stars in the firmament. more lights than common streamed in pale beams through the misty windows of the public-house as petrea came up to it. all was fermentation within it as in a bee-hive; violins were playing; the _polska_ was being danced; women's gowns swung round, sweeping the walls; iron-heeled shoes beat upon the floor; and the dust flew up to the ceiling. after petrea had sought in vain for somebody outside the dancing-room, she was compelled to go in, and then she saw instantly that there was a wedding. the gilded crown on the head of the bride wavered and trembled amid the attacks and the defence of the contending parties, for it was precisely the hot moment of the swedish peasant wedding, in which, as it is said, the crown is danced off the head of the bride. the married women were endeavouring to vanquish and take captive the bride, whilst the girls were, on their part, doing their utmost to defend and hold her back. in the other half of the great room, however, all went on more noisily and more violently still, for there the married men strove to dance the bridegroom from the unmarried ones, and they pulled and tore and pushed unmercifully, amid shouts and laughter, whilst the _polska_ went on its whirling measure. it would be almost at the peril of her life that a delicate lady should enter into such a tumult; but petrea feared in this moment no other danger than that of not being able to make herself heard in this wild uproar. she called and demanded to speak with the host; but her voice was perfectly swallowed up in the universal din. she then quickly turned herself, amid the contending and round-about-swinging groups to the two musicians, who were scraping upon their fiddles with a sort of frenzy, and beating time with their feet. petrea caught hold of one of them by the arm, and prayed him in god's name to leave off for a moment, for that her business was of life and death. but they paid not the slightest attention to her; they heard not what she said; they played, and the others danced with fury. "that is very mad!" thought petrea, "but i will be madder still!" and so thinking, she threw down, upon the musicians, a table which stood near them covered with bottles and glasses. with this crash the music was suddenly still. the pause in the music astonished the dancers; they looked around them. petrea took advantage of this moment, went into the crowd and called for the host. the host, who was celebrating his daughter's wedding, came forward; he was a fat, somewhat pursy man, who evidently had taken a glass too much. petrea related summarily that which had happened; prayed for people to assist at the carriage, and for some wine and fine bread for an invalid. she spoke with warmth and determination; but nevertheless the host demurred, and the crowd, half intoxicated with drink and dancing, regarded her with a distrustful look, and petrea heard it whispered around her--"the mad lady!" "it is the mad lady!" "no, no, it is not she!" "yes, it is she!" and we must confess that petrea's excited appearance, and the condition of her toilet after the fatigues of her wandering, gave some occasion for her being taken for a little crazy; this, and the circumstance of her being mistaken for another person, may explain the disinclination to afford her assistance, which otherwise does not belong to the character of the swedish peasantry. again petrea exhorted host and peasant to contribute their help, and promised befitting reward. the host set himself now in a commanding attitude, cleared his throat, and spoke with a self-satisfied air. "yes, yes," said he, "that's all right-good and handsome, but i should like to see something of this befitting reward before i put myself out of the way about overturned carriages. in the end, maybe, one shall find neither one nor the other. one cannot believe everything that people say!" petrea recollected with uneasiness that she had no money with her; she, however, let nothing of that be seen, but replied calmly and collectedly, "you shall receive money when you come to the carriage. but for heaven's sake, follow me immediately; every moment's delay may cost a life!" the men looked undecidedly one on another; but no one stirred from the place; a dull murmur ran through the crowd. almost in despair, petrea clasped her hands together and exclaimed, whilst tears streamed from her eyes, "are you christians, and yet can hear that fellow-creatures are in danger without hastening to help them." she mentioned the name and office of her father, and then went from prayers to threats. whilst all this was going on in the house, something was going on at the door, of which, in all speed, we will give a glimpse. there drew up at the inn-door a travelling-calash, accompanied by a small holstein carriage in which sate four boys, the eldest of whom, probably ten years of age, and who, evidently greatly to his satisfaction, had managed with his own hands a pair of thin travelling horses. from the coach-box of the calash sprang nimbly a somewhat stout, jovial-looking gentleman, and out of the carriage came, one after another, other four little boys, with so many packets and bundles as was perfectly wonderful; among all these moved a rather thin lady of a good and gay appearance, who took with her own hands all the things out of the carriage, and gave them into the care of a maid and the eldest of the eight boys; the youngest sate in the arms of his father. "can you yet hold something, jacob?" asked the lady from one of the boys, who stood there loaded up to the very chin. "yes, with my nose," replied he, merrily; "nay, nay, mamma dear, not the whole provision-basket--that's quite impossible!" the mother laughed, and instead of the provision-basket, two or three books were put under the protection of the little nose. "take care of the bottles, young ones!" exhorted the mother, "and count them exactly; there should be ten of them. adam, don't stand there with your mouth open, but hold fast, and think about what you have in your hand, and what you are doing! take good care of the bottle of mamma's elixir. what a noise is there within! does nobody come out? come here my young ones! adam, look after david! jonathan, stand here! jacob, solomon, where are you? shem and seth, keep quiet!" this was the moment when, by the opening of the door of the dancing-room, they became aware of the arrival of the travellers, and when the host hastened out to receive them. many followed him, and among the rest petrea, who quickly interrupted her address to the peasants, in order, through the interposition of the travellers, as she hoped, to obtain speedier help. "good gentlefolks," cried she, in a voice which showed her agitation of mind; "i know not, it is true, who you are" (and the darkness prevented her from seeing it), "but i hope you are christians, and i beseech of you, for heaven's sake----" "whose voice is that?" interrupted a cheerful, well-toned, manly voice. "who speaks?" exclaimed petrea in astonishment. a few words were exchanged, and suddenly the names "petrea! jacobi! louise!" flew exultantly from the lips of the three, and they locked one another in a heartfelt and affectionate embrace. "aunt petrea! aunt petrea!" cried the eight boys in jubilation, and hopped around her. petrea wept for joy that she had not alone met with good christians, but had hit upon her most christian brother-in-law and court-preacher, and upon "our eldest," who, with her hopeful offspring, "the berserkers," were upon their journey to the paternal house and the new parsonage. a few minutes afterwards the carriage, containing petrea, louise, and jacobi, accompanied by peasants on horseback, drove away at full gallop into the wood, into whose gullies, as well as into petrea's imploring eyes, the half-moon, which now ascended, poured its comfortable light. we leave petrea now with her relatives, who, on their homeward journey, fell in with her at the right moment to save her from a situation in the highest degree painful. we are perfectly sure that the assessor received speedy assistance; that sara was regaled with wine as well as with louise's elixir; that petrea's heart was comforted, and her toilet brought into order; and in confirmation of this our assurance we will quote the following lines from a letter of louise, which on the next day was sent off home. "i am quite convinced that sara, with careful attention, befitting diet, and above all, by being surrounded with kindness, may be called back to life and health. but for the present she is so weak that it is impossible to think of her travelling under several days. and in any case, i doubt if she will come with us, unless my father come to fetch her. she says that she will not be a burden to our family. ah! now it is a pleasure to open house and heart to her. she is so changed! and her child is--a little angel! for the assessor it might be necessary, on account of his leg, that he go to the city; but he will not leave sara, who requires his help so greatly (his servant is out of all danger). petrea, spite of all fatigues and adventures, is quite superb. she and jacobi enliven us all. as things now stand we cannot fix decidedly the day of our arrival; but if sara continue to improve, as appearances promise, jacobi sets out to-morrow with the children to you. it is so dear with them all here in the public-house. god grant that we may all soon meet again in our beloved home!" an hour after the receipt of this letter the judge set off with such haste as if his life were concerned. he journeyed from home to the forest-village; we, on the contrary, reverse the journey, and betake ourselves from the public-house to---- footnotes: [ ] a day-book (dagbok) is kept at every inn in sweden. the name of every traveller who takes thence horses, and the name of the next town to which he proceeds, are entered in it; and thus when once on the trace, nothing could be easier than to discover such a traveller. the day-book is renewed each month.--m. h. chapter iv. the home. lilies were blossoming in the house on the beautiful morning of the twentieth of september. they seemed to shoot up of themselves under gabriele's feet. the mother, white herself as a lily, went about softly in her fine morning-dress, with a cloth in her hand, wiping away from mirror or table the smallest particle of dust. a higher expression of joy than common animated her countenance; a fine crimson tinged her otherwise pale cheeks, and the lips moved themselves involuntarily as if they would speak loving and joyful words. bergström adorned ante-room and steps with foliage and splendid flowers, so that they represented a continuation of garlands along the white walls; and not a little delighted was he with his own taste, which gabriele did not at all omit to praise. but although an unusually great deal of occupation pervaded the house this morning, still it was nevertheless unusually quiet; people only spoke in low voices, and when the least noise was made, the mother said, "hush! hush!" the cause of this was, that the lost but again-found child slept in the house of her parents. sara had arrived there the evening before, and we have passed over this scene, for the great change in her, and her shaken condition, had made it sorrowful; yet we wish indeed that the feeling reader had seen the manly tears which flowed down the cheeks of the judge, as he laid the found-again daughter on the bosom of her mother. we should like to have shown him the unfortunate one, as she rested with her hands crossed over her breast on the snow-white couch, over which the mother herself had laid the fine coverlet; have shown him how she looked upon the child, whose bed stood near her own; upon the beloved ones, who full of affection surrounded her--and then up to heaven, without being able to utter one word! and how glad should we have been could he have seen the jacobian pair this evening in the paternal home, and how there sate eating around them, adam and jacob, the twin brothers jonathan and david, ditto shem and seth, together with solomon and little alfred. they were well-trained children, and looked particularly well, all dressed alike in a blouse of dark stuff, over which fell back the white shirt collar, leaving free the throat with its lively tint of health, whilst the slender waist was girded with a narrow belt of white leather. such was the light troop of "the berserkers." but we return to our bright morning hour. eva and leonore were in the garden, and gathered with their own hands some select astracan apples and pears, which were to ornament the dinner table. they were still glittering with dew, and for the last time the sun bathed them with purple by the song of the bulfinch. the sisters had spoken of sara; of the little elise, whom they would educate; of jacobi--and their conversation was cheerful; then they went to other subjects. "and to-day," said leonore, "your last answer goes to colonel r----, your last, no! and you feel quite satisfied that it should be so?" "yes, quite!" returned eva; "how the heart changes! i cannot now conceive how i once loved him!" "it is extraordinary how he should still solicit your hand, and this after so long a separation. he must have loved you much more than any of the others to whom he made court." "i do not think so, but--ah, leonore! do you see the beautiful apple there? it is quite bright. can you reach it? no? yes, if you climb on this bough." "must i give myself so much trouble?" asked leonore; "that is indeed shocking! well, but i must try, only catch me if i should fall!" the sisters were here interrupted by petrea, whose appearance showed that she had something interesting to communicate. "see, eva," said she, giving to her a written piece of paper, "here you have something for morning-reading. now you must convince yourself of something of which till now you would not believe. and i shall call you a stock, a stone, an automaton without heart and soul, if you do not--yes, smile! you will not laugh when you have read it. leonore! come, dear leonore, you must read it also, you will give me credit for being right. read, sisters, read!" the sisters read the following remarks, in the handwriting of the assessor. "'happy is the lonely and the lowly! he may ripen and refresh himself in peace!' beautiful words, and what is better, true. "the foundling has proved their truth. he was sick in mind, heart, and sick of the world and of himself, but he belonged to the lowly and to the unnoticed, and so he could be alone; alone, in the fresh, quiet wood, alone with the great physician, who only can heal the deep wounds of the heart--and it is become better with him. "now i begin to understand the great physician, and the regimen which he has prescribed for me. i feared the gangrene selfishness, and would drink myself free therefrom by the nectar of love; but he said, 'jeremias, drink not this draught, but that of self-denial--it is more purifying.' "i have drunk it. i have loved her for twenty years without pretension and without hope. "to-day i have passed my three-and-sixtieth year; the increasing pain in my side commands me to leave the steps of the patients, and tells me that i have not many more paces to count till i reach my grave. may it be permitted to me to live the remainder of my days more exclusively for her! "at the 'old man's rose' will i live for her--for it stands in my will that it belongs to her, it belongs to eva frank. "i will beautify it for her. i will cultivate there beautiful trees and flowers for her; vines and roses will i bring there. old age will some time seize on her, wither her, and consume her. but then 'the rose of age' will bloom for her, and the odour of my love bless her, when the ugly old man wanders on the earth no more. she will take her dear sisters to her there; there hear the songs of the birds, and see the glory of the sun upon the lovely objects of nature. "i will repose on these thoughts during the solitary months or years that i must pass there. truly, many a day will be heavy to me; and the long solitary evenings; truly, it were good to have there a beloved and gentle companion, to whom one might say each day, 'good morning, the sun is beautiful;' or in whose eyes--if it were not so--one could see a better sun;--a companion with whom one could enjoy books, nature--all that god has given us of good; whose hand, in the last heavy hour one could press, and to whom one could say, 'good night! we meet again--to-morrow--with love itself--with god!' "but--but--the foundling shall find no home upon earth! "now he will soon find another home, and will say to the master there, 'father, have mercy on my rose!' and to the habitation of men will he say, 'wearisome wast thou to me, o world! but yet receive my thanks for the good which thou hast given me!'" * * * * * when the sisters had ceased to read, several bright tears lay upon the paper, and shone in the light of the sun. leonore dried her tears, and turning herself to petrea, inquired, "but, petrea, how came this paper into your hands?" "did i not think that would come?" said petrea. "you should not ask such difficult questions, leonore. nay, now eva's eyes are inquiring too--and so grave. do you think that the assessor has put it into my hands? nay, he must be freed from that suspicion even at my expense. you want to know how i came by this paper? well then--i stole it, sisters--stole it on our journey--on the very morning after it was written." "but, petrea!" "but, petrea! yes, you good ones! it is too late now to cry, 'but, petrea!' now you know the assessor's secret; you now may do what your consciences command, mine is hardened--you may start before my act, and be horrified; i don't ask about it. the whole world may excommunicate me--i don't trouble myself!--eva! leonore! sisters!" petrea laid an arm round the neck of each sister, kissed them, smiling with a tear in her eye, and vanished. * * * * * somewhat later in the morning we find eva and gabriele on a visit at the beautiful parsonage-house immediately in the vicinity of the town, where mrs. louise is in full commotion with all her goods and chattels, whilst the little jacobis riot with father and grandfather over fields and meadows. the little four-years-old alfred, an uncommonly lively and amiable child, is alone with the mother at home; he pays especial court to gabriele, and believing that he must entertain her, he brings out his noah's ark to introduce to her, in his low, clear, young voice, ham and hamina, shem and shemina, japhet and japhetina. after all how-do-ye-do's between the sisters had been answered, gabriele loosened the paper from a basket which ulla had brought in, and asked louise to be pleased to accept some roast veal and patties. "we thought," said she, "that you would need something fresh after the journey, before you get your store-room in order. just taste a patty! they are filled with mince-meat, and i assure you are baked since the flood." "really!" replied louise, laughing, "they are delicate too! see, there's one for you, my little manikin; but another time don't come and set yourself forward and look so hungry! thanks! thanks, dear sister! ah, how charming that we are come again into your neighbourhood! how fresh and happy you all look! and petrea! how advantageously she has altered; she is come to have something quiet and sensible about her; she has outgrown her nose, and dresses herself neatly; she is just like other people now. and see--here i have a warm, wadded morning-dress for her, that will keep her warm up in her garret; is it not superb? and it cost only ten thalers courant." "oh, extraordinary!--out of the common way!--quite unheard of!" said they, "is it not so?--why it is a piece of clothing for a whole life!" "what a beautiful collar eva has on! i really believe she is grown handsomer," said louise. "you were and are still the rose of the family, eva; you look quite young, and are grown stout. i, for my part, cannot boast of that; but how can anybody grow stout when they have eight children to work for! do you know sisters, that in the last week before i left stockholm, i cut out a hundred and six shirts! i hope i can meet with a good sempstress here; at home; look at my finger, it is quite hard and horny with sewing. god bless the children! one has one's trouble with them. but tell me, how is it with our mother? they have always been writing to me that she was better--and yet i find her terribly gone off; it really grieves me to see her. what does the assessor say?" "oh," replied gabriele warmly, "he says that she will recover. there is really no danger; she improves every day." eva did not look so hopeful as gabriele, and her eyes were filled with tears as she said, "when autumn and winter are only over, i hope that the spring----" "and do you know," interrupted louise, with animation, "what i have been thinking of? in the spring she shall come to us and try the milk cure: she shall occupy this room, with the view towards the beautiful birch grove, and shall enjoy the country air, and all the good things which the country affords and which i can obtain for her--certainly this will do her good. don't you think that then she will recover? don't you think that it is a bright idea of mine?" the sisters thought that really it was bright, and louise continued: "now i must show you what i have brought for her. do you see these two damask breakfast cloths, and these six breakfast napkins?--all spun in the house. i have had merely to pay for the weaving. now, how do they please you?" "oh, excellently! excellently!" said one sister. "how very handsome! how welcome they will be!" said the other. "and you must see what i have bought for my father--ah! jacobi has it in his carpet-bag--one thing lies here and another there--but you will see it, you will see it." "what an inundation of things!" said gabriele, laughing. "one can see, however, that there is no shortness of money." "thank god!" said louise, "all is comfortable in that respect, though you may very well believe that it was difficult at first; but we began by regulating the mouths according to the dishes. ever since i married i have had the management of the money. i am my husband's treasurer; he gives over to me whatever comes in, and he receives from me what he wants, and in this way all has gone right. thank god, when people love one another all does go right! i am happier than i deserve to be, with such a good, excellent husband, and such well-disposed children. if our little girl, our little louise, had but lived! ah! it was a happiness when she was born, after the eight boys; and then for two years she was our greatest delight. jacobi almost worshipped her; he would sit for whole hours beside her cradle, and was perfectly happy if he only had her on his knee. but she was inexpressibly amiable--so good, so clever, so quiet; an actual little angel! ah! it was hard to lose her. jacobi grieved as i have never seen a man grieve; but his happy temperament and his piety came to his help. she has now been dead above a year. ah! never shall i forget my little girl!" louise's tears flowed abundantly; the sisters could not help weeping with her. but louise soon collected herself again, and said, whilst she wiped her eyes, "now we have also anxiety with little david's ankles; but there is no perfect happiness in this world, and we have no right to expect it. pardon me that i have troubled you; and now let us speak of something else, whilst i get my things a little in order. tell me something about our acquaintance--aunt evelina is well?" "yes, and sits as grandmother of five nephews at axelholm, beloved and honoured by all. it is a very sweet family that she sees about her, and she has the happiest old age." "that is pleasant to hear. but she really deserved to be loved and honoured. is her karin also married?" "ah, no! karin is dead! and this has been her greatest sorrow; they were so happy together." "ah, thou heaven! is she dead? ah, yes, now i remember you wrote to me that she was dead----look at this dress, sisters--a present from my dear husband; is it not handsome? and then quite modern. yes, yes, dear gabriele, you need not make such an ambiguous face; it is very handsome, and quite in the fashion, that i can assure you. but, _à propos_, how is the court-preacher? exists still in a new form, does it? now that is good! i'll put it on this afternoon on purpose to horrify jacobi, and tell him that for the future i intend to wear it in honour of his nomination to the office of court-preacher." all laughed. "but tell me," continued louise, "how will our 'great astonishment' go on? how have you arranged it?" "in this manner," returned one of the sisters. "we shall all meet for a great coffee-drinking in the garden, and during this we shall lead the conversation in a natural sort of way to the piece of ground on the other side the fence, and then peep through the cracks in it, and then express that usual wish that this fence might come down. and then, at this signal, your eight boys, louise, are to fall on the fence and----" "how can you think," said louise--"to be sure my boys are nimble and strong, but it would require the power of berserkers to----" "don't be alarmed," answered the sisters, laughing, "the fence is sawn underneath, and stands only so firm that a few pushes will produce the effect--the thing is not difficult. besides, we'll all run to the attack, if it be needful." "oh, heaven help us! if it be only so, my young ones will soon manage the business--and _à propos_! i have a few bottles of select white sugar-beer with me, which would certainly please my father, and which will be exactly the right thing if we, as is customary on such occasions, have to drink healths." during this conversation little alfred had gone round ineffectually offering two kisses, and was just on the point of growing angry because his wares found no demand, when all at once, summoning resolution, he threw his arms round gabriele's neck, and exclaimed, "now i see really and thoroughly, that aunt gabriele has need of a kiss!" and it was not aunt gabriele's fault if the dear child was not convinced how wholly indispensable his gift was. but louise still turned over her things. "here," said she, "i have a waistcoat-piece for bergström, and here a neck-kerchief for ulla, as well as this little brush with which to dust mirrors and tables. is it not superb? and see, a little pair of bellows, and these trifles for brigitta." "now the old woman," said the sisters, "will be happy! she is now and then out of humour, but a feast of coffee, and some little present, reconcile her with all the world; and to-day she will get both." "and see," continued louise, "how capitally these bellows blow: they can make the very worst wood burn--see how the dust flies!" "uh! one can be blown away oneself," said gabriele, laughing. while the sisters were still occupied with cleaning and dusting, and louise was admiring her own discoveries, the judge came in, happy and warm. "what a deal of business is going forward!" exclaimed he, laughing. "i must congratulate you," said he, "louise; your boys please me entirely. they are animated boys, with, intellects all alive--but, at the same time, obedient and polite. little david is a regular hairbrain, and a magnificent lad--what a pity it is that he will be lame!" louise crimsoned from heartfelt joy over the praise of her boys, and answered quickly to the lamentation over the little david, "you should hear, father, what a talent he has for the violoncello; he will be a second gehrman." "nay, that is good," returned the judge; "such a talent as that is worth his two feet. but i have hardly had time to notice you properly yet, louise. heavens! it's glorious that you are come again into our neighbourhood; now i think i shall be able to see you every day! and you can also enjoy here the fresh air of the country. you have got thin, but i really think you have grown!" louise said laughingly, that the time for that was over with her. the sisters also, among themselves, made their observations on louise. they were rejoiced to see her, among all her things, so exactly herself again. handsomer she certainly had not become--but people cannot grow handsomer to all eternity. she looked well and she looked good, had no more of the cathedral about her; she was an excellent archdeacon's lady. * * * * * we transport ourselves now to sara's chamber. when a beloved and guiltless child returns, after sufferings overcome, to the bosom of parents into a beloved home, who can describe the sweet delight of its situation? the pure enjoyment of all the charms of home; the tenderness of the family; the resigning themselves to the heavenly feeling of being again at home? but the guilty---- we have seen a picture of the prodigal son which we shall never forget! it is the moment of reconciliation: the father opens his arms to the son; the son falls into them and hides his face. deep compunction of the heart bows down his head, and over his pale cheek--the only part of his countenance which is visible, runs a tear--a tear of penitence and pain, which says everything. the golden ring may be placed upon his hand; the fatted calf may be killed and served up before him--he cannot feel gay or happy--embittering tears gush forth from the fountains of memory. thus was it with sara, and exactly to that degree in which her heart was really purified and ennobled. as she woke out of a refreshing sleep in her new home, and saw near her her child sleeping on the soft snow-white bed; as she saw all, by the streaming in light of the morning sun, so festally pure and fresh; as she saw how the faithful memory of affection had treasured up all her youthful predilections; as she saw her favourite flowers, the asters, beaming upon the stove, in an alabaster vase; and as she thought how all this had been--and how it now was--she wept bitterly. petrea, who was reading in the window of sara's room waiting for her awaking, stood now with cordial and consoling words near her bed. "oh, petrea!" said sara, taking her hand and pressing it to her breast, "let me speak with you. my heart is full. i feel as if i could tell you all, and you would understand me. i did not come here of my own will--your father brought me. he did not ask me--he took me like a child, and i obeyed like a child. i was weak; i thought soon to die; but this night under this roof has given me strength. i feel now that i shall live. listen, to me, petrea, and stand by me, for as soon as my feet will carry me i must go away from here. i will not be a burden to this house. stained and despised by the world, as i am, i will not pollute this sanctuary! already have i read aversion towards me in gabriele's look. oh, my abode here would be a pain to myself! might my innocent little one only remain in this blessed house. i must away from here! these charms of life; this abundance, they are not for me--they would wake anguish in my soul! poverty and labour beseem me! i will away hence. i must!--but i will trouble nobody: i will not appear ungrateful. help me, petrea--think for me; what i should do and where i should go!" "i have already thought," replied petrea. "have you?" said sara, joyfully surprised, and fixed upon her searchingly her large eyes. "come and divide my solitude," continued petrea, in a cordial voice. "you know that i, although in the house of my parents, yet live for myself alone, and have the most perfect freedom. next to my room is another, a very simple but quiet room, which might be exactly according to your wishes. come and dwell there! there you can live perfectly as you please; be alone, or see only me, till the quiet influence of calm days draw you into the innocent life of the family circle." "ah, petrea," returned sara, "you are good--but you cannot approach a person of ill-report--and you do not know----" "hush! hush!" interrupted petrea; "i know very well--because i see and hear you again! oh, sara! who am i that i should turn away from you? god sees into the heart, and he knows how weak and erring mine is, even if my outward life remain pure, and if circumstances and that which surrounds me have protected me, and have caused my conduct to be blameless. but i know myself, and i have no more earnest prayer to god than that: 'forgive me my trespasses!' may i not pray by your side? cannot we tread together the path which lies before us? both of us have seen into many depths of life--both of us now look up humbly to the cheerful heaven! give me your hand--you were always dear to me, and now, even as in the years of childhood do i feel drawn to you! let us go; let us try together the path of life. my heart longs after you; and does not yours say to you that we are fit for one another, and that we can be happy together?" "should i be a burden to you?" said sara: "were i but stronger, i would wait upon you; could i only win my bread by my hands, as in the latter years i have done--but now!" "now give yourself up to me blindly," said petrea. "i have enough for us both. in a while, when you are stronger, we will help one another." "will not my wasted life--my bitter remembrances make my temper gloomy and me a burden?" asked sara; "and do not dark spirits master those who have been so long in their power?" "penitence," said petrea, "is a goddess--she protects the erring. and if a heathen can say this, how much more a christian!--oh, sara! annihilating repentance itself--i know it--can become a strength for him, by which he can erect himself. it can raise up to new life; it can arouse a will which can conquer all things--it has raised me erect--it will do the same for you! you stand now in middle life--a long future is before you--you have an amiable child; have friends; have to live for eternal life! live for these! and you will see how, by degrees, the night vanishes, the day ascends, and all arranges itself and becomes clear. come, and let us two unitedly work at the most important business of life--improvement!" sara, at these words, raised herself in the bed, and new beams were kindled in her eyes. "i will," said she, "petrea; an angel speaks through you; your words strengthen and calm me wonderfully--i will begin anew----" petrea pressed sara to her breast, and spoke warm and heartfelt "thanks," and then added softly, "and now be a good child, sara!--all weak and sick people are children. now submit, calmly and resignedly, to be treated and guided like such a one; gladden by so doing those who are around you, and who all wish you well! we cannot think of any change before you are considerably better--it would trouble every one." at this moment the door was opened, and the mother looked in inquiringly; she smiled so affectionately as she locked sara in her arms. leonore followed her; but as she saw sara's excited state, she went quickly back and returned with a breakfast-tray covered with all kinds of good things; and now cheerful and merry words emulated one another to divert the again-found-one, old modes of speech were again reverted to, and old acquaintances renewed. "do you know madame folette again? she has been lately repaired. can she have the honour of giving you a cup of coffee? there is your old cup with the stars; it was saved with madame folette from the fire, and the little one here with the rose-buds is allotted to our little elise. you must really taste these rusks--they never were in the ark--they came with the blushing morning out of the oven. our 'little lady' has herself selected and filled the basket with the very best for you; you shall see whether these home-baked would not please even the assessor;"--and so on. in the mean time the little elise had awoke, and looked with bright blue eyes up to great elise, who bent down to her. they were really like each other, as often daughter's daughters and grandmothers are, and appeared to feel related already. when sara saw her child in elise's arms, tears of pure joy filled her eyes for the first time. * * * * * i do not know whether my lady-readers have nerves to stand by while "the berserkers" overthrow the garden-fence. i fancy not; and therefore, with my reader's permission, i make a little leap over the great event of the day--the thrown-down wooden fence, which fell so hastily that the berserkers themselves tumbled all together over it,--and go into the new piece of land, where we shall find the family-party assembled, sitting on a flower-decorated moss-seat, under a tall birch-tree, which waved over them its crown, tinged already with autumnal yellow. the september sun, which was approaching its setting, illuminated the group, and gleamed through the alders on the brook, which softly murmuring among blue creeks, flowed around the new piece of land, and at once beautified and bounded it. tears shone in the eyes of the family-father; but he spoke not. to see himself the object of so much love; the thoughts on the future; on his favourite plan; fatherly joy and pride; gratitude towards his children--towards heaven, all united themselves to fill his heart with the most pleasurable sensations which can bless a human bosom. the mother, immediately after the great surprise, and the explosion of joy which followed it, had gone into the house with eva and leonore. among those who remained behind, we see the friend of the family jeremias munter, who wore on the occasion the grimmest countenance in the world; the baron l., who was no more the wild extravagant youth, but a man, and beyond this, a landed-proprietor, whose grave demeanour was beautified by a certain, agreeable sobriety, particularly visible when he spoke with "our little lady," at whose feet he was seated. louise handed about white-sugar beer, which nobody praised more highly than herself. she found that it had something unearthly in it, something positively exalting; but when gabriele, immediately after she had drank a half glass, gave a spring upwards, "our eldest" became terrified, for such a strong working of her effervescing white-beer she had by no means expected. nevertheless she was soon surrounded by the eight, who cried altogether, "mamma, may i have some beer?" "and i too?" "and i?" "and i too?" "and i?" "and i?" "send a deal of foam for me, mamma dear!" "nay, nay, nay, dear boys! people must not come clamouring and storming thus--you don't see that i or the father do so. solomon must wait to the very last now. patience is a good herb. there, you have it; now drink, but don't wet yourselves!" after the little jacobis had all enjoyed the foaming, elevating liquor, they became possessed by such a buoyant spirit of life, that louise was obliged to command them to exhibit their mighty deeds at a distance. hereupon they swarmed forth on journeys of discovery, and began to tumble head over heels round the place. david hobbled along with his little crutch over stock and stone, whilst jonathan gathered for him all sorts of flowers, and plucked the bilberry plants, to which he pointed with his finger; little nosegays were then made out of them, with which they overwhelmed their aunts, especially gabriele, their chosen friend and patron. the serious adam, the eldest of the eight, a boy of exceedingly staid demeanour, sate quietly by the side of his grandfather, and appeared to consider himself one of the elderly people; the little alfred hopped about his mother. the judge looked around him with an animated countenance; he planted alleys and hedges; set down benches and saw them filled with happy people, and communicated his plans to jacobi. jeremias observed the scene with a bitter, melancholy, and, to him, peculiar smile. as little david came limping up to him with the fragrant wood-flowers, he exclaimed suddenly, "why not rather make here a botanic garden than a common park? flowers are indeed the only pleasant thing here in the world, and because people go all about snuffing with the nose, it might be as well to provide them with something to smell at. a water-establishment also could be united with it, and thus something miserable might get washed away from the pitiable wretches here in this world." the judge seized on the idea with joy. "so we will," said he; "we will unite pleasure with profit. this undertaking will cost more than a simple public pleasure-ground, but that need not prevent it. in this beautiful time of peace, and with the prospect of its long continuance, people may take works in hand, and hope to complete them, even if they should require a long time." "and such works," said jacobi, "operate ennoblingly on life in times of peace. peace requires even as great a mass of power as war, but against another kind of foe. every ennobling of this earthly existence, everything which exalts the mind to a more intellectual life, is a battery directed against the commoner nature in man, and is a service done to humanity and one's native land." "bah!" cried jeremias with vexation, "humanity and native land! you have always large words in the mouth; if a fence is thrown down or a bush planted, it is immediately called a benefit for one's native land. plant your fields and throw down your fences, but let the native land rest in peace! for it troubles itself just as little about you, as you about it. for one's country and humanity!--that should sound very affecting--all mere talk!" "no, now you are in fact too severe," said the judge, smiling at the outbreak of his friend; "and i, as far as regards myself," continued he, gravely, but cheerfully, "wish that a clearer idea of one's country accompanied every step of human activity. if there be a love which is natural and reasonable, it is the love of one's country. have i not to thank my country for everything that i have? are they not its laws, its institutions, its spiritual life, which have developed my whole being, as man and as a citizen? and are they not the deeds of my fathers which have fashioned these; which have given them their power and their individual life? in fact, love and gratitude towards one's parents is no greater duty than love and gratitude towards one's native land; and there is no one, be he man or woman, high or low, but who, according to his own relationships, can and must pay this holy debt. and this is exactly the signification of a christianly constituted state, that every one shall occupy with his pound so as to benefit, at the same time, both the individual and the community at large." "thus," added petrea, "do the rain-drops swell the brook, which pours its water into the river, and may, even though it be nameless, communicate benefit in its course." "so it is, my dear child," said her father, and extended to her his hand. "it is a gladdening thought," said louise, with tearful eyes. "pay attention, adam, to what grandfather and aunt say, and keep it in your mind;--but don't open your mouth so wide; a whole frigate could sail into it." at these words little alfred began to laugh so shrilly and so heartily that all the elderly folks irresistibly bore him company. adam laughed too; and at the sound of this peal of laughter came bounding forward from all ends and corners shem and seth, jacob and solomon, jonathan and david, just as a flock of sparrows comes flying down over a handful of scattered corn. they came laughing because they heard laughter, and wished to be present at the entertainment. in the mean time the sun had set, and the cool elves of evening began to wander over the place as the family, amid the most cheerful talk, arose in order to return to the house. as they went into the city the ball on st. mary's church glimmered like fire in the last beams of the sun, and the moon ascended like a pale but gentle countenance over the roof of their house. there was a something in this appearance which made a sorrowful impression on gabriele. the star of the church tower glittered over the grave of her brother, and the look of the moon made her involuntarily think on the pale, mild countenance of her mother. for the rest, the evening was so lovely, the blackbird sang among the alders by the brook, and the heaven lay clear and brightly blue over the earth, whilst the wind and every disturbing sound became more and more hushed. gabriele walked on, full of thought, and did not observe that baron l. had approached her; they were almost walking together as he said, "i am very glad; it was very pleasant to me to see you all again so happy!" "ah, yes," answered gabriele, "now we can all be together again. it is a great happiness that louise and her family are come here." "perhaps," continued the baron--"perhaps it might be audacity to disturb such a happily united life, and to wish to separate a daughter and sister from such a family--but if the truest----" "ah!" hastily interrupted gabriele, "don't speak of disturbing anything, of changing anything--everything is so good as it now is!" he was silent, with an expression of sorrow. "let us be all happy together," said gabriele, bashfully and cordially; "you will stop some time with us. it is so charming to have friends and sisters--this united life is so agreeable with them." the baron's countenance brightened. he seized gabriele's hand, and would have said something, but she hastened from him to her father, whose arm she took. jacobi conducted petrea; they were cheerful and confidential together, as happy brother and sister. she spoke to him of her present happiness, and of the hope which made up her future. he took the liveliest interest in it, and spoke with her of his plans; of his domestic happiness; and with especial rapture of his boys; of their obedience to the slightest word of their parents; of their mutual affection to each other--and see--all this was louise's work! and louise's praise was sung forth in a harmonious duet--ever a sweet scent for "our eldest," who appeared, however, to listen to no one but her father. they soon reached home. the mother stood with the silver ladle in her hand, and the most friendly smile on her lips, in the library, before a large steaming bowl of punch, and with look and voice bade the entering party welcome. "my dear elise," said the judge, embracing her, "you are become twenty years younger to-day." "happiness makes one young," answered she, looking on him affectionately. people seated themselves. "don't make so much noise, children!" said louise to her eight, seating herself with the little elise on her knees; "can't you seat yourselves without so much noise and bustle." jeremias munter had placed himself in a corner, and was quiet, and seemed depressed. on many countenances one saw a sort of tension, a sort of consciousness that before long a something uncommon was about to happen. the judge coughed several times; he seemed to have an unusual cause for making his throat clear. at length he raised his voice and spoke, but not without evident emotion, "is it true that our friend jeremias munter thinks of soon leaving us, in order to seat himself down in solitude in the country? is it true, as report says, that he leaves us so soon as to-morrow morning, and that this is the last evening which brings him into our circle as a townsman of ours?" the assessor made an attempt to reply, but it was only a sort of low grunting tone without words. he looked fixedly upon the floor, and supported his hands upon his stick. "in this case," continued the judge, "i am desired to ask him a question, which i would ask from no one else, and which nearly sticks in my throat,--will our friend munter allow that any one--any one of us should follow him into his solitude?" "who would accompany me?" snorted jeremias grumblingly and doubtingly. "i!" answered a soft, harmonious voice; and eva, as beautiful and graceful at this moment as ever, approached him, conducted by her father. "i," repeated she, blushing and speaking softly but sincerely, "i will accompany you if you will." on the countenances of the family it might be read that this to the members of it was no surprise. louise had gentle tears in her eyes, and did not look the least in the world scandalised at this step--so contrary to the dignity of woman. the assessor drew himself together, and looked up with a sharp and astonished look. "receive from my hand," said the judge, with a voice which showed his feeling, "a companion for whom you have long wished. only to you, munter, would i so resign my beloved child." "do you say no to me?" asked eva, blushing and smiling, as she extended her white hand to the still stupified jeremias. he seized the extended hand hastily, pressed it with both hands to his breast, and said softly as he bent over it, "oh, my rose!" when he raised his head, his eyes were wet; but there was anxiety and disquiet in his whole being. "brother," said he to the judge, "i cannot yet thank you--i don't know--i don't understand--i must first prove her." he took eva by the hand and conducted her into the boudoir adjoining the library, seated himself opposite to her, and said warmly, "whence proceeds this? what jokes are these? how does it arise? tell me, in god's name, eva, with what sentiments do you thus come and woo me? is it with true love?--yes, i say, true love; don't be startled at the word! you can take it as i mean it. is it love, or is it--pity? as a gift of mercy i cannot take you. thus much i can tell you. do not deceive yourself--do not deceive me! in the name of god, who proves all hearts, answer me, and speak the truth. is it from the full and entire heart that you come thus to me? do you think, eva, angel of god, that i, the ugly, infirm, ill-tempered old man can make you happy?" he spoke with a heartfelt anxiety, yet he now looked handsome with love and feeling. "my friend, my benefactor," answered eva, and wiped away some tears which rolled down her cheeks, "see into--read my inmost heart. gratitude led me to the acknowledgment of your worth, and both have led me to love; not the passionate love which i once felt--but never more can feel--but a deep inward devotion, which will make me and, as i also hope, you happy, and which nothing further can disturb. to live for you, and next to you for my family, is the highest wish that i have on earth. i can candidly say that in this moment there is no one whom i love more than you. is that enough for you?" the assessor riveted his deep eyes searchingly and penetratingly on eva. "kiss me!" said he, at once short and sharp. with an indescribably charming submission, eva bowed her blushing face and kissed him. "lord god!" said jeremias, "and you are mine! in his name then!" and with unspeakable emotion clasped he his long beloved to his heart. he held her long, and only deep sighs arose from his heart overflowing with happiness. at length he tore himself from her, and as if animated with new youth he sprang forward, and exclaimed to the company assembled in the library, "nay, now it is all made up--i take her--she shall have me--she shall have me! she is worthy to be my wife, and i am worthy to be her husband! now then, you without there, will not you drink our healths?" all gathered around the bowl--louise with the rest--the eight following her--it was all a joyful bustle. leonore and petrea kept back the little tumultuous ones amid laughter, and promised to carry the glasses to them if they would only keep their places. at length quiet returned to the assembly, the glasses were filled, and the skÃ¥l began. no. , which the judge proposed, was "for the newly betrothed." no. , which jacobi spoke eloquently, was "for the parents; for their happiness and well-being," said he, with emotion, "through which i, and so many others as well as i, are blessed!" no. , was drunk to "the prosperity of the new pastor's family." no. , for "the new purchased land." no. , for "the old--ever-new home." no. , was "the health of all good children!" the eight seemed as if they could not return thanks enough. after this yet a many other particular toasts were given. the young jacobis drank incessantly to the aunts--gabriele must continually make her glass clink against those of her little nephews. in the mean time jeremias munter made with love-warm looks the following speech to his bride. "that was a joke now! that you should have made me of such consequence! how did she know that i would have her? to woo me yourself, and to take me so by surprise! to give me no time to think. what then? it is quite unheard of! was the thing arranged beforehand? no, that is too troublesome. nay, nay, nay, nay then, nay say i! but now i think about it, it was quite for the best that i accept you--but indeed you were a little hasty; i've a good mind to----what now? what is fresh in hand? comes her little grace, the little sister-in-law, without any ceremony and kisses me. heavens! the world is very merry!" but nobody in the whole circle found the world so merry as petrea. "are you now satisfied with me, petrea?" asked eva, archly laughing. petrea clasped her warmly in her arms. now the voice of mother louise was heard saying, "nay, nay, children, you must not drink a drop more! what do you say, my little david? a thee-and-thou toast with uncle munter? no, thank you greatly, my dear fellow, you can propose that another time. you have drunk to-day toasts enough--more, perhaps, than your little heads can carry." "i beg for the boys, sister louise," said the assessor; "i will propose a skÃ¥l, and they must drink it with me. fill, yet once more, the glasses, little carousers!--i propose a skÃ¥l for peace! peace in our country, and peace in our homes! a skÃ¥l for love and knowledge, which alone can make peace a blessing! a skÃ¥l, in one word, for--peace upon earth!" "amen! amen!" cried jacobi, drank off his glass, and threw it behind him. louise looked at her mother somewhat astonished, but the mother followed jacobi's example; she too was carried away. "all glasses to the ground after this skÃ¥l!" cried the judge, and sent his ringing against the ceiling. with an indescribable pleasure the little jacobis threw their glasses up, and endeavoured to make the skÃ¥l for peace as noisy and tumultuous as possible. * * * * * we leave now the joyful circle, from which we have seen the mother softly steal away. we see her go into the boudoir, where reposing in comfortable quiet she writes the following lines to her friend and sister: "i have left them now for a few minutes, in order to rest, and to say a few words to you, my cecilia. here it is good and quiet; and joyful voices--truly festival voices, echo to me here. the heart of my ernst enjoys the highest pleasure, for he sees all his children happy around him. and the children, cecilia, he has reason to be joyful over them and proud; they stand all around him, good and excellent human beings; they thank him that existence has been given to them, and that they have learned its worth; they are satisfied with their lot. the lost and again-found-one has come home, in order to begin a new life, and her charming child is quite established on the knees of the grandfather. "i hear gabriele's guitar accompanied by a song. i fancy now they dance. louise's eight boys make the floor shake. jacobi's voice is heard above all. the good, ever-young man. i also should be joyful, for all in my house is peaceful and well-arranged. and i am so; my heart is full of thankfulness, but my body is weary--very weary. "the fir-trees on the grave wave and beckon me. i see their tops saluting me in the clear moonlight, and pointing upwards. dost thou beckon me, my son? dost thou call me to come home to thee? my first-born, my summer-child! let me whisper to thee that this is my secret wish. the earth was friendly towards me; friendly was my home: when thou wast gone, my favourite! i began to follow. perhaps the day of my departure is at hand. i feel in myself as if i were able to go to rest. and might a really bright and beautiful moment be enjoyed by me before my last sleep, i would yet once more press my husband's hand to my lips, look around me on earth with a blessing, and upwards towards heaven with gratitude, and say as now, out of the depths of my heart, 'thank god for the home here, and the home there.'" end of the home. transcriber's notes: i inserted 'a' into sentence, never did i envy [a] human being as i envied her, on page . in footnote , the word appears to be niflhem, but the more common spelling is niflheim. norwegian life an account of past and contemporary conditions and progress in norway and sweden edited and arranged by ethlyn t. clough preface an excursion into norwegian life has for the student all the charm of the traveler's real journey through the pleasant valleys of the norse lands. much of this charm is explained by the tenacity of the people to the homely virtues of honesty and thrift, to their customs which testify to their home-loving character, and to their quaint costumes. it is a genuine delight to study and visit these lands, because they are the least, perhaps in europe, affected by the leveling hand of cosmopolitan ideas. go where you will,--to england, about germany, down into italy,--everywhere, the same monotonous sameness is growing more oppressive every year. but in norway and sweden there is still an originality, a type, if you please, that has resisted the growth of an artificial life, and gives to students a charm which is even more alluring than modern cities with their treasures and associations. the student takes up norwegian life as one of the subjects which has been comparatively little explored, and is, therefore replete with freshness and delight. this little book can not by any means more than lift the curtain to view the fields of historical and literary interest and the wondrous life lived in the deep fiords of viking land. but its brief pages will have, at least, the merit of giving information on a subject about which only too little has been written. taken in all, there are scarcely half a dozen recent books circulating in american literary channels on these interesting lands, and for one reason or another, most of these are unsuited for club people. there is an urgent call for a comprehensive book which will waste no time in non-essentials,--a book that can be read in a few sittings and yet will give a glimpse over this quaint and wondrously interesting corner of europe. this book has been prepared, as have all the predecessors in this series, by the help of many who have written most delightfully of striking things in norwegian life. one has specialized in one thing, while another has been allured by another subject. accordingly, "norwegian life" is the product of many, each inspired with feeling and admiration for the one or two subjects on which he has written better than on any others. liberty has been taken to make a few verbal changes in order to give to the story the unity and smoothness desired, and a key-letter at the end of each chapter refers the reader to a page at the close where due credits are given. j.m. hall. contents chapter i prehistoric and early historic times chapter ii norway in the nineteenth century chapter iii sweden in the nineteenth century chapter iv the religion of the northmen chapter v the literature of norway chapter vi the literature of sweden chapter vii government and politics of norway and sweden chapter viii the army and navy chapter ix public education chapter x haakon vii, new king of norway chapter xi the royal family of sweden chapter xii charitable and benevolent institutions chapter xiii material conditions chapter xiv highways, railways, and waterways chapter xv the people: their manners and customs chapter xvi health, exercise, and amusements chapter xvii the newspapers of norway and sweden chapter xviii norwegian folk songs chapter xix women of norway and sweden norwegian life chapter i prehistoric and early historic times a glance at the map will show that the scandinavian peninsula, that immense stretch of land running from the arctic ocean to the north sea, and from the baltic to the atlantic, covering an area of nearly three hundred thousand square miles, is, next to russia, the largest territorial division of europe. surrounded by sea on all sides but one, which gives it an unparalleled seaboard of over two thousand miles, it hangs on the continent by its frontier line with russia in lapland. down the middle of this seabound continent, dividing it into two nearly equal parts, runs a chain of mountains not inappropriately called kölen, or keel. the name suggests the image which the aspect of the land calls to mind, that of a huge ship floating keel upwards on the face of the ocean. this keel forms the frontier line between the kingdoms of norway and sweden: sweden to the east, sloping gently from the hills to the baltic, norway to the west, running more abruptly down from their watershed to the atlantic. norway (in the old norse language _noregr_, or _nord-vegr, i.e_., the north way), according to archaeological explorations, appears to have been inhabited long before historical time. the antiquarians maintain that three populations have inhabited the north: a mongolian race and a celtic race, types of which are to be found in the finns and the laplanders in the far north, and, finally, a caucasian race, which immigrated from the south and drove out the celtic and laplandic races, and from which the present inhabitants are descended. the norwegians, or northmen (norsemen), belong to a north-germanic branch of the indo-european race; their nearest kindred are the swedes, the danes, and the goths. the original home of the race is supposed to have been the mountain region of balkh, in western asia, whence from time to time families and tribes migrated in different directions. it is not known when the ancestors of the scandinavian peoples left the original home in asia; but it is probable that their earliest settlements in norway were made in the second century before the christian era. the scandinavian peoples, although comprising the oldest and most unmixed race in europe, did not realize until very late the value of writing chronicles or reviews of historic events. thus the names of heroes and kings of the remotest past are helplessly forgotten, save as they come to us in legend and folk-song, much of which we must conclude is imaginary, beautiful as it is. but mother earth has revealed to us, at the spade of the archaeologist, trustworthy and irrefutable accounts of the age and the various degrees of civilization of the race which inhabited the scandinavian peninsula in prehistoric times. splendid specimens now extant in numerous museums prove that scandinavia, like most other countries, has had a stone age, a bronze age, and an iron age, and that each of these periods reached a much higher development than in other countries. the scandinavian countries are for the first time mentioned by the historians of antiquity in an account of a journey which pyteas from massilia (the present marseille) made throughout northern europe, about b.c. he visited britain, and there heard of a great country, thule, situated six days' journey to the north, and verging on the arctic sea. the inhabitants in thule were an agricultural people who gathered their harvest into big houses for threshing, on account of the very few sunny days and the plentiful rain in their regions. from corn and honey they prepared a beverage (probably mead). pliny the elder, who himself visited the shores of the baltic in the first century after christ, is the first to mention plainly the name of scandinavia. he says that he has received advices of immense islands "recently discovered from germany." the most famous of these islands was scandinavia, of as yet unexplored size; the known parts were inhabited by a people called _hilleviones_, who gave it the name of another world. he mentions scandia, nerigon, the largest of them all, and thule. scandia and scandinavia are only different forms of the same name, denoting the southernmost part of the peninsula, and still preserved in the name of the province of scania in sweden. nerigon stands for norway, the northern part of which is mentioned as an island by the name of thule. the classical writers were ignorant of the fact that scandinavia was one great peninsula, because the northern parts were as yet uninhabited and their physical connection with finland and russia unknown. that the romans were later acquainted with the scandinavian countries is evidenced from the fact that great numbers of roman coins have been found in excavating, also vessels of bronze and glass, weapons, etc., as well as works of art, all turned out of the workshops in rome or its provinces. there, no doubt, existed a regular traffic over the baltic, through germany, between the scandinavian countries and the roman provinces. the first settlers probably knew little of agriculture, but made their living by fishing and hunting. in time, however, they commenced to clear away the timber that covered the land in the valleys and on the sides of the mountains and to till the ground. at the earliest times of which the historical tales or _sagas_ tell us anything with regard to the social conditions, the land was divided among the free peasant-proprietors, or _bonde class_. bonde, in english translation, is usually called peasant; but this is not an equivalent; for with the word "peasant" we associate the idea of inferior social condition to the landed aristocracy of the country, while these peasants or bondes were themselves the highest class in the country. the land owned by a peasant was called his _udal_. by udal-right the land was kept in the family, and it could not be alienated or forfeited from the kindred who were udal-born to it. the free peasants might own many thralls or slaves, who were unfree men. these were mostly prisoners captured by the vikings on their expeditions to foreign shores; the owner could trade them away, or sell them, or even kill them without paying any fine or _man-bote_ to the king, as in the case of killing a free man. as a rule, however, the slaves were not badly treated, and they were sometimes made free and given the right to acquire land. in early days norway consisted of a great number of small states called _fylkis_, each a little kingdom by itself. the free peasants in a fylki held general assemblies called _things_, where laws were made and justice administered. no public acts were undertaken without the deliberation of a _thing_. the _thing_ was sacred, and a breach of peace at the _thing-place_ was considered a great crime. at the _thing_ there was also a hallowed place for the judges, or "lag-men," who expounded and administered the laws made by the _thing_. almost every crime could be expiated by the payment of fines, even if the accused had killed a person. but if a man killed another secretly, he was declared an assassin and an outlaw, was deprived of all his property, and could be killed by any one who wished to do so. the fine or man-bote was heavier, the higher the rank of the person killed. the _thing_ or _fylkis thing_ was not made up of representatives elected by the people, but was rather a primary assembly of the free udal-born peasant-proprietors of the district. there were leading men in the _fylki_, and each _fylki_ had one or more chiefs, but they had to plead at the _thing_ like other free men. when there were several chiefs, they usually had the title of _herse_; but when the free men had agreed upon one chief, he was called _jarl_ (earl), or king. the king was the commander in war, and usually performed the judicial functions; but he supported himself upon his own estates, and the free peasants paid no tax. the dignity of the king was usually inherited by his son, but if the heir was not to the liking of the people, they chose another. no man, however clear his right of succession, would think of assuming the title or power of a king except by the vote of the _thing_. there he was presented to the people by a free peasant, and his right must be confirmed by the _thing_ before he could exert any act of kingly power. the king had a number of free men in his service, who had sworn allegiance to him in war and in peace. they were armed men, kept in pay, and were called _hird-men_ or court-men, because they were members of the king's hird or court. if they were brave and faithful, they were often given high positions of trust; some were made _lendermen_ (liegemen), or managers of the king's estates. it is but natural that the ancient norwegians should become warlike and brave men, since their firm religious belief was that those who died of sickness or old age would sink down into the dark abode of hel (helheim), and that only the brave men who fell in battle would be invited to the feasts in odin's hall. sometimes the earls or kings would make war on their neighbors, either for conquest or revenge. but the time came when the countries of the north, with their poorly developed resources, became overpopulated, and the warriors had to seek other fields abroad. the viking cruises commenced, and for a long time the norwegians continued to harry the coasts of europe. at first the viking expeditions were nothing but piracy, carried on for a livelihood. the name viking is supposed to be derived from the word _vik_, a cove or inlet on the coast, in which they would harbor their ships and lie in wait for merchants sailing by. soon these expeditions assumed a wider range and a wilder character, and historians of the time paint the horrors spread by the vikings in dark colors. in the english churches they had a day of prayer each week to invoke the aid of heaven against the harrying northmen. in france the following formula was inserted in the church prayer: "_a furore normannorum libera nos, o domine_!" (free us, o lord, from the fury of the northmen!) gradually the viking life assumed a nobler form. there appear to have been three stages or periods in the viking age. in the first one the vikings make casual visits with single ships to the shores of england, ireland, france or flanders, and when they have plundered a town or a convent, they return to their ships and sail away. in the second period their cruises assume a more regular character, and indicate some definite plan, as they take possession of certain points, where they winter, and from where they command the surrounding country. during the third period they no longer confine themselves to seeking booty, but act as real conquerors, take possession of the conquered territory, and rule it. as to the influence of the northmen on the development of the countries visited in this last period, the eminent english writer, samuel laing, the translator of the _heimskringla_, or the sagas of the norse kings, says: "all that men hope for of good government and future improvement in their physical and moral condition--all that civilized men enjoy at this day of civil, religious, and political liberty--the british constitution, representative legislation, the trial by jury, security of property, freedom of mind and person, the influence of public opinion over the conduct of public affairs, the reformation, the liberty of the press, the spirit of the age--all that is or has been of value to man in modern times as a member of society, either in europe or in the new world, may be traced to the spark left burning upon our shores by these northern barbarians." the authentic history begins with halfdan the swarthy, who reigned from the year to . the icelander snorre sturlason, who, in the twelfth century, wrote the _heimskringla_, or sagas of the norse kings, gives a long line of preceding kings of the yngling race, the royal family to which halfdan the swarthy belonged; but that part of the saga belongs to mythology rather than to history. according to tradition, the yngling family were descendants of fiolner, the son of the god frey. one of the surnames of the god was yngve, from which the family derived the name ynglings. king halfdan was a wise man, a lover of truth and justice. he made good laws, which he observed himself and compelled others to observe. he fixed certain penalties for all crimes committed. his code of laws, called the eidsiva law, was adopted at a common _thing_ at eidsvol, where about a thousand years later the present constitution of norway was adopted. one day in the spring of , when halfdan the swarthy was driving home from a feast across the randsfjord, he broke through the ice and was drowned. he was so popular that, when his body was found, the leading men in each _fylki_ demanded to have him buried with them, believing that it would bring prosperity to the district. they at last agreed to divide the body into four parts, which were buried in four different districts. the trunk of the body was buried in a mound at stien, ringerike, where a little hill is still called halfdan's mound. and this halfdan became the ancestor of the royal race of norway. halfdan's son, harald the fairhaired, at the age of ten years succeeded his father on the throne of norway, or it afterward proved to be the throne of united norway. when he became old enough to marry, he sent his men to a girl named gyda, a daughter of king erik of hordaland, who was brought up a foster-child in the house of a rich _bonde_ in valders. harald had heard of her as a very beautiful though proud girl. when the men delivered their message, she answered that she would not marry a king who had no greater kingdom than a few _fylkis_ (districts), and she added that she thought it strange that "no king here in norway will make the whole country subject to him, in the same way that gorm the old did in denmark, or erik at upsala." when the messengers returned to the king, they advised him to punish her for her haughty words, but harald said she had spoken well, and he made the solemn vow not to cut or comb his hair until he had subdued the whole of norway, which he did, and became sole king of norway. the decisive battle was a naval one in the hafrsfjord, near the present city of stavanger. after this battle, which occurred in , when he had been declared king of united norway, he attended a feast, and the earl of more cut his hair, which had not been cut or combed for ten years, and gave him the name of fairhaired. harald shortly afterward married gyda. from this time on, the history of norway for nearly three hundred years consists mainly in internecine warfare among the various claimants of the throne, and the result of all this warfare was not only to exhaust the material resources of the people, but to drive a large proportion of the population to make viking excursions to win land elsewhere, and also to make peaceable settlements in other countries. iceland was settled by the leading men of norway in harald the fairhaired's reign because they would not submit to his rule and therefore emigrated to a land where they could rule. in duke rollo with a large following conquered normandy and settled there with many of his countrymen. as the result of over three centuries of foreign and domestic war, norway and her people and her industries were prostrate when in queen margaret of denmark claimed the succession to the throne of norway for her son eric of pomerania. the council of norway and the people were willing to accept a union with a more populous country under a powerful sovereign in order to obtain peace and reestablish order and prosperity. norway had not been conquered by denmark, and the union was supposed to be equal. the danish sovereigns, however, without directly interfering with the local laws and usages of the people of norway, filled all the executive and administrative offices in norway with danes; the important commands in the army were also given exclusively to them. the result was that the interpretation and execution of the laws of the land were in the hands of foreigners, and norway became and remained for four hundred years a province of denmark and unable to throw off the yoke because her army was in the control and command of her oppressor, and her material resources inadequate to wage successful war against him. like norway, the most that we know of prehistoric times in sweden we gather from the early sagas, which are more or less faulty in their statements, romantic and tragic though they be. like the norwegians, the early swedes are reported to have migrated from asia under the leadership of a chief who called himself odin. and for centuries under different kings and queens, the romantic and tragic story of sweden goes on to form at last her authentic history. in this brief survey we can not go into details, and its history is very much the same as that of norway, except that sweden was oftener her own mistress and at longer intervals. the sources of swedish history during the first two centuries of the middle ages are very meager. this is a deplorable fact, for during that period sweden passed through a great and thorough development, the various stages of which consequently are not easily traced. before the year , sweden is an old teutonic state, certainly of later form and larger compass than the earliest of such, but with its democracy and its elective kingdom preserved. the older sweden was, in regard to its constitution, a rudimentary union of states. the realm had come into existence through the cunning and violence of the king of the sviar, who made way with the kings of the respective lands, making their communities pay homage to him. no change in the interior affairs of the different lands was thereby effected; they lost their outward political independence, but remained mutually on terms of perfect equality. they were united only through the king, who was the only center for the government of the union. no province had constitutionally more importance than the rest, no supremacy by one over the other existed. on this historic basis the swedish realm was built, and rested firmly until the commencement of the middle ages. in the old swedish state-organism the various parts thus possessed a high degree of individualized and pulsating life; the empire as a whole was also powerful, although the royal dignity was its only institution. the king was the outward tie which bound the provinces together; besides him there was no power of state which embraced the whole realm. the affairs of state were decided upon by the king alone, as regard to war, or he had to gather the opinion of the thing in each province, as any imperial representation did not exist and was entirely unknown, both in the modern sense and in the form of one provincial, or sectional, assembly deciding for all the others. in society there existed no classes. it was a democracy of free men, the slaves and free men enjoying no rights. the first centuries of the middle ages were one continued process of regeneration, the swedish people being carried into the european circle of cultural development and made a communicant of christianity. with the commencement of the thirteenth century, sweden comes out of this process as a medieval state, in aspect entirely different to her past. the democratic equality among free men has turned into an aristocracy, with aristocratic institutions, the hereditary kingdom into an elective kingdom, while the provincial particularism and independence have given way to the constitution of a centralized, monopolistic state. no changes could be more fundamental. the old provincial laws of sweden are a great and important inheritance which this period has accumulated from heathen times. the laws were written down in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, but they bear every evidence of high antiquity. many strophes are found in them of the same meter as those on the tombstones of the viking age and those in which the songs of the edda are chiefly written. in other instances the texts consist of alliterative prose, which proves its earlier metrical form. the expressions have, in places, remained heathen, although used by christians, who are ignorant of their true meaning, as, for instance, in the following formula of an oath, in the west gothic law: _sva se mer gud hull_ (so help me the gods). in lieu of a missing literature of sagas and poetry, these provincial laws give a good insight into the character, morals, customs, and culture of the heathen and early christian times of sweden. from the point of philology they are also of great value, besides forming the solid basis of later swedish law. how the laws could pass from one generation to another, without any codification, depends upon the fact that they were recited from memory by the justice (_lag-man_ or _domare_), and that this dignity generally was inherited for centuries, being carried by the descendants of one and the same family.[a] chapter ii norway in the nineteenth century as early as negotiations took place between count armfeldt on behalf of gustavus iii of sweden and various patriotic and influential norwegians with a view to effecting a union between norway and sweden on equal terms, but the norwegian negotiators expressed themselves unwilling to accept for norway the government prevailing in sweden. a minority of the patriots thought that the danish yoke could only be broken by means of a union with sweden, while a majority aimed at nothing less than absolute independence at any cost. such was the condition of norway when by the treaty of kiel (jan. , ) the allies compelled the king of denmark to cede norway to sweden and made charles john bernadotte crown prince of sweden and norway. the norwegians denied the right of denmark to norway, refused to recognize the treaty of kiel as having any binding force on them, as they were not parties to it, and invited prince christian frederick of denmark to accept the norwegian throne from its people and to govern pursuant to a constitution adopted at eidsvold, may , . among the provisions of this instrument are the following: that norway should be a limited hereditary monarchy, independent and indivisible, whose ruler should be called a king; that all legislative power should reside in and be exercised by the people through their representatives; that all taxes should be levied by the legislative authority; that the legislative and judicial authority should be distinct departments; that the right of free press should be maintained; that no personal or hereditary distinction shall hereafter be granted to any one. the election of a king and adoption of an independent constitution in disregard of the treaty of kiel was tatamount to a declaration of war against sweden, and as such it was taken. after the treaty of paris and the abdication of napoleon, the powers agreed to force norway to accept the treaty of kiel, and representatives of the allied powers came to norway and demanded its compliance on penalty of war with the allies. the norwegians remained obdurate. the swedes, under bernadotte, marched across the frontier and took the fortress fredricksteen. another division of the swedish army was beaten by the norwegians and driven back over the frontier. several other engagements were fought, and it became evident that norway could not be subdued without serious war. sweden was exhausted by the wars of the allies against napoleon and could ill endure more warfare. on aug. , , an armstice was declared, and it was provided that an extraordinary storthing should be called to settle the terms of permanent peace. by the terms finally agreed upon, bernadotte was elected king of norway under the title of charles xiii, and he accepted the norwegian constitution adopted at eidsvold, may , , and agreed to govern under and subject to its provisions. at the same time the supreme court of norway was established in christiania. the bank of norway was established at thronedjem in . at the death of charles xiii, in , charles john ascended the throne of both countries as charles xiv john. on several occasions there was friction between the king and the norwegian storthing. at the treaty of kiel the king had promised that norway would assume a part of the norwegian-danish public debt; but as the norwegians had never acknowledged this treaty, they held that it was not their duty to pay any part of the debt, and declared besides that norway was not able to do so. but as the powers had agreed to help denmark to enforce her claims, a compromise was effected in , by which the storthing agreed to pay three million dollars, the king relinquishing his civil list for a certain number of years. the same storthing adopted the law abolishing the nobility in norway. this step also was strongly opposed by charles john, but as it had been adopted by three successive storthings, the act under the constitution became a law in spite of any veto. for a number of years there existed a want of confidence between the king and the norwegian people. the king did not like the democratic spirit of the norwegians, and the reactionary tendencies of his european allies had quite an influence upon his actions. in he proposed ten amendments to the constitution, looking to an increase of the royal power, among which was one giving the king an absolute instead of a suspensive veto; another giving him the right to appoint the presidents of the storthing, and a third authorizing him to dissolve the storthing at any time. but these amendments met the most ardent opposition in the storthing, and were unanimously rejected. when the norwegians commenced to celebrate the anniversary of the adoption of the constitution (may ), the king thought he saw in this a sign of a disloyal spirit, because they did not rather celebrate the day of their union with sweden, and he forbade the public celebration of the day. the result of this was that "independence day" was celebrated with so much greater eagerness. the students at the university especially took an active part under the leadership of that champion of liberty, the poet henrik wergeland, who died in . the unwise prohibition was the cause of the "market-place battle" in christiania, may , , when the troops were called out, and general wedel dispersed the crowds that had assembled in the market-place. there was also dissatisfaction in norway because a swedish viceroy (statholder) was placed at the head of the government, and because their ships had to sail under the swedish flag. the french july revolution of , which started the liberal movement throughout europe, also had its influence in norway. liberal newspapers were established at the capital, and the democratic character of the storthing became more pronounced, especially after , when the farmers commenced to take an active part in the elections. prominent among them was ole gabriel ueland. the king was so displeased with the majority in the storthing of that he suddenly dissolved it; but the storthing answered this action by impeaching the minister of state, lövenskiold, for not having dissuaded the king from taking such a step. lövenskiold was sentenced to pay a fine; the king then yielded and reconvened the storthing. he also took a step toward conciliating the norwegians by appointing their countryman, count wedel-jarlsberg, as viceroy. this action was much appreciated in norway. during the last years of this reign there existed the best of understanding between the king and the people. charles john's great benevolence tended to increase the affection of the people, and he was sincerely mourned at his death, march , , at the age of eighty years. charles john was succeeded by his son, oscar i, who very soon won the love of the norwegians. one of his first acts was to give norway her own commercial flag and other outward signs of her equality with sweden. his father had always signed himself "king of sweden and norway"; but king oscar adopted the rule to sign all documents pertaining to the government of norway as "king of norway and sweden." during the war between germany and denmark, king oscar gathered a swedish-norwegian army in scania, and succeeded in arranging the armstice of malmoe in . the war broke out anew, however, the following year, and he then occupied northern schleswig with norwegian and swedish troops, pending the negotiations for peace between germany and denmark. during the crimean war, king oscar made a treaty with england and france ( ), by which the latter powers promised to help sweden and norway in case of any attack from russia. general contentment prevailed during the happy reign of king oscar, and the prosperity, commerce, and population of the country increased steadily. these satisfactory conditions did not, however, result in weakening the national feeling, and the storthing, in , declined to promote a plan, prepared by a joint swedish and norwegian commission, looking to a strengthening of the union. after a sickness of two years, during which his son, crown prince charles, had charge of the government as prince-regent, king oscar i died in july, , at the age of sixty years. he was married to josephine of leuchtenberg, daughter of napoleon's stepson, eugene beauharnais. charles xv was thirty-three years old when he ascended the throne. the progress in the material welfare of the country continued during his reign, and, like his father, he was very popular with the norwegians. numerous roads and railroads were started, all parts of the country were connected by telegraph, and the merchant marine grew to be one of the largest in the world. in a law was passed providing for annual sessions of the storthing instead of triennial as heretofore. charles xv died sept. , , and, having no sons, was succeeded by his younger brother, oscar ii, the late ruler of sweden. the storthing appropriated the necessary funds for the expense of the coronation at throndhjem (july , ), while the king sanctioned the bill abolishing the office of statholder. but soon differences between the storthing and the ministry brought on sharp conflicts. long before norway deposed king oscar ii (june , ), disruptions and war would doubtless have occurred had it not been for the wisdom and tact of the king. the last straw that broke the camel's back in this instance was the refusal of separate consular representation for norway. the basis of this last demand was not mainly the commercial value to norway of having its distinct consuls, though this was an element, but the right of norway as a nation entirely independent of sweden to be represented as such in its commercial relations with foreign nations. sweden and norway are now not only two distinct nations, but are competitors in trade and commerce. norway's shipping and carrying trade far exceeds that of sweden. the norwegians have always been a seafaring people, and norwegian sailors and marines are found in large numbers in the commercial marine and navies of all europe and america. from the standpoint of norway, common justice demanded that norwegian merchants and sailors should, like every other nation, have their own consuls to represent and protect them in foreign countries. not being able to secure the approval of the king for separate consular representation, the storthing, on june , , passed resolutions declaring the dissolution of the union between norway and sweden, and that king oscar had ceased to be the ruler of norway. in the place of the king, the storthing appointed the members of the norway council of state to act as a temporary government for the nation. the storthing further declared that norway had no ill feeling against king oscar or his dynasty of sweden, and asked the king to cooperate in selecting one of his own house to be king of norway. the riksdag of sweden met in extraordinary session, june , , at the call of king oscar, to consider the action of the norwegian storthing in declaring the dissolution of the union between the two countries. the opening of the session was marked by the usual ceremonial pomp, but also by a gravity and solemnity befitting the unusual occasion. the emotional feeling was intense and repressed with difficulty by both speakers and audience. the king, in his address to the riksdag, maintained with dignity that he had acted within his constitutional rights and that norway had not the power to dissolve the union which legally could be effected only by mutual consent. nevertheless, it was with great sadness that he now urged negotiations for the severance of the ties between the two nations, believing that "the union was not worth the sacrifice which acts of coercion would entail." the bill prepared by the government was immediately presented to the riksdag. it was of the same tenor as the king's address, and asked for authorization to negotiate with the norwegian storthing for the establishment of a common basis for the settlement of the question involved in the separation of the two kingdoms. the bill encountered strong opposition, both in and out of the riksdag. in the senate it was referred to a committee of nine anti-government members, while in the lower house the composition of the corresponding committee was equally divided between the two opposing parties, with the addition of two independent members. the riksdag authorized the government to negotiate a loan of $ , , for works of defense, and declared the harbors of stockholm, karlskrona, gothenburg, and farosund to be war ports from which all foreign naval vessels were to be excluded. norway's army was also mobilized and brought near the swedish boundary. notwithstanding these warlike aspects, a peaceful dissolution of the union between sweden and norway was finally effected. the conference at karlstad between the representatives of the two nations, on sept. , , drew up a protocol which became a treaty when subsequently ratified by the riksdag and the storthing, on the ninth of the following october. thereupon sweden canceled the charter of which governed the union of the two countries, and king oscar declared norway to be again separate and independent. thus were severed the political relations between two countries, which, during a period of ninety years, had led to ever-increasing discord. king oscar ii of sweden steadfastly refused, however, to allow any prince of his house to be chosen as the new king of norway, and the choice finally fell upon prince charles of denmark, who was elected by an overwhelming majority at the plebiscite held throughout norway on nov. , . he accepted the throne offered him and was crowned june , . the idea is prevalent that there is ill will between the norwegian and swedish peoples. this is a popular misconception. the norwegian and swedish peoples are racially very similar in character and habits, and mutually respect each other. king oscar was as beloved and honored in norway as he was in sweden, and deservedly so. the norwegians felt proud of his character, life, and statesmanship. they appreciated his wisdom and moderation, and gave him full credit for his earnest conviction that he was right in his differences with the norwegian government. and yet, the dissolution was a blessing to both countries concerned. so long as norway and sweden were united under one king, there would have been friction. in like manner the long union between norway and denmark was a continuous source of irritation, but after the dissolution they were the best of friends. it has been suggested that russia has long had her eye on the ice-free harbors of the norwegian coast and has coveted them; that she has built her railroads across finland close up to the norwegian frontier, and that there is trouble ahead for norway, because she has isolated herself from sweden, her natural protector. but we see in the division a greater scandinavia. there are now the three great scandinavian nations, norway, sweden, denmark, and it can be imagined that, so close of kin, any one of them would rush to arms in defense of the others. a united norway and sweden under one king brought constant bickerings; a separate norway and sweden can be of mutual help.[b] chapter iii sweden in the nineteenth century leading up to the events of the nineteenth century in sweden were centuries of splendid history, some points of which will be briefly touched upon to connect the present-day sweden with the mediaeval state. during the folkung dynasty, in the fourteenth century, the royal houses of sweden and norway became united through the marriage of duke eric, of sweden, and ingeborg, only child of king haakon, of norway; and duke valdemar to the king's niece of the same name. in may, , king haakon died, and magnus ericsson, the young son of duke eric and princess ingeborg, inherited the crown of norway, and july of the same year was elected king of sweden, at mora in upland. for the attainment of this end, magnus' mother, duchess ingeborg, and seven swedish councillors had worked with great activity. they had taken part in shaping the first act of union of the north in june, , and from oslo, in norway, hastened to have magnus elected at the stone of mora, where the swedish kings since time immemorial were nominated. the act of union stipulated that the two kingdoms were to remain perfectly independent, the king to sojourn an equally long part of the year in each, with no official of either country to accompany him further than the frontier. in their foreign relations the countries were to be independent, but to support each other in case of war. the king was the only tie to bind them together. there was another magnus whose candidacy was spoiled by this union. he was the son of king birger, already as a child chosen king of sweden in succession to his father. magnus birgersson, a prisoner at stockholm, was beheaded in , to make safe the reign of his more fortunate cousin. king magnus was only three years old, and drotsete mattias kettilmundsson presided over the government during his minority, the nobles of the state council having great power and influence. both in sweden and norway the nobility had by this time attained a supremacy which was oppressive both to the king and the people, not so much through their privileges as through the liberties they took. their continual feuds between themselves disturbed the peace of the country. in , king magnus took charge of the government. he was a ruler of benign and good disposition toward the common people, whose interests he always furthered. but he lacked strength of character, and was not able to control the obnoxious nobles. the provinces of scania and bleking suffered greatly under danish rule, which was changed into german oppression when handed over to the counts of holstein as security for a loan. the people of scania rose in revolt and asked for protection from king magnus. at a meeting in kalmar, in , both provinces were united to sweden. but the king had to pay heavy amounts in settlement, which were increased when halland was procured in a similar way. king magnus was, at his zenith of power, one of the mightiest monarchs in europe, having under his rule the entire scandinavian peninsula and finland, a realm stretching from the sound at elsinore to the polar sea, from the river neva to iceland and greenland. in , king magnus decreed that no christian within his realm should remain a thrall, thus practically abolishing the remnants of slavery. but financial difficulties arose, an unsuccessful crusade was attempted, the "black death" came from england to norway in and spread with great rapidity, and several other things convened to fill the people with discontent, so that the union with norway did not prove a happy one. a separation was brought about in , when haakon, the younger son of magnus, was made king of norway, magnus remaining in power until haakon came of age, and his older son, eric, was chosen king or heir-apparent of sweden. it seems that this division had been preconceived by king magnus when he gave this older son the swedish name of eric and to the younger the norwegian name of haakon, both equally characteristic of the royal lines of the respective countries. it was during the folkung period that there flourished one of the most remarkable and renowned of swedish women, st. birgitta. at the swedish court, she was the highest functionary of queen blanche, where she gathered deep and strong indignation against the mighty and powerful world. by some she is considered a reformer before luther, because she insisted on direct communication between the communicant and god without the mediation of priests or saints. yet there was a difference between birgitta and luther, because the latter sought to reform institutions, while the former would reform the upholders of the institutions. after the reign of magnus and his sons, there came for a brief season albrecht of germany, and after him queen margaret, who united for the first time in history the three scandinavian countries and their dependencies. this period was denominated one of unionism against patriotism, and closed with the rebellion of denmark and the ascending of the swedish throne by christian of denmark, who claimed the right of his descent from st. eric. then followed the public execution under edict of king christian, when eighty-two persons were beheaded, including many bishops and men of note in sweden. it is needless to say that this period was followed immediately by one of revolution and reformation, characterized by much heroism and patriotism, and bringing into prominence those splendid warriors, gustavus vasa, gustavus adolphus, charles xii, and others, and the memorable battle of pultowa and other lesser engagements. after this came a period of political grandeur under various rulers, notably queen christine, followed by what has been called the period of liberty, or the aristocratic republic, under queen ulrica eleonore, when literature and the arts and sciences flourished, and swedenborg, linnaeus, dahlin, tegnér, and many others came into prominence. one of the most loved rulers of this period was gustavus iii. by his influence a revolution similar to that in france was put down, for which, at a mask ball in the royal opera, he was assassinated by conspiritors. it is true, historians tell us, that he was superficial, that he violated the law, had no regard for a constitutional government, and led the people into adventurous and expensive wars. yet his noble patriotism, frank heroism, brilliant genius, and great generosity compelled the love of his countrymen. in this mixture of patriotism and universal cosmopolitanism, true genius and superficiality, earnestness and recklessness in the character of gustavus iii, the swedes recognized peculiarities of their own national temperament, for which they love him dearly, and tegnér has voiced this love in a few lines of his eulogy: there rests o'er gustav's days a golden shimmer, fantastic, foreign, frivolous, if you please; but why complain when sunshine caused the glamour? where stood we now if it were not for these? all culture on an unfree ground is builded, and barbarous once the base of patriotism true; but wit was planted, iron-hard language welded, the song was raised, life more enjoyed and shielded, and what gustavian was, is, therefore, swedish too. on his death-bed, gustavus iii appointed his brother charles and charles gustavus armfelt members of the government during the minority of his son. gustavus iv adolphus was declared of age and took charge of the government when eighteen (in ). his guardians retired, and the new monarch ruled alone, without favorites or influential advisers. this proved most unfortunate for sweden, for he was entirely without the gifts of a regent. he was a lover of order, economy, justice, and pure morals, but through lack of mental and physical strength his good qualities were misdirected. his father's tragic fate had a sinister effect upon his mind, the equilibrium of which was also shaken by the outrages of the revolutionists in france. of a morbid sensibility, and without inclination to confide in any one, his religious mysticism led him into a state close to insanity. he imagined himself to be the reincarnation of charles xii, while in napoleon he recognized the monster of the apocalypse, which he himself was sent to fight and conquer. he refused any alliance with russia and denmark, and stubbornly resisted the friendship france wished to bestow. by his imbecility he lost finland to the kingdom, and was compelled to abdicate in . this "lunatic monarch," as he was called, was escorted out of the country with his family, never to return, and died in st. gallin, in . under these conditions we find sweden at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when charles xiii was chosen to succeed his nephew, the abdicated gustavus iv adolphus. charles xiii was one of the most unsympathetic of swedish kings, but his reign marks a new period in swedish history, commencing the era of constitutional government. the new constitution to which the king subscribed was not a radical document; it only reduced the power of the king. hans jaerta, one of the nobles who had renounced their privileges and been active in the conspiracy against gustavus iv, was the leading spirit of the constitutional committee, and was appointed secretary of state in the new cabinet. it was necessary to select an heir to the throne, as charles xiii was childless, and prince christian august of augustenborg was chosen, much in opposition to the nobles, who wanted the son of gustavus iv. the prince of augustenborg, who was danish governor-general of norway, accepted, and was adopted by the king, changing his name to charles august. beloved by the lower classes who had effected his selection, he was treated coldly by the gustavian aristocrats, and reports of attempts to poison the heir-apparent were in circulation even before he arrived in sweden. prince charles august himself said he had often been warned that he would die young of paralysis, but paid no attention to the warnings given him. during a parade of troops at qvidinge, in scania, he was suddenly seen to lose consciousness and dropped dead from his horse. a report that seemed to favor the supposition that death resulted from poison, threw the populace into a frenzy, and the stoning to death of count fersen resulted. this occurred at the burial of the dead prince, when count fersen, as marshal of the realm, opened the procession. approaching the church of riddarholm, his carriage was pelted with stones, fersen himself seeking shelter in various places, but being pursued by the mob and killed. thus perished a man who, with curt von stedingk, had received the order of cincinnatus from the hands of george washington, and who once was so near saving louis xvi and marie antoinette from their cruel fate. fersen's brother was saved only by mere chance, and his sister by a flight in disguise. sweden was once more without an heir-apparent to the throne, and, though others had been proposed, king charles sent two emissaries to napoleon to notify him of the death of charles august and the selection of his brother. then one of the most original and daring schemes ever attempted on such a line was carried through by count otto moerner, one of the emissaries. on his own responsibility, he inquired of marshal bernadotte, one of napoleon's ablest generals, if he would consent to become heir-apparent to the swedish throne. bernadotte consented, and the consent of napoleon was obtained through the swedish ambassador in paris. upon his return, moerner was ordered to leave the capital, by the minister of state, who blamed him for his unauthorized action. but, from upsala, moerner led an eager agitation, with the result that the riksdag of oerebro selected bernadotte, who was represented by a secret emissary. thus, the two generals who, at the abdication of gustavus iv, were, one in norway, the other in denmark, with troops ready to attack sweden, both within one year were chosen to succeed charles xiii. and this is how the bernadottes, the present reigning family of sweden, came to the throne. marshal bernadotte took the name of prince charles johann. it was in , four years after norway had been joined to sweden, that charles xii died, at the age of seventy, and charles xiv johann, the first of the bernadotte dynasty, succeeded him, at the age of fifty-four years. his reign was one of reconstruction--politically, financially, and socially,--and during the last years of his life he received strong and repeated evidence of the love of his people, especially upon the twenty-fifth anniversary as king of sweden. oscar i, his son, was forty-five years of age at the death of his father. he did not possess his father's brilliant genius or power of personal influence, but was fondly devoted to the fine arts, himself a talented painter and composer. he was a hard worker, and also fond of the pleasures of life. his health was injured through illness, in , and he never recovered. the premature death of his second son, prince gustavus, a talented composer and highly popular, had a disastrous effect on him, and he died july , , after a long illness, beloved by the two nations who, during his reign, had enjoyed the happiest epoch of their history. it was during the reign of the late king, oscar ii, that sweden attained her greatest prosperity and made most progress. oscar ii, brother of his predecessor, ascended the throne at a moment when universal peace was restored after the great conflict between france and germany, and when an age of commercial prosperity for sweden seemed to have begun. king oscar had received the same superior education as his older brothers, was as brilliantly gifted as they, and of a more scholarly mind. as a writer on scientific subjects, a poet, and an orator, oscar ii distinguished himself before his succession to the throne, and still he did not find it easy to gain the love and admiration of the swedish people, of which he was so eminently worthy. he was the successor of one of the most popular rulers the country ever saw, and, though appreciation came slowly, he lived to see his own popularity almost outrival that of his predecessor. during the last years of his life he was considered the most learned and popular of the monarchs of europe. he showed great discernment in his arrangement of dynastic matters. himself married to the fervently religious princess sophie of nassau, the king brought about the marriage of his oldest son, crown prince adolphus, the present king of sweden, to princess victoria of bade, a granddaughter of emperor william of germany, and a great-granddaughter of gustavus iv of sweden. his third son, prince charles, duke of west gothland, is married to princess ingeborg of denmark, a granddaughter of charles xv of sweden. these unions are well calculated to accentuate the increasing political, commercial, and cultural intimacy with germany, the scandinavian policy of life predecessor, and the desire of king oscar to see the descendants of the old royal line of sweden as heirs to the crown. in giving his consent to the marriage of his second son, prince oscar, to lady ebba munck, of the swedish nobility, king oscar gave evidence of the fact that he was not a matchmaker regardless of the feelings of the parties involved. prince oscar, formerly duke of gothland, upon renouncing his share of inheritance to the throne of sweden, also the throne of norway, for the two kingdoms were then united, was allowed to marry the choice of his heart. king oscar also tried to heal the wounds of the past by opening the vaults of the church of riddarholm to the sarcophagi of gustavus iv, the exiled king, and his son, and by giving queen carola of saxony, the only living granddaughter of gustavus, repeated proofs of esteem and considerate distinction. king oscar with his two crowns received as an inheritance two important problems to be solved--the reorganization of the swedish army and the settlement of the difficulties between norway and sweden. how he handled the latter has been told about in the preceding chapter. the reorganization of the swedish army was not effected until after twenty years of parliamentary struggle, but is now, thanks to the energies and perseverance of king oscar, on a solid basis. during the nearly one hundred years of peace which sweden has enjoyed under the rule of the bernadotte dynasty, she has developed her constitutional liberty and her material prosperity in a high degree. the dreams of glory by conquest belonged to the days gone by, but in the fields of peaceable industries she has attained a greatness which the world begins to realize. at the expositions of paris in , , and , of vienna in , of philadelphia in , and of chicago in , swedish industry and art have taken part with honor in the international competition. the railways of sweden have incessantly spun a more and more extended network of steel over the country, opening connections for enterprises in new districts, and furthering commerce and industrial art in a wide measure. in all this advancement, king oscar took a lively initiative, and that his policy will be continued by his successor, who has been so short a time on the throne, is not to be doubted, since the reins of government were in his hands practically long before the death of his father, who for several years suffered ill health. to say the least, sweden, in the nineteenth century, played an important part in the strengthening of the great scandinavian amalgamation, norway, sweden, and denmark, which greets the twentieth century,[c] chapter iv the religion of the northmen the religion of the ancient norwegians was of the same origin as that of all other germanic nations, and, as it is the basis of their national life, a brief outline of it will be necessary in these pages. in the beginning of time there were two worlds: in the south was muspelheim, luminous and flaming, with surt as a ruler; in the north was niflheim, cold and dark, with the spring hvergelmer, where the dragon nidhugger dwells. between these worlds was the yawning abyss ginungagap. from the spring hvergelmer ran icy streams into the ginungagap. the hoarfrost from these streams was met by sparks from muspelheim, and by the power of the heat the vapors were given life in the form of the yotun or giant ymer and the cow audhumbla, on whose milk he lives. from ymer descends the evil race of yotuns or frost-giants. as the cow licked the briny hoarfrost, the large, handsome and powerful bure came into being. his son was bur, who married a daughter of a yotun and became the father of odin, vile, and ve. odin became the father of the kind and fair aesir, the gods who rule heaven and earth. bur's sons killed ymer, and in his blood the whole race of yotuns drowned except one couple, from whom new races of yotuns or giants descended. bur's sons dragged the body of ymer into the middle of ginungagap. out of the trunk of the body they made the earth, and of his blood the sea. his bones became mountains, and of his hair they made trees. from the skull they made the heavens, which they elevated high above the earth and decorated with sparks from muspelheim. but his brain was scattered in the air and became clouds. around the earth they let the deep waters flow, and on the distant shores the escaped yotuns took up their abode in yotunheim and in utgard. for protection against them the kind gods made from ymer's eyebrows the fortification midgard as a defense for the inner earth. but from heaven to earth they suspended the quivering bridge called bifrost, or the rainbow. the yotun woman night, black and dark as her race, met delling (the dawn) of the aesir race, and with him became the mother of day, who was bright and fair as his father. odin placed mother and son in the heavens, and bade them each in turn ride over the earth. night rides ahead with her horse hrimfaxe, from whose foaming bit the earth is every morning covered with dew. day follows with his horse skinfaxe, whose radiant mane spreads light and air over the earth. a great number of maggots were bred in ymer's body, and they became gnomes or dwarfs, little beings whom the gods gave human sense and appearance. they lived within the mountains, and were skilful metal-workers, but they could not endure the light of day. four dwarfs, the east, west, north, and south, were placed by the gods to carry the arch of heaven. as yet there were no human beings on earth. then, one day, the three gods, odin, keener and lodur, were walking on the shore of the sea, where they found two trees, and from them they made the first man and the first woman, ask and embla (ash and elm). odin gave them life, hoener reason, lodur blood and fair complexion. the gods gave them midgard for a home, and from them the whole human race is descended. the evergreen ash tree ygdrasil is the finest of all trees. it shoots up from three roots. one of them is in the well hvergelmer in niflheim, and on this the dragon nidhugger is gnawing. the other root is in yotunheim, in the wise yotun mimer's fountain. one of odin's eyes, which he pledged for a drink at this fountain, is kept here. whoever drinks of this fountain becomes wise. the third root is in heaven, at the urdar well, where the gods hold their thing or court. to this place they ride daily over the bridge bifrost. here also the three norns abide, the maidens urd, verdande, and skuld (past, present, and future). they pour water from the well over the roots of the tree. the norns distribute life and govern fate, and nothing can change their decision. the dwelling in heaven of the aesir or gods is called asgard. in its middle was the field of ida, the gathering-place of the gods, with odin's throne, lidskialv, from which he views the whole world. odin is the highest and the oldest of the gods, and all the others honor him as their father. odin's hall is valhalla. the ceiling of this hall is made of spears, it is covered with shields, and its benches are ornamented with coats of mail. to this place odin invites all who have fallen in battle, and he is therefore called valfather, _i.e._, the father of the fallen. the invited fallen heroes are called einherier; their sport and pastime is to go out every day and fight and kill each other; but toward evening they awake to life again and ride home as friends to valhalla, where they feast on pork of the barrow saerimmer, and where odin's maidens, the valkyrias, fill their horns with mead. these valkyrias were sent by odin to all battles on earth, where they selected those who were to be slain and afterward become the honored guests at valhalla. at odin's side sit the two wolves, gere and freke, and on his shoulders the ravens, hugin and munin. these ravens fly forth every morning and return with tidings from all parts of the world. odin's horse is the swift, gray, eight-footed sleipner. when he rides to battle he wears a golden helmet, a beautiful coat of mail, and carries the spear gungner, which never fails. odin is also the god of wisdom and poesy; in the morning of time he deposited one of his eyes in pledge for a drink of mimer's fountain of wisdom, and he drank suttung's mead in order to gain the gift of poesy. he has also taught men the art of writing runes and all secret arts. thor, the son of odin, is the strongest of all the gods. his dwelling is called thrudvang. he rides across the heavens in a cart drawn by two rams. he is always at war with the yotuns or evil giants, and in battle with them he uses his great hammer, mjolner, which he hurls at the heads of his enemies. the earth trembles under the wheels of his cart, and men call the noise thunder. thor's wife is sif, whose hair is of gold. balder is a son of odin and frigg. he is so fair that his countenance emits beams of brightness. he is wise and gentle, and is therefore loved by all. his dwelling is breidablik, where nothing impure exists. nanna is his wife. njord comes from the race of the wise vanir. he rules the wind, can calm the seas and stop fire, and he distributes wealth among men. his aid is invoked for success in navigation and fishing. his wife is skade, daughter of a yotun, and his dwelling is noatun by the sea. frey, the son of njord, rules rain and sunshine and the productiveness of the soil, and his aid is needed to get good crops, peace and wealth. his dwelling is alfheim. he sails in the magnificent ship skibladner, which was built for him by the dwarfs. his wife is the yotun daughter gerd, but in order to get her he had to give away his good sword, so that he will be unarmed in the coming final battle of the gods. tyr, odin's son, is the god of courage and victory, whom brave men call upon in battle. he has only one hand, for the fenris-wolf bit off his right hand. brage, the long-bearded, is the god of eloquence and poetry. his wife is idun, who has in her keeping the apples of which the gods eat to preserve their eternal youth. heimdal, the white god with teeth of gold, was in the beginning of time born by nine yotun maidens, all sisters. he is the watchman of the gods. he is more wakeful than birds. he can see a hundred miles off, and he can hear the grass grow. his dwelling is himinbjorg, which is situated where the bifrost bridge reaches heaven. when he blows his gjallar-horn, it is heard throughout the world. among the other gods were haad, son of odin, blind but strong; the silent and strong vidar; vale, the archer; ull, the fast ski-runner, and forsete, the son of balder, who settles disputes between gods and men. among the goddesses (or _asynier_), frigg, odin's wife, is the foremost. she knows the fate of everybody and shields many from danger. her dwelling is fensal. next comes freya, the goddess of love. she is the daughter of njord and sister of frey. she is also called vanadis, or the goddess of the vanir. she was married to odd, and by him had a daughter noss. but odd left her, and freya weeps in her longing for him, and her tears are red gold. when she travels, her wagon is drawn by two cats. the name of her dwelling is folkvang. there were also a number of other goddesses, who were in the service of either frigg or freya. aeger, the ruler of the turbulent and stormy sea, is a yotun, but he is a friend of the gods. when they visit him his hall is lighted with shining gold. his wife is ran, and their daughters are the waves. in the beginning there was peace among gods and men. but the arrival of the yotun women in asgard undermined the happiness of the gods, and in heaven and on earth a struggle commenced which must last until both are destroyed. the yotuns continually attack the inhabitants of asgard, and it is only the mighty thor who can hold them at bay. it is the evil loke, who is the worst enemy of gods and men. he belongs to the yotun race, but was early adopted among the gods. he was fair in looks, but wily and evil in spirit. he had three evil children--the fenris-wolf, the midgard-serpent, and hel. the gods knew that this offspring of loke would cause trouble; therefore they tied the fenris-wolf, threw the serpent into the sea, and hurled hel down into niflheim, where she became the ruler of the dead. all who die from sickness or age are sent to her awful dwelling, helheim. this is the origin of the saying, "whom the gods love die young." the greatest sorrow which loke caused the whole world was that by deceit he caused the death of the lovely god, balder. then the gods took an awful revenge. they tied him to three stones, and over his head they fastened a venomous serpent, whose poison was always to drip upon his face. loke's faithful wife, sigyn, placed herself at his side and held a cup under the poisonous drip; but whenever the cup is full and she goes to empty it, the poison drips into loke's face, and then he writhes in agony so that the whole world trembles. this is the cause of earthquakes. there will come a time when these gods and the world shall perish in _ragnarokk_, which means the perdition of the gods. they will have many warnings. corruption and wickedness will be common in the world. for three years there will be winter without sun. the sun and the moon will be swallowed up by the wolves of the yotuns, and the bright stars will disappear. the earth will tremble and the mountains will collapse, and all chains and ties are sundered. the fenris-wolf and loke get loose, and the midgard-serpent leaves the ocean. the ship naglfar carries the army of the yotuns across the sea under the leadership of the yotun _rym_, and loke advances at the head of the hosts from the abode of hel. the heavens split, and the sons of muspel come riding ahead, led by their chief surt. as the hosts are rushing across the bifrost, the bridge breaks with them. all are hastening to the great battlefield, the plains of _vigrid_, which is a hundred miles wide. now heimdal arises and blows his gjallar-horn, all the gods are assembled, the ash ygdrasil trembles, and everything in heaven and on earth is filled with terror. gods and einherier (the fallen heroes) arm themselves for battle. in the front rides odin with his golden helmet and beaming coat of mail and carrying his spear, gungner. he meets the fenris-wolf, who swallows him, but vidar avenges his father and kills the wolf. thor crushes the head of the midgard-serpent, but is stifled to death by its venom. frey is felled by surt, and loke and heimdal kill each other. finally surt hurls his fire over the world, gods and men die, and the shriveling earth sinks into the abyss. but the world shall rise again and the dead come to life. from above comes the all-powerful one, he who rules everything, and whose name no one dares utter. all those who were virtuous and pure of heart will gather in _gimle_ in everlasting happiness, while the evil ones will go to naastrand at the well hvergelmer to be tortured by nidhugger. a new earth, green and beautiful, shall rise from the ocean. the gods awake to new life and join _vidar_ and _vale_, and the sons of thor, mode and magne, who have survived the great destruction and who have been given their father's hammer, because there is to be no more war. all the gods assemble on the field of ida, where asgard was located. and from _liv_ and _livthraser_, who hid themselves in ygdrasil during the burning of the world, a new human race shall descend.[d] chapter v norwegian literature the people who emigrated from norway and settled in iceland, after harald the fairhaired had subdued the many independent chiefs and established the monarchy ( ), for the most part belonged to the flower of the nation, and iceland naturally became the home of the old norse literature. among the oldest poetical works of this literature is the so-called "elder edda," also called "saemund's edda," because for a long time it was believed to be the work of the icelander saemund. "the younger edda," also called "snorre's edda," because it is supposed to have been written by snorre sturlason (born , died ), contains a synopsis of the old norse religion and a treatise on the art of poetry. fully as important as the numerous poetical works of that period was the old norse saga-literature (the word saga means a historical tale). the most prominent work in this field is snorre sturlason's _heimskringla_, which gives the sagas of the kings of norway from the beginning down to . a continuation of the _heimskringla_, to which several authors have contributed, among them snorre sturlason's relative, sturla thordson, contains the history of the later kings down to magnus law-mender. the literary development above referred to ceased almost entirely toward the end of the fourteenth century, and later, during the union with denmark, the danish language gradually took the place of the old norse as a book-language, and the literature became essentially danish. copenhagen, with its court and university, was the literary and educational center, where the young men of norway went to study, and authors born in norway became to all intents and purposes, danish writers. but norway furnished some valuable contributors to this common literature. one of the very first names on the records of the danish literature, peder claussön ( - ), is that of a norwegian, and the list further includes such illustrious names as holberg, tullin, wessel, steffens, etc. one of the most original writers whom norway produced and kept at home during the period of the union with denmark was the preacher and poet, peder dass ( - ). the best known among his secular songs is _nordlands trompet_, a beautiful and patriotic description of the northern part of norway. ludvig holberg was born in bergen, norway, dec. , . his father, colonel holberg, had risen from the ranks and distinguished himself, in , at halden. shortly after his death the property of the family was destroyed by fire, and at the age of ten years ludvig lost his mother. it was now decided to have him educated for the military service; but he showed a great dislike for military life, and, at his earnest request, he was sent to the bergen latin school. in he entered the university of copenhagen. being destitute of means, he took a position as private tutor. as soon as he had saved a small sum he went abroad. he was first in holland, and afterward studied for a couple of years at oxford, where he supported himself by giving instruction in languages and music. upon his return to copenhagen he again took a position as private tutor and had an opportunity to travel as teacher for a young nobleman. in he received a stipend from the king, which enabled him to go abroad for several years, which he spent principally in france and italy. in he became regular professor at the copenhagen university. among holberg's many works the following are the most prominent: _peder paars_, a great comical heroic poem, containing sharp attacks on many of the follies of his time; about thirty comedies in moliere's style, and a large number of historical works. holberg, who was ennobled in , died in january, , and was buried in sorö church. his influence on the literature and on the whole intellectual life of denmark was very great. he is often called the creator of danish literature. christian baumann tullin ( - ), a genuine poetical genius, who has been called the father of danish lyrical verse, was born in christiania, and his poetry, which was mainly written in his native city, breathes a national spirit. from his day, for about thirty years, denmark obtained the majority of her poets from norway. the manager of the danish national theater, in , was a norwegian, niels krog-bredal ( - ), who was the first to write lyrical dramas in danish. a norwegian, johan nordal brun ( - ), a gifted poet, wrote tragedy in the conventional french taste of the day. it was a norwegian, johan herman wessel ( - ), who by his great parody, _kjaerlighed uden strömper_, "love without stockings," laughed the french taste out of fashion. among the writers of this period are also claus frimann ( - ), peter harboe frimann ( - ), claus fasting ( - ), john wibe ( - ), edward storm ( - ), c.h. pram ( - ), jonas rein ( - ), and jens zetlitz ( - ), all of them norwegians by birth. two notable events led to the foundation of an independent norwegian literature: the one was the establishment of a norwegian university at christiania, in , and the other was the separation of norway from denmark, in . at first the independent norwegian literature appeared as immature as the conditions surrounding it. the majority of the writers had received their education in old copenhagen, and were inclined to follow in the beaten track of the old literature, although trying to introduce a more national spirit. all were greatly influenced by the political feeling of the hour. there was a period when all poetry had for its subject the beauties and strength of norway and its people, and _the rocks of norway, the lion of norway_, etc., sounded everywhere. three poets called _trefoil_, were the prominent writers of this period. of these, conrad nicolai schwach ( - ) was the least remarkable. henrik a. bjerregaard ( - ) was the author of _the crowned national song_, and of a lyric drama, _fjeldeventyret_, "the adventures in the mountains." the third member of the _trefoil_, mauritz christian hansen ( - ), wrote a large number of novels and national stories, which were quite popular in their time. his poems were among the earliest publications of independent norway. the time about the year is reckoned as the beginning of the new norwegian literature, and henrik wergeland is called its creator. henrik arnold wergeland was born in . his father, nicolai wergeland, a clergyman, was a member of the constitutional convention at eidsvold. henrik studied theology, but did not care to become a clergyman. in , and the following years, he wrote a number of satirical farces under the signature _siful sifadda_. in appeared his lyric, dramatic poem, _skabelsen, mennesket og messias_, (the creation, man and messiah), a voluminous piece 'of work, in which he attempted to explain the historical life of the human race. as a political writer he was editorial assistant on the _folkebladet_ ( - ), and edited the opposition paper _statsborgeren_ ( - ). he worked with great zeal for the education of the laboring class, and from until his death edited a paper in the interest of the laborer. the prominent features of his earliest efforts in literature are an unbounded enthusiasm and a complete disregard of the laws of poetry. at an early age he had become a power in literature, and a political power as well. from to he was subjected to severe satirical attacks by the author welhaven and others, and later his style became improved in every respect. his popularity, however, decreased as his poetry improved, and in he had become a great poet but had no political influence. among his works may be named _hasselnödder, jöden_, "the jew," _jodinden_, "the jewess," _jan van huysum's blomsterstykke_, "jan van huysum's flowerpiece," _den engleske lods_, "the english pilot," and a great number of lyric poems. the poems of his last five years are as popular to-day as ever. wergeland died in . the enthusiastic nationalism of henrik wergeland and his young following brought conflict with the conservative element, which was not ready to accept everything as good simply because it was norwegian. this conservative element maintained that art and culture must be developed on the basis of the old association with denmark, which had connected norway with the great movement of civilization throughout europe. as the political leader of this "intelligence" party, as it was called, appeared j.s. welhaven. john sebastian cammermeyer welhaven was born in bergen in , entered the university in , became a _lector_ in , and afterward professor of philosophy. "his refined esthetic nature," says fr. winkel horn, "had been early developed, and when the war once broke out between him and wergeland, he had reached a high point of intellectual culture, and thus was in every way a match for his opponent." the fight was inaugurated by a preliminary literary skirmish, which was, at the outset, limited to the university students; but it gradually assumed an increasingly bitter character, both parties growing more and more exasperated. welhaven published a pamphlet, _om henrik wergelands digtekunst og poesie_, in which he mercilessly exposed the weak sides of his adversary's poetry. thereby the minds became still more excited. the "intelligence" party withdrew from the students' union, founded a paper of their own, and thus the movement began-to assume wider dimensions. in , appeared welhaven's celebrated poem, _norges daemring_, a series of sonnets, distinguished for their beauty of style. in them the poet scourges, without mercy, the one-sided, narrow-minded patriotism of his time, and exposes, in striking and unmistakable words, the hollowness and shortcomings of the wergeland party. welhaven points out, with emphasis, that he is not only going to espouse the cause of good taste, which his adversary has outraged, but that he is also about to discuss problems of general interest. he urges that a norwegian culture and literature can not be created out of nothing and to promote their development it is absolutely necessary to continue the associations which have hitherto been common to both norway and denmark, and thus to keep in _rapport_ with the general literature of europe. when a solid foundation has in this manner been laid, the necessary materials for a literature would surely not be wanting, for they are found in abundance, both in the antiquities and in the popular life of norway. welhaven continued his effective work as a poet and critic. through a series of romantic and lyrical poems, rich in contents and highly finished in style, he developed a poetical life, which had an important influence in the young norwegian literary circles. he died in . andreas munch ( - ), an able and industrious poetical writer, took no part in the controversy between wergeland and welhaven, but followed his danish models independently of either. his _poems, old and new_, published in , were quite popular. his best work is probably _kongedatterens brudefart_, "the bridal tour of the king's daughter," . in the period of about a dozen years following the death of wergeland, the life, manners, and characteristics of the norwegian people were given the especial attention of literary writers. prominent in this period was peter christian ashbjornsen ( - ), who, partly alone and partly in conjunction with bishop jorgen moe ( - ), published some valuable collections of norwegian folk tales and fairy tales. moe also published three little volumes of graceful and attractive poems. among other writers of this period may be named hans h. schultz, n. ostgaard, harald meltzer, m.b. landstad, and the linguist sophus bugge. the efforts to bring out the national life and characteristics of the people in literature also led to an attempt to nationalize the language in which the literature was written. the movement was the so-called _maalstraev_, and had in view the introduction of a pure norwegian book language, based upon the peasant dialects. the prominent supporter of this movement was ivar aasen ( - ), the author of an excellent dictionary of the norwegian language. a prominent poetical representative of this school was aasmund olafson vinje ( - ), while kristofer janson (born ) has also written a number of stories and poems in the _landsmaal_ (country tongue). a new and grand period in norwegian literature commenced about , and the two most conspicuous names in this period--and in the whole norwegian literature--are those of henrik ibsen and björnstjerne björnson. henrik ibsen was born in skien, in . he has written many beautiful poems; but his special field is in the drama, where he is a master. his first works were nearly all historical romantic dramas. his first work, _catilina_, printed in , was scarcely noticed until years afterward, when he had become famous. in appeared the romantic drama, _gildet paa solhaug_, "the feast at solhaug," followed by _fru inger til oestraat_, , and _haermaedene paa helgeland_, "the warriors on helgeland," . in , he wrote the historical tragedy _kongsemnerne_, "the pretenders," in which the author showed his great literary power. before this play was published, he had been drawn into a new channel. in , he began a series of satirical and philosophical dramas with _kjaerlighedens komedie_, "love's comedy," which was succeeded by two masterpieces of a similar kind, _brand_, in , and _peer gynt_, in . these two works were written in verse; but in _de unges forbund_, "the young men's league," , a political satire, he abandoned verse, and all his subsequent dramas have been written in prose. in came _keiser og galilaeer_, "emperor and galilean." since then he has published a number of social dramas which have attracted world-wide attention. among them are: _samfundets stötter_, "the pillars of society," _et dukkehjem_, "a doll's house," _gengangere_, "ghosts," _en folkefiende_, "an enemy of the people," _rosmerholm, fruenn fra havet_, "the lady from the sea," _little eyolf, bymester solnes_, "masterbuilder solnes," _john gabriel borkman_, and the latest and most-talked-about, _hedda gabler_. björnstjerne björnson (born in osterdalen, in ) is the more popular of the two giants of norwegian literature of to-day. his works are more national in tone. it has been said that to mention his name is to raise the norwegian flag. his first successes were made in the field of the novel, and the first two, _synnöve solbakken_, , and _arne_, , made his name famous. these, and his other peasant stories, will always retain their popularity. he soon, however, entered the dramatic field, and has since published a great number of dramas and novels. in the field of belles-lettres there is at the present time a number of other talented authors. jonas lie (born ) has produced a number of excellent novels. then there are alexander kielland (born ) magdalene thoresen (born ), arne garborg, gunnar heiberg, and a number of young authors. in the field of science, also, modern norway has a rich literature, with many prominent names, such as the historian peter andreas munch ( - ), johan ernst sars (born ), and o.a. Överland.[e] chapter vi the literature of sweden swedish literature is sublime and magnificent, like its history and its scenery; it is simple and glad, as well as sad, like the lives of its people. one of the great days in sweden, or at least in stockholm, is the celebration, on the th of july, of the anniversary of the birth, more than a century and a half ago, of the national poet bellman. his songs are as household words throughout the land. to the stockholm born they speak of their daily life and surroundings, of the green isles and shady banks of the malar, the flowery woods of haga, the smiling park of dijurgarden. burlesque scenes of the life of the people, street tragedies, drinking bouts, and country junketings; broad humor and nature's philosophy; lively fancies and exquisite landscape painting--such are the themes of his song, which from one generation to another has held the heart of the people spellbound. every man, woman, and child knows his favorite ditties by heart, has sung or hummed them in moments of joy or sorrow. for his song is both joyful and sad. his joy is the joy of the simple hearted, his gladness a dionysian gladness, the very enjoyment of existence; his sadness that of sympathy with suffering humanity, of anguish at the evanescence of life and happiness. his fancy oscillates between constant extremes and ever-recurring contrasts. it makes of his song, as tegnér has so aptly defined it, "a sorrow decked in roses." bright, gay, enraptured, full of sunshine and glamour, like the summer day around stockholm, it is traversed by a strain of melancholy like a smile through tears, the laugh which conceals a sob. there is symbolism and there is parody in his rustic figures, but they are so living, so real, they appeal so strongly to the innermost feelings, that they seem the embodiment of one's thoughts. his pictures are like those of the dutch painters: every trait in the rustic scene tells the life-story of some humble existence. it is this characteristic which has made the poet appeal so powerfully to the minds of the people. he seems to see with their eyes and feel with their hearts, and to have experienced all the vicissitudes of their own life. and yet he eminently reflects his own time, the gay, the light-hearted gustavian era, with its classical fancies and rococo tastes. venus and bacchus, the nymphs and the dryads, hebe and amor are mixed up incongruously with the homely scenes of scandinavian life. his dutch pictures assume then a watteau-like coloring of extraordinary effect, as fancy and contrast enhance the sharp outlines of his figures and give their vitality still greater relief. they are so lifelike and so various that the whole of the every-day life of sweden, and more especially of stockholm, of the eighteenth century, is unrolled before our eyes. it is said that if every other book descriptive of the period were to fail, his verses would suffice to inform us how the middle classes then lived, thought, and felt. around the poet's monument--his bust in bronze on a white marble column--there gather, on the anniversary of his birth, the crowds who love him and love his song. every heart beats high as the bellman choirs burst forth in turn into the well-known melodies, composed or adapted by the poet himself to his words, and sung by him to the accompaniment of his lute. and song alternates with enthusiastic orations, addressed to the crowd by improvised orators, teeming with quotations of well-known lines. it is an orgy of bellman's verse, such as the stockholmer specially delights in. bellman's songs generally form a sequence, a continuous chain of lyrical romance. his _fredman's epistles_ are a sort of epic cycle of lyrics. this is a form often adopted by swedish poets. we find it in tegnér's _frithiof's saga_, in runeberg's _sayings of sergeant stal_, and in the works of other poets. it is a question, however, whether even by these master singers, in their more elaborate conceptions and genial flights of poetry, bellman has ever been surpassed. in lyric power and vivid realism, his popular ditties are unrivaled. the next to incarnate the genius of the scandinavian race was tegnér. his love of brave deeds and reckless adventure and his exaltation of the man of action above the man of thought are typical. his heroes, fair-haired and blue-eyed, stalwart and vigorous, relying on strength and longing for adventure, tender-hearted and contemplative when not aroused to violent action and bent on deeds of valor, personify the national ideal. his whole vision of life is scandinavian, bright and vivid, with a tinge of melancholy. tegnér was, with geijer and ling, the first to adopt national subjects, to use the scandinavian myths and folk-lore in their poetry, in opposition to the classical themes and the hellenic mythology, until then exclusively in vogue in the poetical field. geijer was a romantic by nature, in politics as well as in literature, but he was above all an ardent scandinavian, opposed to exotics, and passionately devoted to the great traditions of the past, a hero-worshiper, an enthusiast, and a _goth_. the goths were members of a society formed to revive the old national manners and customs, the freedom of the age of the vikings, and the ardor of the heroes of walhalla. their organ was the _idun_, an exclusively literary publication. in a letter written by geijer from stockholm to his _fiancee_, then living in the country, dated march , , he says: "we have formed a society which meets nearly daily. we talk, smoke, and read together about gothic viking deeds. we call each other by gothic names, and live in the past." and anna-lisa, his future wife, writing to a friend, says: "my _fiancee_ has become a goth; instead of loving me, he is in love with valkyries and shield-bearing maidens, drinks out of viking horns, and carries out viking expeditions--to the nearest tavern. he writes poems which must not be read in the dark, they are so full of murders and deeds of slaughter." ling, who also belonged to this society, was a fervent admirer of the eddas and sagas, of the scandinavian myths and folk-lore. tegnér, despite his classical education and hellenic turn of mind, was an ardent norseman in feeling and instinct. "go to greece for beauty of form," he would say, "but to the north for depth of feeling and thought." he scorned alike the metaphysical subtleties of french philosophy and the moonshine heroics of german romanticism. but he was at one with geijer and ling in the desire to make scandinavian heroes and myths the subjects of poetry. the result of the movement was _frithiof's saga_, by tegnér, geiger's _viking_, and ling's heavy epics of walhalla warriors. but geijer and ling alone had followed out the theory in all its consequences. their heroes were simply _eddic_, of their time, in spirit and in thought. ling's realism went so far that his northern gods and warriors, "everlastingly killed but to revive again," were deemed "pork-eating and mead-drinking yokels." they were soon forgotten, and ling himself is best known as the inventor of gymnastic exercises on scientific principles, an art now practiced all the world over as "swedish gymnastics." geijer, whose _viking_ gave a pure and true picture of viking life seen in its own light, was himself disappointed. he abandoned poetry and took to history, though tegnér says of him that if he had devoted himself to poetry, he would have surpassed all his contemporaries. as historian he rose to the highest rank; and he is perhaps the greatest historian sweden has ever produced. tegnér had modernized his hero and heroine in _frithiof's saga_. he gave them viking garbs and surroundings, but modern thoughts and sentiments. by the more copious development of the inner life, and by placing woman on an equality with man, love had received a higher meaning, and his poetry unfolded inspirations unknown to the ancient world, such as melancholy and the love of nature. he did no more than tennyson did later in making of king arthur the type of an english gentleman. frithiof and ingeborg were representatives of the national ideal. the success of his poem was immense. it had a lyrical intensity which set the scandinavian mind vibrating. unmindful of the anachronism, youth gloried in the noble disinterestedness of frithiof, in his generosity to his rival, his melancholy philosophising and his high-minded love, as well as in his daring and his love of adventure. manly breasts heaved in sympathy with him, and women's tears flowed at the story of ingeborg's love. as the poet snolisky has said-- from the highest to the lowest throughout the land the poet had created a bond of union. in every home, within every school door, his verses were read and conned and loved, and sweden's youth felt its cheek glow at frithiof's courage and manly mood. while ingeborg's love to the maiden's dream gave life and thoughts to her weaving and sewing. in his _children of the lord's supper_, so beautifully translated for us by longfellow, tegnér conveyed a true image of sweden's religious life. the scene in the country church, decked out with flowers and evergreens for the solemn ceremony, the rustic boys and girls bowing and curtseying as they make their responses before the assembled congregation, and the attitude and words of the patriarchal pastor are all true to life. the somewhat declamatory tone of the oration is not less consistent with the character of the rural parson, the trend of swedish religious thought, and the solemnity associated with these occasions. it was in his patriotic war-songs, however, that tegnér roused the greatest enthusiasm. his _svea_, his dithryambic declamation _king charles_, and his _scanean reserves_, sent a thrill through young and old. when _svea_ was read at the swedish academy, which awarded the poem its gold medal, the friends and opponents of tegnér alike were moved to undisguised admiration. in breadth and intrinsic power, and in the beauty of its rythm, which seems to echo the clash of arms and the marching of masses, this poem is unequalled in swedish literature. tegnér's name soon became known far beyond the limits of the lands where his language is understood. his works were translated into almost all modern tongues, so that some fifty different translations of the whole or parts of his poems now exist in eleven european languages. a new feature was introduced into swedish poetry by runeberg. although born of swedish parents, he was brought up in finland, his mind being nurtured in the traditions and the mixed racial influences of his new fatherland. thus he breathed a new spirit, and a new inspiration, drawn from the realities of life, into poetical fiction. he was a realist in the best sense of that much-misused word. he sought his ideals _in_ life, instead of outside of it and above it in imaginary creations. he saw nature such as it is, with all its faults and sublimities, and, loving it with a true poet's devotion, he painted it simply and faithfully, without aiming at ennobling it, but seeking and finding what there is of native dignity in its humblest expressions. in his lyrical poem, _the sayings of sergeant stal_, he portrayed incidents of the wars of finland fighting by the side of sweden in , when the country was conquered by russia. it was a series of war pictures, a collection of hero types, painted in living colors, and breathing the most ardent patriotism.--simple tales told by a sergeant of his recollections of the war, they deal with real personages, most of them drawn from the humblest stations in life, described just as they really lived and spoke and acted. yet throughout the story of their simple acts and thoughts there swept a breeze which kindled the blood, roused the emotions; and fired the patriotic feeling of runeberg's contemporaries. in poetic depth and beauty of language, as in style and conception, and in their departure from all the prevailing ideas and methods of romanticism, these lyric tales were a revelation. they classed their author at once as in the line of true-born poets. the works of runeberg, although properly belonging to the literature of a country politically no longer one with sweden, have from the nature of their subjects and the identity of languages, always been looked upon in sweden as common property, and they have certainly exercised a powerful influence on swedish thought and letters. some of his songs, set to music, are to this day sung as national anthems. the last champion of dying romanticism was a sort of universal genius, eccentric, _bizarre_, unequal, a spirit out of harmony with itself, but gifted with the most wonderful imagination and power, k.j.l. almquist. his life was as checquered as his writings were various. in turn a clergyman, a schoolmaster, a journalist, and an exile, he has written volumes on almost every conceivable subject, from fiction, poetry, and history, to lexicography, pedagogy, and mathematics. his stories, published in two series, under the common title of _the book of the hedgerose_, show powers of conception, imagination, and description such as are only to be found in edgar allen poe. his was an essentially revolutionary temperament. he disdained all authority, and cavilled at all moral restraints. he was in constant rebellion against society, its accepted laws and precepts, and vented his moral skepticism in bitter sarcasm and cutting paradoxes. "but two things are white in this world," he would say, "innocence and arsenic." the coupling of the two, however, nearly proved fatal to him. he was involved in a mysterious affair of poisoning, in which the victim was a dunning creditor. he was suspected of having given him arsenic by way of ridding himself of the debt which he could not pay. no proof of the fact could be adduced, and the crime was never brought home to him; but public opinion was against him, and fearing or distrusting the justice of his country, he fled from it ere the case was tried. he wandered over europe and america, trying his hand at everything, and died, a literary wreck, in germany, longing, and yet not daring, to return to his country. lately, the society of authors in stockholm, judging that his crime was "not proven," while his literary merits were great beyond all doubt, undertook the rehabilitation of his memory. his remains were brought back from lubeck, and buried in stockholm with "literary" honors, among others a remarkable oration delivered at his grave by verner von heidenstam, in which he was styled a martyr in the great cause of the emancipation of thought. whatever may be thought of his moral character, almquist was a great thinker and a wonderfully versatile writer. the last of the romantics, he has been called a realist, a psychologist, and a symbolist, and he was certainly something of all these, half a century before the terms became battle-cries in literature, and came to designate literary schools. one critic has made him out to have been a sort of forerunner of ibsen, while another calls him the most modern of classics. his genius placed him in advance of his age in most things. he was the first in the list of those scandinavian revolutionists who have laid out new landmarks in the field of thought, and introduced new methods in fiction and the drama. liberalism, which spread like wildfire over europe after its outbreak in the july revolution in france, reached sweden soon after. it was represented in literature by such men as sturzen-becker, wetterbergh, and strandberg, writing under the names of orvar odd, uncle adam, and talis-qualis; blanche, who wrote stirring novels in the style of eugene sue; hjerta, and the staff of the then newly founded _aftonbladet_, who were revolutionizing the press. the press was beginning to enlist the highest literary capacities of the country, gradually becoming what it now is, a purveyor not only of news but of thought, and a leader of opinion in literature and art, in science and philosophy. in poetry, liberalism found its echo in the verses of malmström, nybom, schlstedt. in fiction its banner was carried by three women, two of whom--well known in england and america--frederica bremer, whose novels portrayed the home life of the middle class, emelie carlen, who idealized the fishermen and sea-faring folk of the west coast, and sophie von knorring, who gave rather stilted descriptions of life in aristocratic circles. all three were very productive, and their novels count by dozens. yet they failed to sustain the reputations their first works had won for them. verner von heidenstam is now foremost among the writers of his country. his early works, _endymion, hans alienus_, and others, raised him to this rank, and his last two productions, _the carolines_ (the companions of charles xii) and _saint brigitt_, have more than confirmed it. _hans alienus_ was, like goethe's _faust_, a work of deep philosophical research into the problems of existence, the purpose and significance of life, set forth in symbolical images and explained by allegory. in the _carolines_, a series of short stories connected by the red thread of history which runs through them, he gives a new conception, but a wonderfully graphic and striking one, of charles xii and his times. it is an epic, and yet so living and so human a picture of the wild, iron-souled, quick-tempered hero, whose "eyes flew around like two searching bees," and whose will was like the steel of his sword; who had the heart of a lion and a "woman's hatred for women," but for whom men shed their blood freely; who "never grieved over a misfortune longer than the darkness lasted," and was "best loved by those who tried to hate him." his pictures are drawn by a master hand, and with the intuitive coloring of genius. _saint brigitt_ carries us back to medieval sweden. here, too, the picture is lifelike, centered round the struggle of a high-minded woman, who makes everything bend to her stern rule of holiness, her thirst for sanctity, as charles xii did to his inexorable policy and thirst for dominion. the psychological and the historical novel, the latter, in its modern conception, akin to the former, since it is a study of the psychology of historical characters and a historical epoch, is the form of fiction at present most in vogue. it is in this form that such writers as tor hedberg, per hallström, and axel lundegard have made their reputations. tor hedberg's romances embody profound analysis of the inner workings of the soul, of the secret motives which, more or less consciously, determine a man's acts. in this line he ventures on the most difficult psychological problems. in his _judas_, a scriptural romance from which he has drawn a drama, he attempts to solve the darkest psychological enigma that has puzzled humanity, viz., to analyze the motives which led judas to betray his master and become the typical traitor. the character he draws of him is original and striking, and departs entirely from the accepted tradition. but bold and subtle as the theory is, it is far from convincing. his judas is a dark, brooding spirit, fierce and inharmonious, divided between extatic love and admiration of his master and inward irresistible forces of hatred and revolt: a double nature, thirsting for freedom and love, yet predestined to evil, and led by fearful secret impulses to the accomplishment of his destiny and the fulfilment of his mission, necessary to the scheme of salvation. he rushes blindly to his fate while struggling in vain to escape it. but in the very act of betrayal, while obeying the command: "what thou doest, do quickly," his better nature triumphs for one instant and he falls on the neck of his master and embraces him. it is the judas kiss which betrays his lord. the last look of jesus, however, showed him that he had been understood and forgiven. the detestation of humanity to the end of the world will be his expiation, but that look of jesus has freed him. woman, represented by writers like ellen key, selma lagerlöf, sophie elkau, alfhild agress, hilma stanberg, and others, holds a high position in swedish letters. ellen key is an essayist of virile power and argumentative breadth, of superior intellect and unfailing erudition. she is a fearless and unfailing champion of free thought, individualism, and woman's emancipation. as was said of madame de staël, her writings are "the most masculine productions of the faculties of woman." selma lagerlöf occupies as a novelist a position of her own. her style and her manner in fiction are unique. symbolism and allegory are blended in it with the most realistic pictures of everyday life. she thinks in parables, and describes realities, and the realities convey the moral teachings of parables. with something of the peculiar power of george eliot in the delineation of character, she makes each humble life preach some great moral truth. her latest book, _jerusalem_, is one of extraordinary fascination, created quite a sensation in sweden, and places selma lagerlöf quite among the foremost writers of the day. it may in general be said of swedish writers that they have a high idea of their calling. few, if any, have accepted as their sole function the idealization of form. they hold mostly that the highest aim of art should be to teach and elevate, to destroy prejudice and conventionality, and indicate, in so far as it is possible, the solution of moral problems through the creative faculty of inspired productiveness. the wish to inculcate action, the energy that is born of enthusiasm, the chivalry that is inspired by high ideals and unselfish motives. raised thus from the region of mere chronicles of human passions, of woman's frailty and man's baseness, and exercising themselves with the political, social, and religious problems of the day, these works of imagination have become, alongside the press, a powerful factor in the development of modern thought.[f] chapter vii government and politics of norway and sweden only for the past three years has norway had an independent political life, and so few changes in local government have so far been made under the new king that it will be profitable, in this chapter, to take up the government and political life as it existed under the united constitutional monarchy of norway and sweden. in fact, it is no different than at that time, except that each has its separate king. in internal rule, the two countries were always separate, except in matters that pertained to the common weal of both. thus, the swedish minister of foreign affairs had charge of the united kingdoms, and, as previously stated, this was the rock on which the union finally split. the constitution of norway, like that of the united states, invests all power in the people, who are represented by their legislature and their judiciary, with the king as an executive to administer the laws passed by the one, and enforce the decrees of the other. when the two houses of parliament disagree upon a measure, they sit in joint session, when it requires a vote of two-thirds to enact it, and the approval of the king is necessary. he is also required to promulgate all the acts of the legislature. many norwegian statesmen assert that the king has no veto power, but merely temporary authority to suspend a law pending the action of the people. if three successive parliaments, after three successive elections, pass a bill in exactly the same terms, it does not require the sanction of the king when it is passed the fourth time. thus the people may exercise their sovereignty. all edicts of the executive, all decisions of the court, and all resolutions of the legislature are proclaimed in the king's name, but the ministry is responsible to the legislature for the acts of the king, and if they are not approved, as in england, the ministry must resign and a new one be organized in sympathy with a majority of the parliament. the king may choose his own ministers, but they must represent the will of the people. they are called counsellors of state, are eight in number. before the disunion, two of these eight counsellors were without portfolios, and resided alternately at stockholm, while the other members presided over six executive departments in christiania. a record is kept of the meetings of the ministry by a permanent secretary, and the constitution requires that each minister shall express his opinion upon all questions brought up for consideration. he who remains silent is counted in the affirmative. no matter of business can be determined by the king without the advice of the ministry, unless an emergency demands a prompt decision, when he must take the responsibility of securing a ratification of his act. in the same manner the king may issue edicts of a provisional character in matters of commerce, finance, industrial activity, customs dues, police and military affairs during a recess of the parliament, subject to its approval within a limited time after reassembling. the minister may act in the king's name in cases of emergency or during his absence from the country, subject to his approval. these conditions were adopted in earlier times, when the norwegian legislature sat only once in three years and some such power was necessary, but now that there are annual and often semi-annual sessions, and they have a king of their own residing always in norway, it is very seldom necessary for the executive power to exercise such responsibility. the king appoints all the officials of the executive part of the government, all the officers of the army and navy, and all the clergymen in the established church, but exercises this power through his ministers. dissenting congregations are not subject to government control, and may choose their own clergymen, although the latter are required to register an oath of allegiance and a pledge to obey the laws of the nation and fulfill their duties with fidelity and conscientiousness. the king is the head of the established church, which is the lutheran. he is also commander-in-chief of the army and navy, but can not increase or decrease the military establishment without the approval of the parliament. he has the right to declare war and conclude peace, but can not expend money for military purposes, not even for the national defense, without the consent of the legislature. the norwegian constitution is silent concerning his authority to conclude treaties with foreign powers, and the question has never been raised. he conducts negotiations through his ministers and submits the result of their labors for the approval of parliament. he has the power to suspend the collection of customs duties temporarily until the parliament can meet to consider the matter, but it has very rarely been exercised. the parliament is called the storthing, and is composed of one hundred and fourteen representatives, thirty-eight from the towns and seventy-six from the rural districts. it divides itself into two sections, known as the odelsthing and the lagthing. the members are elected for three years by an indirect and complicated system which is nearly the reverse of our own. the voters of each parish, which forms an election district, assemble at a given place and time and select delegates to a convention which chooses their representatives in the storthing, and, when the storthing meets, its one hundred and fourteen members select one-fourth of their own members, generally the most experienced and distinguished men, to constitute a senate, or upper chamber, called the lagthing, which exercises a sort of supervisory power over legislation. the storthing sits for about six months every year. the members are paid $ a day during the session and their traveling expenses. the presiding officer is chosen every four weeks, and can not succeed himself without an interval. the committees are appointed by a "selection committee" elected by ballot, and each committee chooses his own chairman. there is a rather novel rule requiring bills referred to committees to be assigned for consideration to the several members in rotation. any member may introduce a bill modifying the constitution, but all other classes or measures must proceed from the government and the members of the lower house. members of the upper house, or lagthing, are not permitted to propose ordinary legislation, on the theory that they should remain unprejudiced so as to exercise a judicial revision. thus, bills must originate in the odelsthing, which, having passed them, sends them to the lagthing for its approval. the financial officers of the government and the directors of the national bank are elected by the storthing, which appoints a committee every six months to revise and audit the accounts of officials who have to do with the disbursement or collection of money. when an irregularity or improper expenditure is discovered, the legislature is asked to decide whether the minister in charge of the department shall repay the sum from his own pocket and repair the damage that has been caused by one of his subordinates. in the same manner the storthing regulates all loans, on the theory that the money belongs to the people. the members of the ministry may be impeached by the odelsthing for a violation of the constitution and tried before the lagthing and the supreme court. the following eight executive departments are in charge of ministers: . for ecclesiastical matters and public instruction, which also has charge of charities, insurance companies, and matters relating to the relief of the people. . the department of justice. . the department of the interior, which has jurisdiction over everything that is not under the other departments. . the department of agriculture. . the department of public works. . the department of finances and customs. . the department of defense. . the revision of public accounts department. for administrative purposes, norway is divided into twenty districts, viz.: the cities of christiania and bergen and eighteen "amts" or provinces, which coinside with the diocese of the church, and there is a very close relation between the ecclesiastical and the civil authorities. the chief magistrate in each of the counties, nominated by the king, is known as an "amtmand." his duties are similar to those of the french prefects, although the theory of home-rule and self-government is carried into each county and each municipality and parish, where every magistrate is responsible to a council elected by the people from among their own number. they make the laws for the magistrate to administer. there are few countries in which the theory of self-government is carried to such an extent as in norway. the sovereignty of the people is absolute and their rights are jealously guarded. norway is divided into ecclesiastical parishes, which are the voting districts, as in england, and are governed in a similar way. the norwegian constitution of , based upon the principle of popular self-government, declared these municipalities completely independent in the management of their own affairs, placing the administrative authority, with the power of taxation and the disbursement of revenues in the hands of the taxpayers and householders, so that they could not be coerced by the national government, if there ever was any disposition in that direction. this authority is exercised through a council called a "bystyre," composed of from twelve to forty-eight members, according to the population of the parish, who are elected for terms of three years, and serve gratuitously. the council elects from its own number a chairman who is the head of the whole municipal organization, and is known as an _ordförer_. he corresponds to the german burgomaster and the mayor of the american city. in addition to the popular council there is a magistrate representing the royal government, who, with the consent of the council, may be admitted to their deliberations, but is not allowed to vote. he is also ex-officio a member and often chairman of the municipal departments or commissions, such as the board of public works, the school board, the harbor commission. in this way he becomes a connecting link between the national authority at christiania and the municipal councils throughout the kingdom, because certain measures of local interest are subject to restrictions by the national parliament, particularly those involving finances. under the direction of the council are permanent executive departments similar to those found in the united states, pertaining to public highways, the public buildings, the public health, the relief of the poor, the fire department, police department, etc. these in every case are managed by permanent officials under the supervision of committees of the council. every year a budget is made up of the income and expenditures expected; each department being permitted to submit its own estimates, which are approved or amended by the council, and the amount is raised by taxation of houses, lands, personal property, and incomes, with fees for licenses to transact business. the entire system of local taxation is similar to our own, and the methods of assessment are the same. in order to meet the expense of unusual undertakings for the benefit of the municipality, such as waterworks, tramways, docks, etc., funds are raised in the usual manner by the issue of interest bearing bonds, which are usually in small denominations in order to permit people of limited means to invest in them. they are redeemed, as a rule, in forty annual instalments, the bonds to be canceled being selected by lot. in this system of local government women now participate upon an equal basis with men. with the exception of the british parliament, the swedish riksdag is the oldest legislative body in the world. the kingdom of sweden has maintained its integrity for not less than four thousand years. so far back as the anthropologists can trace the history of swedish people, the boundaries of their land have remained the same. the duchy of finland was subject to swedish sovereignty at one time, and at different times sweden has been united with norway and denmark under the same ruler, but sweden has been sweden ever since human beings inhabited its territory, and it is the only nation in europe that has never been conquered or had its boundaries changed by foreign powers. since the beginning of history, home rule has prevailed among the people and has been defended and recognized as their right. the parishes have always controlled their own affairs, and since the reformation their government has been in the hands of a board or council elected by the people, of which the pastor of the church is chairman. everybody who pays taxes, men and women alike, may vote at the election of the council. the burgomaster serves for life, and is usually required to abstain from all other business except that which pertains to the public weal. the parishes are consolidated into twenty-four provinces, similar to our states, each having a certain independence and government of its own, although the governor-general, who also serves for life on good behavior, is appointed by the king. the city of stockholm is an independent jurisdiction like the district of columbia, with a governor appointed by the king. the riksdag was formerly composed of four distinct bodies,--nobles, clergymen, burghers, peasants,--representing the different classes of the community, and all laws required their approval. in , however, this clumsy arrangement was abolished and the national legislature was consolidated into two bodies known as the first and second chamber, similar to our senate and house of representatives. the two chambers are equal in every respect, except that the second chamber, or lower house, has the advantage of numbers when a deadlock arises and the question in dispute is decided by a joint ballot. then, unless there should be an overwhelming difference of opinion, the second chamber usually has its will, which is perfectly right, because it represents the people. the king must approve all legislation to make it effective, and his veto is final, except in matters concerning taxation and the expenditure of public money. the diet has the sole power to levy taxes and make appropriations with or without his consent. the first chamber, which corresponds to our senate, is composed of one hundred and fifty members, elected for terms of nine years by the provincial councils and by the city councils in towns of more than , inhabitants. as the councils are elected by the taxpayers, both men and women, the members of the first chamber may be regarded as the representatives of the property-owning portion of the community. to be eligible to the first chamber a candidate must be thirty-five years old, own property assessed at $ , , or pay taxes upon an income of not less than $ , . rank does not count. the qualification is pecuniary entirely, and so evenly is property distributed in sweden that only ten thousand people in the entire kingdom are eligible to the first chamber of the diet. the members of the second chamber, two hundred and thirty in number, are elected for three years, of whom eighty are elected by the towns and one hundred and fifty by the rural districts. each must have property worth $ , or have leased $ , worth of land for five years, or pay taxes on an income of $ . these are also the qualifications for voting for members of the parliament. there is very little of politics in sweden. there are three parties, known as the conservatives, the liberals, and the socialists. the conservative party is comprised of the aristocracy, the church, the agricultural classes and people of conservative sentiment generally. the liberal party is composed of progressive elements, the theorists, the artisans, the machinists, and the thinking men among the laboring element, who advocate a reduction of the tariff on imported merchandise and free trade so far as possible; a separation of church and state on the theory that no man should be taxed to support a religious faith that he does not believe in; a reduction in the army and navy and other official expenses; the modification of the election laws as above stated; rotation in office, so that all shall have a chance, and they oppose the general tendency to centralization in the government. the socialists go a little farther. they are not so radical as those who go by the same name in germany, france, and other european countries. they are very moderate in their views. they favor most of the planks in the liberal platform, and, in addition, advocate the adoption of socialistic reforms, the loaning of public money without interest to the poor, public pensions to the helpless, sweeping reforms in the labor laws, and the purchase and maintenance by the state of all public enterprises that affect public welfare, such as the street-car lines, the insurance companies, the banks, etc. the peasants in the country are protectionists and belong to the conservative party. the mechanics in the cities are generally socialists. politics, however, is not very exciting. the tariff, labor questions, and other propositions are always discussed, and of late years the most interesting issues have been the appropriation of money for national defense, the increase of the term of military service from ninety to three hundred and sixty days for every citizen, the modification of the electoral law, and the regulations of the forests. peasants have been members of parliament for more than five hundred years, and now constitute more than half the membership of the second chamber--intelligent, well-educated mechanics and farmers, who take a deep interest in the affairs of the government and generally are on the right side. the agricultural peasants are invariably loyal supporters of the king. the mechanics from the city are usually opposed to him. the annual session of the riksdag opens immediately after the holidays with a great deal of pomp and ceremony. it is one of the most imposing functions in all europe. the members of both houses meet at their respective halls, attend divine service at the cathedral, where they receive the sacrament and listen to a sermon of admonition. then they march in a body to the royal palace, where they are received by the king's ministers with great formality, and escorted to what is known as the throne room. as they enter, each man bows reverently to a silver throne which stands upon a dais at the other end of the apartment. the members of the first chamber are seated on the right side of the great hall, and those of the second upon the left. when the sound of trumpets is heard, all rise, and the master of ceremonies enters in gorgeous apparel, followed by four pages in dress of the sixteenth century. behind them is a squad of trumpeters, then the grand marshal of the court, preceded by four heralds and followed by the assistant marshals, the grand chamberlain, the lord steward, the master of the horse, and other officers of the royal household, the eighteen judges of the supreme court, the archbishop and bishops, and the members of the king's cabinet. then follows a guard of honor, composed of the highest nobles of the kingdom in glittering uniforms and carrying old-fashioned weapons, such as were once used in actual warfare. they surround the king, who wears his royal robes, and, as he enters, the band plays the favorite air of the people, "from the depths of the swedish heart." he wears the crown of state and a purple robe bordered and lined with crimson the two corners of which are carried by chamberlains upon the right side of the king walks the prime minister of sweden. following the king walk his sons, the princes of the royal house. when the king has reached the center of the room, he stops, turns with great dignity and bows first to one chamber and then to the other, and then to the queen, who has taken her position in the balcony, attended by the princesses and other members of the royal family and the officers of the court. then he proceeds slowly until he ascends the dais and seats himself upon the throne, his minister of state occupying a position on his right. before the separation of the union, the norwegian minister of state sat upon his left. the grand marshal steps forward and strikes the floor three times with a long staff of silver, tipped with jewels. at this signal all arise again except the king. in old-fashioned swedish the heralds command silence. the king, seated upon his throne, reads his speech, which always begins, "good gentlemen and swedish men." the prime minister then reads a review of the acts of state since the adjournment of parliament, which he skims over as rapidly as possible, because the printed copy will be placed in the hands of every person present as soon as the ceremony is over. the presiding officers of the two houses of parliament step forward and make speeches of congratulation, and reassure their sovereign of their loyalty and respect. the king then rises, bows first to the queen, and to each house in turn, and slowly leaves the chamber accompanied by the procession that followed him in. the courts of sweden are conducted upon the french plan, and no jury is ever impaneled except in cases concerning the liberty of the press. when a newspaper is accused of libel or sedition, the complainant, whether he be a member of the police or any other official of the government, chooses three jurymen, the defendant three, and the court three. these nine men hear and decide the merits of the case without application of such strict rules of evidence as prevail in the legal practice of the united states. all judicial procedure in sweden is based upon the assumption that the court is sufficiently intelligent and impartial to determine the reliability of witnesses and to judge of the application of facts laid before it. all judges and judicial magistrates are appointed for life on good behavior, but they can be impeached by processes similar to those authorized by the constitution of the united states.[g] chapter viii the army and navy everybody in norway, that is every man, has to serve five years in the army, so that every citizen is a soldier--the first year after the twenty-third birthday seventy days, and thirty days or so each year thereafter for four years more. the organization has a nominal strength of , men of three divisions known as the landstrom, or reserves ( , ); the landvern, or militia ( , ), and the opbud, or regulars, who numbered about , , garrison the different fortresses along the coast. every able-bodied norwegian, except pilots and clergymen, is obliged to serve in any position to which he is assigned by the king, who is commander-in-chief. the sailors and fishermen are enrolled in the navy and must serve aboard a man-of-war at least twelve months. the land forces require five months' service for infantry, seven months for cavalry and artillery, and six months for engineers, which is distributed over a period of five years. training camps are established every summer in convenient localities from two to three months. every man capable of bearing arms is in time of war liable to do service in the reserves, from the eighteenth to the fiftieth year of age. the organization is complete throughout the nation, so that an army of , men can be mobilized in a few days. every cavalryman and artilleryman is required to bring a horse with him when he is called to camp, and the arsenals contain a complete equipment of arms and accoutrements. the non-commissioned officers are former members of the regular army, in which they must have served three years in the infantry and cavalry or four years in artillery and engineers. during this period they are given a practical education in books and in the mechanical duties of the soldier. they are taught to repair guns, manufacture powder, make harness, shoe horses, and do everything else that is likely to come within their experience in the field. this training is highly valued by the young men of the country, particularly by boys from the farms, because it gives them a certain social standing, the right to wear a uniform, and a corresponding amount of influence in the community. this regular army school takes in about , young men every year. the officers are educated in a military college. the complete course covers five years for the staff, artillery, and engineer corps. candidates must first have graduated from one of the government technical schools. the infantry and cavalry course is three years. graduates are appointed second lieutenants in the regular army, and are promoted through the regular grades. the army of norway costs the government about , , kroner, or $ , , a year, which is an average of $ . per capita of the population, or half the tax paid by the english and germans. the last budget was about $ , , larger than usual, for the purpose of erecting new fortresses upon the southern coast. all the principal seaports are already fortified, and there is an excellent system of torpedo defense in the different fjords, but there is a remarkable public apprehension concerning the intentions of russia; and, mindful of the fate of finland, the norwegians are preparing to resist any aggressiveness on the part of the czar. it is not disputed that russia desires a winter port on her northern coast for st. petersburg and kronstadt are always closed by the ice for five and sometimes six months in the year. the norwegian fjords never freeze. they are protected by the monstrous mountains, and the water is tempered by warm currents that flow in from the gulf stream. the national apprehension of both norway and sweden that russia covets one of their seaports has existed a good many years. the bugbear has appeared at intervals for half a century, and a great deal of money has been expended in preparations to meet it. the people are, therefore, cordially patriotic in their support of the army, although many of them emigrate to the united states to avoid military service. norway has a small but efficient navy, composed of third and fourth class cruisers, monitors, small gunboats and torpedo boats, forty-six in all, aggregating , tons, , horse-power, carry guns, and manned by officers and , men. the officers are educated in naval schools, with a five-year course for regulars and three years for the reserves, which include all the merchant sailors and fishermen. norway has taken an active part in the promotion of international arbitration, and has sent delegates to every conference on that subject. the storthing, in a decided manner, has repeatedly expressed its belief in that method of settling disputes, and in correspondence with the russian government has laid a foundation that may be useful in case the czar, under any pretext, should use aggressive measures in this direction. so much interest has been shown in the question that alfred nobel, the swedish philanthropist, and the inventor of dynamite, who made his money manufacturing that most powerful explosive, by his will authorized the members of the norwegian storthing to award a prize of $ , annually to the person who, in their judgment, during the preceding year, shall have done the most to promote peace among nations and the adoption of the plan of arbitration in the settlement of international differences. for many years the chief political issue in sweden has been the increase of the army and the military service required of each citizen. the king finally won, and in a law was passed increasing the term of service from ninety days to eight and twelve months. the nation claims that period in the life of every able-bodied man, and it is given more or less reluctantly. every male citizen is enrolled in the army, and at the time when he becomes twenty-one years of age, he is required to report himself at the military headquarters nearest home, where he submits to a physical examination, and if accepted, is assigned to the proper company and regiment of militia, and directed to report for duty to his immediate commander. the small number of persons rejected for disability is good testimony to the health and vigor of the race. severe penalties are placed upon those who attempt to escape military service by feigning illness or maiming themselves, but it is said there are still men who would cut off one or two of their fingers and run risk of spending four years in the penetentiary in preference to spending a couple of months every year under military instruction. the military spirit in sweden is not strong, although history shows that there are no better fighters in the human family, and it is remarkable to watch the high degree of efficiency to which green boys from the farms can be brought after a few weeks of drill and discipline. the regular army of sweden oh a peace footing is composed of , enlisted men, , officers, , musicians, engineers, and members of the staff, making a total effective fighting force of , . of these , are cavalry and , artillery. these forces compose the garrisons at stockholm and other principal cities of the country, and are at all times under arms. the militia, divided into regiments and companies according to location, numbers , men, and is subject to call by the king at all hours and under all circumstances. each member of the militia, as i have said, must serve a certain time in the army, eight months for infantry and twelve months for cavalry and artillery, the service being extended over the period of five years. during this five years a man spends from two to four months each year in a garrison or camp, according to the judgment of his commanding officers, when he receives the nominal pay of the private in the regular army. he has no option as to the time of the annual period or service. he may be asked to remain in the army for eight or twelve months continuously; it all depends upon the plans of the war office. when a man has served his time in the militia, he is given a certificate to that effect, which exempts him from further active military service, and makes him a member of the reserves, which number , men, all of whom have served in the militia, and are subject to the summons of the king whenever the country is invaded by foreign foe. with local troubles they have nothing to do. the militia is considered sufficient for any such emergency, but under the swedish system the effective force at the command of the king in case of foreign invasion is something like , men. there are a lot of picturesque old castles and fortresses on the coast of sweden in which garrisons are still maintained, but they would not last an hour if attacked by modern guns and projectiles. they are reinforced, however, by earthworks, with the very best artillery. swedish guns rank among the highest, and several swedish patents in ordnance have been already adopted by the fortification board of the united states. all the harbors are protected by torpedoes, and stockholm is absolutely impregnable from the sea, being situated upon a fjord or bay that can not be entered except through passages that are easily defended. the navy of sweden is comparatively small, but for its numerical strength it is probably the most effective in the world. at least that is the opinion of competent critics. the total force numbers , officers and men on a peace footing, which may be increased to , from the reserve on a few hours' notice. the fleet consists of fourteen first-class cruisers and battle ships, four second- and nine third-class, five torpedo catchers, twenty-six torpedo boats, and twenty gunboats of small tonnage, the armament of the fleet being guns and ninety-seven rapid-firing guns. all the vessels were built in sweden. every swede is a sailor. he is brought up on the water, and taught in childhood to swim and to sail a boat, and, although the shipping industry is not so extensive as in norway, the national interest in aquatic sports is probably greater and more general than in any other nation. the long line of seacoast and the , lakes within swedish territory gives abundant opportunity for the exercise of this inclination. hence in the case of war, the navy could be recruited indefinitely with competent men. king oscar took a deep personal interest in naval affairs, because his early life was spent in the navy, his commission as lieutenant bearing the date of june , . when he was called to the throne, he at once commenced to plan for improvement of that branch of the service, and for many years was virtually his own minister of marine. he did much to encourage the maritime spirit among the people, being honorary president of the royal yacht club, and presided over its meetings, which were sometimes held in the palace to suit his convenience. he took an active part in the organization and promotion of the naval reserve, and never lost an opportunity to show his zeal in the development of the shipping industry and the aquatic pastimes. nor was the king a paper sailor. on special occasions he showed great bravery and presence of mind at sea, and of his sixty decorations and medals he valued none higher than that which was awarded him by the humane society of france in , when he saved the lives of three people at the risk of his own. the swedish militia is commanded by officers of the regular army. no man can receive a commission in the militia unless he has spent at least sixteen months in the military academy and passed the required examinations. about a thousand young men are graduated each year from the several schools situated in different parts of the country, which are a part of the regular educational system of the nation. thus the government has at its command abundant material for the military organization. the officers are promoted as vacancies occur, are retired on half pay when they are aged or disabled--generals at years, colonels at , lieutenant colonels and majors at , and captains at . militia officers are eligible to appointments in the civil service; they may be elected to the riksdag, and they have the same social standing at the palace as the officers of the regular army. the palace is the center of the social system in sweden, and only certain persons are eligible to invitations to the king's balls and dinners. all officers of the militia are included in the list, and all peasants in the riksdag, although their wives are never invited.[h] chapter ix public education there are few countries in which education is as free as in sweden. from the grammar school to the university in all its stages, the cost is defrayed entirely by the state or the parish. education is thus not a privilege of the wealthy, but a benefit common to all. in norway you are scarcely ever out of sight of a schoolhouse, and professor nielsen, of the university, on being asked concerning the ratio of the illiterates, looked surprised and replied that he was not aware of any illiterates; that he did not recollect having seen any statistics on the subject, and ventured to assert that anybody in norway could both read and write. education is free throughout the entire primary system, a course of seven years, between the ages of seven and fourteen, when the law prohibits the employment of children in any occupation, and requires them to attend school at least thirty hours a week for twelve weeks each year in the country and fifteen weeks in the cities. the maximum term is forty weeks in both city and country districts. there are in the kingdom , school districts, governed by _skolestyret_--boards consisting of the parish priest, the president of the municipal council, and one of the teachers chosen by themselves. there is also a board of supervisors, composed of three men or women, elected by the parents of the parish. childless people are not allowed to vote. this board of supervisors does not appear to have any definite function except to advise and find fault. the school board elects the teachers, determines the courses of study and methods of discipline, and submits recommendations and estimates for appropriations annually to the municipal council. in both city and country what is called "voluntary instruction" is provided outside of the legal school hours, which may be taken advantage of by people who are willing to pay for additional attention from the school teachers, but it is neither free nor compulsory. the compulsory studies in the primary schools are the bible, the catechism of the lutheran creed, the norwegian language, the usual elementary branches, with history (including a treatise on the constitution and the government of norway), botany, physiology (including the fundamental principles of hygiene and the effects of the use of intoxicating liquors), singing, drawing, wood-carving, the use of the lathe and other tools, manual training, gymnastics, and rifle shooting. the national law requires that schoolhouses shall be so located as to be within a distance of two miles of the residences of ninety per cent of the children of school age. the poor are provided with text-books upon application, and in some places the municipal council provides every child a warm dinner at noon. it can be paid for if the parents prefer, but the better classes look upon this provision with prejudice, as they do upon all charities. nevertheless, it is an excellent idea to be sure that the children of the poor get at least one warm meal every day. in the city of christiania, , meals are served annually in the primary schools. the average attendance is , , so that only about per cent of the children take advantage of the free dinner. only , of these meals are paid for, and those are taken on stormy days by children of well-to-do parents. the norway school teachers must be graduates of normal schools, of which there are twelve in the kingdom; they must pass examinations and serve a probation of three months before they are definitely engaged, but when they have once received an appointment, they are settled for life and sure of a pension at the end of the long term of faithful service. the same rule applies to all civil service employees, for the school system is a part of the government. there is no such thing as rotation in office. promotion is expected by all who deserve it. a worthy and efficient teacher, having begun in youth at the lowest grade, expects advancement to the highest, according to the judgment of the school boards and supervisors. school teaching is a career, just as a government clerkship is a career. people enter both professions with the expectation of making them their life-work, although from our point of view they offer very little inducement. the average salary of the school teachers in norway is only about $ a year, the men receiving a little above the average and the women a little less. the highest salaries are paid in the city of christiania--$ for men and $ for women. head masters to the number of , , like parsons, are furnished with houses to live in and little tracts of land, three or four acres, where they can raise vegetables for their families and keep cows; and nine hundred and ten of them add a little to their incomes by serving as parish clerks. when they become too old to teach, they receive pensions of from $ to $ a year, and when they die, their widows are remembered by the government to the extent of from $ to $ per year. the primary school system of norway costs an average of $ . per child per year in the country, and $ . per child in the city, or $ . per capita of population in a year. there is a secondary school system under the control of the national government, administered by the department of education and religion. it embraces forty-six high schools, located in different parts of the country, known as _latin-gymnasier_, or classical schools, at which students are prepared for the university, and _real-gymnasier_, or technical schools, in which they are taught english, mathematics, the natural and applied sciences, bookkeeping, stenography, and other branches that will fit them for commercial or industrial pursuits. there are also twelve cathedral schools, one for each ecclesiastical diocese, which were founded in the middle ages, and are supported by large estates acquired from the early kings and by confiscation of church property after the reformation. there are also five private academies, attended chiefly by the sons of rich men. the university of christiania, which is one of the first in europe, was founded in , and has five faculties, with sixty-three professors, eighteen fellows, and about , students, of whom are studying theology, law, medicine, and are in the scientific department. the professors are appointed by the king, and receive salaries of about $ a year, with a longevity allowance in addition amounting to about $ every five years. the fellows are paid about $ a year, and are provided with lodging rooms. tuition at the university is free upon payment of a matriculation fee of $ . women have been admitted on even terms with men since , and have matriculated, of whom have taken degrees. the university has an endowment of $ , , , with legacies amounting to about $ , to encourage original investigations in special lines of study. the nansen fund, which amounts to about $ , , is intended to encourage exploration on the seas. the hospitals of christiania are in charge of the medical department. there are also the usual schools for the deaf, dumb, blind, weak-minded, and crippled children, supported by the state, and reform schools for the correction and restraint of the depraved. technical schools, with day and night classes, for teaching the trades to young men and women, four schools of engineering in different parts of the country, nine industrial schools for women only, where they can be trained to earn their living by sewing, dressmaking, weaving, millinery, embroidery, and other needlework, bookkeeping, typesetting, stenography, typewriting, photography, and other lines of industry, and an art school especially patronized by the king in connection with the art gallery at christiania, where painting, drawing, and designing, modeling, decoration, and the art of architecture are taught. in most of the counties are found what are called _amtsskoler_--schools to educate people for a practical life, with separate courses for each sex, the boys being taught farming, gardening, and mechanics, and the girls the arts of the household. there are also schools of deportment, where girls are fitted to act as governesses and are taught the social graces, music, dancing, the languages, and conversation. in several of the cities are workingmen's colleges, known as _arbeiderakademier_, where mechanics who have an ambition to acquire a better knowledge of their trades and general culture, may attend lectures in the evenings, delivered by scientific men, successful mechanics, and other specialists. the range of subjects includes every branch of human activity. in sweden, in the _folkskola_, elementary or people's school, maintained by the parish under the direction of the school board and the close supervision of the state, instruction is compulsory as well as gratuitous. as in norway, between the ages of seven and fourteen every boy and girl must attend a public school, unless the parents can show that their child is receiving equivalent instruction elsewhere, in a private school or at home. no exception or compromise is allowed, and no "half-time" system or "rush" through the school to suit the convenience of the factory or the farmer. for seven years, during eight and a half months of the year,--allowing for summer, christmas and easter holidays,--and thirty-six hours per week, every boy and girl in the kingdom receives instruction and goes through the same curriculum. the school board, which has the direct management of the schools is elected to the parish, and women are eligible to it. the state, which controls the whole system of education, from the a.b.c. class to the college and university, maintains alike its unity and its efficiency, and sees to the strict enforcement of the law. parents who try to evade it, through malevolence or neglect, may even, after due warning, be deprived of their children, who are taken over by the community during their school years. in thinly populated districts the school may be "ambulatory," held now in one part of the district and now in another, so that all may attend in turn. in such cases the schooling is reduced to four months in the year. but there is no district, however poor or thinly populated, without its _folkskola_. there are nearly twelve hundred of these in the land, attended by seven hundred and forty-two thousand pupils, and employing sixteen thousand two hundred and seventy teachers of both sexes. no more conscientious, hardworking, and respectable class of men and women can be found than the teachers. eight years' study, first in a special seminary and then in a training college, has taught them their profession both in theory and practice. they are convinced of the importance and dignity of their office, and are respected accordingly. socially, the general type of the school teacher is a superior one. there are at present in the riksdag, occupying seats as members of the second chamber, no fewer than eleven teachers in elementary schools, twelve teachers in secondary schools, one inspector of schools, and one university professor. in the rural community, the school teacher is something of an authority. most of the members of the parish have "sat under him" at school in their early life, and owe to him most of what they know. for years he has been diffusing knowledge around him, and has been looked up to as the fountain of book learning. he is the local parson's great coadjutor in parish matters, and being a ready speaker, is of no mean influence in the parish assemblies. the one dark blot in the existence of the school teacher is the small salary received. few of them receive so much as $ a year, the average running from $ to $ ; even in stockholm the figure going little beyond $ . living is, however, cheap in the rural districts, and these teachers, who are drawn generally from the rural and indigent classes, are accustomed to frugality and economy. they are lodged free of rent in the schoolhouse or a cottage attached to it, and are allowed firewood and other small prerequisites. they have generally a small garden or potato patch to cultivate, and can keep a cow and a few hens. they often add to their modest stipend by extra work, such as teaching in the evening classes, playing the organ in church, and writing, or some such work after school hours. at fifteen, after seven years' assiduous attendance at the _folkskola_, the boy and girl have finished their education, so far as compulsory instruction goes, and they are free to begin work on their father's farm, in his shop or his trade, or take service anywhere and shift for themselves. they may, however, if they like, pursue their studies further in the continuation schools, or in the evening classes provided in most parishes, or repair to a college or gymnasium town, if they elect to enter the church, the liberal professions, or the service of the state. but they have first to be confirmed, and it is here that the definite religious instruction is given. the preparation for confirmation, which entails a much longer and more advanced course of religious instruction than is usual for confirmation in england, is independent of the school and takes place in church, parents being allowed every liberty in the choice of the clergyman who performs this office for their children. english readers who are acquainted with longfellow's admirable translation of tegnér's beautiful poem, "the children of the lord's supper," are aware of the importance of this ceremony in swedish social life. it is the great turning point in the existence of scandinavian youth. the boy and girl emerging from it leave boyhood and girlhood behind them. knee-breeches and short frocks have given way to pants and long skirts. the boy sports his first watch and glories in his first shirt-front. the girl discards her long plaits, and wears her hair in a top-knot. they have made their profession of faith in public, have been examined in regard to it, and have had to answer for it in the presence of the whole congregation. they have assumed henceforth the full responsibility of their acts. in the eyes of the church, if not in the eyes of the law, they are free and responsible members of society. the secondary schools are maintained by the state, and are confined to the towns. they comprise nine forms in seven classes, of which the last two have double forms. the first three correspond to the curriculum of the primary schools, where are taught reading, writing, arithmetic, history, natural sciences, singing, drawing, and gymnastics, to which are added _sloyd_ and gardening for the boys, and needlework and cooking for the girls. scholars who have passed these in the primary schools enter into the fourth form. they are generally divided into two branches, the classical and the modern, according as the classics or languages predominate in the curriculum, which comprises religion, swedish composition, history, geography, philosophy, latin, greek, german, french, mathematics, zoology, botany, physics, chemistry, and drawing. after the fourth form, pupils must declare, with the written approbation of their parents or guardians, whether they will follow the classical or non-classical course, according as they intend to qualify for the universities or the technical high schools. not all the pupils who attend these secondary schools complete the full course and pass the final examination. more than half--those who mean to devote themselves to trade, agriculture, or industry, and those who have not developed the capabilities necessary to confront the severe final test of the "maturity" examination--leave the school on attaining the upper forms. to those who intend to enter the professions, the civil and military service, and the church, the full course of the secondary school is necessary, the "maturity" examination certificate being the only open sesame to the universities, the special colleges, and the technical high schools. to obtain it and to don the white cap, which is the outward and visible sign of university membership, is the first great step in the life of the ambitious youth. for young men destined for the technical trades and professions, there are open, after they have passed the maturity examination at the secondary school, two special institutions, where they complete their technical training--the technical high school of stockholm, and the chalmers technical institute at gothenburg, besides elementary technical schools at other places. the stockholm technical school, which is the most complete, comprises five branches: ( ) mechanical technology and machinery, shipbuilding and electrotechnics; ( ) chemical technology; ( ) mineralogy, metallurgy, and mining mechanics; ( ) architecture; ( ) engineering. the course in each of these sections takes between three and four years. generally several are combined, constituting a course of six or seven years. there are two universities in sweden--upsala in the north, founded in ; and lund in the south, founded in , to which may be added the medical college in stockholm, founded in , and limited to the medical faculty. the studies at these universities are thorough and comprehensive, but unusually long. they have each four faculties,--theology, jurisprudence, medicine, and philosophy,--and grant three different degrees in each, besides special degrees in theology and jurisprudence for entering the church and the government services. even these last, which are easiest to obtain, require a course of from four to five years. to take a medical degree a young man must stay nine years at the university, and two additional years in the hospitals, making eleven years in all. unlike english and american universities, the swedish universities are non-residential. like those of the continent, they are only teaching institutions, and the students who matriculate at upsala and lund must lodge in town or board with families living there. beyond attending the lectures and going up to be tested, they have no direct intercourse with their professors. in this brief sketch of the institutions provided by the state it will be seen that what especially characterizes public instruction in norway and sweden is its undoubted thoroughness and depth, though a serious penalty is paid for this in the extreme length of the course. by the time it is completed, and the young man issues from the protracted ordeal, armed for the battle of life, several of the best years of his youth are passed; he is already between twenty-five and thirty years of age when he first treads on the threshold of his career. on the other hand, he enters it not only with the necessary qualifications whereby to rise to eminence in it, of which the severe tests he has undergone offer evident proof, but with the assurance of finding the way more or less open to success.[i] chapter x haakon vii, the new king of norway there is something essentially, almost ludicrously, modern about the creation of norway's new king. not that it is the first time a sovereign has been, so to speak, "custom-made." an eligible foreign prince is tendered a seat upon an ancient throne; the form is old, but the spirit, how new! republican though she is to the backbone, norway has elected to be governed by monarchical methods, fearing with her isolated and primitive peasantry, to put the machinery of control into the hands of the people themselves. she must have a king, but he shall be of a new variety; in short, a republican king. she will not even have him addressed as were the monarchs of old, by the norwegian equivalent of "your majesty." he shall be just _herre konge_, plain "mister the king." even as the norwegians welcomed haakon vii to their shores, they took pains to show him clearly his rightful place. in his address delivered to the newly arrived sovereign on board the battleship heimdal, herr michelsen, president of council, and for six months virtual president of norway, used these significant words: "for nearly six centuries the norwegian people have had no king of their own. to-day a king of norway comes to make his home in the norwegian capital, elected by a free people to occupy, conjointly with free men, the first place in the land. the norwegian people love their liberty, their independence, and their autonomous government which they themselves have won. it will be the glory of the king and his highest pleasure to protect this sentiment, finding his support in the people themselves. this is why the norwegian people hail you to-day with profound joy and cry, 'long live the king and queen of norway!'" was ever so frank a bargain driven with a king before? "behold," says norway in effect, "you may sit on a throne; but beware how you attempt to king it over us. we will give you a salary to transact our official business and act as official figurehead. but you must never overlook the fact that it was we who made you and not you yourself." is it any wonder that when asked to undertake to govern a people so independent, so proud spirited as this, prince karl of denmark took time to think? or that he asked for a popular vote that he might know how large a proportion of the _frei_ people of norway really wanted him for a king? this was not the only reason why he hesitated. being himself on his mother's side a bernadotte, he could scarcely ascend the norwegian throne without the friendly sanction of sweden. moreover, his wife, princess maud of england, was more than reluctant to undertake life in christiania and the duties of queenship. lastly, prince charles himself ran a shrewd risk in assuming the crown, lest, should his relations with norway become difficult, he might be forced to resign, and find himself--having abandoned his naval career for the throne--in a state of abject poverty. all three objections were finally overruled. sweden, fearing lest an empty throne in norway should give impetus to the movement for a republic, and that such a movement might afterward spread to her own borders, was as much in haste to see norwegian affairs settled as the norwegians themselves, so she swallowed her grievances. most amicable correspondence passed between prince karl and the crown prince of sweden, the latter expressing himself anxious to be the first to welcome haakon vii into his capital. what became of princess maud's reluctance is not definitely known. it is understood that she never found life at the danish court very amusing, and probably the prospect of exchanging copenhagen for a city of less than half its size did not allure her. she must have realized that if she accepted a share of the norwegian throne, she would be forced to abandon her favorite cure for _ennui_--frequent flights to the court of england--for norway has had quite enough of absentee royalty. the english papers asserted that king edward used his parental authority to overcome his daughter's scruples. at all events, she gave in. as for prince karl's reasonable fear of dethronement and penury, the norwegian government quieted that by promising a respectable pension in case the king should find it expedient to abdicate. so, then, the affair was comfortably arranged. the king has a salary of $ , , a crown when he had no hope of ever feeling one on his brow, and the problems of a court without a nobility. and now the world is asking, "has norway done well for herself?" certainly she has done well in putting a scandinavian prince on the throne. no alien would ever understand norway or be understood. if reports are creditable, the kaiser made the most of his friendship with the country in support of the claims of a son of his own. had a german secured the throne, there would have been sown fresh seeds of discord on a peninsula which can raise a sufficient crop of dissensions without any aid from the rest of europe. for denmark, still nursing the rankling grievance of the schleswig-holstein affair, detests the thought of everything german. king haakon combines the advantages of scandinavian birth with the very positive political asset of blood relationship to half the courts of europe. grandson of the late king christian of denmark, the young monarch is also nephew to king george of greece, the dowager empress of russia, and alexandria of england, a grand-nephew to the late oscar of sweden, son-in-law to king edward vii, and cousin to the czar. to a relatively defenseless country like norway, this means a good deal. in himself the new king is a clean-lived, healthy young man of thirty-three, in personality quite fit to represent a nation which thinks well of itself. tall, though not quite so tall as his uncle, prince christian, whose mark on the famous old royal measuring-column at roskilde comes just under that of the giant, peter the great, king haakon is slight, yet vigorous-looking, and splendidly well set up. the face, while scarcely so handsome as the profile pictures lead us to think, is a distinguished one, and has for norway this charm, that it is markedly not of the bernadotte type, although his mother is a bernadotte. those who know him describe him as an extremely intelligent and sensible young man, easy and tolerant without being weak, and capable of strenuous devotion to hard work. these things bespeak an industrious, efficient, and tractable king, such as the norwegians, who would equally resent either vacillation or tyranny, know how to appreciate. it has been said in france that king haakon abandons tiller and compass for crown and scepter without one hour's training in politics or diplomacy. the statement appears incontestable. in view of the remarkable longevity of the late king of denmark, and the excellent health and prospects of the crown prince and his immediate heir, this younger son of a royal house was not brought up to look for a crown. instead, he was destined from the outset for a naval career. for all that, it is not safe to say that he has had no training in politics or diplomacy. one can scarcely grow up in the family of the "father-in-law of europe" and not learn the principles of the great game of world affairs. king haakon is no stranger to the queer old palace among the beeches at fredensborg, where every summer king christian gathered together his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren from the courts of england, russia, denmark, sweden, and greece; and where conversations took place which, if reported, would vitally interest the whole round world. in his lifetime, the czar alexander iii was particularly fond of holding long talks at fredensborg with his nephew karl, then a lieutenant of the navy, whom he found especially intelligent and open-minded. it is thought in copenhagen that king haakon may, even during the last years of his father's life, have had some experience in the government of denmark, since his father, the crown prince, was called upon to perform many of the old king's duties. at least, if he did not actually transact royal business, he acquired no small acquaintance with the working of government machinery. nothing, certainly, could have been more fitting than that a ruler of vikingland should be educated for the sea. nor could anything have been devised better calculated to knock the nonsense out of a princeling than apprenticeship in the danish navy. hrolf wisby, who messed with prince karl when he was a naval cadet, says that the lad was at first little more than a piece of court furniture. any one who is familiar with the appalling frankness and unvarnished brusquerie of grown-up danes can judge whether the hazing and horse-play on a danish man-of-war was agreeable, and whether it was medicinal in a case of congenital self-esteem. prince karl lived the life of an ordinary middy, scrubbed decks, mended his own clothes, slept in a hammock, and ate provender which was anything but fit to set before a king. it is recorded of him that he was an expert in polishing a certain brass binnacle lantern. we wonder if he ever thinks now of a certain line in pinafore, "i polished that handle so care-ful-lee, that now--" as ensign, second lieutenant, first lieutenant, and finally captain of a frigate, the young man acquitted himself well, earning the reputation of a capital officer, hardworking, careful, no martinet towards his men, though by no means to be trifled with. in practical seamanship, he excels any other prince of his age, and can command any kind of naval craft from torpedo boat to battleship, and lead in actual battle. in forming their court, king haakon and queen maud are gathering about them the literary, artistic, and musical people of the realm, for they are devoted to the companionship of gifted folk. the queen has herself written plays under the pseudonym "graham irving," and the king paints a little in aquarelles, and plays the piano almost too well to be termed an amateur. both are accomplished linguists, speaking with discrimination french, german, russian, english, norwegian, swedish, and, naturally, danish. there is no barrier of speech in their intercourse with members of the diplomatic corps. the little heir apparent, alexander, rechristened olaf, has already done much toward ingratiating himself with the norwegian people, although but a half dozen years old. on the day when the royal couple entered christiania, the boy was but two and a half years old, but he was very much interested in the decorations, and seemed to catch the enthusiasm of the crowd, for he waved his little hand spontaneously. in counting up the merits of the king, the promising little heir must by no means be left out. trondhjem cathedral, where all the kings and queens of norway for centuries have been crowned, and where the coronation of king haakon vii and queen maud occurred, stands on the site of what was undoubtedly the first christian church in the country--that erected by olaf trygvason in . within its confines bubbles the spring which sprang from the tomb of that later olaf who is the patron saint of norway, and somewhere under its walls lie moldering the bones of medieval kings, four of whom accepted their consecration before the altar where king haakon received his crown. it is a thousand pities that hammer and chisel should have exorcised the spirits which ought to haunt this venerable shrine. it is as if england's abbey had been scrubbed and resurfaced, and new noses had been provided for all the crumbling stone kings and queens. trondhjem cathedral has burned down so many times, and the work of restoration has been so sweeping, that it takes an active imagination to invest it with the proper glamour of romance. trondhjem itself is an odd place for festivities. the people say that it is fear of fire which makes them separate their insignificant wooden houses by such disproportionately broad streets. certainly it gives to the town a low look anything but imposing. whatever may be the esthetic shortcomings of king haakon's coronation city, it was amply atoned for by the enthusiasm and whole-hearted devotion of his new people. the king and queen are in very truth "the father and mother of the land." even toward the rulers they shared with sweden their cherished warm affection until their grievances waxed too sore. when sophie of nassau was on her way to trondhjem to be crowned, in , she drove herself in a carriole from the romsdal, stopping perforce at humble posting-stations by the way. and everywhere the peasants came with flowers, greeting their queen by the affectionate and familiar "du." more than once when the press was thick about her, and those on the outskirts could not see, the queen was urged to mount upon the housetop that the eyes of all might be gladdened by the sight of the dear land-mother. there was a significant demonstration of this sort of heart-loyalty when haakon vii and queen maud entered christiania. the crowds which waited in the steadily falling snow, and shouted themselves hoarse, might be accounted for by curiosity and mob enthusiasm. triumphal arches, flags, and even the rain of flowers which descended on the royal pair, might be classed as perfunctory, an essential part of the occasion. but at night the spirit of the people showed beyond mistake. not only were the streets arched and bordered with festoons of colored incandescent lights, not only were the battleships in the harbor strung with fiery beads to the topmost spar, but every window in every house in the city bore its light. fine houses had candelabra behind the glass, and the poorest mere tapers, but everywhere the same fire of welcome burned. haakon vii has the privilege of ruling over the most united people on the face of the earth. before the plebiscite, sweden declared that the desire for separation was confined to a party who were poisoning the minds of the common people. when the plebiscite had shown that only men out of , could be found to uphold the union, sweden protested that the peasants had been intimidated and dared not vote as they thought! now, it was just at this stirring time that i was driving through norway, or cruising in her fjords, and talking with graduates of her university, with sea-captains, hotel proprietors, traveling men, porters, drivers, serving-maids--all, in short, who spoke english enough to make themselves clear. it was as if all norway spoke with one voice. from hamerfest to stavanger there was the same complaint of the same wrongs, the same quiet insistence upon the same remedy. nor was it only the subjects of king oscar who spoke; norwegians settled in france, in england, or in america either hurried home to vote or sent their vigorous endorsement of the revolutionary proceedings. a window in christiania was completely filled by the mingled flags of norway and the united states, crossed by a banner bearing the words, "for disunion." it was the voice of norway and america. it was a modest desire they expressed. in the words of olaf sprachehaug, our humble-minded _skydsgut_, the whole country was saying, "and now i t'ink we get a king of our own." they have their own king now, and all the world wishes them joy in him.[j] chapter xi the royal family of sweden the present reigning family of sweden is too young to be very numerous, and in this brief survey it is well to begin with a bit of information about that grand democratic monarch, oscar ii, passed away less than two years ago. how the bernadotte dynasty was formed has already been shown in a previous chapter, and something of the kings, who succeeded the former field marshal of france has also been related, so that we have in these few pages simply to deal with oscar ii, the late king, and his four sons and their families. oscar's grandfather, the originator of the bernadotte dynasty, was still on the throne when he was born, in , as the third son of crown prince oscar and the beautiful josephine of leuchtenberg. he seemed far removed from the throne then, and thus he found freedom to develop himself more in keeping with his individual tastes and inclinations. another factor to be borne in mind is the character of his governor and principal instructor, the historian, f.f. carlson, who gave to his pupil a fondness for scientific exactness as well as an insight into the true causes of civilizatory development found none too frequently in professional thinkers, and hardly ever in princes. the things that drew him most strongly in those days were the sea, and music. one of the foremost of swedish composers, a.f. lindblad, taught him the latter, while his fondness for the former was richly satisfied during the years when he worked his way through the ranks of the swedish navy. and his position on board the various man-of-war's-men in which he traveled on many seas was never merely ornamental or even exceptional. he took not only the title but also the work of the offices he held, from midshipman to admiral. it was characteristic of him, too, that when he married, he did so out of love. on a tour through several countries; in , he was fortunate enough to meet princess sophia of nassau. the courtship was brief and ardent. within a few months occurred the engagement, and the wedding followed in less than a year. to the last that royal couple remained strongly devoted to each other in spite of widely differing tastes and temperaments. she has all her life been intensely religious, with a strong leaning toward pietism, and illness has still further developed this inborn tendency. he, on the other hand, was always gay, light-hearted, fond of merriment, and given to many pleasures and pursuits which his spouse could only look upon as far too worldly. duke oscar frederick, as he was known in those early days, found himself heir to the throne after death had unexpectedly removed the two claimants with rights prior to his own. and on the succession of his eldest brother, he became the crown prince. it was a delicate position which imposed on him a reserve foreign to his nature. as it contrasted sharply with the unceremonious jollity of his brother, king charles, he came by degrees to be regarded by those ignorant of his true character with a distrust bordering on dislike. thus, when the succession fell to him in , he found himself little understood and less loved. it took him years to overcome the prejudice. perhaps it was his sanction of the impeachment proceedings by the norwegian radicals against the retiring conservative ministry which, in the early ' 's, first served to turn the trend of public opinion in his favor, both in sweden and norway. that act was one of the many by which he showed his ability to submit his own inclinations to the demands of the people without becoming a mere tool in the hands of any one political party. about the same time he succeeded in bringing about a deeply needed and by himself long-cherished reform of the popular educational system in sweden. previously,--it was, in fact, his first important step after his ascension to the throne,--he had on his own initiative proclaimed full freedom of worship for persons not belonging to the established church. a scandinavianism of the purely sentimental kind,--the kind that talked without ever dreaming of putting the talk into deeds,--had prevailed until then on the peninsula. intermixed with it was an equally sentimental sympathy with france. though himself the grandson of a frenchman and still keenly devoted to french literature and art, king oscar had the foresightedness to recognize that the interests of the country were more closely bound up with those of germany. and one of the most striking features of his reign was the growing cultural intercourse between the nations in the north and their neighbor south of the baltic. and while the king discouraged the speech-making, empty scandinavianism against which ibsen was fond of launching his most vitriolic invectives, he fostered instead a fellow-feeling between sweden, norway and denmark that found its expression in practical co-operation, in the equalization of commercial and industrial regulations, in the breaking down of as many as possible of the unnecessary barriers between them. as the years passed on and the trend of his labors became understood and appreciated, he found a part of his reward in a steadily increasing respect for him throughout the civilized world, a respect that repeatedly found expression in requests that he act as arbiter of international differences. he had always been fond of traveling, and this fondness he continued to indulge up to the last. unlike those of some other monarchs having a similar taste, his comings and goings on the continent were always the objects of pleasant and welcoming comment. if gossip had to name king christian of denmark "the father-in-law of all europe," king oscar was surely "the friend of all the world." apace with his own fame grew the prosperity of his people. on either side of the kjölen his reign marked an era of unprecedented economical, social, and spiritual progress which not even the internal dissensions of the sister nation could interrupt. king oscar's motto was _brödrafolkens väl_ "the brother-peoples weal!" the scandinavian peninsula is still populated by brother-peoples, as was indicated at the time of the death of the old king. it was the week for the distribution in norway of the nobel prizes, always attended in christiania with great rejoicing and merry-making. on this occasion all demonstration was prohibited, and the norwegian capital was almost as much in mourning as was stockholm. though entirely devoted to the new order of things, the norwegians did not forget, nor will they forget, the character of the king who ruled them for a generation. more democratic than the swedes, they were peculiarly attached personally, if not politically, to one whom they felt to be really of like democratic instincts with themselves, even if he did show himself every inch a king. not only as a ruler, but as a father, king oscar was both wise and fortunate. four sons came to him through his marriage, and these have proved men of his own type. the crown prince gustave was born just one year after the marriage of his parents, on june th, at the castle of drottingholm, in the year ; prince oscar, known as prince bernadotte, was born on nov. , , at stockholm; prince carl on feb. , , also at stockholm; while the youngest, prince eugene, like his eldest brother, first saw the light at the castle of drottingholm, on aug. , . as has been previously stated, the crown prince (now king) was married to the princess victoria of bade, granddaughter of emperor william i of germany, and great-granddaughter of the exiled gustavus iv of sweden. the third son, prince carl, is wedded to his cousin, the princess ingeborg of denmark, which was a source of great satisfaction to king oscar and queen sophie. the youngest son, prince eugene, is devoted to art, and spends much time out of the country. never did king oscar do more to win the approval of his subjects, and thinking men and women everywhere, than when he permitted the marriage of his second son, prince oscar, to a young swedish noblewoman, fröken ebba munck, of fulkila, who was also queen sophie's maid-of-honor. while the prince had to renounce his right of succession and his position as a royal prince of sweden, his relations to his father and the other members of the royal family remained the same. of this incident in the history of the royal family of sweden, the following story is told: the queen interceded long and persistently with her husband for permission for her second son to be married to the woman he loved. although the munck family had played a very important part in the history of the nation, the king was opposed to the _mésalliance_. "it is oscar's duty to be true to himself and to his love," she used to say. but the king, who was not wont to refuse any of the wishes of his consort, steadily refused to sanction the union. there were many things against such a marriage, for prince oscar was the second son of the king, and the very fact that the reigning house of norway and sweden was one of the most youthful of the royal houses of europe made it all the more necessary that its scions should intermarry with the members of the ancient reigning houses. about this time the queen was seized with one of her serious attacks of illness, and her state was such that at one time her life was despaired of. her physicians declared that her only hope of recovery lay in an instant operation, which was both dangerous and extremely painful. the queen called the king to her bedside, and said, "if i undergo this operation and recover, will you allow oscar and ebba to have their way?" the king was unable to resist such an appeal, made at such a time, and gave his promise. a short time afterwards the operation was successfully performed, and when the queen was convalescent, the king redeemed his promise and gave his consent to the marriage of his second son. it was on christmas eve, and the king had come to his wife's apartments to see her. he found ebba munck and his son oscar with her. the maid-of-honor was, at the time of his entrance, singing one of his poems to her majesty, which, oddly enough, was on the subject of the right to love. after waiting until the song was ended, the king went up to his son, and, leading him to the girl, laid his hand in hers, in this manner signifying that he had withdrawn his opposition to their plans. the marriage has proved a most happy one. prince oscar has found perfect content, and has been able to follow his career as a philanthropist. the wedding took place at bournemouth, in the presence of the queen of sweden, on march , , and for some time after it the prince and his wife were known as prince and princess bernadotte; but later the uncle of prince oscar, the grand duke of luxemburg, gave him the title of the count of wisborg for himself and his descendants. when their children were born, prince oscar and his wife proclaimed them as the children of oscar and ebba bernadotte, and, during their entire married life, they have lived as quietly and simply as possible, and have found their greatest interest in working for the poor and suffering. they have a son and a daughter, the former, count carl oscar, having been born on may , , and the latter, the countess marie, on february , ; and three other children. and so, as the years went by, a third generation grew up in the palace at stockholm,--a brood of long-limbed and broad-shouldered sons with wholesome tastes and bright minds and kindly temperaments. and at last, when the king was seventy-eight years old, a great-grandchild was laid in his arms,--the first son of prince gustavus adolphus (now the crown prince) and the princess margaret of connaught. up to the last king oscar remained active and interested in all public affairs. though he had experienced several brief but rather severe illnesses of late years, the end came without warning, after a few days of indisposition, on dec. , . a kindly "thanks" for a small favor rendered him by a member of his family was the last word heard from his lips. previously he had expressed his wish to the members of his cabinet that no interruption in public or private business be made on account of his death. king gustavus v, who took the oath of office within a few hours of his father's death, has suffered something resembling his father's fate as crown prince. overshadowed by the more brilliant gifts and more attractive personality of the parent, he was for years spoken of in rather a disparaging manner in sweden, while in norway he harvested outright hatred in return for his determined upholding of the union. on frequent occasions during the last decade of his father's reign, he acted as vice-regent while his father was sick or traveling, and in this way he found chances to display qualities that gradually changed the popular regard of him from one of suspicion to one of hearty respect. his near-sightedness, his serious-mindedness, have militated against him, but it seems probable that he will prove the very _best_ ruler sweden could desire at the present juncture. he is slow to make up his mind, and will not do so until he has searched every phase and detail of the problem before him, but once he has come to a conclusion, he pursues his path without looking to the right or left. gustavus is fifty years old, tall, rather dark, quite unassuming, and is essentially democratic, while seeming the opposite, whereas oscar was aristocratic, although he made much of the people. like all other swedish kings, gustavus adopted a motto when he ascended the throne; it is "with the people for the fatherland"--not inappropriate in view of his inheritance of a problem clamoring for solution, the extension of the suffrage and a more direct representation of the people in both the upper and lower houses of the riksdag. the new king, who possesses an uncommon amount of energy, may probably be depended upon to accomplish this reform. there is neither pride of an objectionable type, nor any tendency to tyranny, nor one strain of arrogance in the new king. he may not be able to draw upon such ripe culture or upon such fine talents as the monarch who preceded him, yet the swedes have no fear that his love of truth and justice will not outweigh this deficiency and probably make him a more practical ruler. as for the french descent of the swedish royal house, neither the present nor the late king have ever been ashamed of their ancestry, or forgotten that the first bernadotte on their throne was one of napoleon's greatest marshals. never will gustavus v be able to give to words or actions that brilliantly original and kingly tone for which his late father was so admired everywhere. that, to the mind of all beholders, is to be the drawback of his reign, for he is the merest mortal; where his father was the luminous angel. where oscar would have been finely eloquent, gustavus shows himself merely sensible. oscar's temper was heated, his emotions were forever coming to the surface. gustave is, if more poised, less interesting. he has always been addicted to manly sports and exercises. he has often been observed to "put up" an excellent game of tennis at the club in stockholm. but he is without the alert and springy step of the old oscar, whose muscles remained taut and elastic almost to his dying day. gustave lacks the literary aptitudes of his late father, likewise, who left a well-filled book of verse which admirers all over europe did into french, german, italian, danish, and even hungarian. gustave has not inherited his mother's musical genius, either. she was at one time a devotee of wagner, a disciple of kant, and always a pious evangelical of the german cast. from both his parents gustave received every encouragement to proficiency in music. music, to the late oscar, was, both in theory and practice, an essential element in the intellectual life. gustave is less the artist than the practical king. he encourages international congresses of every kind to come to sweden; he helps the universities and the cause of education throughout his kingdom; he feels his father's interest in hedin's travels through central asia, but he can give no creative impulse after his father's grand fashion. oscar was the man of ideas, the vitalizer of projects literary, musical, dramatic and scientific. he made stockholm the capital of the whole intellectual world. gustave is very courteous, affable in a dignified way, impressive as he opens the riksdag in royal ermine. he has commenced his reign in simplicity, rising at eight, breakfasting on coffee and rolls, reading the morning papers until ten, and reviewing the military with a conscientious assiduity. his note is repose both in manner and in speech, in striking contrast with the late oscar, who was majestic in the very way he had of eating cold meat at supper, and whose height of six feet three towered, almost without the drooping heaviness of age, till his seventy-ninth year. notwithstanding the adverse comparison with his parent, one has but to see gustave's face, with its determination and refinement, to feel a certain assurance as to sweden's future. it is a curious fact that there has been such a dearth of girls in the swedish royal family, the only princess of the house being the crown princess of denmark, a daughter of the late king charles xv. the present queen has only sons: crown prince gustavus adolphus, wedded to margaret of connaught; prince wilhelm, who was recently married to the russian princess marie palvona, and prince erik, now about twenty years of age. the present crown prince and princess are seemingly perpetuating the tradition, as their first child is a lusty little son. queen victoria is said to be endowed with an instinct for business of every kind far finer and more efficient than that of her husband, and it is to be regretted that her health is so frail that she is obliged to spend much time outside her husband's realm, and the duties of her royal dignity devolve upon her daughter-in-law, the crown princess. it is very satisfying to the swedish people that by a strange play of circumstances, the claims of the extinct house of vasa,--the last direct descendant of which passed away a few days after king oscar, in the person of carola, dowager-queen of saxony, and daughter of the deposed king gustavus adolphus iv of sweden,--are again restored, and that the reigning house of bernadotte and the ancient house of vasa have become joined through the present crown prince. it is something to consider, too, that adolphus v is the first of the bernadotte dynasty in whose veins, through his mother, sophie of nassau, there flows royal blood.[k] chapter xii charitable and benevolent institutions this is the age of munificent benefactions in aid of science and learning. the rhodes scholarships, mr. carnegie's free libraries and educational endowments, the duc d'aumale's gift to the french academy of his fine _chatteau_ at chantilly, with its magnificent historical and art collections; many institutions founded in the united states and elsewhere by multi-millionaires for the advancement of knowledge, are a sign of the times. they foreshadow the abolishment of pauperism and its attendant charities to give place to beneficent institutions, and norway and sweden are abreast with other countries in this movement. apart from charitable institutions and endowments for the maintenance of hospitals and asylums, of universities, scholarships and fellowships, which the generosity of former generations has secured, the present generation has seen noble donations made by private men for more special objects, having the general advancement of knowledge in view, such as the encouragement of scientific research and the support of voyages of geographical exploration. nordenskiöld's arctic voyages, his and palander's navigation through the polar northeast passage in the _vega_, nathort's exploration of king carl's land, the swedish expedition to the antarctic regions under otto nordenskiöld, which has lately returned after two years' adventurous exploration in graham land and the discovery of king oscar land, sven hedin's travels in central asia, which have had such important results and made his works so widely read--all these were undertaken as the result of such aid. the latest case in point, alfred nobel's foundation of annual prizes for the reward of scientific discovery, of literary merit, and humanitarian endeavor, deserves special notice. the annual distribution of these prizes, each of which represents a small fortune ($ , ), has of late years fixed the attention of the learned world on the swedish literary and scientific bodies, and the norwegian parliamentary committee, who were entrusted by him with the difficult and invidious task of awarding them. alfred nobel, the dynamite king, as he was styled, belonged to a family of inventors and industrial magnates. his father, emmanuel nobel, was the inventor of nitroglycerine, and of fixed submarine torpedoes or mines. his two brothers, robert and louis nobel, founded the naptha and petroleum works at bacou, one of the largest industrial enterprises of russia. alfred himself invented dynamite and dynamite gum, and a smokeless powder, ballistite, which he patented in , , and . it is mainly due to the works of the nobel family that sweden has attained the reputation of master producer of explosives. chemical research has always been a specialty among swedish men of science, and a large number of the known chemical elements were discovered and made known by swedish scientists. in , alfred nobel had perfected his invention of dynamite gum. he went to paris with his patented invention, and there formed a company with a capital of ten million francs for the manufacture of dynamite. it proved to be an article of the greatest industrial importance, and one destined to revolutionize mining and engineering. erelong he had established extensive works in france, scotland, germany, belgium, austria, and the united states. he produced over $ , , worth a year. he became, in fact, the world's purveyor of an article which was now exclusively used in mining and engineering works. thanks to it, engineers were able to pierce tunnels through the alps, miners to sink their shafts into the bowels of the earth, and harbor constructors to remove sunken rocks out of the way of shipping. but thanks to it, too, the communards were enabled to blow up the finest monuments of paris in a few hours. it was at once a powerful instrument of industrial development, and of progress in the conquest of man over inert matter, and a terrible engine of devastation in warfare, and of massacre and vandalism where homicidal and destructive passions were aroused in mankind. it was perhaps this thought, that in benefiting industry he had also made war more destructive, which led alfred nobel, who was a most pacific and humane man, endowed with the kindliness and sympathy of a great mind, to make the provisions he did in his will. he devoted all his fortune to the encouragement of scientific discovery and the reward of endeavors to diminish standing armies and the chances of war, to promote fraternity among nations, and the settlement of international disputes by peace congresses. his will, in its very conciseness and unsophisticated simplicity, is characteristic of the man. it is dated nov. , , and he died a year afterwards, on dec. , , leaving a fortune of $ , , . after instituting several small legacies, the will proceeds: "with the residue of my convertible estate i hereby direct my executors to proceed as follows: they shall convert my said residue of property into money, which they shall then invest in safe securities; the capital thus secured shall constitute a fund, the interest accruing from which shall be annually awarded in prizes to those persons who shall have contributed most materially to benefit mankind during the year immediately preceding. the said interest shall be divided into five equal amounts, to be apportioned as follows: one share to the person who shall have made the most important discovery or invention in the domain of physics; one share to the person who shall have made the most important chemical discovery or improvement; one share to the person who shall have made the most important discovery in the domain of physiology or medicine; one share to the person who shall have produced in the field of literature the most distinguished work of an idealistic tendency; and, finally, one share to the person who shall have most or best promoted the fraternity of nations and the abolition or diminution of standing armies and the formation or increase of peace congresses. the prizes for physics and chemistry shall be awarded by the swedish academy of science in stockholm, the one for physiology or medicine by the caroline medical institute in stockholm; the prize for literature by the swedish academy in stockholm, and that for peace by a committee of five persons to be elected by the norwegian storthing. i declare it to be my express desire that, in awarding these prizes, no consideration whatever be paid to the nationality of the candidates, that is to say, the most deserving be awarded the prize, whether of scandinavian origin or not." it was nobel's object to reward and help the pure man of science, too much absorbed in his researches to think of drawing any industrial or pecuniary advantages from his scientific discoveries. "i would not leave anything to a man of action or industrial enterprise," he said to a friend with whom he was discussing the project of his will; "the sudden acquisition of a fortune would probably only damp the energy and weaken the spirit of enterprise of such a man. i want to aid the dreamer, the scientific enthusiast, who forgets everything in the pursuit of his ideas." it seems like dropping from the sublime to the ridiculous to follow so ideal a benefaction with a report of so mundane a thing as a soup kitchen, but soup is as necessary to humanity at the present period of life as some of the exalted things of the intellect, and, as pauperism in norway and sweden is so almost unobservable, it is difficult to search out with the keenest vision any charity that is doing more than are the "steam kitchens" of norway and sweden. and the keenest vision would hardly observe that these "steam kitchens" are charitable institutions. they are called "steam kitchens" because they are the first institutions in the peninsula where steam was used for the cooking of food. the one at stockholm, instituted by prince carl, is very similar in detail and operation to the one in christiania, but the latter was established first and is more perfect in its arrangement and methods, so we will take it for illustration. this kitchen at christiania was established in by benevolent people to provide wholesome food for the poor at low prices. the charter granted to the company limited its profits to six per cent of the capital invested, with a provision that the balance, if any, should be paid into the poor fund of the city. there was a hard struggle at first to make both ends meet, and an annual deficit for many years, which was made up by the stockholders, but at last the "kitchen" became so popular that it began to pay dividends, and the stock has since been watered four times, until it now pays what is equivalent to twenty-four per cent annually upon the original investment, with a surplus larger than the capital on which it was started. it is one of the most profitable enterprises in europe for the amount of money involved, but that fact does not diminish the benefits conferred upon the public, and the generosity of the company to the poor, particularly in times of labor troubles and financial depression, can not be questioned. hundreds of bachelors and single women take their meals there regularly, and hundreds of families obtain their entire supply of food, wholesome and well cooked, at nominal cost. there is a long official title to the company, but nobody ever mentions it. it occupies a two-story building covering nearly half an ordinary block. the location is convenient to the business portion of the city, the docks and the market-place. there are two large halls, one above the other, containing five long tables, seating thirty persons each, thus accommodating three hundred customers at a sitting. in the upstairs room it costs eleven cents in our money for a good dinner; in the lower room it costs nine cents. there are no tablecloths and no napkins, but the tops of the tables have been scoured until they shine and everything is spotless. the whole institution is a model of neatness. it seems remarkable how it can be kept so clean with so many unwashed customers and so much business. the windows are large and let in plenty of light. the walls are covered with bright tints, and the waitresses wear white caps, aprons, and oversleeves. at each place is a knife, fork, spoon, drinking glass, cup and saucer, and a piece of bread about three inches square. dinner is served from ten in the morning until six in the afternoon to an average of , people daily. some of them come twice. they take a cup of coffee and eat a piece of cheese and bread at their homes early in the morning. then at ten or eleven, and again at four or five o'clock, they go to the "kitchen" for a square meal. thus it costs them not more than twenty-five cents a day, all told, for their food. in the last ten years they have never served less than , people in a day. the bill of fare varies from day to day, but we will take one day, tuesday, for example. a large dish of barley soup is served, wholesome and nourishing, a ball of hashed meat, with potatoes and rice, or boiled salmon, potatoes and turnips. the nine-cent dinner is pretty much the same, with the exception of the soup; boiled potatoes and rice, or boiled salmon, potatoes and turnips. a plate of soup alone, which in itself would be more than a meal for most people, being filled with meat and vegetables, is served for three cents. the same dinners are furnished to the public to be eaten at their homes for nine and seven cents respectively, and usually contain enough food for two or three women, although norwegians have stalwart appetites. the outdoor service is conducted in another part of the building, upon another street. the patrons procure tickets at an office and then form in line--men, women and children, each with a bucket or a basket, or both, in hand. many tickets are given gratuitously, but it is impossible to distinguish the paying from the charity customers. benevolent people throughout the city purchase bunches of tickets, which they give to the poor, and sometimes in lieu of wages. if you hire a man to clean up the yard, you can give him so much cash and so many meal tickets, or if a person appeals to you for relief, it is always better to give a ticket to the "steam kitchen" rather than money. many customers buy two portions which they take home and warm up at meal time for the whole family. in the center of a large room are rows of immense caldrons with coils of steam pipe embracing them. the air is filled with pungent odors from the bubbling soup, and clouds of steam rise from the other cook-pots. on a long table are pyramids of bread, cut into cubes three or four inches square, usually rye or black bread, such as the natives of norway prefer. along the walls are deep cupboards containing the linens, the culinary supplies and utensils. in an adjoining but detached building is a furnace and boiler-room which furnishes the steam, and beside it a laundry and dish-washing establishment. it requires a good many dishes to serve three thousand people even in a simple way. in an annex the finer qualities of beef, mutton, and other meats are cut off and sold to the public, thus utilizing all the supplies which are bought in large quantities, the beef by the carcass and the vegetables by the carload. the sausage of the "steam kitchen" is said to be the best to be found in christiania. all kinds of prepared meats are also sold in this annex butcher shop. during the fruit season the company runs a canning department upstairs, preserving all kinds of fruits, jellies, pickles, and that sort of thing. at the baking department bread is sold to the general public at wholesale or retail, and small retail establishments are supplied with all kinds of groceries as well as meats and other edibles. thus the restaurant is only part of this large business from which the company derives its profits. there is naturally a good deal of jealousy among the competing small dealers against the "steam kitchen," but it serves a benevolent purpose, and there is no disposition among its customers to question its business methods or reduce its profits. it has succeeded in abolishing the cheap restaurants such as are found in all large cities, at which wretched food, generally the scrapings from high-class hotels and eating-houses, is worked over and sold to the poor. it is an interesting sight, this bucket brigade, that stands in line and passes slowly by the serving windows, which are attended by half a dozen brawny norwegian women with bare arms and broad, good-natured-looking faces. they wear neat white aprons and caps, and handle the food with a dexterity that shows long experience. they seem to know most of the customers and carry on a familiar conversation with them while falling their orders. when a bucket and a ticket passes up, blue for a nine-cent and red for a seven-cent dinner, the waitress first plunges a huge ladle into the soup pot and empties its contents into the bucket; then passing along the rows of kettles she harpoons a piece of meat with a long two-pronged fork, scoops up a quart of rice with a wooden shovel, and then, adding a portion of potatoes, slams on the cover, and, grabbing a cube of bread, passes it over to the purchaser with a joke or a few pleasant words. many of the customers are well dressed, according to the norway standard, but no people in the world seem to care so little for their personal appearance, except on sundays, when you can scarcely recognize men and women you have been familiar with during the week. on the day i ate at the restaurant, my cicerone pointed out at the dining table two professors of the university faculty, a lawyer in good standing, a photographer, and a sub-editor of one of the daily papers, who were his personal acquaintances. the remainder of the customers appeared to be professional men, clerks, bookkeepers, and a good many laborers, many of them coming for their dinner without having removed the traces of toil from their faces and hands. at one of the tables was a group of students inclined to be boisterous and evidently enjoying themselves. the "steam kitchen" is the favorite eating-place for the undergraduates, from four to five hundred being served every day. such an institution as the "steam kitchen" is especially suitable to a norwegian city, where a portion of the population work for very small wages, the average income of the wage-earner being less than $ a year--so small that, measured by the american standard, it would seem a difficult problem to find food, clothing, and shelter for a family. few norwegians suffer from poverty or privation, even through the cold and gloomy winters that are eight months long. our own people might die, or at least suffer seriously under the same circumstances, but the norwegians are a hardy race. they have inherited the power of endurance and the ability to survive hunger and thirst and discomforts better than most races. there are comparatively few poor in sweden, probably fewer than in any other european country except norway and switzerland, because of the low cost of living, the sparse population, and the ability of all men and women to find work if they are willing to earn their own subsistence. able-bodied paupers are compelled to work upon poor farms, but the aged, decrepit and invalids who are dependent upon public charity are kindly taken care of by what is called outdoor and indoor relief. in the cities are asylums and almshouses similar to those in the united states, but in the parishes, as a rule, the care of the poor is assigned to individual farmers and others who are willing to take care of them under contract, subject to the supervision of a board of guardians, of which the pastor is the chairman and the elders of the church are members. this has long been a practice in sweden, but is not universal. there are at present , relief establishments of all kinds in the kingdom, and the total contributions for the benefit of the poor amount to $ , , annually, or on an average of cents per capita of the entire population, an average of cents in the country and $ . in the cities. this includes all poorhouses, asylums, hospitals, and other institutions for adults and children who can not take care of themselves. a large part of the relief work in the cities is looked after by the salvation army under contract with the municipal authorities, but there are many institutions, hospitals, asylums, homes for the friendless and aged and for orphan children, supported by private charity. the free hospital for children in stockholm is famous as one of the best equipped and managed institutions in the world. the private charities in stockholm are united for cooperation in an organization similar to those found in american cities, and all charitable institutions are subject to government supervision.[l] chapter xiii material conditions the chief occupation of the scandinavian peninsula is agriculture, employing more men and yielding larger monetary returns than any other industry in either norway or sweden. this may seem strange when it is recalled that sixty per cent of the surface of norway is occupied by bare mountains, twenty-one per cent by woodlands, eight per cent by grazing lands, four per cent by lakes, and two per cent by ice fields, leaving only seven-tenths of one per cent for meadows and cultivated fields. and yet, the products of the farm equal the combined returns from shipping, lumber, and fisheries. in sweden the proportion of land under cultivation is considerably larger, the arable lands consisting of about twelve per cent of the total area, and in sweden as in norway, the agricultural products are more than those from shipping, lumber, and fisheries combined. nine-tenths of the farms of norway and sweden are owned by small proprietors; and although the right to dispose of landed property is relatively free, the laws of the country favor the retention of the farms in the families possessing them. an old allodial right makes it possible to redeem at an appraised value a farm that has been sold. this right is acquired after the property has belonged to the family for twenty years, but it is lost after the farm has been in the possession of strangers for three years. there are some farms that have been worked for a thousand years by the descendants of the same family. the best farms are about the banks of the lakes and in the narrow river valleys, and there are many fertile meadows which have never been plowed or put under cultivation, so that there are great future possibilities for tillage. and yet these meadows furnish fine hay-crops, and every blade of grass represents money in scandinavia. in a country extending through thirteen degrees of latitude, one might naturally expect a wide range of agricultural products. in the southeastern part of the peninsula most of the plants and orchard fruits of central europe are found; whereas in the northern sections it is impossible to grow even the most hardy plants. oats, barley, and rye are the chief cereals, but their production scarcely meets the needs of the country. potatoes are the only root crops extensively cultivated. while the summers are short, vegetables and small fruit do excellently during the long, sun-lit hours. scandinavians, however, do not seem habituated to a vegetable diet, and the cultivation of root plants seems very generally neglected. pears, cherries, apples, raspberries, gooseberries, and currants may be grown under favorable conditions; but they play a minor role in scandinavian horticulture. the cow is a staple of wealth to the people of scandinavia. they are diminutive in size, dun-colored, docile in habits, and excellent milk producers. it is said when they are well-fed they average from six to nine hundred gallons of milk a year. the mountain saeters, or dairies as we would call them, are the centers of the butter and cheese industry during the summer months. the peninsula is also supplied with an excellent breed of small but hardy horses. the cream-colored fjord horses of norway are only sixty inches high. they are active, hardy, and gentle; and in the mountainous parts of the country they are vastly more serviceable than mules would be. the gudbrandsdalen breed, found chiefly in the mountain valleys, are larger than the fjord horses, and they are generally brown or black in color. good horses bring surprisingly high prices. working horses cost from $ to $ and the best stallions bring as much as $ , . the agricultural interests of norway have suffered unmistakably by the enormous emigration to the united states. two-thirds of the norwegians of the world live in iowa, wisconsin, minnesota, and the dakotas. nearly every norwegian farmstead has kinsmen in our country; and the strong and vigorous always emigrate, thus leaving the farms at home in the hands of the old and infirm. america has been greatly benefited by this almost incessant exodus; for the norse peasants have, without an exception, made splendid citizens, the best, in fact, that have come to us from europe. commenting on the enormous emigration from the norwegian farms, william eleroy curtis remarks: "notwithstanding the large emigration of young people, for whom the norwegian farms are too small, it is apparent that the development of norway is continually progressing along the highest lines, and that the tendency of the people, is upward socially and industrially, in culture and in wealth. the population of the kingdom not only holds its own, but shows a slight increase which seems remarkable because of the continual drain of young, able-bodied men and women who have removed to our western states. in all public movements, in all social, commercial, and industrial activities, in art, science, and literature, in wealth and prosperity, norway stands abreast of the most advanced nations of europe; but its progress is not won without greater effort than any other people put forth, and the application of thrift and industry elsewhere unknown, but which is required in a climate so bleak and inhospitable, and by a soil so wild and rocky. none but a race like the norsemen could have kept a foothold here." norwegian economists recognize the loss to the country through emigration, and in recent years the national parliament has attempted to improve the condition of agricultural laborers. a fund of $ , has been set aside by the government for the purchase of land. loans are granted to municipalities ( ) for the purpose of buying large estates to be assigned to people without means at the purchase price, in plots of not more than twelve acres of tillable soil, and ( ) for the purpose of being granted as loans on the security of parcels of the same size, which people without means may acquire as freehold property. the interest on these loans is from three to four per cent, and the time of payment is up to twenty-five years. there is also a cultivation fund of $ , , from which loans are granted for the purpose of cultivating and draining the soil. the interest is two and one-half per cent, and the time of repayment is up to twenty years, including five years in which no instalments are required. such loans are granted ( ) on the security of mortgages and ( ) on the guaranty of the municipality. agricultural societies--national and county--receive government grants for the purpose of holding meetings and issuing documents that might be of service to farmers. there is also a staff of surveyors paid by the state to assist in the public allotment of land and otherwise to render assistance to needy lot-owners. considerable attention is also being given to the matter of agricultural education. connected with the state agricultural college is an experimental farm, where not only farmers but also dairymen, gardeners, and foresters receive practical instruction. connected with the larger farms of norway and sweden are cotters' places--farm laborers who have leased a small part of the farm for a definite period (often during their natural lives). in some cases the cotter leases only a building with a garden attached; in other cases several acres of ground. the cotter is usually required to work on the farm of the owner at certain times of the year for a small wage regulated by contract. these cotters correspond to our truck farmers, and their plots of ground number about , on the outskirts of the cities and villages. they raise potatoes and other vegetables, and hay enough to feed a horse and several cows. in most cases the women and children do the work, while the men are engaged in other occupations. it is no longer permitted to establish entails which can not be sold or mortgaged, and the national government in recent years has sought to further the partition and allotment of the common ownership of land. pastures and grazing lands are still often held by the community, and similarly mountain pastures. but the community farms, when the consent of all the part owners and tenants has been secured, may now be partitioned by surveyors appointed by the public authorities. in the great timber districts of the mountain ranges, the trees are felled in winter and the logs are dragged to the tops of the steep mountain sides, where they are slid down to the river, or they are carted on sledges to the river's edge. during the early summer, after the ice has gone, and while the rivers are yet full of water, they are floated down the streams to the sawmills. but, as the logs are constantly being driven into corners or lodging against piers, floaters are employed to keep the logs in the current. log-floating is both the most dangerous and the most unhealthful occupation in norway. men often fall into the streams; they are forced to sleep on the cold ground in uninhabited parts of the country; they frequently fall from the rolling logs into the whirling currents and are tossed against sharp rocks; and the marvel is not that the death-rate among floaters is so high, but that any of them survive the perilous occupation. the value of the exports of forest products and timber industries reaches about eighteen million dollars a year, and the combined forest industries furnish employment to a large number of laborers. the state forests occupy about , square miles, more than half being located in the northern provinces of tromsö and finmark. the state also has nurseries at vossevangen and hamar, and three forestry schools, by means of which widespread interest in tree-planting has been aroused. destructive forest fires and the slaughter of the trees by the remarkable development of the wood-pulp industries have emphasized in recent times the need of larger forest reserves and closer government supervision. under the most favorable conditions, the pine requires from seventy-five to one hundred years to yield timber twenty-five feet in length and ten inches in diameter at the top. spruce will reach the same size in seventy-five to eighty years. in the higher altitudes of the central part of the country the pine requires one hundred and fifty years, and rarely exceeds one hundred feet in height, and it decreases toward the coast and northwards. the fisheries of norway are among the most important in the world, yielding the nation more than seven million dollars a year, and furnishing employment to eighty thousand men. the sea-fisheries play the chief part in this branch of industry. the long coast line and the great ocean depth near the coast combine to give the fisheries of norway unusual advantages. the abundance of fish is also due to the presence of masses of glutinous matter, apparently living protoplasm, which furnishes nutriment for millions of animalcules which again become food for the herring and other fish. the fish are mainly of the round sort found in deep waters, the cod, herring, and mackerel being the most important. the cod yields the largest monetary returns. this fish migrates to the coast of norway to spawn and in search of food. the best cod fisheries are in romsdal, nordland, and tromsö counties, the lofoten islands in tromsö alone furnishing employment to more than four thousand men. the cod weighs from eight to twenty pounds and measures from five to six feet in length. some are merely dried after having been cleaned. this is done by hanging them by the tail on wooden frames. the others are sent to the salting stations where they are salted and dried on flat rocks. a fish weighing ten pounds will yield two pounds of salted cod, the loss being due to the removal of the head and entrails and the drying out of the water. there are numerous secondary products from the cod, the most valuable being the cod liver oil. the livers of the fish are exposed to a jet of superheated steam which destroys the liver cells and causes the small drops of oil to run together. the roe are salted and sent to france to be used for bait in the sardine fisheries. in the matter of the handicraft industries carried on in the homes, norway has long taken high rank. as early as the ninth century her artisans were skilled in the manufacture of arms, farming implements, and boats, and her women in cloth weaving and embroidery. during recent times the ease and cheapness with which foreign products could be obtained caused a marked decline in home industries; but at the present moment an effort is being made to rehabilitate them through a national domestic industry association, organized in , which has taken up the manufacture of hand-carved articles, sheath-knives, skis, sledges, and woven and embroidered woolen and linen goods after the old norwegian patterns. the manufacture of lumber and wooden ware is one of the leading industrial pursuits. with the exception of the two most northern counties, practically every section of the country is represented by sawmills and planing mills. ship-building in recent times has attained considerable importance, and the manufacture of paper of the chemical wood-pulp variety has become one of the leading industries. there are a few cloth, rope, and jersey mills at bergen and christiania, but the textile industries of norway are relatively unimportant. on the other hand, leather, india rubber, glass, metal, and chemical industries have become important of late years. norway is not rich in mineral products. the combined mining industries do not yield more than two million dollars a year, and they furnish employment to less than four thousand men. the kongsberg silver mines have been operated for more than three hundred years, but the recent fall in the price of silver has reduced the output. the copper mines at rorös have been operated for two hundred and fifty years, and there are less important copper mines in nordland, telemarken, and the hardanger. there are iron mines at arendal and elsewhere, but the rise in the cost of charcoal, due to the scarcity of wood, has greatly crippled the iron industry. there are important soapstone quarries in the gudbransdal and the trondhjem basin; green colored slate in the valders and at vossevangen; and granite, syenite, and porphyry in many parts of the country. measured by population and national wealth, the commerce of norway is relatively important, due in a large measure to her enormous merchant marine and the efficiency of her hardy seamen. relatively to the population of the country, norway has the largest merchant fleet in the world, and in the matter of steamships and sailing vessels she is surpassed only by three countries--great britain, germany, and the united states. not only is her fleet large, but her service is efficient. norwegian seamen the world over are esteemed for ability and honesty, inspiring all commercial nations with confidence that goods carried in norse bottoms will be carefully and conscientiously treated; and her seamen are everywhere sought to man foreign vessels. in industries, the swedes excel in the manufacture of iron. to fully appreciate the value of this industry, one should visit gefle, the most important shipping point on the eastern coast of sweden. here there is a fine harbor, with docks and warehouses owned by the government. from this port the ore from the mines of central sweden is shipped to all parts of the world and handled by brown hoisting machinery, which is made in cleveland, ohio--the same that you see on the ore docks at south chicago and at cleveland, buffalo, ashtabula, and other points on the great lakes where iron ore and coal are handled. at gefle, too, an annual industrial exposition is held, where you may see on exhibit all the utensils manufactured or used by the people--all kinds of machinery, tools, and implements, recent novelties in patents, weaving, wood-carving, and a large part of the exposition building is given up to beautiful articles in iron, in the manufacture of which we have said the swedes excel. a little west of gefle is the town of fahlun, which is the headquarters of the kopparberg mining company, the, oldest industrial corporation in the world. the buildings date back to the seventeenth century and the mines are even more ancient. a mortgage bond was filed upon them in the year by a german company, and the records show that in the privilege of working them was sold by the king of sweden to a syndicate of lubeck miners. but these documents which are on file in the archives of the town are comparatively modern, because the copper deposits at fahlun were known and worked in prehistoric times, and from them the vikings obtained the sheathings for their ships and the material from which their copper armor, implements, and utensils were made. an immense amount of copper was used and worked with great skill in scandinavia even before the christian era, and the most of it came from the great deposits at fahlun. the iron industry is old in sweden. isaac breant, a tradesman in stockholm, founded a company and received a charter from charles xi in . he built the first blast furnace in sweden, and died in , leaving the property to his son, who died in . the heirs sold out in to a man named grill, in whose family the property remained until , when it was purchased by the ancestors of the present owners. the famous dannemora mines, which produce the best bessemer ore in the world, have been worked continuously since . it is one of the most valuable and extensive iron deposits in the world, and resembles those of lake superior. the area of ore already located covers , square meters.[m] chapter xiv highways, railways, and waterways since the sixteenth century norway has had an excellent public posting system which enables the traveler to go to the most remote parts of the country at moderate and fixed rates. fast and slow posting stations are established by the government along all the national highways. at the former, horses must be kept in readiness; whereas, at the latter, the horses may be in distant fields at work, and a couple of hours may elapse before the traveler can proceed upon his journey. the rates, which are determined by the government, are, from fast stations, about seven cents a mile for a horse and two-wheeled conveyance or sledge; but from slow stations they are scarcely more than half that price. when the road is over very steep mountains, an extra fare is charged, usually double; but this is a government regulation and is always understood. the posting stations are, for the most part, isolated and solitary farms. the farmers undertake to provide rooms and meals, as well as drivers, horses, and conveyances. stations are usually from seven to fifteen miles apart, and farmers are required to convey the traveler only as far as the next station. two kinds of wagons are used, the carriole and the stolkjaerre. the carriole resembles an american sulky, except that it is springless, and nearly the entire weight is forward of the axle. it is a two-wheeled gig with the body shaped like the bowl of a spoon. the seat, in front of the axletree, is fastened by cross-pieces to the long, slender shafts that project behind and provide a place for light luggage and a seat for the driver. the carriole is for one passenger. it is falling into disuse, and its place is being taken by the stolkjaerre, a two-wheeled cart that will carry two passengers. it also has long shafts which extend under the axletree to make a support for the luggage and a seat for the driver. the passenger's seat is in front, perched on two wooden bars stretched obliquely upwards and backwards from the front of the vehicle. the drivers, usually men although sometimes girls, vary in age from six to sixty years. the norwegian horses are stout, stubby, and spirited little beasts. they are cream-colored, high crested, and have black manes and tails; the manes are cropped, except the forelocks, which are left to protect the eyes from the sun, and the tails are very full. horses are valued in norway by the size and fullness of their tails. these little animals are so trustworthy and intelligent that tourists, as well as peasants, soon get to look upon them as companions. in every "skyds-station," as the posting stations are called, in a conspicuous place is posted this inscription: _vaer god mod hesten_. this means "be good to the horse." at every station there is also a book, called the _skydsbog_, in which travelers are requested to write their names and any complaints they may have to make regarding their treatment. at intervals these books are examined by government officials. swedish horses are much larger than those of norway, tall, heavy, with long legs and barrel-shaped bodies, very much like canadian stock. they drive well, make good speed, and will eat anything. at the livery stables one can hire outfits by the day or hour--the legal price being cents an hour or cents to any point within the city limits, and there is an excellent cab system, with what is known as the "taxameter" register. every cab is equipped with an arrangement similar to a gas meter, which shows on a dial the money due, whether you are using it by the hour or by the distance. the hackman sets his clock at zero at the time of starting, according to the number of passengers or whether he is hired by time or distance, and it ticks away while you ride or while he waits. the fare for one or two persons is sixty-two cents per hour; for three persons, eighty-seven cents an hour; for four persons, $ . and a tip to the driver anywhere from one cent to fifteen cents, according to the time he has been with you. the public posting system outside of the cities is similar to that of norway. the national government builds the main highways, while the cross roads are built by the parishes. the management is in the hands of a bureau in the national department of public works, and the maintenance falls upon the people who live in the neighborhood, under the supervision of a local inspector. every farmer has a piece of road to take care of, according to the amount of land he owns, and at intervals slabs of cast iron are erected bearing his name and the section of the road he is to keep in order. thus every man's reputation is at stake in the neighborhood, and if there is a muddy place or a rut, everybody knows who is to blame for it, and it can not be laid to the county commissioner, as is the case in america. on the outside of each road is a line of large blocks of stone set upright, which serves as a barrier to prevent wagons from going off into the ditch. there are , miles of main highway, and , miles of cross-road, or a total of , miles of roads in norway, and the total expenditure upon them by national and local authorities will average a million and a half dollars every year. the first cost of a road is usually about $ , a mile. they first dig an excavation about three feet deep, as if they were going to make a canal. on the bottom are thrown heavy blocks of stone through which the water can filter, and occasionally there is a little drain to carry it off. upon this is a layer of smaller stones, and then still smaller, until the surfacing is reached, which is macadam of pounded slate, mixed with gravel and stone. during the winter the farmers have to keep their several sections free from snow, but to do this it is necessary for them to co-operate, for it would be impossible for one family to handle the heavy plows that are necessary. six, eight, and ten horses are often hitched to them--all the horses in the neighborhood--and it is often the work of weeks instead of days to get the roads opened up for travel, but when it is once done, it is as clear and smooth for sleighs as a city boulevard. norway has only one mile of railway for every one hundred square miles of land; but the mountainous character of the country, the heavy snowfall during the long winters, and the thin, scattered population make railway construction almost prohibitive. nevertheless, the new kingdom has made a commendable beginning, and the state has plans for enormous extensions during the next twenty-five years. there are now nine railway lines in the country, with a total mileage of one thousand five hundred and eighty-four, but half of which is broad gauge. the state railways have been constructed partly by subscriptions taken in the districts interested in the construction of new lines, and partly at the expense of the national government. the leading railway lines radiate from christiania to stockholm, goteborg, trondhjem, gudbransdal, telemarken, and the valders. the longest line--three hundred and fifty miles--is from christiania to trondhjem through hamar. there is also a relatively long line--one hundred and ninety miles--from christiania up the gudbrandsdal by lake mjosen and through lillehammer to otta. in , the valders railway, connecting christiania with fagernaes--a distance of one hundred and thirty-one miles--was opened. this connects with the most important of the new roads being built, the one from christiania to bergen. this road will reach entirely across the country, from christiania on the swedish frontier to bergen on the atlantic coast, thus making connection between the two largest cities of norway, journeys between which are now only possible by steamships and carriages, consuming from three to six days. the new road goes through the mountains and presents many engineering difficulties. two-thirds of the way the roadbed must be cut out of the mountain side, and there is a tunnel three miles long at a height of two thousand eight hundred and twenty feet above the sea level. the snow in the winter is so heavy that it will be necessary to cover the tracks with sheds for a distance of nearly sixty miles. the construction is not only difficult, but expensive, and although the distance is but three hundred and ten miles, it will be one of the most costly railroads ever built. sixty-seven miles of the line between bergen and vose, on the western coast, is already in operation, and it is a favorite journey of tourists, for the scenery is superb, although the traveler is in a tunnel one-tenth of the entire distance. there are forty-eight tunnels in all. a shelf has been hewn and blasted along the side of the mountains that encloses the celebrated sorfjord. the norwegians call a railway a _jernbane_, literally "an iron path." their cars are made on the conventional european pattern, and are light and comfortable. they are furnished with toilet rooms, and run smoothly and noiselessly. most of the trains are equipped with westinghouse brakes, steam heat, and electric lights. the trains run very slowly. economy is studied in this respect, as in every other. there is a certain speed--say, fifteen or eighteen miles an hour--which can be maintained at a minimum consumption of fuel, and the scandinavian railway managers have figured it down to a dot. they can haul a longer train a greater distance with a ton of coal than any other engineers, and the most scrupulous attention is applied to every feature of management, the tracks, the rolling stock, the station, the crossings. the crossing-keepers are usually women. a large number of that sex are employed by the railways. the stops at the stations seem unnecessarily long to impatient americans, but the time is utilized by the leisurely passengers in drinking big goblets of beer, and by the conductor in parading up and down the platform so that the patrons of the road can have an opportunity to admire his radiant uniform and fine shape. in scandinavian countries the best-looking men seem to have been selected for railway conductors and policemen, and their deportment is decidedly different from what we are used to in america. if you ask a question of a norwegian policeman, he will bring his heels together, give a military salute, and stand in the attitude of attention like a soldier while he answers. he usually understands english, too, and those who can not are remarkably accurate guessers, and all take a friendly interest in your inquiries instead of giving you a short answer and a cold shoulder like the policemen in our cities. they will walk to the corner to point out the house in the middle of the next block if that is where you want to go, and when you thank them for their attention, you get another salute that makes you feel as big as a major general, or as if you had been mistaken for a member of the royal family. railway conductors are equally polite, and seem to understand that it is a part of their business to protect tender-footed travelers, as angels always look after good little boys. in southern sweden there is scarcely a parish without a railway, and in the northern part of the kingdom, where the railway facilities are limited, posting stations are maintained by the government similar to those in norway. there is a railway running as far north as the th parallel of latitude, about fifty miles beyond the polar circle into lapland, to the famous mines of malmberget, with a branch to trondhjem, norway. the line follows the coast of the gulf of bothnia very closely, through a country well covered with small pine timber, which was being rapidly stripped until the government interfered by passing rigid regulations and appointing foresters to enforce them. you can see the midnight sun from several places on this railway, anywhere above degrees and minutes of latitude, from the th of june to the d of july, and farther north for a longer period. at gellivare the midnight sun can be seen regularly from june to july , and it is a much more convenient and quicker journey than to the north cape and other polar resorts in norway. during that period a traveler is reasonably certain of seeing the sun at all hours of the day as long as he cares to stay, while over in norway that privilege is rare and uncertain, owing to the fogs and clouds that obscure the horizon sometimes for days at a time. but there is nothing else to call the tourist to this part of sweden, for the scenery is monotonous and uninteresting and the facilities for travel are primitive and the tourists are few. everybody who has taken the trouble to make the journey, of course, advises other people to do the same, and insists that it is worth the time, money, and fatigue it costs, on the same principle as the fox that lost his tail in a trap wanted all the other foxes to cut off their tails. there is one train each way daily, but it runs very slowly,--about fifteen or eighteen miles an hour,--and stops a long time at the stations. the cars are comfortable. the road belongs to the government, and was built in the ' 's for the transportation of ore from the iron mines, which was previously hauled by cart in summer and reindeer sledges in winter, to the ports of lulea and allapen, a distance of about one hundred and forty miles. when it is recalled that two-thirds of the inhabitants of norway live upon the coasts and fjords, the large part which water traffic plays in the economy of the country will be easily understood. the coast being well protected by a chain of islands, the skjaergaard, both travel and commerce are carried on by means of small open boats. the fjord rowboats, as a rule, are light and pointed, with upright and high prow, and they carry a square sail. they are light to row, and they go capitally before the wind. there is an extensive government posting system on the coasts, fjords, and inland lakes, similar to that along the public highways already described. the tariff from fast stations for a four-oared boat and sail with two rowers is about twelve cents a mile; eighteen cents for three rowers and a six-oared boat, and twenty-four cents a mile for a boat with eight oars and four rowers. the tariff is decided by the size of the boat and not by the number of passengers. the rowers are not infrequently girls and women. the large fjords and lakes have ample steamboat facilities, the coast service between bergen and trondhjem being especially good. the navigable channels of the fjords represent a coast line of twelve thousand miles, and they are so entirely separated from the sea by islands and reefs and obstructed at their entrances by old moraines, that the fresh water from the melting snows and rivers lies four or five feet deep on the surface. small steamers ply on all the larger fjords on which the rates are moderate and the accommodations fair. on most of these boats a passenger pays full fare for himself and half fare for the other members of his family, including his wife. persons who want to see the fjords of norway thoroughly should take the regular mail steamers, which call at all small ports and take a month instead of a week for the voyage. the boats are small, but clean and comfortable, and only occasionally have bad weather--very seldom in summer. they wind in and out of the narrow passages, and because of their size can navigate where the larger tourist steamers are not able to go, and therefore the passengers on the latter miss some of the finest scenery. voyages to the north cape by the tourist steamers are limited to a few weeks during the midsummer, when the sun is supposed to be visible at midnight in the arctic regions, but steamers run regularly all the year way around the cape to archangel, vadsö, and horningsvaag, the arctic ports of russia. the fjords never freeze, so that navigation is always open, and there is more or less travel in midwinter between the civilized portions of the arctic regions. if you will take your map and examine the north coast of europe within the arctic circle, you will find several towns east of the north cape on the white sea which are wide open days in the year, and do more business in the winter than during the summer months. they do not see the sun from december to february. at some places it is invisible for a longer period, but at hammerfest the streets, houses, and business places are lighted with electric lights, and similar plants are being introduced into other cities of the polar section. it is stated, also, that the aurora borealis is so brilliant night after night as to make it easy to read ordinary newspaper print without artificial light, and by long experience people are prepared for the peculiar conditions that exist there. the passengers on the steamers in these waters in winter are mostly commercial travelers and men interested in the fisheries, which are more active from october to march than at any other time of the year. there are also two canals in norway that are used for passenger traffic--the fredrikshald canal, connecting the femsjöen and skullerud lakes, and the skien-nordsjö-bandak canal, connecting the nordsjö lake with the hitterdal and bandak lakes. between the hitterdal and the nordsjö lake there is a rise of fifty feet, which is overcome by two locks at skien and four at loveid; and between the nordsjö and the bandak lakes there is a rise of one hundred and eighty-seven feet, which is overcome by fourteen locks, five of which are around a waterfall, the vrangfos, where the average rise for each lock is about thirteen feet. the postal, telegraph, and telephone systems, all under government control, are both cheaper and more efficient than in the united states, where the two latter are private monopolies. with the exception of switzerland, norway is more abundantly supplied with postoffices, in proportion to her size, than any other country in the international postal union. the length of her telegraph lines, in relation to the population of the country is greater than in any other country. there is no place in the world where telephones are so cheap or so numerous as in stockholm. there are more telephones in stockholm than in berlin or london, and it is contended that there are more than in paris, but that is doubtful. the total number of instruments in use is nearly , to a population of , . you can find a telephone in every shop and in almost every house, and in the parks and on the street corners on lamp posts are little booths similar to those used for police boxes in the cities of the united states. they work automatically. you drop a little coin worth three cents into the slot, and then ring the bell. for several years every room in the principal hotels has had its own telephone, on the same system that has recently been introduced into the united states, and upon some of the steamers sailing from stockholm there is a telephone in every stateroom. the long distance 'phones and all the lines outside of two or three of the principal cities belong to the government and are operated by the postoffice department. the rents vary from $ to $ a year. the telegraph system is owned by the government, which charges a uniform rate of fifteen cents for ten words to any part of the country. chapter xv the people: their manners and customs because of its geographic isolation, the scandinavian peninsula is the home of the purest teutonic ethnic stock. the norwegians, icelanders, swedes, and danes are racially closely related, and they belong to the same branch of the aryan family as the germans, flemish, english, and anglo-americans. physically, these people are powerfully built and tall, of the pure scandinavian type, with fair hair and blue eyes, and their healthy, intelligent look strikes the traveler. in addition to the physical characteristics held in common by these scandinavian peoples, the norwegians are to be specially noted for their long narrow heads, particularly is this so among the people in the interior of the country. here, too, the stature is the greatest. during the civil war in the united states, it was found that among the enlisted troops the norwegians, after the americans, had the greatest stature, and that in breadth of chest they were excelled by none. it is probably true, however, that the norwegians who emigrate represent the finest physical types, and that they possess a higher average stature than one finds in norway to-day, if the most northerly provinces are excepted. the norwegians are a very plain people--neither pretty nor handsome. the women are strong and square-built, and what beauty they have is of the solid and substantial sort. of the two sexes, the men are the better proportioned, both in the matter of figures and features. they have light complexions,--barring the bronzing of the skin due to constant exposure,--light hair, blue eyes, and reasonably well-formed noses. both men and women have frank and open countenances. the most marked mental characteristics are clear insight, unconquerable pertinacity, dogged obstinacy, absolute honesty, and a sturdy sense of independence. björnson has well remarked concerning his people: "opinions are slowly formed and tenaciously held, and much independence is developed by the rigorous isolation of farm from farm each on its own freehold ground, unannoyed and uncontradicted by any one. the way the people work together in the fields, in the forests, and in their large rooms has given them a characteristic stamp of confidence in each other." it is perhaps this isolation that has perpetuated so many of the old customs and superstitions for which the norwegians are noted. william eleroy curtis tells of seeing the funeral of one of these norway farmers: "his house was trimmed with green boughs and festooned with ropes of flowers and ground pine. the word _farvel_, "farewell," was worked in green over the front door. the coffin, which was carried on a bier by the neighbors to the little cemetery not far away, was covered with flowers, and following it were a number of women clad in somber black with little white shawls tied under their chins, each carrying a wreath in her hands. the minister led the procession. he was dressed in a long black gown reaching to his heels, like the cassock of a catholic priest; his hat was of felt, with a low crown and a broad brim, similar to those worn by the curates of the church of england, while around his neck was a linen ruff that looked as if it might have been worn in the time of queen elizabeth. "a grave had been dug in the churchyard. the neighbors who had borne the body, lowered it tenderly to the bottom, and when they had lifted the cover of the coffin in place, each man, the oldest first, threw in a shovelful of earth. all the women did not use the shovel, some of them took up handsful of soil and let it gently filter through their fingers into the open vault; and finally three children, somewhere about ten or eleven years of age, followed the example of their elders and added their little share to the brown coverlid of the dead. the pastor removed his hat, extended his arms and pronounced a benediction. then the women laid their wreaths on the newly covered grave and sorrowfully turned homeward." independence and frankness characterize all classes of society. norway has no hereditary aristocracy. in it was provided that those holding titles might be allowed to retain them during their lives, but they could not transmit them to their children. the norse character has never been marred by the yoke of slavery. the feudal system, with its serfdom, never got a footing in the north. the people have always been small landholders, which has developed among them an independence of character not found in countries where the mass of the inhabitants have no direct property interests. there is no class in norway corresponding to the country gentleman of england or to the grand seigneurs and provincial noblemen of the continent. the wealthiest landlord is only a peasant. honesty is one of the valuable assets of the norwegian people. attempts at extortion are so rare that tourists, accustomed to the proverbial dishonesty of the latin races, find travel in norway and sweden a joy. an english traveler relates this typical incident: he had lost his purse shortly after leaving vossevangen for stalheim. altogether unconscious of his loss, he walked on placidly. suddenly hearing hurried footsteps following him, he turned about and faced a lad who thrust the pocketbook into the owner's hand and disappeared before the englishman could get a coin from his pocket to reward the boy for his honesty. the norwegian boy very properly did not expect a reward for doing the only thing open to his mind upon finding the purse. kindness to animals is another virtue of the norwegian people. illustrating this trait we again quote william eleroy curtis: "there seems to be a close relation between the human kind and their animals. the men and women talk to the horses and cattle as if they were understood. we had a _skydsgut_, or driver, one day, who held continuous conversation with his horses. every time he would come to a hill he would walk beside them and talk to them all the way up in a gentle, caressing sort of way, like a child talking to a doll, and once when he stopped for water and the near horse wanted to drink more than the driver thought was good for him, he scolded like an old woman. the horse shook his head and rattled his harness impatiently, as much as to say, 'you get back onto your box and attend to your business and i'll attend to mine.'" that intellectuality is one of the traits of the swedes and norwegians alike is evidenced in the long list of names that have become famous in the world's literature. in spite of the high intellectual attainments of these people, they are fond of the quiet, simple life, with friends and kinsfolk and home employments and home enjoyments. and they are very superstitious, too, and, in spite of their lutheran faith, they have never discarded the customs that grew from belief in gods many, and fairies, trolls, gnomes and norns without number. the forests, the mountains and gorges, are inhabited by these people still. nissen is the good fairy of the farmers. he looks after the cattle particularly, and if he is well treated they are healthy, and the cows give lots of milk. to propitiate him it is necessary to put a dish of porridge on the threshold of the cow stable on christmas morning. whenever the family move, this invisible being goes along with them and sits on the top of the loads. in haying time he always rides on the load of hay, and the _bedstemoder_, best mother or grandmother, in every farmhouse can tell the children dozens of interesting stories about the mischief or the kindness of nissen. he is invariably represented in pictures of farm life; he appears on the illustrated advertisements of farm machinery; his figure carved in wood is sold at all the curiosity stores, and he appears as a prominent character in most of the fairy stories that deal with farm life. he is represented as a short, fat, bow-legged man, with big whiskers and long white hair, wearing a red hat like those worn by clowns in circuses. he usually appears in his shirt sleeves, with an open collar, a blue vest, and knickerbockers upon his legs, which are as slim as those of a brownie. his circumference is greater than his height, and his head is almost as large as his body. noek is the fairy of the waterfalls and is a sort of merman. you never see more than half his body. he is very, very old, his hair and beard are long and white, and his face is always pale and pensive. he carries a harp and plays to amuse the spirits in the waterfall. a statue of ole bull has recently been erected in his native city of bergen. he stands upon a pedestal which rises from a fountain, and the water flows over the head and shoulders of a noek at the base. norway offers a fine field for reformers to study the effects of regulation upon the vice of drunkenness. within the limits of the kingdom are all grades of restriction, from prohibition to liberal license. there are no pretensions about the norwegians; there is no affectation about their morals and no leniency in the administration of their laws. the police and the magistrates are merciless and inexorable, and crime is punished more severely perhaps than in any other country. at the same time the people distinguish an important difference between temperance and total abstinence. they give their children beer in unlimited quantities, but absolutely prohibit the sale of whisky, and send drunken men to prison with burglars and assassins. norwegian reformers hold that beer is the great promoter of temperance, and encourage its use as a beverage, although every saloon in the kingdom is closed on sundays, on all holidays, and saturday afternoon, which is the regular pay day for the working classes. these are practical regulations, devised for the purpose of restraining those who are not capable of controlling their own appetites and encouraging thrift and economy. while the saloons are closed on pay day, the savings banks are open until midnight. it is difficult to become accustomed to the long twilights in norway. one can read and write at a window as late as ten o'clock without difficulty, and during the months of june, july, and august few artificial lights are used, either in the streets or in the shops or in the residences. a candle is usually kept handy for an emergency, but it is light enough to dress and undress at any hour of the night, and it seems childish to go to bed before dark. the hours for meals are awkward to those accustomed to american ways. breakfast is usually served from seven till nine o'clock. four o'clock is the fashionable dinner hour, without luncheon. after dinner men return to their business and keep open their shops and offices until a nine or ten o'clock supper during the long days. no one will ever starve to death in norway. american palates may not always crave the food, but they can not complain of its abundance. the table is usually loaded with all sorts of fish and cold meats, both fresh and preserved, that foreigners are usually afraid of. the norwegians are fond of things with a pronounced flavor, the more pronounced the better, and cheese is one of the chief articles of diet. a norwegian housewife would not consider a meal complete without five or six different kinds of cheese of all degrees of pungency in taste and odor upon the table. at breakfast you are served sardines, anchovies, smoked salmon, dried herring and five or six other kinds of fish and an equal variety of cheese before they think of offering you coffee and meat and potatoes. you get seven or eight kinds of bread also, but it is all cold. the national bread, which is made of flour, water and a little salt, with a sprinkling of caraway seed, rolled very thin and punctured with holes like a cracker, is baked only once or twice a year, and then in large quantities, as new england women bake mince pies and put them on the top shelf to season. it is called _grovboröd_, and tastes like a water cracker. the servant-girl problem has been solved in norway to the satisfaction of all concerned, although it is doubtful whether a similar solution would be accepted by domestic servants in the united states. in large cities like bergen and christiania, there is a central employment bureau under the direction of the municipal government, and twice a year--one week before new year's day and one week before st. john's day, the th of june--there is a general change of servants by those who are dissatisfied with existing conditions, and engagements are made for the ensuing six months of the year. families who want servants, fill out blanks setting forth what is required and the wages they are willing to pay. these are filed at the employment office and are noted in a conspicuous manner upon a blackboard. women or men in search of employment go to this bureau during the weeks named, examine the blackboard, and apply to the clerk in charge for further information. if they desire to apply for a particular position, they submit their recommendations to the clerk, and if he is satisfied, he gives them a card to the lady of the house. that card is good for the day only, and must be returned by the lady of the house before the close of office hours. if the girl is engaged, the blanks upon the card are filled out with a general statement as to her duties, the term of service, and the wages agreed upon, and the card is filed away for reference if necessary. if the lady of the house is not satisfied with the applicant, she sends her away and returns the card marked "not satisfactory," with the request that other applicants be sent her. if the applicant is satisfactory, the lady of the house pays her a bonus of one krone or two kroner called "hand money"--that is, she crosses her hand with silver as an evidence of good faith--and the girl agrees to report for duty within one week after new year's or midsummer's day, as the case may be. that is to allow her present employer to fill her place. in some of the smaller towns the dates for changing servants are april and october . the law protects both the employer and the employed. the employer guarantees to give the servant a comfortable room, wholesome food, take care of her if sick, and pay her wages regularly as agreed upon during good behavior; while the girl agrees to perform her duties faithfully during the term for which she is engaged. if there is any complaint upon either side, it must be made to a magistrate, who investigates and decides between them. a family can not get rid of a servant during her term of employment without official intervention. on the other hand, the girl's wages are a first lien upon their property for the entire term, although judgment must be rendered and made a matter of record. if a servant runs away from her employer, she can be arrested and fined. cooks are paid from $ to $ a month; housemaids from $ to $ a month; men butlers from $ to $ ; coachmen from $ to $ a month; scullery maids and men of all work receive corresponding wages. nearly all of these domestic customs here related apply to sweden as well as norway, and there are many interesting additional ones. in sweden the state dinners at the palace are always at six o'clock. at nearly all the other courts of europe it is customary to dine at eight o'clock. the king's dinners are short, his guests seldom remaining more than an hour at the table, after which the ladies adjourn to one of the drawing rooms, the gentlemen to the smoking room, and later all are entertained by musicians from the opera house or the royal conservatory. carriages are usually ordered at ten o'clock. this seems old-fashioned, but for people who like to go to bed early and those who are occupied with business all day it is much more sensible than the custom followed in some cities, where social festivities do not begin until the hour when the king of sweden's guests are bidding him good night. but everybody complains that the swedes are drifting away from old customs and are becoming modernized. the french influence seems to prevail, and modern swedish life is becoming an imitation of that of paris. another of the old customs is for people to indicate their business upon their visiting cards. you will receive the card of lawyer jones, or banker smith, or music professor smith, and so on; and these titles are also used in addressing them. it would seem rather queer for any one in the united states to ask, "wholesale merchant macveigh, will you kindly pass the butter?" or "banker hutchinson, will you escort fru board of trade operator jones to the table?" but that is the custom in sweden and it is observed by children as well as grown people. a lisping child will approach a guest, make a pretty little bob-courtesy, and say, "good morning, chief justice of the supreme court fuller," or "good night, representative in congress boutell." it is customary for ladies to print their maiden names upon their visiting cards in smaller type, under their married names, particularly if they have a pride of family and want people to know their ancestry. to see the old swedish customs that have almost entirely disappeared from the country, one must go to the hill districts of dalecarlia, where the people are so unlike the rest of the swedes in their dress, their customs and habits, and in many other respects as to almost seem another race. the dalecarlians are great dancers, and the social gatherings at their homes during the winter are always accompanied by that form of amusement. during the summer they dance in the open air. on st. john's day the entire population, old and young, dance around a may-pole erected at some convenient place, and at harvest time, whenever the last sheaf in a field is pitched upon the cart or the stack, it is customary for somebody to produce a musical instrument, a violin, a nyckleharpa, a harmonicum, or perhaps only a mouth organ, and everybody--for the boys and girls of the family all work together in the hay and harvest fields--join in a dance before returning home. the dances are original and often interesting. one of the most ancient and popular is the _däfva vadmal_ (weaving homespun), whose figures are supposed to imitate the action of the shuttle, the beating in of the woof, and other motions used in weaving at an old-fashioned loom. some of the dances resemble those of scotland, and one is almost exactly like the virginia reel as danced by old-fashioned people in the united states. in another, called the "garland," the dancers wind in and out under their clasped hands in imitation of the weaving of a wreath of flowers. all the dances require violent physical exercise, but the swedish men and women are famous for muscular development. some of the dances are accompanied by pretty melodies sung in unison by both sexes. the songs of the dalecarlian peasant are not lively, but rather slow in movement, and are usually sung in unison, the music being rarely arranged for parts. dalecarlia has a certain preeminence among the districts of sweden because of the part its people have played in the history of the country, and however the other provinces may dispute among themselves about their claims for distinction, each will admit that dalecarlia is entitled to special consideration. its people represent the highest patriotism and the noblest characteristics of the swedish race, and when any one is spoken of as a dalecarlian, it means that he is a free and intelligent citizen of independent thought and action and lives a life of manly simplicity.[o] chapter xvi health, exercise, and amusements perhaps in no other country in the world have health and exercise been united and formed into a national institution, as they have been in sweden. the true swede believes that exercise will cure everything, and that as a preventive of disease there is nothing like it. if you go to a swedish physician for advice, he will invariably prescribe the movement cure, and send you to a gymnasium or a massage establishment instead of to a drug store. physical exercise is therefore the national remedy, particularly for complaints due to sedentary employment, neglect of nature's laws, and high living. the movement cure for invalids, which is practically the same as that we have in the united states, is used in all the hospitals as well as in private practice. it was invented about a century ago by dr. ling, a patriot, a gymnast and a poet, who was inspired to revive the ancestral national spirit in the swedish people by the aid of sports and songs, and to develop once more the great qualities of strength, courage, and endurance which in old times distinguished the scandinavian race. after a hard struggle he succeeded, in , in securing the recognition of the government and founded the royal gymnastic central institute, where all persons desiring to teach gymnastics in the public schools or in private institutions must take a course of training and take a degree. the swedes are quite as particular about this as they are about the study of medicine. no medical practitioner can hang out a sign without a diploma from one of the universities, and no person can teach gymnastics in that country without a similar certificate of competency from the royal institute. every officer of the army is required to undergo a course of instruction, not only to develop his physical constitution, but to qualify him to teach gymnastics to his soldiers. the teachers of physical culture in the public schools, both men and women, are obliged to take a similar course in order to drill their pupils properly, for in every schoolroom in the country, down to the kindergartens, daily physical exercise upon ling's plan is required to promote the development of the body and improve the health. this is required in private as well as public schools, and the methods of instruction are subject to the inspection and approval of the central institute. in every town of any size there are gymnastic clubs and associations, which are generally guided by instructors educated at the central institute. they include women as well as men in their membership, and in many of them fencing and other sword exercises are also taught. in common with all the gymnasiums are bath-houses. you will find them in every part of the city of stockholm and in other large towns. some of them occupy entire buildings. it is the habit of business men to go to their stores or offices at nine o'clock in the morning and remain there until two or three in the afternoon, when they go to their club or gymnasium and take an hour's exercise and afterward a bath. these establishments in the business quarter of stockholm and other cities are considered just as important as clubs, restaurants, or other places of resort, and usually have connected with them reading and smoking rooms where patrons can read the daily newspapers and current magazines and sip coffee and smoke while they are cooling off. it would surprise a visitor in new york or chicago to be informed that his broker or his lawyer or his banker or a contractor with whom he has business, had gone to a bathhouse or gymnasium at three o'clock in the afternoon, but in stockholm it is a common reply to an inquiry. during winter afternoons you can usually find anybody you want by going to his favorite gymnasium or bathhouse, just as you would look for him at his club in chicago. there is a distinctive dress for the exercise. the patrons take off their street clothing and put on light woolen shirts and trousers, and canvas shoes on their bare feet, and, standing in rows, go through a series of motions under the command of their instructor to exercise the arms, legs, neck, and every other part of the body, gently, not violently. the idea is movement, not exertion, and the muscles are restrained. the arm is raised slowly with self-resistance. no clubs or dumb-bells are used, only a gentle motion like the exercise of the children in the schools. after twenty minutes or half an hour of this the class marches in a column, still going through the same movements; then they run, following their leader, doing everything that he does, until at the end of an hour the body is in a glow, the blood is pulsating in every vein, the perspiration is oozing from every pore, every muscle is limbered up and strengthened, and every nerve tingles. there is regular gymnasium apparatus for those who like more violent exercise. then a bath is taken, followed by a cold plunge and violent rubbing with massage, after which a man is in shape to go home to his dinner with a good appetite. in october every year the scandinavian gymnastic instructors' association meets in stockholm for several weeks, at which lectures are delivered, papers are read, and discussions are held upon all branches of their work. these meetings are quite as important as annual conventions of the bar or medical associations, and are not only attended by gymnastic instructors, but by physicians generally, for every swedish physician must be well versed in medical gymnastics, particularly in what is known as _kinesitherapym_ or movement cure, which embraces active, passive, and resisting movements, as well as massage, for the latter is the basis of medical gymnastics. the swedes have accepted this treatment as a specific for nearly all diseases, deformities, and weaknesses of the body; for internal complaints, for the lungs, the heart, and the digestive organs. it removes superfluous tissue, and this is the reason you see so few fat men in sweden, notwithstanding their beer-drinking propensities, and why the women keep their youthful shape until old age. it is a spectacle to witness in some of the gymnastic institutes venerable and dignified gentlemen going through comical motions and assuming ridiculous postures with great activity and zeal, keeping time to the music of a band in the adjoining café. in sweden doctors never send bills to their patients, but trust entirely to their generosity. each family has an attending physician, who expects them to pay him by the year for his services, according to their wealth and the amount of attention they receive. ten dollars a year in our money is a good fee; one hundred dollars is princely. at the beginning of the year you put the amount in an envelope and send it to the doctor by a messenger with your card. he sends back his card with an acknowledgment of thanks and the compliments of the season. it is very bad form to talk about it, although grateful patients often write their physicians affectionate letters of gratitude for his devotion and the benefit he has brought them. it is a good deal like the relation between a minister and his parishioners in other countries, and the annual contribution for the support of the doctor is just as voluntary as the contribution to the treasury of the church. if there is any reason why one should feel grateful to the doctors; if you or your children have suffered a severe illness and he has pulled you through, he expects a present in addition to the annual honorarium, just as you would send the minister a present after a marriage or a funeral or some other special occasion at which his services are required. the amount you pay depends upon your ability and the value of his services, but it is a violation of the most sacred canon of professional etiquette for a doctor to ask compensation or question the amount he receives. he keeps no accounts of his visits and no books. if a stranger or an acquaintance who does not contribute regularly makes one call or two upon the doctor to ask his advice or a prescription, he leaves something on the table, but it would be equivalent to an insult if he should ask for a bill. when a person is very sick, he is taken to a hospital. sweden has some of the best hospitals in the world. his own doctor looks after him there, assisted by the house physician and nurses, who expect fees, but the regular doctor gets none. he supervises the treatment and acts as adviser to the house physician. the government pays subsidies to doctors in remote parts of the country, just as it pays the salaries of the ministers where the people are so poor that they can not support a doctor and a parson. in fact, all the clergymen of the established church are paid by the government and are government officials. the members of their parishes give them presents, something on the donation party order, because their salaries are small, and if there happen to be rich men in the parish, it is their custom to send around a handsome present to the minister's wife or to himself on christmas day. the swedes have a short summer, and so far as possible spend it in the open air. every citizen of stockholm who can afford it has a place in the country, no matter how humble or primitive it may be, and if he can not afford a cabin, he pitches a tent in the woods under the pine trees, and if necessary cooks his own meals. the banks of the lakes and rivers throughout the entire kingdom--and there are more than , lakes in sweden and , islands in the stockholm skärgard--are surrounded by such dwellings and camps, for the swedes love the water. those who are compelled to remain in town take their meals and spend their evenings at the open-air cafes, which are found in every part of the city with bands of music, and take daily excursions on the boats which ply through the fjord and the lakes which encircle the town. in the suburbs are circuses, open-air theaters, concert gardens, and other forms of entertainments, simple and serious. a number of fine restaurants are maintained in the parks, where people can get a good dinner and spend the evening under the cool foliage, listening to an orchestral concert or a band. every form of outdoor amusement is furnished, and the people eat, drink, and are merry, making the most of their time from june to september before the long and dreary winter comes upon them. the working classes have their simple amusements also, and during the summer evenings in every village there is music and dancing, even if an accordion or jewsharp is the only instrument to be obtained. the national dances are quite energetic, and furnish a form of exercise which lazy people would not admire, but both the men and women of sweden are famous for their muscular strength, and the young woman who can dance down her companions is as much of a hero as the champion wrestler of the town. those who can not enjoy the opportunity of visiting rural sweden will find in the suburbs of stockholm, at the favorite resort and place of amusement of the common people, a perfect representation of swedish country life. it is called skansen, and is rural sweden in miniature. it is a patriotic and scientific enterprise, conceived and undertaken by the late dr. artur hazelius, an eminent ethnologist, for the purpose of preserving the habits and customs of the scandinavian races. in no country of europe, excepting perhaps russia and turkey, have the people adhered to the manner and costumes of their fathers so tenaciously as in sweden, and the life of past generations is preserved in its picturesqueness. the conservatism of the people, their tenacious preference for their own ways and means has kept out innovations, and very few changes have been made since the beginning of the eighteenth century. but fearing that the peasants of sweden, like all other peoples, would sooner or later surrender to modern fashions, dr. hazelius attempted to collect at skansen actual types representing every industry, activity, and national trait. his thought was expressed in a motto inscribed over one of the gates of this outdoor museum: "the day will come when all our gold will not be sufficient to buy an accurate picture of the times long past." he procured from the king a rocky plateau on the edge of a royal park known as _djurgarden_, covered with crippled pines and resembling the wild, uncultivated, neglected landscape in dalecaria or norrland, the two most interesting portions of sweden. by careful landscape gardening, without destroying its natural beauty, he introduced broad paths, restaurants, cafes, band stands, and other places for the merry to meet and hold their festivals, and for the students to sing their songs, and he reserved a part of the grounds in its natural condition, where the lovers of nature can find a quiet retreat among the gloom of a pine grove. it has become the most popular resort in sweden, particularly in the long summer evenings, and when a man can not reach the country, skansen is never too far. it is accessible by street-cars and by boats, and is not more than half an hour's walk from the palace. here the "folk festivals," for which the swedish poets have composed their most beautiful songs, are held every spring; here the national holidays are celebrated as in olden times, both in summer and winter, and national customs are preserved with great care and amid surroundings that give them a realistic tone, like the true thing. dr. hazelius secured original types of peasant houses from every part of the country where they have individual or unique character. from the huts of the fishermen on the south coast of the scandinavian peninsula to the camps of the lapps in the frozen zone, every feature of swedish country life is represented. the lapps brought their dogs and reindeer, and live exactly as they do upon the snowy plains of the polar regions. with the forty acres that compose the park are about one hundred and twenty-five people, living exactly as their forefathers lived and practicing the primitive customs that prevailed two centuries ago in the agricultural districts of the kingdom. they wear the same costumes, eat the same kind of food, use the same kind of dishes, and preserve so far as possible every feature of their daily life. every one of the provinces of sweden which has a distinctive dress or unique custom is represented by the actual people who have always lived that way. every man and woman continues their former occupations. there is no theatrical business about it, no imitations on the grounds; everything is genuine. three or four times a week at sunset, after their daily work is done, the peasants gather for a dance at a central place, which is always surrounded by a large crowd of spectators, and is the greatest attraction of skansen. on alternate nights the dancing is by the children, of whom there are thirty-seven under fifteen years of age living in the cabins with their parents, dressed just like their great-great-grandfathers and grand mothers when they were of the same age. the music for the dancing is furnished by old-fashioned instruments, and none but old-fashioned tunes are allowed. there is a society in sweden known as _svenska folkdansens vänner_ for preserving the swedish national peasant dances and for encouraging their use in the higher circles of society in preference to the french dances. there are several fine museums and picture galleries in sweden. the national gallery in stockholm, which is across the bay from the royal palace, and the northern museum founded in by dr. hazelius. then there is the royal opera and the national theater, so that the people of stockholm do not want for places of amusement in winter as well as summer. the father of athletic sports in sweden is lieutenant colonel victor gustaf balck, who holds a military position in the garrison at stockholm. he introduced lawn tennis, cricket, baseball and football, and has established numerous athletic clubs in different parts of the country. sailing is popular, there being many yacht clubs with good houses and fleets. and swimming is a part of the national education, nearly every man, woman, and child in sweden taking naturally to the water and being able to swim. everybody can skate as well as swim. in the cities rinks can be found with music and many conveniences. in stockholm there is a general skating club, with a rink large enough to accommodate six thousand skaters, and popular fêtes given there at intervals during the winter are attended by the royal family and members of the court, and are regarded as important social functions. all skating is done upon the numerous lakes, and often during the long nights of the winter hundreds of people, young and old, will gather at an early hour--it gets dark at four o'clock in the afternoon--and spend the entire night skating by moonlight. a big fire is built in some convenient place for the crowd, and smaller fires by individual parties, who bring luncheon with them and have a picnic in the snow in the winter. in various parts of the country, national and international skating contests are held, and winners in local tournaments, both for speed and fancy skating, are sent to stockholm to contest for the grand prizes against the crack skaters of norway, denmark, russia, and northern germany. but the national winter sport of all scandinavia is skeeing--skimming over the snow on snow-shoes. there is no more vigorous or exciting exercise. in the country districts men and women alike are educated to the use of snowshoes from childhood. as soon as boys and girls are old enough to skate, they put on skees of a size appropriate to their stature, and are quite as agile and daring as their elders. it requires nerve, skill, and muscular strength to skee, and a person who has never tried snow-shoes always finds it difficult to use them. it is a sport to which people must be trained from childhood. a skilful "skeer" can make a mile in two minutes. ice yachting and sailing on skates are two of the oldest and most popular national sports, and are practiced in both sweden and norway by all classes. all the ice yachts and snow-shoes are home-made, and in the country districts many of the skates.[p] chapter xvii the newspapers of norway and sweden there are seven hundred and fifty-one newspapers and periodicals in sweden, including fifty-two dailies. stockholm has twelve dailies, seven published in the morning and five in the evening, which is a large number for a city of three hundred and ten thousand inhabitants, and the wonder is how they all manage to exist. none of them is as large as the ordinary dailies in the united states. it is the practice of the swedish editors to waste very little room in headlines, and to condense as much as possible. they state facts without padding or comment, and manage to bring the daily allowance of news within ten or twelve columns. there is usually a continued story, three or four articles of a literary character, a couple of columns of clippings and miscellany, and the same amount of editorial. the balance of the paper is given up to advertising, but with all that it is seldom necessary to print more than four pages. the morning papers stick to the blanket sheet. most of the stockholm papers have a good advertising patronage, which runs to display at times. the swedish business men have learned that it pays to advertise. the rates are much lower than in the united states. the ordinary want ad. costs from seven to ten cents, and for display advertisements the rates run from two and one-half to twenty cents a line, according to the location. in the semi-weekly edition of _aftonbladet_, which is considered the best advertising medium in sweden on account of its large circulation and superior class of readers, display ads. in preferred places cost about twenty-eight cents a line. the subscription price corresponds. you can have any one of the evening papers delivered at your house for $ a year, and the highest rate for the morning dailies is $ a year. it is worth while to know that postmasters in sweden will receive subscriptions for newspapers published in any part of the world. a small fee is exacted to cover the amount of postage and the stationery required in forwarding the subscription. the father of cheap newspapers in sweden is anders jeurling, the publisher of _stockholm-tidningen_ and _hyvad nytt i dag_, who started the first-named journal about twelve years ago and sold it on the street for two _öre_, which is about one-half cent. now the price of the former is four _öre_, about one cent, and of the latter a half cent. the former paper has the largest circulation in the city of stockholm, its ordinary edition reaching about one hundred thousand copies, but _aftonbladet_ exceeds it in the country. mr. jeurling has the reputation of being the ablest publisher in sweden, and is a better business man than the editor. he has made a fortune out of his papers on the theory that the people care more for news than for politics. mr. adolph hallgren is the editor-in-chief of _stockholms-tidningen_, and the managing editor is mr. f. zethraens, who studied journalism in the office of the chicago _record-herald_. the official paper of the swedish government is _post och inriches tidning_, which was founded as far back as , and is one of the oldest periodicals in the world. for more than a century it has been published under the auspices of the swedish academy, an organization of eighteen of the most learned scholars and philosophers in the kingdom. the editor is dr. j.a. spilhammar, a very learned gentleman, who, on account of his position, is naturally conservative and discreet in all his utterances. _aftonbladet_, a liberal evening paper, to which i have already alluded, has the greatest circulation in sweden, the daily edition varying from one hundred and fifty thousand to one hundred and sixty thousand copies, and it is one of the most influential forces in the kingdom. the editor, harald sohlman, is regarded is an able writer and shrewd business man. he is also editor and publisher of _dagen_, a morning paper, liberal in politics, which has a circulation of about forty thousand copies, and is sold at three _öre_--about three-quarters of a cent. _aftonbladet's_ semi-weekly edition goes into every corner of the kingdom, has a high literary standard, contains correspondence from all the european capitals, and has a special department devoted to news concerning the swedes and swedish affairs in america. the most conservative of all swedish papers is _nya dagligt allehanda_, edited by dr. j.a. bjorklund. its circulation is confined almost exclusively to the nobility and wealthier classes, and is said to be more loyal to the government than royalty itself. _vart land_, another conservative paper, edited by professor gustaf torelius, an eminent author and scholar, is an organ of the swedish state church, and on that account is taken by every lutheran clergyman and active layman in the kingdom. it contains the official announcement of the minister of religion and the archbishop, and is especially given to news of an ecclesiastical character. its most prominent writer is dr. c.d. af wirsén, one of "the immortal eighteen" of the swedish academy and a lyric poet of reputation. _svenska morgonbladet_, another religious daily, opposes _vart land_, and represents the dissenters from the established church. its circulation, according to its sarcastic competitors, "is limited to those who have been saved." its most eminent contributor and patron is dr. peter paul waldenström, founder and leader of the free lutheran church, "the swedish moody." scarcely a week passes without an article from his pen in _morgonbladet_, which gives that paper its standing among free lutherans. _dagbladet_ is the only paper in stockholm which is issued twice a day, and it has also a sunday edition. it styles itself in politics a "moderate," but is more popular among the conservatives than the liberals. having the city printing, it is not inclined to quarrel with its bread and butter. _dagens nyheter_, a liberal morning paper, made a fortune for rudolph wall, its founder, who died a millionaire. it is considered one of the most profitable newspaper properties in europe. it sells for a cent and a quarter, and has a circulation of about thirty thousand. the stockholm paper which imitates the american press most closely is _svenska dagbladet_, ably edited by helmer key, a doctor of philosophy, and c.g. tengwall, who is regarded as one of the best all-around newspaper men in sweden. it has the best class of contributors of any of the swedish papers in a literary way, including professor oscar levertin, verner von heidenstam, the poet, tor hedberg, an art and literary critic, and ellen key, the authoress, and the most influential woman in sweden. the paper has a large circulation among the thinking people of the country, and exercises a wide influence. the official organ of the royal yacht club, the royal jockey club, and all representative swedish sport clubs, is the _ny tidning för idrott_, which is owned by count clarence von rosen, one of the grandsons of the late mrs. bloomfield moore, of philadelphia. the count, himself the finest rider in the swedish army, edits the horse news, while colonel victor balck, the father of modern swedish sports, and alex. lindman are the editors. _ny tidning för idrott_ has a regular correspondent in america. hjalmar branting, leader of the socialists in sweden and a member of the second chamber of parliament, is editor of _social demokraten_, the organ of his party. although a man of aristocratic origin, he has cast his lot with the laboring classes. he is a man of great force of character, an able writer, an eloquent speaker, and is generally respected even by those who can not approve his views. the circulation of his paper is almost exclusively confined to the laboring classes. the compensation of newspaper men in sweden is much less than in the united states. the highest salary paid to an editor-in-chief is $ , , while the lowest for that position is about $ , . managing editors are paid from $ , to $ , a year, and ordinary reporters from $ to $ a year. contributors of fame receive special rates. the price for news items is two and one-half cents a line. space writers seem to be paid more in proportion than the regular members of the staff, but the difference is more apparent than real, because of the tendency to condensation. articles in the swedish papers are seldom more than half a column long. stockholm has several comic papers, even more in proportion to population than we have in the united states. the most prominent are _strix, puck, söndags-nisse, kasper_ and _nya nisse_. they are small and comparatively insignificant, and sell for two and one-half cents a copy. they satirize politicians with good humor, and their cartoons are based upon current events. there are several literary weeklies, monthlies, and other periodicals, for swedes are great readers and, unlike the americans, have not lost their taste for poetry. a poet enjoys a much higher position and larger income from his writings in sweden than at home. there is a press club in stockholm with four hundred and forty members, of whom twenty-two are women. in the club arranged "a week of festivals," including military tournaments, public entertainments and a fair, and closed with a masquerade ball at the royal opera house to raise funds for a building. it was a great success. king oscar accepted an invitation, and enjoyed himself very much among his "colleagues," as he called them. the king was always considerate to newspaper men. he appreciated the purpose and understood the requirements of reporters, and never failed to assist them whenever he was able to do so. hence he was very popular among them, and they reciprocated by showing their appreciation in every possible way. the old king once said to hjalmar branting, the socialist editor: "we have different opinions, branting, but we are both working for the welfare of our country." in , during the international congress of the press at stockholm, the king gave the editors a banquet at the royal castle at drottningholm, and mingled among them as "one of yourselves." he also proposed a toast in most complimentary language. oscar ii made many speeches, and upon occasions of great formality he used manuscript, but generally spoke without notes, preparing himself in advance by study and reflection. when he spoke from manuscript, he invariably furnished copies to the press, and was never known to request that part of his speech be suppressed. reporters are invariably admitted to state ceremonials. there is very little secrecy about the stockholm court, and intrigue is entirely unknown in swedish politics. there are no mysteries in the council chamber and no skeletons in the royal closet. hence the doors are open, and the reporters can come and go as they please. as a natural consequence comparatively little attention is paid to affairs at the palace. there is an announcement every morning of the movements of the king and the royal family and occurrences of public interest, but with very little detail, and the newspapers depend upon the officials to furnish the information voluntarily. reporters are seldom sent to the palace unless some special inquiry is necessary. the story is told that once when oscar ii went to gothenburg to attend a dedication or opening of something or other, where he was expected to make a speech, he was intercepted at the railway station by an enterprising reporter who wanted a copy of his speech. the paper was to be published that afternoon, and there would be no time for a stenographer to write out his notes afterward. the king greeted him pleasantly and explained that he had no manuscript; that he intended to speak without notes. the reporter was very much dissappointed, and confided to the king that he was a new man and that his future standing with his employer might be seriously affected if he failed to get the speech. king oscar responded sympathetically, invited the reporter to get into his carriage, and while they were driving to the hotel, gave a brief synopsis of what he expected to say. newspapers in norway are not so good an investment; in fact, none of them may be considered financial ventures. as a rule, they have to be assisted by the government or by political clubs in order to survive. their subscription lists are limited, the largest circulation in norway not exceeding fifteen thousand and few publications print more than five thousand copies, while advertising pays not more than ten or twelve cents a line at top prices in the most expensive papers. an ordinary newspaper reporter in norway receives a salary of about $ a week, while the most competent editors are satisfied with $ or $ . norway was the last of the european countries, except turkey, to adopt the art of printing, notwithstanding its early famous literature, but to-day has four hundred and twenty-nine newspapers and periodicals, an average of one to every five thousand of the population; one hundred and ninety-six are political newspapers; eighty-eight are literary weeklies, and one hundred and forty-five are reviews, magazines, professional, religious, and scientific publications. _norske intelligens-seddeler_ is one of the oldest papers in the world, having been founded in christiania in , and has been the organ of the government from the beginning. for a century and a quarter its contents were limited to advertisements and official announcements. it was a sort of a government gazette, but when hjalmar loken took hold of it, ten or twelve years ago, he changed its character entirely and has turned it into a good modern newspaper and a vigorous advocate of government measures, exercising a wide influence through its columns. monopolies were formerly granted to newspapers in norway. the government allowed only one paper to be published within the limits of an ecclesiastical diocese, or at least only the favored paper was permitted to receive money for the publication of advertisements. competitors resorted to all sorts of ingenious methods, by issuing pamphlets and 'handbills and such things, that a free discussion of political issues might be had, but it was not until that the last monopoly, which happened to be in the city of trondhjem, expired. in freedom of the press was granted by the new constitution, and from that date the political agitators have found expression in various publications, and partisanship has often risen to a bitterness that would not be permitted in other countries. the norway newspapers have not known a censor since that date. _morganbladet_, the first daily, was established in , and has played an important part in the political affairs of the. country. it is still very influential, being edited with great ability by mr. nils vogt. björnson, the author, has been connected with two newspapers--the first, _krydseren_, a literary weekly which survived only a few years, and _verdens gang_, which has been published since as the leading organ of the liberal party. among its editors and contributors have been other distinguished men, poets, dramatists, and novelists. nearly every writer of distinction has contributed to its columns, for most of the thinking men of norway are liberals. since mr. thommessen has been the editor, and he was the first to modernize the norwegian press by printing cable dispatches, cartoons, caricatures and other illustrations. _dagbladet_ is also a widely read and influential daily, under the editorship of mr. a.t. omholt, and has a large circulation. its list of contributors has included some of the most distinguished writers of the country. there are numerous other dailies of more or less influence and circulation, and all the trades and occupations have organs, as in the united states. in every town and almost every village, a weekly or semi-weekly is published, usually by the liberal party, and sometimes by other parties. even hammerfest, the most northerly town in the world, which lies in the arctic circle, has two enterprising weeklies.[q] chapter xviii norwegian folk songs if the dwellers of the deep fjords, the somber fir-clad mountain valleys, and the bleak ice-fields do not "open their lips so readily for song" as the people of southern lands where the sun creates an eternal spring, it is not because they are without lyric power, as is clearly apparent from the rich and varied folk-songs and the splendid creative work of edvard grieg. the norwegian folk-songs, spring dances, hallings, and wedding marches, have been well characterized as the outpourings of the inner lives of the common people, the expression of their dauntless energy, their struggles and aspirations. the folk-song of norway, more than in any other land, embodies the character and expresses the tendencies of viking life, ancient and modern. it bears the unmistakable marks of weal and woe of norse life, the strongly marked and regularly introduced rythms of the developed and developing national character. and while an undercurrent of melancholy runs through most of it, it is, after all, the faithful interpreter of the lives of isolated and solitary occupants of fjords, fjelds, and dalen. the folk-songs of norway are singularly typical of the country and its inhabitants. some "seem to take us into the dense forest among mocking echoes from, the life outside; others show us the trolls tobogganing down the highest peaks of norway; in some we feel human souls hovering over reefs; in others, memories of the old sun-lit land flit before us; but in none do we meet with sentimentalism, despondency, or disconsolateness." but with their weird and minor strains, and their odd jumps from low tones to high, on first acquaintance they strike the hearer as strange and elusive. some of the epic songs, as telemarken, are of great antiquity. but it was not until the last century that norse tone artists discovered the wealth that had long been cherished by the peasants of the fjords and mountain valleys. lindeman ( - ) was the first to recognize the musical significance of norwegian folk-songs. he collected many hundred national ballads, hymns and dances, and called attention to their richness and variety as thematic material for a school of national music. in lindeman's collection will be found songs which tell of the heroic exploits of old norse vikings, kings, and earls of the heathen days of thor and odin, together with lyrics, deep and ardent, which sing of the loves, the joys, and the sorrows of the humbler christian folks. the hardanger violin, the lur and the langeleik have played a leading role in the development of norwegian folk-songs and dances. the hardanger instrument is more arched than the ordinary violin; there are four strings over the finger-board and four underneath, the latter of fine steel wire, acting as sympathetic strings. the men of the hardanger fjord have long been distinguished for the workmanship and tonal qualities of their violins, and with them the peasants have improvised the rich and varied impressions of nature which we find embodied in folk-songs. the lur is a long wooden instrument, of the trumpet order, and is usually made of birch bark. it is much used in the mountains. the langeleik, or norwegian harp, is a long, narrow, box-like stringed instrument, something of the character of the ancient zither. it has seven strings and sound holes, but its tone is weak and monotonous. the national dances of norway have bold rythms which at once arrest the attention. perhaps the most characteristic is the hailing, a solo dance in two-four time. it is usually danced by young men in country barns, and its most striking feature is the kicking of the beam of the ceiling. in the story of nils the fiddler, in his novel _arne_, björnson has given this account of the hailing: "the music struck up, a deep silence followed, and he began. he dashed forward along the floor, his body inclining to one side, half aslant, keeping time to the fiddle. crouching down, he balanced himself, now on one foot, now on the other, flung his legs crosswise under him, sprang up again, and then moved on aslant as before. the fiddle was handled by skilful fingers, and more and more fire was thrown into the tune. nils threw his head back and suddenly his boot heel touched the beam." the spring dance is less vigorous, but more graceful than the hailing. it is a round dance in three-quarter time, in which two persons, or groups of two, participate. it is danced with a light, springing step, and has been compared with the mazurka by liszt. like the hailing, however, it is markedly individual in its pleasing combinations of tones. forestier says of the spring dance of norway: "there is a freshness, a sparkle, and energy, a graceful life about it that is invigorating." if lindeman was the first to collect folk-songs and dances in norway, ole bull ( - ) was the first to popularize them. he was, as grieg once declared, a pathbreaker for the young national music. at the early age of nineteen he sallied forth with his fiddle and wherever he appeared in europe and america he played the folk-music and national dances of norway. the favor which he found encouraged his countrymen. his brilliant career glorified musical norway; gave it confidence to assert itself, and serve as the inspiration of a long list of creative tone artists--kjerulf, nordraak, grieg, svendsen, winter-hjelm, sindling, and behrens--to write out and arrange for voice and modern instruments the music that had so long been preserved in the memories of the people. the best art-made music of norway has been built upon the folk-songs and dances of the common people. halfdan kjerulf ( - ) was the first serious composer of the new art school. he lived during the trying period of norwegian storm and stress, but he wrote something like a hundred compositions, and in his songs is found "the bud of national feeling which has burst into full bloom in grieg." richard nordraak ( - ), during his brief career, set to music several of björnson's plays, and composed some strong pianoforte pieces and songs. "he was," says siewers, "a man with a bold fresh way of looking at things, strong artistic interests, an untiring love of work, and deep national feeling. he had decided influence upon his friend grieg's artistic views, and he is the connecting link between kjerulf and grieg in the chain of norwegian musical art." otto winter-hjelm, who, with grieg, attempted to establish a conservatory of music at christiania after their return from germany in the sixties, contributed much to the national art of norway by his excellent arrangements of hallings and spring dances for piano and violin. thomas thellefsen ( - ), a pupil and friend of chopin, was distinguished as a national composer as well as a pianist, and carl f.e. neupert ( - ), who lived in america six years, did much by his concert tours and teaching to dignify norse music. johan severin svendsen, while a norwegian by birth and training, has expatriated himself by his long residence in denmark. so far as his compositions have national flavor they are german. johan selmer, while a prolific composer, will probably be best remembered as a conductor. christian sinding, after grieg, is the best-known norwegian composer. his productions range from symphonies and symphonic poems through chamber music to romances. he is credited with a wide range of musical ideas, deep artistic earnestness, and bold power of expression; but his compositions in the larger forms are thought unduly noisy and restless. two women who have helped to make the music history of norway are agatha backer-gröndahl and catharinus elling. mrs. backer-gröndahl was a pupil, first of kjerulf and winter-hjelm, and later of kullak, hans von bülow, and liszt. many of her songs and instrumental pieces display fine artistic feeling and musical scholarship of no mean order. catharinus elling has ventured into the larger fields of music-forms, and has produced operas, symphonies, and oratorios, as well as chamber music and songs. her music drama, "the cossacks," is her most ambitious work. says henry t. finck, an able american music critic: "when i had revelled in the music of chopin and wagner, liszt and franz, to the point of intoxication, i fancied that the last word had been said in harmony and melody; when lo! i came across the songs and piano pieces of grieg, and once more found myself moved to tears of delight." edvard grieg ( - ) undoubtedly occupies the foremost place among norwegian composers. he is the highest representative of the norse element in music, "the great beating heart of norwegian musical art." grieg's _genere_ pieces represent the pearls of his compositions. the arrangements of folk-songs and dances for the piano in "pictures of popular life" (opus ) are characterized by consummate lyric skill; and ole bull once declared that they were the finest representations of norse life that had been attempted. grieg wrote one hundred and twenty-five songs, most of which take high rank. finck is of the opinion that fewer fall below par than in the list of any other song writer. he adds: "i myself believe that grieg in some of his songs equals schubert at his best; indeed, i think he should and will be ranked ultimately as second to schubert only; but it is in his later works that he rises to such heights, not in the earliest ones, in which he was still a little afraid to rely on his wings." when it is recalled that grieg was a pianist of exceptional merit, the large place occupied by pianoforte pieces--twenty-eight of the seventy-three opus numbers--it is easily understood. grieg's piano pieces are brief, but they are veritable gems. the jumbo idea in music still lingers with minor professionals. they shrug their shoulders, remarks finck, and exclaim: "yes, that humming bird _is_ very beautiful, but of course it can not be ranked as high as an ostrich. don't you see how small it is?" grieg composed nine works for the orchestra; and here, as in lyric art-songs and pianoforte pieces, he reveals himself as a consummate master in painting delicate yet glowing colors. the music which he set to ibsen's _peer gynt_ brought him the largest measure of fame as an orchestral composer. indeed it was more cordially received than the drama, as is indicated by this criticism by hanslick: "perhaps in a few years ibsen's _peer gynt_ will live only through grieg's music, which, to my taste, has more poetry and artistic intelligence in every number than the whole five-act monstrosity of ibsen." among other notable orchestral and chamber music numbers may be mentioned a setting of björnson's _sigurd the crusader, bergliot_, based upon the sagas of the norse kings, a suite composed for the two hundredth anniversary of ludwig holberg, and a number of choice chamber music pieces. it may be remarked that edvard grieg has not only given norway a conspicuous place on the map of musical europe, but that he has influenced unmistakably composers of the rank of tschaikowsky, the russian; paderewski, the pole; eugene d'albert, the scotch-english-german; richard strauss, the german; and our own lamented edward mcdowell, the american. "from every point of view that interests the music lover," says mr. finck, "grieg is one of the most original geniuses in the musical world of the present or past. his songs are a mine of melody, surpassed in wealth only by schubert's, and that only because there are more of schubert's. in originality of harmony and modulation he has only six equals: bach, schubert, chopin, schumann, wagner, and liszt. in rythmic invention and combination he is inexhaustible, and as orchestrator he ranks among the most fascinating. to speak of such a man--seven-eighths of whose works are still music of the future--as a writer of 'dialect,' is surely the acme of unintelligence. if grieg did stick to the fjord and never got out of it, even his german critics ought to thank heaven for it. grieg in a fjord is much more picturesque and more interesting to the world than he would have been in the elbe or the spree." while norway has neither permanent opera nor permanent orchestras, she has produced concert virtuosi of a high order. ole bull, the so-called violin-king, already referred to, was unsurpassed in his day. among piano artists may be named the talented composer, mrs. agatha backer-gröndahl, thomas thellefsen, edmund neupert, martin knutzen, and the great composer edvard grieg. the flutist olaf svenssen and the vocal artists thorvald lammers, ingeborg oselio-björnson, and ellen gulbranson, have also brought distinction to their country. the male choirs of norway have always played a leading rôle in the music life of the nation. the students', merchants', and artists' singing clubs at christiania during the past seventy-five years, have had artistic as well as patriotic aims. festivals, after the pattern of those held at cincinnati, and worcester and springfield, massachusetts, have also contributed toward the development of national music. the most eminent choral leaders in norway have been johan d. behrens, f.a. reissinger, and o.a. gröndahl. the norwegian musical union has also been active in the development of tonal ideals. its aim has been to provide chamber concerts of a high order. grieg and svendsen were its first conductors. they were succeded by ole olsen, who combined the talents of orchestral leader with those of composer, chorister, and band leader. for many years he directed the second brigade band at christiania with the rank of captain. johan selmer, also a composer, succeeded olsen in the direction of the musical union; and iver holier, a composer of symphonies, orchestral suites, chamber music, and vocal scores, followed selmer. other orchestral leaders are johan hennum, per winge, and johan halvorsen, chapter xix the women of norway and sweden no volume dealing with scandinavian life would be complete without some tribute to the women of norway and sweden. they are magnificent specimens wherever you may find them--in the kitchen, the factory, the harvest field, the hospital, the schoolhouse, the drawing-room, or the palace. they are good mothers, good daughters, and good wives, and while their devotion to their sons, husbands, and fathers is not surpassed by their sisters in any land, they are at the same time independent, self-reliant, and progressive to a degree that offers a striking contrast to the statue of the representatives of their sex in other countries of europe. they give their best talents, affections, and strength; they ask the same in return. there is no country, not even the united states, where women exercise a wider influence, both direct and indirect in the home, the school, the church, upon the platform, and in the press. there is no other country in which the professions, trades, and other occupations are so free to them, or in which their opportunities are utilized with greater zeal, ability, and success. they work side by side with men upon the farms, in the factories, in mercantile establishments, counting-houses, government offices, and in art, science, and literature, and are equally capable, although, as in other lands, their pay for the same labor and equal results is less. from the time that margit larsson saved gustavus vasa from capture by the danish soldiers by hiding him in her cellar, the women of sweden have exercised a powerful influence in politics, although it has been indirect, and the ablest and most progressive to-day prefer that their present political condition shall remain unchanged. they do not think it wise to extend the franchise any farther for fear that universal suffrage will result in the corruption of national politics, which is now comparatively pure. they prefer the present restrictions, which give the ballot only to women who pay taxes, because it deprives ignorant and incompetent women of a voice in the government, and avoids the dangers that often attend the participation of the masses in elections. they prefer to direct their efforts to securing an increase in women's wages, so that they may receive the same compensation as men for the same work, and hope to accomplish practical results by educating public sentiment and bringing moral pressure upon the employing class. speaking on this subject, an eminent swedish writer says: "in the energetic campaign for the betterment of the condition of women, the swedes have taken the first place among european nations. if one seeks the cause of it, it is found in part in the fact that in sweden, since the remotest time, women have enjoyed a respect greater than in most of the other countries, but without doubt it is also due to the superiority of the intellect, judgment, and wisdom of swedish women, and in later years to the numerical excess of women in our population. this has made the means of existence to single women a practical problem. during the present generation a great change has worked itself out in this sense, that the field of activity for women has been greatly enlarged. the activity of women, who at other times found ample domain in the multitude of occupations in the domestic life, has become less important in that respect and has grown in importance in the labor and occupations that in other countries are left exclusively to men." the advancement of women in sweden was greatly encouraged and assisted by the quiet influence of the late queen sophia and her sister-in-law, the late princess eugenie, the sister of oscar ii. the queen, always an intelligent, progressive christian woman, with a profound consciousness of the responsibility attached to her official rank and influence, was a women's woman, and was habitually engaged in promoting movements for the benefit of her sex, and with due respect to the proprieties of her position. she never lost an opportunity to assist and encourage all who were engaged in advancing the physical, moral, and social well-being of the women of sweden and norway. the association of swedish women, which is a branch of the international council of women, was organized in , and has over twelve thousand members, its object being to promote the welfare of the sex, to educate them on all questions concerning their legal and social rights, to enlarge their sphere of activity, and to assist those who are thrown upon their own resources to earn their living. the active, practical work is done by subordinate societies devoted to particular interests, as, for example, the fredrika bremer association manages a sick relief fund for wage earners, assists students in the universities and technical schools, finds employment for those who need it, conducts schools for trained nurses, keeps a register of women who are capable of performing various duties, and is continually engaged in works of benevolence. another organization, known as the swedish woman's association for the defense of their country, is purely patriotic, and was organized in in connection with the movement for the increase of the army, for the purpose of educating public opinion. it has forty affiliated local committees carrying on a propaganda of patriotism. there is a women's club at stockholm whose special purpose is to protect working women from persecution by their employers and others, to educate them concerning legal rights of women wage-earners, and to furnish legal advice and counsel to those who are in trouble. the seamstresses have an alliance, and the shop girls are organized into a union. the advancement of women commenced under the leadership and inspiration of the late fredrika bremer, the famous authoress, who is well known in the united states because of her frequent visits here and her literary works. she was the pioneer of the movement to improve the condition of women morally, socially, and intellectually. sweden was the first country to recognize the property rights of women. this was due to an event that occurred a thousand years ago. while the king and his army were engaged in foreign wars, the danes invaded the province of smoland, when the women armed themselves to defend their homes. they were led to battle by the beautiful blenda, who defeated the invaders and drove them from the country. in recognition of their heroism the king proclaimed a decree granting the women of the country property rights, and it has been since recognized as the law of the land. all the professions and occupations common to men are open to the women of sweden, and in suffrage was granted women in municipal affairs. they are permitted to vote at the election of delegates to conventions which choose members of the first chamber of parliament. these rights can now be exercised by all women who pay taxes. in stockholm, however, a woman voter must be out of debt and the lawful owner of the property upon which the taxes are paid. the members of the first chamber of the parliament, which corresponds to the united states senate, are elected by conventions of delegates chosen at popular elections in the country and in cities by the members of the municipal councils. therefore, as women have the right to vote for members of the municipal council and for delegates to these conventions, they participate indirectly in the election of the swedish senate; but comparatively few exercise the privilege. women of advanced views, aided by the members of the socialist party, are now seeking universal suffrage and a law making them eligible to parliament and to membership in the provincial and municipal councils. this proposition has not met with much favor, and the only time it has ever been brought to vote it was unanimously defeated in the first chamber of parliament and in the second by fifty-three nays to forty-four yeas, less than one-half the members present voting. the first woman to practice medicine in sweden was caroline widerstrom, who is still living and occupies a prominent position in stockholm. her practice is as large and as profitable as that enjoyed by most of the men physicians. the foremost woman in sweden to-day in intellect and influence, in popular esteem and in public movements, and the recognized successor of fredrika bremer, is ellen key, an authoress and editorial writer upon _svenska dagbladet_. in the system of local government in norway, women now participate upon an equal basis with men. the movements which culminated may, , had been going on since under the leadership of miss gina krog, who may be called the susan b. anthony of norway. in the latter year she organized a woman's suffrage association, delivered a series of lectures on the subject, and established a newspaper called the _nyloende_--meaning "the new ground." miss krog is something over fifty years of age, of fine education and excellent family, and has been noted for her activity in literary and charitable affairs. she has been a teacher, a writer for the press, a director of charitable institutions, and has lived a life of great activity and usefulness, devoting her own means with generosity to the cause which she has undertaken. the suffrage movement at first attracted little attention, but public sentiment grew slowly, and in miss krog succeeded in having a bill brought into the storthing giving women the right to vote in school matters. it received forty-four out of a total of one hundred and fourteen votes. the liberal party then made it an issue, and two years after the same bill received a majority in the storthing, but required two-thirds of the votes to pass. at that time a property qualification was required of men. the income tax returns were used as registration lists at the polls, and none but those who paid on incomes of $ in the country and $ in the city were allowed to vote. the leaders of the movement for universal suffrage for men united forces with the women suffragists, and in accomplished their purpose. the women might have succeeded the same year but for an unfortunate division in their ranks. one faction wanted to limit suffrage to unmarried women who own property and deprive married women and dependent daughters and wage-earners of the ballot. but a compromise was finally arranged, the two factions were brought together, and in may, , succeeded in accomplishing the purpose for which they have been engaged. they received the support of a large portion of the conservative members of the storthing as well as the unanimous support of the liberal and radical parties, only twenty votes being cast in the negative. the women of norway do not propose to rest on their present success. miss krog is continuing the fight to secure the right of participation in national as well as municipal affairs, and believes that the women will have all the political rights of men in norway within the next few years. she insists that public sentiment favors the cause and that parliament will take a step further soon and amend the law by making it broader and more general. universities are open to women on an equal basis with men, and many women are taking advantage of the opportunity to secure the higher education, and if ever, like the women of finland, they are allowed to sit in parliament, they will be amply fitted to do so. under the present law only women who pay a certain amount of taxes can vote. an unmarried woman living at home is deprived of the ballot unless she has an income of her own; a married woman can not vote unless either she or her husband has a stated income. thus many of the most intelligent and progressive women of the country are still outside the suffrage line. everybody in norway who earns a dollar pays an income tax. it may be very small, but a certain percentage of each day's wages of every peasant goes into the government treasury. every person in norway declares that it is the least objectionable means of raising money for national and municipal expenses that has ever been tried there, and that it stimulates the patriotism of the people, who realize that they are contributors to the support of their government, and should take an active interest in its management. many of the wisest men in norway consider the universal suffrage amendment to the constitution, which was passed in , a mistake for this reason--because it removes a powerful incentive for men to accumulate money. the norwegian has a large and natural fund of patriotism. he loves his country like the swiss. nowhere else do men and women have to work so hard for a living, but life is the more precious the harder one has to labor to sustain it. we value things according to their cost. in the tropics, where no man need work, human life is held cheaply. men die and kill without compunction; they excite revolutions and overthrow governments, sparing neither themselves nor others. but in norway, as in switzerland, where it is a ceaseless struggle from the cradle to the grave, there is more national pride and patriotism than in any land, and the privilege of living and working and suffering is esteemed as the most precious inheritance of man. women in america who are working for the ballot have only to go to norway to find that having a voice in the making of the laws of the country does not remove every obstacle to the progress of the sex; that there are still many injustices, and that the women work as hard as the men. the norwegian woman usually carries a little more than her share of the load, and can support a husband without difficulty if he insists upon it. there is nothing so admirable in this world as a useful woman, particularly if she is married to a man inclined to leisure and loafing. in norway and other countries of northern europe the ballad, "i love to see my dear old mother work," is something more than an affectionate sentiment. it has a practical significance, and is frequently found in husbands as well as sons. of all the labor that the women of norway engage in, especially women in the rural districts, is the occupation of caring for the _saeter_. a _saeter_ is a summer ranch or dairy farm peculiar, to norway--a cabin among the pastures way up in the mountains, where the cattle are driven during the summer months and butter and cheese are made. almost every large farmer has a _saeter_. when the spring field work at home has been finished, the cattle are taken thither by the young women and girls,--often twenty and sometimes forty miles away,--where they stay during the summer and make butter and cheese, gather hay, knit stockings, and embroider linen. the dwelling is usually a rude hut with a single room, mud floor, an open fireplace without chimney, and a few pieces of rough furniture. sheds and pens surround the hut, and there are patches of enclosed ground where hay is made and where the younger members of the flock are protected. the cattle are called at night by a horn made of birch bark. when blown lustily, it gives a clear note not unlike the cornet, and the cattle invariably respond to its sound. there is a good deal of romance about _saeter_ life in books, but i should say that there is very little in actual experience. many of the charming fairy stories in norwegian literature have their scenes in those mountain dairies. the _saeter_ girls (_saeterjenter_ they are called), have a peculiar and melodious cattle call, known as the _huldrelok_, which is said to have been inherited from the _huldre-folk_, a species of fairy that are very pretty, but unfortunately have tails. usually a young farmer falls in love with one of the girls, and when he discovers that she has a tail, is so shocked and disappointed that he throws himself over a precipice; or perhaps the _huldre-folk_ gobble him up and carry him off into the mountains of the _josteldalsbrae_ and keep him there, while the girl he left behind him grieves herself to death because of his desertion. the dairy maids are supposed to have a peculiar costume, and photographs are often seen of them arrayed in picturesque dress, but i never saw them worn. in all the _saeters_ i visited the clothes worn were very plain and ordinary, and seemed to have been selected for wear and not for looks. we visited a _saeter_ one day and found two young people in charge, a boy and a girl, neither of them over seventeen, we should judge from appearances. their herd consisted of fifteen cows, and they expected to remain in that desolate country two or three months, making cheese and butter. our little _saeterjenta_ had the heart of a poet, although her brother seemed stupid, and even liberal presents of money did not wake him up or make him interesting. i do not suppose that this child had ever been twenty miles from the humble cabin in which she was born, but the wide, wide world had been opened to her through the books she had studied at school. she could talk a little english, and knew a good deal about the united states. she had a brother in minnesota, and many of the boys and girls in the neighborhood had gone across the atlantic and found homes on the saeterless prairies of our northwest. she would like to go herself, she said, but her mother was old and feeble and the work of the farm fell upon her little shoulders. yet she was brave and contented. her mind was clear, her imagination active, and among her homely surroundings she had found food for thought and an opportunity to give expression to the poetic sentiments that inspired her. each of her fifteen cows had a name. one she called moon lady, because she often wanders away at night; another the crown wearer, because of a peculiar tuft upon her head. she addressed them all in terms of affection and talked to them, seeking their sympathy, for, poor child, they and that stupid, tow-headed _broder_ were her only companions. in the little _saeterjenta_ we have a type of the laboring peasant women of norway and sweden; all willingly industrious and all philosophically extracting some sweets out of the burdensome life they must live, and that is why i say they deserve a tribute, whether in the field or factory, the _saeter_, the common home, or the palace.[s] authorship of chapters _a_ and _b_, sigvart sörensen's _norway_ (p.f. collier, new york). _c_, nillson's _sweden_ (p.f. collier, new york). _d_, sigvart sörensen's _norway_ (p.f. collier, new york). _e_, sigvart sörensen's _norway_ (p.f. collier, new york). _f_, o.g. von herdenstam's _swedish life in town and country_. _g, h_, and _i_, william e. curtis's _denmark, norway, _and sweden_ (saafield pub. co., akron, ohio). _j_, mary bronson hartt, in _outlook_. _k_, swedish american in _review of reviews_. _l_, wm. e. curtis' _denmark, norway, and sweden_, and w.s. monroe's _in viking land_ (l.c. page & co., boston). _m_, w.s. monroe's _in viking land_. _n_, monroe and curtis in above-mentioned books. _o_, o.g. van herdenstam in _swedish life in town and country_. _p_ and _q_, curtis's _denmark, norway, and sweden_. _r_, w.s. monroe's _in viking land_. _s_, wm. eleroy curtis's _denmark, norway, and sweden_. the emperor of portugallia by selma lagerlÖf translated from the swedish by velma swanston howard contents book one the beating heart glory goldie sunnycastle the christening the vaccination bee the birthday christmas morn glory goldie's illness calling on relatives the school examination the contest fishing agrippa forbidden fruit book two lars gunnarson the red dress the new master on the mountain-top the eve of departure at the pier the letter august dar nol october the first the dream begins heirlooms clothed in satin stars waiting the empress the emperor book three the emperor's song the seventeenth of august katrina and jan bjorn hindrickson's funeral the dying heart deposed the catechetical meeting an old troll the sunday after midsummer summernight the emperor's consort book four the welcome greeting the flight held! jan's last words the passing of katrina the burial of the emperor book one the beating heart jan of ruffluck croft never tired of telling about the day when his little girl came into the world. in the early morning he had been to fetch the midwife, and other helpers; all the forenoon and a good part of the afternoon he had sat on the chopping-block, in the woodshed, with nothing to do but to wait. outside it rained in torrents and he came in for his share of the downpour, although he was said to be under cover. the rain reached him in the guise of dampness through cracks in the walls and as drops from a leaky roof, then all at once, through the doorless opening of the shed, the wind swept a regular deluge in upon him. "i just wonder if anybody thinks i'm glad to have that young one coming?" he muttered, impatiently kicking at a small stick of wood and sending it flying across the yard. "this is about the worst luck that could come to me! when we got married, katrina and i, it was because we were tired of drudging as hired girl and farmhand for eric of falla, and wanted to plant our feet under our own table; but certainly not to raise children!" he buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily. it was plain that the chilly dampness and the long dreary wait had somewhat to do with putting him in a bad humour, but they were by no means the only cause. the real reason for his lament was something far more serious. "i've got to work every day," he reminded himself, "work from early morning till late in the evening; but so far i've at least had some peace nights. now i suppose that young one will be squalling the whole night long, and i'll get no rest then, either." whereupon an even worse fear seized him. taking his hands from before his face he wrung them so hard that the knuckles fairly cracked. "up to this we've managed to scratch along pretty well, because katrina, has been free to go out and work, the same as myself, but now she'll have to sit at home and take care of that young one." he sat staring in front of him as hopelessly as if he had beheld famine itself stalking across the yard and making straight for his hut. "well!" said he, bringing his two fists down on the chopping-block by way of emphasis. "i just want to say that if i'd only known at the time when eric of falla came to me and offered to let me build on his ground, and gave me some old timber for a little shack, if i had only known then that this would happen, i'd have said no to the whole business, and gone on living in the stable-loft at falla for the rest of my days." he knew these were strong words, but felt no inclination to take them back. "supposing something were to happen--?" he began--for by that time matters had reached such a pass with him he would not have minded it if the child had met with some mishap before coming into the world--but he never finished what he wished to say as he was interrupted by a faint cry from the other side of the wall. the woodshed was attached to the house itself. as he listened, he heard one peep after the other from within, and knew, of course, what that meant. then, for a long while he sat very still, feeling neither glad nor sorry. finally he said, with a little shrug: "so it's here at last! and now, for the love of god, they might let me slip in to warm myself!" but that comfort was not to be his so soon! there were more hours of waiting ahead of him. the rain still came down in sheets and the wind increased. though only the latter part of august, it was as disagreeable as a november day. to cap the climax, he fell to brooding over something that made him even more wretched. he felt that he was being slighted and set aside. "there are three womenfolk, beside the midwife, in there with katrina," he murmured. "one of them, at least, might have taken the trouble to come and tell me whether it's a boy or a girl." he could hear them bustling about, as they made up a fire, and saw them run out to the well to fetch water, but of his existence no one seemed to be aware. of a sudden he clapped his hands to his eyes and began to rock himself backward and forward. "my dear jan anderson," he said in his mind, "what's wrong with you? why does everything go against you? why must you always have such a dull time of it? and why couldn't you have married some good-looking young girl, instead of that ugly old katrina from falla?" he was so unspeakably wretched! even a few tears trickled down between his fingers. "why are you made so little of in the parish, my good jan anderson? why should you always be pushed back for others? you know there are those who are just as poor as yourself and whose work is no better than yours; but no one gets put down the way you do. what can be the matter with you, my dear jan anderson?" these were queries he had often put to himself, though in vain, and he had no hope of finding the answer to them now, either. after all, perhaps there was nothing wrong with him? perhaps the only explanation was that both god and his fellowmen were unfair to him? when that thought came to him, he took his hands from before his eyes and tried to put on a bold face. "if you're ever again allowed inside your own house, my good jan anderson, you mustn't so much as glance toward the young one, but march yourself straight over to the fireplace and sit down, without saying a word. or, suppose you get right up and walk away! you don't have to sit here any longer now that you know it's over with. suppose you show katrina and the rest of the womenfolk that you're not a man to be trifled with.... " he was just on the point of rising, when the mistress of falla appeared in the doorway of the woodshed, and, with a charming curtsy, bade him come inside to have a peep at the infant. had it been any one else than the mistress of falla herself that had invited him in, it is doubtful whether he would have gone at all, angry as he was. her he had to follow, of course, but he took his own time about it. he tried to assume the air and bearing of eric of falla, when the latter strode across the floor of the town hall to deposit his vote in the ballot-box, and succeeded remarkably well in looking quite as solemn and important. "please walk in," said the mistress of falla, opening the door for him, then stepping aside to let him go first. one glance at the room told him that everything had been cleaned and tidied up in there. the coffeepot, newly polished and full and steaming, stood at the edge of the hearth, to cool; the table, over by the window, was spread with a snow-white cover, on which were arranged dainty flowered cups and saucers belonging to the mistress of falla. katrina lay on the bed and two of the women, who had come to lend a hand, stood pressed against the wall so that he should have a free and unobstructed view of all the preparations. directly in front of the table stood the midwife, with a bundle on her arm. jan could not help thinking that for once in his life he appeared to be the centre of attraction. katrina glanced up at him appealingly, as if wanting to ask whether he was pleased with her. the other women, too, all turned their eyes toward him, expectantly waiting for some word of praise from him for all the trouble they had been to on his account. however, it is not so easy to appear jubilant when one has been half frozen and out of sorts all day! jan could not clear his face of that eric-of-falla expression, and stood there without saying a word. then the midwife took a step forward. the hut was so tiny that that one stride put her square in front of him, so that she could place the child in his arms. "now jan shall have a peek at the li'l' lassie she's what i'd call a _real baby_!" said the midwife. and there stood jan, holding in his two hands something soft and warm done up in a big shawl, a corner of which had been turned back that he might see the little wrinkled face and the tiny wizzened hands. he was wondering what the womenfolk expected him to do with that which had been thrust upon him, when he felt a sudden shock that shook both him and the child. it had not come from any of the women and whether it had passed through the child to him or through him to the child, he could not tell. immediately after, the heart of him began to beat in his breast as it had never done before. now he was no longer cold, or sad, or worried. nor did he feel angry. all was well with him. but he could not comprehend why there was a thumping and a beating in his breast, when he had not been dancing, or running, or climbing hills. "my good woman," he said to the midwife, "do lay your hand here and feel of my heart! it seems to beat so queerly." "why, it's a regular attack of the heart!" the midwife declared. "but perhaps you're subject to these spells?" "no," he assured her. "i've never had one before--not just in this way." "do you feel bad? are you in pain?" "oh, no!" then the midwife could not make out what ailed him. "anyhow," said she, "i'll relieve you of the child." but now jan felt he did not want to give up the child. "ah, let me hold the little girl!" he pleaded. the womenfolk must have read something in his eyes, or caught something in his tone that pleased them: for the midwife's mouth had a peculiar quirk and the other women all burst out laughing. "say jan, have you never cared so much for somebody that your heart has been set athrobbing because of her?" asked the midwife. "no indeed!" said jan. but at that moment he knew what it was that had quickened the heart in him. moreover he was beginning to perceive what had been amiss with him all his life, and that he whose heart does not respond to either joy or sorrow can hardly be called human. glory goldie sunnycastle the following day jan of ruffluck croft stood waiting for hours on the doorstep of his hut, with the little girl in his arms. this, too, was a long wait. but now it was all so different from the day before. he was standing there in such good company that he could become neither weary nor disheartened. nor could he begin to tell how good it felt to be holding the warm little body pressed close to his heart. it occurred to him that hitherto he had been mighty sour and unpleasant, even to himself; but now all was bliss and sweetness within him. he had never dreamed that one could be so gladdened by just loving some one. he had not stationed himself on the doorstep without a purpose, as may be assumed. it was an important matter that he must try to settle while standing there. he and katrina had spent the whole morning trying to choose a name for the child. they had been at it for hours, without arriving at a decision. finally katrina had said: "i don't see but that you'll have to take the child and go stand on the stoop with her. then you can ask the first female that happens along what her name is, and the name she names we must give to the girl, be it ugly or pretty." now the hut lay rather out of the way and it was seldom that any one passed by their place; so jan had to stand out there ever so long, without seeing a soul. this was also a gray day, though no rain fell. it was not windy and cold, however, but rather a bit sultry. if jan had not held the little girl in his arms he would have lost heart. "my dear jan anderson," he would have said to himself. "you must remember that you live away down in the ashdales, by dove lake, where there isn't but one decent farmhouse and here and there a poor fisherman's hut. who'll you find hereabout with a name that's pretty enough to give to your little girl?" but since this was something which concerned his daughter he never doubted that all would come right. he stood looking down toward the lake, as if not caring to her how shut in from the whole countryside it lay, in its rock-basin. he thought it might just happen that some high-toned lady, with a grand name, would come rowing across from doveness, on the south shore of the lake. because of the little girl he felt almost sure this would come to pass. the child slept the whole time; so for all of her he could have stood there and waited as long as he liked. but the worrisome person was katrina! every other minute she would ask him whether any one had come along yet and if he thought it prudent to keep the infant out in the damp air any longer. jan turned his eyes up toward great peak, rising high above the little groves and garden-patches of the ashdales, like a watch tower atop some huge fortress, keeping all strangers at a distance. still it might be possible that some great lady, who had been up to the peak, to view the beautiful landscape had taken the wrong path back and strayed in the direction of ruffluck. he quieted katrina as well as he could. the child was safe enough, he assured her. now that he had stood out there so long he wanted to wait another minute or so. not a soul hove in sight, but he was confident that if he just stuck to it, the help would come. it could not be otherwise. it would not have surprised him if a queen in a golden chariot had come driving over mountains and through thickets, to bestow her name upon his little girl. more moments passed, and he knew that dusk would soon be falling. then he would not be let stand there longer. katrina looked at the clock, and again begged him to come inside. "just you be patient a second!" he said. "i think i see something peeping out over west." the sky had been overcast the whole day, but at that moment the sun [note: in swedish the sun is feminine.] came bursting out from behind the clouds, and darted a few rays down toward the child. "i don't wonder at your wanting to have a peek at the li'l' lassie before you go down," said jan to the sun. "she's something worth seeing!" the sun came forth, clearer and clearer, and shed a rose-coloured glow over both the child and the hut. "maybe you'd like to be godmother to 'er?" said jan of ruffluck. to which the sun made no direct reply. she just beamed for a moment, then drew her mist-cloak about her and disappeared. once again katrina was heard from. "was any one there?" asked she. "i thought i heard you talking to somebody. you'd better come inside now." "yes, now i'm coming," he answered, and stepped in. "such a grand old aristocrat just went by! but she was in so great a hurry i had barely time to say 'go'day' to her, before she was gone." "goodness me! how provoking!" exclaimed katrina. "and after we'd waited so long, too! i suppose you didn't have a chance to ask what her name was?" "oh, yes. her name is glory goldie sunnycastle--that much i got out of her." "_glory goldie sunnycastle_! but won't that name be a bit too dazzling?" was katrina's only comment. jan of ruffluck was positively astonished at himself for having hit upon something so splendid as making the sun godmother to his child. he had indeed become a changed man from the moment the little girl was first laid in his arms! the christening when the little girl of ruffluck croft was to be taken to the parsonage, to be christened, that father of hers behaved so foolishly that katrina and the godparents were quite put out with him. it was the wife of eric of falla who was to bear the child to the christening. she sat in the cart with the infant while eric of falla, himself, walked alongside the vehicle, and held the reins. the first part of the road, all the way to doveness, was so wretched it could hardly be called a road, and of course eric had to drive very carefully, since he had the unchristened child to convey. jan had himself brought the child from the house and turned it over to the godmother, and had seen them set out. no one knew better than he into what good hands it was being intrusted. and he also knew that eric of falla was just as confident at handling the reins as at everything else. as for eric's wife--why she had borne and reared seven children; therefore he should not have felt the least bit uneasy. once they were well on their way and jan had again gone back to his digging, a terrible sense of fear came over him. what if eric's horse should shy? what if the parson should drop the child? what if the mistress of falla should wrap too many shawls around the little girl, so she'd be smothered when they arrived with her at the parsonage? he argued with himself that it was wrong in him to borrow trouble, when his child had such godfolk as the master and mistress of falla. yet his anxiety would not be stilled. of a sudden he dropped his spade and started for the parsonage just as he was taking the short cut across the heights, and running at top speed all the way. when eric of falla drove into the stable-yard of the parsonage the first person that met his eyes was jan of ruffluck. now, it is not considered the proper thing for the father or mother to be present at the christening, and jan saw at once that the falla folk were displeased at his coming to the parsonage. eric did not beckon to him to come and help with the horse, but unharnessed the beast himself, and the mistress of falla, drawing the child closer to her, crossed the yard and went into the parson's kitchen, without saying a word to jan. since the godparents would not so much as notice him, he dared not approach them; but when the godmother swept past him he heard a little piping sound from the bundle on her arm. then he at least knew the child had not been smothered. he felt it was stupid in him not to have gone home at once. but now he was so sure the parson would drop the child, that he had to stay. he lingered a moment in the stable-yard, then went straight over to the house and up the steps into the hallway. it is the worst possible form for the father to appear before the clergyman, particularly when his child has such sponsors as eric of falla, and his wife. when the door to the pastor's study swung open and jan of ruffluck in his soiled workaday clothes calmly shuffled into the room, just after the pastor had begun the service and there was no way of driving him out, the godparents swore to themselves that once they were home they would take him severely to task for his unseemly behaviour. the christening passed off as it should without the slightest occasion for a mishap, and jan of ruffluck had nothing for his intrusion. just before the close of the service he opened the door and quietly slipped out again, into the hallway. he saw of course that everything seemed to go quite smoothly and nicely without his help. in a little while eric of falla and his wife also came out into the hall. they were going across to the kitchen, where the mistress of falla had left the child's outer wraps and shawls. eric went ahead and opened the door for his wife, whereupon two kittens came darting into the hallway and tumbled over each other right in front of the woman's feet, tripping her. she felt herself going headlong and barely had time to think: "i'm falling with the child; it will be killed and i'll be heartbroken for life," when a strong hand seized and steadied her. looking round she saw that her rescuer was jan anderson of ruffluck, who had lingered in the hallway as if knowing he would be needed there. before she could recover herself sufficiently to thank him, he was gone. and when she and her husband came driving home, there stood jan digging away. after the accident had been averted, he had felt that he might safely go back to his work. neither eric nor his wife said a word to him about his unseemly behaviour. instead, the mistress of falla invited him in for afternoon coffee, muddy and begrimed as he was from working in the wet soil. the vaccination bee when the little girl of ruffluck was to be vaccinated no one questioned the right of her father to accompany her, since that was his wish. the vaccinating took place one evening late in august. when katrina left home, with the child, it was so dark that she was glad to have some one along who could help her over stiles and ditches, and other difficulties of the wretched road. the vaccination bee was held that year at falla. the housewife had made a big fire on the hearth in the living-room and thought it unnecessary to furnish any other illumination, except a thin tallow candle that burned on a small table, at which the sexton was to perform his surgical work. the ruffluck folk, as well as every one else, found the room uncommonly light, although it was as dim at the back as if a dark-gray wall had been raised there--making the room appear smaller than it was. and in this semi-darkness could be dimly seen a group of women with babes in arms that had to be trundled, and fed, and tended in every way. the mothers were busy unwinding shawls and mufflers late from their little ones, drawing off their slips, and unloosing the bands of their undershirts, so that the upper portion of their little bodies could be easily exposed when the sexton called them up to the operating table. it was remarkably quiet in the room, considering there were so many little cry-babies all gathered in one place. the youngsters seemed to be having such a good time gazing at one another they forgot to make a noise. the mothers were quiet because they wanted to hear what the sexton had to say; for he kept up a steady flow of small talk. "there's no fun like going about vaccinating and looking at all the pretty babies," said he. "now we shall see whether it's a fine lot you've brought me this year." the man was not only the sexton of the parish, where he had lived all his life, but he was also the schoolmaster. he had vaccinated the mothers, had taught them, and seen them confirmed and married. now he was going to vaccinate their babies. this was the children's first contact with the man who was to play such an important part in their lives. it seemed to be a good beginning. one mother after the other came forward and sat down on a chair at the table, each holding her child so that the light would fall upon its bared left arm; and the sexton, chattering all the while, then made the three tiny scratches in the smooth baby skin, without so much as a peep coming from the youngster. afterward the mother took her baby over to the fireplace to let the vaccine dry in. meantime she thought of what the sexton had said of her child--that it was large and beautiful and would some day be a credit to the family; that it would grow up to be as good as its father and grandfather--or even better. everything passed off thus peacefully and quietly until it came to katrina's turn at the table with her glory goldie. the little girl simply would not be vaccinated. she screamed and fought and kicked. katrina tried to hush her and the sexton spoke softly and gently to her; but it did no good. the poor little thing was uncontrollably frightened. katrina had to take her away and try to get her quieted. then a big, sturdy boy baby let himself be vaccinated with never a whimper. but the instant katrina was back at the table with her girl the trouble started afresh. she could not hold the child still long enough for the sexton to make even a single incision. now there was no one left to vaccinate but glory goldie of ruffluck. katrina was in despair because of her child's bad behaviour. she did not know what to do about it, when jan suddenly emerged from the shadow of the door and took the child in his arms. then katrina got up to let him take her place at the table. "you just try it once!" she said scornfully, "and let's see whether you'll do any better." for katrina did not regard the little toil-worn servant from falla whom she had married as in any sense her superior. before sitting down, jan slipped off his jacket. he must have rolled up his shirt sleeve while standing in the dark, at the back of the room, for his left arm was bared. he wanted so much to be vaccinated, he said. he had never been vaccinated but once, and there was nothing in the world he feared so much as the smallpox. the instant the little girl saw his bare arm she became quiet, and looked at her father with wide, comprehending eyes. she followed closely every movement of the sexton, as he put in the three short red strokes on the arm. glancing from one to the other, she noticed that her father was not faring so very badly. when the sexton had finished with jan, the latter turned to him, and said: "the li'l' lassie is so still now that maybe you can try it." the sexton tried, and this time everything went well. the little girl was as quiet as a mouse the whole time--the same knowing look in her eyes. the sexton also kept silence until he had finished; then he said to the father: "if you did that only to calm the child, we could just as well have made believe--" "no, sexton," said jan, "then you would not have succeeded. you never saw the like of that child! so don't imagine you can get her to believe in something that isn't what it passes for." the birthday on the little girl's first birthday her father was out digging in the field at falla; he tried to recall to mind how it had been in the old days, when he had no one to think about while at work in the field; when he did not have the beating heart in him, and when he had no longings and was never anxious. "to think that a man can be like that!" he mused in contempt of his old self. "if i were as rich as eric of falla or as strong as börje, who digs here beside me, it would be as nothing to having a throbbing heart in your breast. that's the only thing that counts." glancing over at his comrade, a powerfully built fellow who could do again as much work as himself, he noticed that to-day the man had not gone ahead as rapidly as usual with the digging. they worked by the job. börje always took upon himself more work than did jan, yet they always finished at about the same time. that day, however, it went slowly for börje; he did not even keep up with jan, but was left far behind. but then jan had been working for all he was worth, that he might the sooner get back to his little girl. that day he had longed for her more than usual. she was always drowsy evenings; so unless he hurried home early, he was likely to find her asleep for the night when he got home. when jan had completed his work he saw that börje was not even half through. such a thing had never happened before in all the years they had worked together, and jan was so astonished he went over to him. börje was standing deep down in the ditch, trying to loosen a clump of sod. he had stepped on a piece of glass, and received an ugly gash on the bottom of his foot, so that he could hardly step on it. imagine the torture of having to stand and push the spade into the soil with an injured foot! "aren't you going to quit soon?" asked jan. "i'm obliged to finish this job to-day," replied the comrade. "i can't get any grain from eric of falia till the work is done, and we're all out of rye-meal." "then go'-night for to-day," said jan. börje did not respond. he was too tired and done up to give even the customary good-night salutation. jan of ruffluck walked to the edge of the field; but there he halted. "what does it matter to the little girl whether or not you come home for her birthday?" he thought. "she's just as well off without you. but börje has seven kiddies at home, and no food for them. shall you let them starve so that you can go home and play with glory goldie?" then he wheeled round, walked back to börje, and got down into the ditch to help him. jan was rather tired after his day's toil and could not work very fast. it was almost dark when they got through. "glory goldie must be asleep this long while," thought jan, when he finally put in the spade for the last bit of earth. "go'-night for to-day," he called back to börje for the second time. "go'-night," returned börje, "and thanks to you for the help. now i must hurry along and get my rye. another time i'll give you a lift, be sure of that!" "i don't want any pay ... go'-night!" "don't you want anything for helping me?" asked börje. "what's come over you, that you're so stuck-up all at once?" "well, you see, it's--it's the lassie's birthday to-day." "and for that i got help with my digging?" "yes, for that and for something else, too! well--good bye to you!" jan hurried away so as not to be tempted to explain what that _something else_ was. it had been on the tip of his tongue to say: "to-day is not only glory goldie's birthday, but it's also the birthday of my heart." it was as well, perhaps, that he did not say it, for börje would surely have thought jan had gone out of his mind. christmas morn christmas morning jan took the little girl along with him to church; she was then just one year and four months old. katrina thought the girl rather young to attend church and feared she would set up a howl, as she had done at the vaccination bee; but inasmuch as it was the custom to take the little ones along to christmas matins, jan had his own way. so at five o'clock on christmas morn they all set out. it was pitch dark and cloudy, but not cold; in fact the air was almost balmy, and quite still, as it usually is toward the end of december. before coming to an open highway, they had to walk along a narrow winding path, through fields and groves in the ashdales, then take the steep winter-road across snipa ridge. the big farmhouse at falla, with lighted candles at every window, stood out as a beacon to the ruffluck folk, so that they were able to find their way to börje's hut; there they met some of their neighbours, bearing torches they had prepared on christmas eve. each torch-bearer led a small group of people most of whom followed in silence; but all were happy; they felt that they, too, like the wise men of old, were following a star, in quest of the new-born king. when they came to the forest heights they had to pass by a huge stone which had been hurled at svartsjö church, by a giant down in frykerud, but which, luckily, had gone over the steeple and dropped here on snipa ridge. when the church-goers came along, the stone lay, as usual, on the ground. but they knew, they did, that in the night it had been raised upon twelve golden pillars and that the _trolls_ had danced and feasted under it. it was not so very pleasant to have to walk past a stone like that! jan looked over at katrina to see whether she was holding the little girl securely. katrina, calm and unconcerned, walked along, chatting with one of their neighbours. she was quite oblivious, apparently, to the terrors of the place. the spruce trees up there were old and gnarled, and their branches were dotted with clumps of snow. as seen in the glow of the torch light, one could not but think that some of the trees were really trolls, with gleaming eyes beneath snow hats, and long sharp claws protruding from thick snow mittens. it was all very well so long as they held themselves still. but what if one of them should suddenly stretch forth a hand and seize somebody? there was no special danger for grown-ups and old people; but jan had always heard that the trolls had a great fondness for small children--the smaller the better. it seemed to him that katrina was holding the little girl very carelessly. it would be no trick at all for the huge clawlike troll hands to snatch the child from her. of course he could not take the baby out of her arms in a dangerous spot like this, for that might cause the trolls to act. murmurs and whispers now passed from tree-troll to tree-troll; the branches creaked as if they were about to bestir themselves. jan did not dare ask the others if they saw or heard what he did. a question of that sort might be the very thing to rouse the trolls. in this agony of suspense he knew of but one thing to do: he struck up a psalm-tune. he had a poor singing-voice and had never before sung so any one could hear him. he was so weak at carrying a tune that he was afraid to sing out even in church; but now he had to sing, no matter how it went. he observed that the neighbours were a little surprised. those who walked ahead of him nudged each other and looked round; but that did not stop him; he had to continue. immediately one of the womenfolk whispered to him: "wait a bit, jan, and i'll help you." she took up the christmas carol in the correct melody and the correct key. it sounded beautiful, this singing in the night among the trees, and soon everybody joined in. "hail blessed morn, by prophets' holy words foretold," rang out on the air. a murmur of anguish came from the tree-trolls; they bowed their heads so that their wicked eyes were no longer visible, and drew in their claws under spruce needles and snow. when the last measure of the first stanza died away, no one could have told that there was anything besides ordinary old spruce trees on the forest heights. the torches that had lighted the ashdales folk through the woods were burned out when they came to the highroad; but here they went on, guided by the lights from peasant huts. when one house was out of sight, they glimpsed another in the distance, and every house along the road had candles burning at all the windows, to guide the poor wanderers on their way to church. at last they came to a hillock, from which the church could be seen. there stood the house of god, like acme gigantic lantern, light streaming out through all its windows. when the foot-farers saw this, they held their breath. after all the little, low-windowed huts they had passed along the way, the church looked marvellously big and marvellously bright. at sight of the sacred edifice jan fell to thinking about some poor folk in palestine, who had wandered in the night from bethlehem to jerusalem with a child, their only comfort and joy, who was to be circumcised in the temple of the holy city. these parents had to grope their way in the darkness of night, for there were many who sought the life of their child. the people from the ashdales had left home at an surly hour, so as to reach the church ahead of those who drove thither. but when they were quite near the church grounds, sleighs, with foaming horses and jingling bells, went flying past, forcing the poor foot-farers to fake to the snow banks, at the edge of the road. jan now carried the child. he was continually dodging vehicles, for the tramp along the road had become very difficult. but before them lay the shining temple; if they could only get to it they would be sheltered, and safe from harm. suddenly, from behind, there came a deafening noise of clanging bells and clamping hoofs. a huge sledge, drawn by two horses, was coming. on the front seat sat a young gentleman, in a fur coat and a high fur cap, and his young wife. the gentleman was driving; behind him stood his coachman, holding a burning torch so high that the draft blew the flame backward, leaving in its wake a long trail of smoke and flying sparks. jan, with the child in his arms, stood at the edge of the snowbank. all at once his foot sank deep in the snow, and he came near falling. quickly the gentleman in the sledge drew rein and shouted to the peasant, whom he had forced from the road: "hand over the child and it shall ride to the church with us. it's risky carrying a little baby when there are so many teams out." "much obliged to you," said jan anderson, "but i can get along all right." "we'll put the little girl between us, jan," said the young wife. "thanks," he returned, "but you needn't trouble yourselves!" "so you're afraid to trust us with the child?" laughed the man in the sledge, and drove on. the foot-farers trudged along under ever-increasing difficulties. sledge followed sledge. every horse in the parish was in harness that christmas morning. "you might have let him take the girl," said katrina. "i'm afraid you'll fall with her!" "what, i let _him_ have my child? what are you thinking of, woman! didn't you see who he was?" "what harm would there have been in letting her ride with the superintendent of the ironworks?" jan anderson of ruffluck stood stockstill. "was that the superintendent at doveness?" he said, looking as though he had just come out of a dream. "why of course! who did you suppose it was?" yes, where had jan's thoughts been? what child had he been carrying? where had he intended going? in what land had he wandered? he stood stroking his forehead, and looked rather bewildered when he answered katrina. "i thought it was herod, king of judea, and his wife, herodias," he said. glory goldie's illness when the little girl of ruffluck was three years old she had an illness which must have been the scarlet fever, for her little body was red all over and burning hot to the touch. she would not eat, nor could she sleep; she just lay tossing in delirium. jan could not think of going away from home so long as she was sick. he stayed in the hut day after day, and it looked as though eric of falla's rye would go unthreshed that year. it was katrina who nursed the little girl, who spread the quilt over her every time she cast it off, and who fed her a little diluted blueberry cordial, which the housewife at falla had sent them. when the little maid was well jan always looked after her; but as soon as she became ill he was afraid to touch her, lest he might not handle her carefully enough and would only hurt her. he never stirred from the house, but sat in a corner by the hearth all day, his eyes fixed on the sick child. the little one lay in her own crib with only a couple of straw pillows under her, and no sheets. it must have been hard on the delicate little body, made sensitive by rash and inflammation, to lie upon the coarse tow-cloth pillow-casings. strange to say, every time the child began to toss on the bed jan would think of the finest thing he had to his name--his sunday shirt. he possessed only one good shirt, which was of smooth white linen, with a starched front. it was so well made that it would have been quite good enough for the superintendent at doveness. and jan was very proud of that shirt. the rest of his wearing apparel, which was in constant use, was as coarse as were the pillow-casings the little girl lay on. but maybe it was only stupid in him to be thinking of that shirt? katrina would never in the world let him ruin it, for she had given it to him as a wedding present. anyhow, katrina was doing all she could. she borrowed a horse from eric of falla, wrapped the little one in shawls and quilts and rode to the doctor's with her. that was courageous of katrina--though jan could not see that it did any good. certainly no help came out of the big medicine bottle she brought back with her from the apothecary's, nor from any of the doctor's other prescriptions. perhaps he would not be allowed to keep so rare a jewel as the little girl, unless he was ready to sacrifice for her the best that he had, mused he. but it would not be easy to make a person of katrina's sort understand this. old finne-karin came into the hut one day while the girl lay sick. she knew how to cure sickness in animals, as do all persons of her race, and she was not so bad, either, at conjuring away styes and boils and ringworms; but for other ailments one would scarcely think of consulting her. it was hardly the thing to expect help from a witch doctor for anything but trifling complaints. the moment the old woman stepped into the room she noticed that the child was ill. katrina informed her that it had the scarlet fever, but nobody sought her advice. that the parents were anxious and troubled she must have seen, of course, for as soon as katrina had treated her to coffee and jan had given her a piece of plug-tobacco, she said, entirely of her own accord: "this sickness is beyond my healing powers; but as much i'm able to tell you; you can find out whether it's life or death. keep awake till midnight, then, on the stroke of twelve, place the tip of the forefinger of your left hand against the tip of the little finger, eyelet-like, and look through at the young one. notice carefully who lies beside her in the bed, and you'll know what to expect." katrina thanked her kindly, knowing it was best to keep on the good side of such folk; but she had no notion of doing as she had been told. jan attached no importance to the advice, either. he thought of nothing but the shirt. but how would he ever be able to muster courage enough to ask katrina if he might tear up his wedding shirt? that the little girl would not get any better on that account he understood, to be sure, and if she must die anyhow, he would just be throwing it away. katrina went to bed that evening at her usual hour, but jan felt too troubled to sleep. seated in his corner, he could see how glory goldie was suffering. that which she had under her was too rough and coarse. he sat thinking how nice it would be if he could only make up a bed for the little girl that would feel cool and soft and smooth. his shirt, freshly laundered and unused, lay in the bureau drawer. it hurt him to think of its being there; at the same time he felt it would hardly be fair to katrina to use her gift as a sheet for the child. however, as it drew on toward midnight and katrina was sleeping soundly, he went over to the bureau and took out the shirt. first he tore away the stiff front, then he slit the shirt into two parts, whereupon he slipped one piece under the little girl's body, and spread the other one between the child and the heavy quilt that covered her. that done, he stole back to his corner and again took up his vigil. he had not sat there long when the clock struck twelve. almost without thinking of what he was doing he put the two fingers of his left hand up to his eye, ring fashion, and peeped through at the bed. and lo, at the edge of the bed sat a little angel of god! it was all scratched, and bleeding, from contact with the coarse bedding, and was about to go away, when it turned and felt of the fine shirt, running its tiny hands over the smooth white linen. then, in a twinkling, it swung its legs inside the edge of the bed and lay down again, to watch over the child. at the same time up one of the bedposts crawled something black and hideous, which on seeing that the angel of god seemed about to depart, stuck its head over the bedside and grinned with glee, thinking it could creep inside and lie down in the angel's place. but when it saw that the angel of god still guarded the child, it began to writhe as if suffering the torments of hell, and shrank back toward the floor. the next day the little girl was on the road to recovery. katrina was so glad the fever was broken that she had not the heart to say anything about the spoiled wedding shirt, though she probably thought to herself that she had a fool of a husband. calling on relatives one sunday afternoon jan and glory goldie set out together in the direction of the big forest; the little girl was then in her fifth year. silent and serious, father and little daughter walked hand in hand, as if bent upon a very solemn mission. they went past the shaded birch grove, their favourite haunt, past the wild strawberry hill and the winding brook, without stopping; then, disappearing in an easterly direction, they went into the densest part of the forest; nor did they stop there. wherever could they be going? by and by they came out on a wooded hill above loby. from there they went down to the scale-pan, where country-road and town-road cross. they did not go to nästa or to nysta, and never even glanced toward där fram and på valln, but went farther and farther into the village. no one could have told just where they were bound for. surely they could not be thinking of calling upon the hindricksons, here in loby? to be sure björn hindrickson's wife was a half-sister of jan's mother, so that jan was actually related to the richest people in the parish, and he had a right to call hindrickson and his wife uncle and aunt. but heretofore he had never claimed kinship with these people. even to katrina he had barely mentioned the fact that he had such high connections. jan would always step out of the way when he saw björn hindrickson coming, and not even at church did he go up and shake hands with him. but now that jan had such a remarkable little daughter he was something more than just a poor labourer. he had a jewel to show and a flower with which to adorn himself. therefore he was as rich as the richest, as great as the greatest, and now he was going straight to the big house of björn hindrickson to pay his respects to his fine relatives, for the first time in his life. the visit at the big house was not a long one. in less than an hour after their arrival, jan and the little girl were crossing the house-yard toward the gate. but at the gate jan stopped and glanced back, as if half-minded to go in again. he certainly had no reason to regret his call. both he and the child had been well received. björn hindrickson's wife had taken the little girl over to the blue cupboard, and given her a cookie and a lump of sugar, and björn hindrickson himself had asked her name and her age; whereupon he had opened his big leather purse and presented her with a bright new sixpence. jan had been served with coffee, and his aunt had asked after katrina and had wondered whether they kept a cow or a pig, and if their hut was cold in winter and if the wages jan received from eric of falla were sufficient for their needs. no, there was nothing about the visit itself that troubled jan. when he had chatted a while with the hindricksons they had excused themselves--which was quite proper--saying they were invited to a tea that afternoon and would be leaving in half an hour. jan had risen at once and said good-bye, knowing they must allow themselves time to dress. then his aunt had gone into the pantry and had brought out butter and bacon, had filled a little bag with barley, and another with flour, and had tied them all into a single parcel, which she had put into jan's hand at parting. it was just a little something for katrina, she had said. she should have some recompense for staying at home to look after the house. it was this parcel jan stood there pondering over. he knew that in the bundle were all sorts of good things to eat, the very things they longed for at every meal at ruffluck, still he felt it would be unfair to the little girl to keep it. he had not come to the hindricksons as a beggar, but simply to see his kinsfolk. he did not wish them to entertain any false notions as to that. this thought had come to him instantly the parcel was handed to him, but his regard for the hindricksons was so great that he would not have dared refuse it. now, turning back from the gate, he walked over to the barn and put the parcel down near the door, where the housefolk constantly passed and would be sure to see it. he was sorry to have to leave it. but his little girl was no beggar! nobody must think that she and her father went about asking alms. the school examination when the little girl was six years old jan went along with her to the Östanby school one day, to listen to the examinations. this being the first and only schoolhouse the parish boasted, naturally every one was glad that at last a long-felt want had been met. in the old days sexton blackie had no choice but to go about from farmhouse to farmhouse with his pupils. up until the year , when the Östanby school was built, the sexton had been compelled to change classrooms every other week, and many a time he and his little pupils had sat in a room where the housewife prepared meals and the man of the house worked at a carpenter's bench; where the old folk lay abed all day and the chickens were cooped under the sofa. but just the same it had gone rather well with the teaching; for sexton blackie was a man who could command respect in all weathers. still it must have been a relief to him to be allowed to work in a room that was to be used only for school purposes; where the walls were not lined with cubby-beds and shelves filled with pots and pans and tools; where there was no obstructing loom in front of the window to shut out the daylight, and where women neighbours could not drop in for a friendly chat over the coffee cups during school hours. here the walls were hung with illustrations of bible stories, with animal pictures and portraits of swedish kings. here the children had little desks with low benches, and did not have to sit perched up round a high table, where their noses were hardly on a level with the edge. and here sexton blackie had a desk all to himself, with spacious drawers and compartments for his record-books and papers. now he looked rather more impressive during school hours than in former days, when he had often heard lessons while seated upon the edge of a hearth, with a roaring fire at his back and the children huddled on the floor in front of him. here he had a fixed place for the blackboard and hooks for maps and charts, so that he did not have to stand them up against doors and sofa backs. he knew, too, where he had his goose quills and could teach the children how to make strokes and curves, so that each one of them would some day be as fine a penman as himself. it was even possible to train the children to rise in a body and march out in line, like soldiers. indeed, no end of improvements could be introduced now that the schoolhouse was finished. glad as was every one of the new school, the parents did not feel altogether at ease in the presence of their children, after they had begun to go there. it was as if the youngsters had come into something new and fine from which their elders were excluded. of course it was wrong of the parents to think this, when they should have been pleased that the children were granted so many advantages which they themselves had been denied. the day jan of ruffluck visited the school, he and his little glory goldie walked hand in hand, as usual, all the way, like good friends and comrades; but as soon as they came in sight of the schoolhouse and glory goldie saw the children assembled outside, she dropped her father's hand and crossed to the other side of the road. then, in a moment, she ran off and joined a group of children. during the examination jan sat near the teacher's lectern, up among the school commissioners and other fine folk. he had to sit there; otherwise he could not have seen anything of glory goldie but the back of her neck, as she sat in the front row, to the right of the lectern, where the smaller children were placed. in the old days jan would never have gone so far forward; but one who was father to a little girl like glory goldie did not have to regard himself as the inferior of anybody. glory goldie could not have helped seeing her father from where she sat, yet she never gave him a glance. it was as if he did not exist for her. on the other hand, glory goldie's gaze was fixed upon her teacher, who was then examining the older pupils, on the left side of the room. they read from books, pointed out different countries and cities on the map, and did sums on the blackboard, and the teacher had no time to look at the little tots on the right. so it would not have mattered very much if glory goldie had sent her father an occasional side-glance; but she never so much as turned her head toward him. however, it was some little comfort to him that all the other children did likewise. they, too, sat the whole time with their clear blue eyes fastened on their teacher. the little imps made believe they understood him when he said something witty or clever; for then they would nudge each other and giggle. no doubt it was a surprise to the parents to see how well the children conducted themselves throughout the examination. but sexton blackie was a remarkable man. he could make them do almost anything. as for jan of ruffluck, he was beginning to feel embarrassed and troubled. he no longer knew whether it was his own little girl who sat there or somebody else's. of a sudden he left his place among the school commissioners and moved nearer the door. at last the teacher was done examining the older pupils. now came the turn of the little ones, those who had barely learnt their letters. they had not acquired any vast store of learning, to be sure, but a few questions had to be put to them, also. besides, they were to give some account of the story of the creation. first they were asked to tell who it was that created the world. that they knew of course. and then, unhappily, the teacher asked them if they knew of any other name for god. now all the little a-b-c-ers were stumped! their cheeks grew hot and the skin on their foreheads was drawn into puckers, but they could not for the life of them think out the answer to such a profound question. among the larger children, over on the right, there was a general waving of hands, and whispering and tittering; but the eight small beginners held their mouths shut tight and not a sound came from them. glory goldie was as mum as the rest. "there is a prayer which we repeat every day," said the teacher. "what do we call god there?" now glory goldie had it! she knew the teacher wanted them to say they called god _father_--and raised her hand. "what do we call god, glory goldie?" he asked. glory goldie jumped to her feet, her cheeks aflame, her little yellow pigtail of a braid pointing straight out from her neck. "we call him jan," she answered in a high, penetrating voice. immediately a laugh went up from all parts of the room. the gentry, the school board, parents and children all chuckled. even the schoolmaster appeared to be amused. glory goldie went red as a beet and her eyes filled up. the teacher rapped on the floor with the end of his pointer and shouted "silence!" whereupon he said a few words to explain the matter. "it was _father_ glory goldie wanted to say, of course, but said jan instead because her own father's name is jan. we can't wonder at the little girl, for i hardly know of another child in the school who has so kind a father as she has. i have seen him stand outside the schoolhouse in rain and bluster, waiting for her, and i've seen him come carrying her to school through blizzards, when the snow was knee-deep in the road. so who can wonder at her saying jan when she must name the best she knows!" the teacher patted the little girl on the head. the people all smiled, but at the same time they were touched. glory goldie sat looking down, not knowing what she should do with herself; but jan of ruffluck felt as happy as a king, for it had suddenly become clear to him that the little girl had been his the whole time. the contest it was strange about the little girl of ruffluck and her father! they seemed to be so entirely of one mind that they could read each other's thoughts. in svartsjö lived another schoolmaster, who was an old soldier. he taught in an out-of-the-way corner of the parish and had no regular schoolhouse, as had the sexton; but he was greatly beloved by all children. the youngsters themselves hardly knew they went to school to him, but thought they came together just to play. the two schoolmasters were the best of friends. but sometimes the younger teacher would try to persuade the older one to keep abreast of the times, and wanted him to go in for phonetics and other innovations. the old soldier generally regarded such things with mild tolerance. once, however, he lost his temper. "just because you've got a schoolhouse you think you know it all, blackie!" he let fly. "but i'll have you understand that my children know quite as much us yours, even if they do have only farmhouses to sit in." "yes, i know," returned the sexton, "and have never said anything to the contrary. i simply mean that if the children could learn a thing with less effort--" "well, what then?" bristled the old soldier. the sexton knew from the old man's tone that he had offended him, and tried to smooth over the breach. "anyhow you make it so easy for your pupils that they never complain about their lessons." "maybe i make it too easy for them?" snapped the old man. "maybe i don't teach them anything?" he shouted, striking the table with his hand. "what on earth has come over you, tyberg?" said the sexton. "you seem to resent everything i say." "well, you always come at me with so many allusions!" just then other people happened in, and soon all was smooth between the schoolmasters; when they parted company they were as good friends as ever. but when old man tyberg was on his way home, the sexton's remarks kept cropping up in his mind, and now he was even angrier than before. "why should that strippling say i could teach the children more if i kept abreast of the times?" he muttered to himself. "he probably thinks i'm too old, though he doesn't say it in plain words." tyberg could not get over his exasperation, and as soon as he reached home he told it all to his wife. "why should you mind the sexton's chatter?" said the wife. "'youth is elastic, but age is solid,' as the saying goes. you're excellent teachers both of you." "little good your saying it!" he grunted. "others will think what they like just the same." the old man went about for days looking so glum that he quite distressed his wife. "can't you show them they are in the wrong?" she finally suggested. "how show them? what do you mean?" "i mean that if you know your pupils to be just as clever as the sexton's--" "of course they are!" he struck in. "--then you must see that your pupils and his get together for a test examination." the old man pretended not to be interested in her proposition, but all the same it caught his fancy. and some days later the sexton received a letter from him wherein he proposed that the children of both schools be allowed to test their respective merits. the sexton was not averse to this, of course, only he wanted to have the contest held some time during the christmas holidays, so that it could be made a festive occasion for the children. "that was a happy conceit," thought he. "now i shan't have to review any lessons this term." nor was it necessary. it was positively amazing the amount of reading and studying that went on just then in the two schools! the contest was held the evening of the day after christmas. the schoolroom had been decorated for the occasion with spruce trees, on which shone all the church candles left over from the christmas matins, and there were apples enough to give every child two apiece. it was whispered about that the parents and guardians who had come to listen to the children would be served with coffee and cakes. the chief attraction, however, was the big contest. on one side of the room sat the soldier's pupils, on the other the sexton's. and now it was for the children to defend their teachers' reputations. schoolmaster tyberg had to examine the sexton's pupils, and the sexton the tyberg pupils. any questions that could not be answered by the one school were to be taken up by the other. each question had to be duly recorded so that the judges would be able to decide which school was the better. the sexton opened the contest. he proceeded rather cautiously at first, but when he found that he had a lot of clever children to deal with he went at them harder and harder. the tyberg pupils were so well grounded they did not let a single quizz get by them. then came old man tyberg's turn at questioning the sexton's pupils. the soldier was no longer angry with the sexton. now that his children had shown that they knew their bits, the demon of mischief flew into him. at the start he put a few straight questions to the sexton's pupils, but being unable to remain serious for long at a time he soon became as waggish as he usually was at his own school. "of course i know that you have read a deal more than have we who come from the backwoods," said he. "you have studied natural science and much else, still i wonder if any of you can tell me what the stones in motala stream are?" not one of the sexton's pupils raised a hand, but on the other side hand after hand shot up. yet, in the sexton's division sat olof oleson--he who knew he had the best head in the parish, and där nol, of good old peasant stock. but they could not answer. there was karin svens, the sprightly lass of a soldier's daughter, who had not missed a day at school. she, with the others, wondered why the sexton had not told them what there was remarkable about the stones in motala stream. schoolmaster tyberg stood looking very grave while schoolmaster blackie sat gazing at the floor, much perturbed. "i don't see but that we'll have to let this question go to the opposition," said the soldier-teacher. "fancy, so many bright boys and girls not being able to answer an easy question like that!" at the last moment glory goldie turned and looked back at her father, as was her habit when not knowing what else to do. jan was too far away to whisper the answer to her; but the instant the child caught her father's eye she knew what she must say. then, in her eagerness, she not only raised her hand, but stood up. her schoolmates all turned to her, expectantly, and the sexton looked pleased because the question would not be taken away from his children. "they are wet!" shouted glory goldie without waiting for the question to be put to her, for the time was up. the next second the little girl feared she had said something very stupid and spoiled the thing for them all. she sank down on the bench and hid her face under the desk, so that no one should see her. "well answered, my girl!" said the soldier-teacher. "it's lucky for you sexton pupils there was one among you could reply; for, with all your cock-sureness, you were about to lose the game." and such peals of laughter as went up from the children of both schools and from the grown folk as well, the two schoolmasters had never heard. some of the youngsters had to stand up to have their laugh out, while others doubled in their seats, and shrieked. that put an end to all order. "now i think we'd better remove the benches and take a swing round the christmas trees," said old man tyberg. and never before had they had such fun in the schoolhouse, and never since, either. fishing it would hardly have been possible for any one to be as fond of the little girl as her father was; but it may be truly said that she had a very good friend in old seine-maker ola. this is the way they came to be friends: glory goldie had taken to setting out fishing-poles in the brook for the small salmon-trout that abounded there. she had better luck with her fishing than any one would have expected, and the very first day she brought home a couple of spindly fishes. she was elated over her success, as can be imagined, and received praise from her mother for being able to provide food for the family, when she was only a little girl of eight. to encourage the child, katrina let her cleanse and fry the fish. jan ate of it and declared he had never tasted the like of that fish, which was the plain truth. for the fish was so bony and dry and burnt that the little girl herself could scarcely swallow a morsel of it. but for all that the little girl was just as enthusiastic over her fishing. she got up every morning at the ionic time that jan did and hurried off to the brook, a basket on her arm, and carrying in a little tin box the worms to bait her hooks. thus equipped, she went off to the brook, which came gushing down the rocky steep in numerous falls and rapids, between which were short stretches of dark still water and places where the stream ran, clear and transparent, over a bed of sand and smooth stones. think of it! after the first week she had no luck with the fishing. the worms were gone from all the hooks, but no fish had fastened there. she shifted her tackle from rapid to still water, from still water to rippling falls, and she changed her hooks--but with no better results. she asked the boys at börje's and at eric's if they were not the ones who got up with the lark and carried off her fish. but a question like that the boys would not deign to answer. for no boy would stoop to take fish from the brook, when he had the whole of dove lake to fish in. it was all right for little girls, who were not allowed to go down to the lake, to run about hunting fish in the woods, they said. despite the superior airs of the boys, the little girl only half-believed them. "surely someone must take the fish off my hooks!" she said to herself. hers were real hooks, too, and not just bent pins. and in order to satisfy herself she arose one morning before jan or katrina were awake, and ran over to the brook. when near to the stream she slackened her pace, taking very short cautious steps so as not to slip on the stones or to rustle the bushes. then, all at once her, whole body became numb. for at the edge of the brook, on the very spot where she had set out her poles the morning before, stood a fish thief tampering with her lines. it was not one of the boys, as she had supposed, but a grown man, who was just then bending over the water, drawing up a fish. little glory goldie was never afraid. she rushed right up to the thief and caught him in the act. "so you're the one who comes here and takes my fish!" she said. "it's a good thing i've run across you at last so we can put a stop to this stealing." the man then raised his head, and now glory goldie saw his face. it was the old seine-maker, who was one of their neighbours. "yes, i know this is your tackle," the man admitted, without getting angry or excited, as most folks do when taken to task for wrongdoing. "but how can you take what isn't yours?" asked the puzzled youngster. the man looked straight at her; she never forgot that look; she seemed to be peering into two open and empty caverns at the back of which were a pair of half-dead eyes, beyond reflecting either joy or grief. "well, you see, i'm aware that you get what you require from your parents and that you fish only for the fun of it, while at my home we are starving." the little girl flushed. now she felt ashamed. the seine-maker said nothing further, but picked up his cap (it had dropped from his head while he was bending over the fishing-poles) and went his way. nor did glory goldie speak. a couple of fish lay floundering on the ground, but she did not take them up; when she had stood a while looking at them, she kicked them back into the water. all that day the little girl felt displeased with herself, without knowing why. for indeed it was not she who had done wrong. she could not get the seine-maker out of her thoughts. the old man was said to have been rich at one time; he had once owned seven big farmsteads, each in itself worth as much as eric of falla's farm. but in some unaccountable way he had disposed of his property and was now quite penniless. however, the next morning glory goldie went over to the brook the same as usual. this time no one had touched her hooks, for now there was a fish at the end of every line. she released the fishes from the hooks and laid them in her basket; but instead of going home with her catch she went straight to the seine-maker's cabin. when the little girl came along with her basket the old man was out in the yard, cutting wood. she stood at the stile a moment, watching him, before stepping over. he looked pitifully poor and ragged. even her father had never appeared so shabby. the little girl had heard that some well-do-to people had offered the seine-maker a home for life, but in preference he had gone to live with his daughter-in-law, who made her home here in the ashdales, so as to help her in any way that he could; she had many children, and her husband, who had deserted her, was now supposed to be dead. "to-day there was fish on the hooks!" shouted the little girl from the stile. "you don't tell me!" said the seine-maker. "but that was well." "i'll gladly give you all the fish i catch," she told him, "if i'm only allowed to do the fishing myself." so saying, she went up to the seine-maker and emptied the contents of her basket on the ground, expecting of course that he would be pleased and would praise her, just as her father--who was always pleased with everything she said or did--had always done. but the seine maker took this attention with his usual calm indifference. "you keep what's yours," he said. "we're so used to going hungry here that we can get on without your few little fishes." there was something out of the common about this poor old man and glory goldie was anxious to win his approval. "you may take the fish of and stick the worms on the hooks, if you like," said she, "and you can have all the tackle and everything." "thanks," returned the old man. "but i'll not deprive you of your pleasure." glory goldie was determined not to go until she had thought out a way of satisfying him. "would you like me to come and call for you every morning," she asked him, "so that we could draw up the lines together and divide the catch--you to get half, and i half?" then the old man stopped chopping and rested on his axe. he turned his strange, half-dead eyes toward the child, and the shadow of a smile crossed his face. "ah, now you put out the right bait!" he said. "that proposition i'll not say no to." agrippa the little girl was certainly a marvel! when she was only ten years old she could manage even agrippa prästberg, the sight of whom was enough to scare almost any one out of his wits. agrippa had yellow red-lidded eyes, topped with bushy eyebrows, a frightful nose, and a wiry beard that stood out from his face like raised bristles. his forehead was covered with deep wrinkles and his figure was tall and ungainly. he always wore a ragged military cap. one day when the little girl sat all by herself on the flat stone in front of the hut, eating her evening meal of buttered bread, she espied a tall man coming down the lane whom she soon recognized as agrippa prästberg. however, she kept her wits about her, and at once broke and doubled her slice of bread buttered side in--then slipped it under her apron. she did not attempt to run away or to lock up the house, knowing that that would be useless with a man of his sort; but kept her seat. all she did was to pick up an unfinished stocking katrina had left lying on the stone when starting out with jan's supper a while ago, and go to knitting for dear life. she sat there as if quite calm and content, but with one eye on the gate. no, indeed, there was not a doubt about it--agrippa intended to pay them a visit, for just then he lifted the gate latch. the little girl moved farther back on the stone and spread out her skirt. she saw now that she would have to guard the house. glory goldie knew, to be sure, that agrippa prästberg was not the kind of man who would steal, and he never struck any one unless they called him grippie, or offered him buttered bread, nor did he stop long at a place where folk had the good luck not to have a darlecarlian clock in the house. agrippa went about in the parish "doctoring" clocks, and once he set foot in a house where there was a tall, old-fashioned chimney clock he could not rest until he had removed the works, to see if there was anything wrong with them. and he never failed to find flaws which necessitated his taking the whole clock apart. that meant he would be days putting it together again. meantime, one had to house and feed him. the worst of it was that if agrippa once got his hands on a clock it would never run as well as before, and afterward one had to let him tinker it at least once a year, or it would stop going altogether. the old man tried to do honest and conscientious work, but just the name he ruined all the clocks he touched. therefore it was best never to let him fool with one's clock. that glory goldie knew, of course, but she saw no way of saving the dalecarlian timepiece, which was ticking away inside the hut. agrippa knew of the clock being there and had long watched for an opportunity to get at it, but at other times when he was seen thereabout, katrina had been at home to keep him at a safe distance. when the old man came up he stopped right in front of the little girl, struck the ground with his stick, and rattled off: "here comes johan utter agrippa prästberg, drummer-boy to his royal highness and the crown! i have faced shot and shell and fear neither angels nor devils. anybody home?" glory goldie did not have to reply, for he strode past her into the house and went straight over to the big dalecarlian clock. the girl ran in after him and tried to tell him what a good clock it was, that it ran neither too fast nor too slow and needed no mending. "how can a clock run well that has not been regulated by johan utter agrippa prästberg!" the old man roared. he was so tall he could open the clock-case without having to stand on a chair. in a twinkling he removed the face and the works and placed them on the table. glory goldie clenched the hand under her apron, and tears came to her eyes; but what could she do to stop him? agrippa was in a fever of a hurry to find out what ailed the clock, before jan or katrina could get back and tell him it needed no repairing. he had brought with him a small bundle, containing work-tools and grease jars, which he tore open with such haste that half its contents fell to the floor. glory goldie was told to pick up everything that had dropped. and any one who has seen agrippa prästberg must know she would not have dared do anything but obey him. she got down on all fours and handed him a tiny saw and a mallet. "anything more!" he bellowed. "be glad you're allowed to serve his majesty's and the kingdom's drummer-boy, you confounded crofter-brat!" "no, not that i see," replied the little girl meekly. never had she felt so crushed and unhappy. she was to look after the house for her mother and father, and now this had to happen! "but the spectacles?" snapped agrippa. "they must have dropped, too?" "no," said the girl, "there are no spectacles here." suddenly a faint hope sprang up in her. what if he couldn't do anything to the clock without his glasses? what if they should be lost? and just then her eye lit on the spectacle-case, behind a leg of the table. the old man rummaged and searched among the cog-wheels and springs in his bundle. "i don't see but i'll have to get down on the floor myself, and hunt," he said presently. "get up, crofter-brat!" quick as a flash the little girl's hand shot out and closed over the spectacle-case, which she hid under her apron. "up with you!" thundered agrippa. "i believe you're lying to me. what are you hiding under your apron? come! out with it!" she promptly drew out one hand. the other hand she had kept under her apron the whole time. now she had to show that one, too. then he saw the buttered bread. "ugh! it's buttered bread!" agrippa shrank back as if the girl were holding out a rattlesnake. "i sat eating it when you came, and then i put it out of sight for, i know you don't like butter." the old man got down on his hands and knees and began to search, but to no purpose, of course. "you must have left them where you were last," said glory goldie. he had wondered about that himself, though he thought it unlikely. at all events he could do nothing to the clock without his glasses. he had no choice but to gather up his tools and replace the works in the clock-case. while his back was turned the little girl slipped the spectacles into his bundle, where he found them when he got to lövdala manor-- the last place he had been to before coming to ruffluck croft. on opening the bundle to show they were not there, the first object that caught his eye was the spectacle-case. next time he saw jan and katrina in the pine grove outside the church, he went up to them. "that girl of yours, that handy little girl of yours is going to be a comfort to you," he told them. forbidden fruit there were many who said to jan of ruffluck that his little girl would be a comfort to him when she was grown. folks did not seem to understand that she already made him happy every day and every hour that god granted them. only once in the whole time of her growing period did jan have to suffer any annoyance or humiliation on her account. the summer the little girl was eleven her father took her to lövdala manor on the seventeenth of august, which was the birthday of the lord of the manor, lieutenant liljecrona. the seventeenth of august was always a day of rejoicing that was looked forward to all the year by every one in svartsjö and in bro, not only by the gentry, who participated in all the festivities, but also by the young folk of the peasantry, who came in crowds to lövdala to look at the smartly dressed people and to listen to the singing and the dance music. there was something else, too, that attracted the young people to lövdala on the seventeenth of august, and that was all the fruit that was to be found in the orchard at that time. to be sure, the children had been taught strict honesty in most matters, but when it came to a question of such things as hang on bushes and trees, out in the open, they felt at liberty to take as much as they wanted, just so they were careful not to be caught at it. when jan came into the orchard with his glory goldie he noticed how the little girl opened her eyes when she saw all the fine apple trees, laden with big round greenings. and jan would not have denied her the pleasure of tasting of the fruit had he not seen superintendent söderlind and two other men walking about in the orchard, on the lookout for trespassers. he hurried glory goldie over to the lawn in front of the manor-house, out of temptation's way. it was plain that her thoughts were still on the apple trees and the gooseberry bushes, for she never even glanced at the prettily dressed children of the upper class or at the beautiful flowers. jan could not get her to listen to the fine speeches delivered by the dean of bro and engineer boraeus of borg, in honour of the day. why she would not even listen to sexton blackie's congratulatory poem! anders Öster's clarinet could be heard from the house. it was playing such lively dance music just then that folks were hardly able to hold themselves still, but the little girl only tried to find a pretext for getting back to the orchard. jan kept a firm grip on her hand all the while and no matter what excuse she would hit upon to break away, he never relaxed his hold. everything went smoothly for him until evening, when dusk fell. then coloured lanterns were brought out and set in the flower beds and hung in the trees and in among the clinging ivy that covered the house wall. it was such a pretty sight that jan, who had never before seen anything of that kind, quite lost his head and hardly knew whether he was still on earth; but just the same he did not let go of the little hand. when the lanterns had been lighted, anders Öster and his nephew and the village shopkeeper and his brother-in-law struck up a song. while they sang the air seemed to vibrate with a strange sort of rapture that took away all sadness and depression. it came so softly and caressingly on the balmy night air that jan just gave up to it, as did every one else. all were glad to be alive; glad they had so beautiful a world to live in. "this must be the way folks feel who live in paradise," said a youth, looking very solemn. after the singing there were fireworks, and when the rockets went up into the indigo night-sky and broke into showers of red, blue, and yellow stars, jan was so carried away that for the moment he forgot about glory goldie. when he came back to himself she was gone. "it can't be helped now," thought jan. "i only hope all will go well with her, as usual, and that superintendent söderlind or any of the other watchers won't lay hands on her." it would have been futile for jan to try to find her out in the big, dark orchard: he knew that the sensible thing for him to do was to remain where he was, and wait for her. and he did not have to wait very long! there was one more song; the last strains had hardly died away when he saw superintendent söderlind come up, with glory goldie in his arms. lieutenant liljecrona was standing with a little group of gentlemen at the top of the steps, listening to the singing, when superintendent söderlind stopped in front of him and set the little girl down on the ground. glory goldie did not scream or try to run away. she had picked her apron full of apples and thought of nothing save to hold it up securely, so that none of the apples would roll out. "this youngster has been up in an apple tree," said superintendent söderlind, "and your orders were that if i caught any apple thieves i was to bring them to you." lieutenant liljecrona glanced down at the little girl, and the fine wrinkles round his eyes began to twitch. it was impossible to tell whether he was going to laugh or cry in a second. he had intended to administer a sharp reprimand to the one who had stolen his apples. but now when he saw the little girl tighten her hands round her apron, he felt sorry for her. only he was puzzled to know how he should manage this thing so that she could keep her apples; for if he were to let her off without further ado, it might result in his having his whole orchard stripped. "so you've been up in the apple trees, have you?" said the lieutenant. "you have gone to school and read about adam and eve, so you ought to know how dangerous it is to steal apples." at that moment jan came forward and placed himself beside his daughter; he felt quite put out with her for having spoiled his pleasure, but of course he had to stand by her. "don't do anything to the little girl, lieutenant!" he said. "for it was i who gave her leave to climb the tree for the apples." glory goldie sent her father a withering glance, and broke her silence. "that isn't true," she declared. "i wanted the apples. father has been standing here the whole evening holding onto my hand so i shouldn't go pick any." now the lieutenant was tickled. "good for you, my girl!" said he. "you did right in not letting your father shoulder the blame. i suppose you know that when our lord was so angry at adam and eve it wasn't because they had stolen an apple, but because they were cowards and tried to shift the blame, the one onto the other. you may go now, and you can keep your apples because you were not afraid to tell the truth." with that he turned to one of his sons, and said: "give jan a glass of punch. we must drink to him because his girl spoke up for herself better than old mother eve. it would have been well for us all if glory goldie had been in the garden of eden instead of eve." book two lars gunnarson one cold winter day eric of falla and jan were up in the forest cutting down trees. they had just sawed through the trunk of a big spruce, and stepped aside so as not to be caught under its branches when it came crashing to the ground. "look out, boss!" warned jan. "it's coming your way." there was plenty of time for eric to have escaped while the spruce still swayed; but he had felled so many trees in his lifetime that he thought he ought to know more about this than jan did, and stood still. the next moment he lay upon the ground with the tree on top of him. he had not uttered a sound when the tree caught him and now he was completely hidden by the thick spruce branches. jan stood looking round not knowing what had become of his employer. presently he heard the old familiar voice he had always obeyed; but it sounded so feeble he could hardly make out what it was saying. "go get a team and some men to take me home," said the voice. "shan't i help you from under first?" asked jan. "do as i tell you!" said eric of falla. jan, knowing his employer to be a man who always demanded prompt obedience, said nothing further but hurried back to falla as fast as he could. the farm was some distance away, so that it took time to get there. on arriving, the first person jan came upon was lars gunnarson, the husband of eric's eldest daughter and prospective master of falla, which he was destined to take over upon the decease of the present owner. when lars gunnarson had received his instructions he ordered jan to go straight to the house and tell the mistress of what had occurred; then he was to call the hired boy. meantime lars himself would run down to the barn and harness a horse. "perhaps i needn't be so very particular about telling the womenfolk just yet?" said jan. "for if they once start crying and fretting it will only mean delay. eric's voice sounded so weak from where he lay that i think we'd best hurry along." but lars gunnarson, since coming to the farm, had made it a point to assert his authority. he would no more take back an order once given than would his father-in-law. "go into mother at once!" he commanded. "can't you understand that she must get the bed ready so we'll have some place to put him when we come back with him?" then of course jan was obliged to go inside and notify the mistress. try as he would to make short work of it, it took time to relate what had happened and how it had happened. when jan returned to the yard he heard lars thundering and swearing in the stable. lars was a poor hand with animals. the horses would kick if he went anywhere near them and he had not been able to get one of the beasts out of its stall the whole time that jan had been inside talking with the housewife. it would not have been well for jan had he offered to help lars. knowing this he went immediately on his other errand, and fetched the hired boy. he thought it mighty strange that lars had not told him to speak to börje, who was threshing in the barn close by, instead of sending him after the hired boy, who was at work out in the birch-grove, a good way from the farmyard. and while jan ran these needless errands, the faint voice under the spruce branches rang in his ears. the voice was not so imperative now, but it begged and implored him to hasten. "i'm coming, i'm coming!" jan whispered back. he had the sensation of one in a nightmare who tries to run but who cannot take a step. lars had at last managed to get a horse into the shafts. then the womenfolk came and told him to be sure to take along straw and blankets. this was all very well, but it meant still further delay. finally lars and jan and the hired boy drove away from the farm. but they had got no farther than to the edge of the forest, when lars stopped the horse. "one gets sort of rattled when one receives news of this kind," said he. "i never thought of it till just now--but börje is back at the barn." "it would have been well to have taken him along," said jan, "for he's twice as strong as any of us." then lars sent the hired boy back to the farm to get börje; which meant a long wait. while jan sat in the sledge, powerless to act, he felt as though within him opened a big, empty ice-cold void. it was the awful certainty that they would be too late! then at last came börje and the boy, all out of breath from running, and now they drove on into the woods. they went very slowly, though, for lars had harnessed the old spavined bay to the sledge. what he had said about his being rattled must have been true, for all at once he wanted to turn in on the wrong road. "if you go in that direction, we'll come to great peak," jan told him; "and we must get to the woods beyond loby." "yes, i know," returned lars, "but farther up there's a crossroad where it's better driving." "what road might that be? i've never seen it." "wait, and i'll show you," said lars, determined to continue up the mountain. now börje sided with jan, so lars had to give in of course; but precious time had been consumed while they argued with him, and jan felt as if all the life had gone out of his body. "nothing matters now," thought he. "eric of falla will be beyond our help when we arrive." the old bay jogged along the forest road as well as it could, but it had not the strength for a heavy pull like this. it was poorly shod, and stumbled time after time. when going uphill the men had to get down from the sledge and walk, and when they came upon trackless unbeaten ground in the thick of the forest the horse was almost more of a hindrance than a help. at all events they got there finally. strange to say, they found eric of falla in fairly good condition; he was not much hurt and no bones were broken. one of his thighs had been lacerated by a branch, and there he had an ugly wound; still it was nothing but what he could recover from. when jan went back to his work the next morning he learned that eric had a high fever and was suffering intense pain. while lying on the frozen ground he had caught a severe cold, which developed into pneumonia, and within a fortnight he was dead. the red dress the summer the young girl was in her seventeenth year she went to church one sunday with her parents. on the way she had worn a shawl, which she slipped off when she came to the church knoll. then everybody noticed that she was wearing a dress such as had never before been seen in the parish. a travelling merchant, one of the kind that goes about with a huge pack on his back, had found his way to the ashdales, and on seeing glory goldie in all the glow and freshness of her youth he had taken from his pack a piece of dress goods which he tried to induce her parents to buy for her. the cloth was a changeable red, of a texture almost like satin and as costly as it was beautiful. of course jan and katrina could not afford to buy for their girl a dress of that sort, though jan, at least, would have liked nothing better. fancy! when the merchant had vainly pressed and begged the parents for a long while he grew terribly excited because he could not have his way. he said he had set his heart on their daughter having the dress, that he had not seen another girl in the whole parish who would set it off as well as she could. whereupon he had measured and cut off as much of the cloth as was needed for a frock, and presented it to glory goldie. he did not want any payment, all he asked was to see the young girl dressed in the red frock the next time he came to ruffluck. afterward the frock was made up by the best seamstress in the parish, the one who sewed for the young ladies at lövdala manor, and when glory goldie tried it on the effect was so perfect that one would have thought the two had blossomed together on one of the lovely wild briar bushes out in the forest. the sunday glory goldie showed herself at church in her new dress, nothing could have kept jan and katrina at home, so curious were they to hear what folks would say. and it turned out, as has been said, that everybody noticed the red dress. when the astonished folk had looked at it once they turned and looked again; the second time, however, they glanced not only at the dress but at the young girl who wore it. some had already heard the story of the dress. others wanted to know how it happened that a poor cotter's lass stood there in such fine raiment. then of course katrina and jan had to tell them all about the travelling merchant's visit, and when they learned how it had come about they were all glad that fortuna had thought of taking a little peep into the humble home down in the ashdales. there were sons of landed proprietors who declared that if this girl had been of less humble origin they would have proposed to her then and there. and there were daughters of landed proprietors--some of them heiresses--who said to themselves that they would have given half of their possessions for a face as rosy and young and radiant with health as hers. that sunday the dean of bro preached at the svartsjö church, instead of the regular pastor. the dean was an austere, old fashioned divine who could not abide extravagance in any form, whether in dress or other things. seeing the young girl in the bright red frock he must have thought she was arrayed in silk, for immediately after the service he told the sexton to call the girl and her parents, as he wished to speak with them. even he noticed that the girl and the dress went well together, but for all that he was none the less displeased. "my child," he said, laying his hand on glory goldie's shoulder, "i have something i want to say to you. nobody could prevent me from wearing the vestments of a bishop, if i so wished; but i never do it because i don't want to appear to be something more than what i am. for the same reason you should not dress as though you were a young lady of quality, when you are only the daughter of a poor crofter." these were cutting words, and poor glory goldie was so dismayed she could not answer. but katrina promptly informed him that the girl had received the cloth as a gift. "be that as it may," spoke the dean. "but parents, can't you comprehend that if you allow your daughter to array herself once or twice in this fashion she will never again want to put on the kind of clothes you are able to provide for her?" now that the dean had spoken his mind in plain words he turned away; but before he was out of earshot jan was ready with a retort. "if this little girl could be clothed as befits her, she would be as gorgeous as the sun itself," said he. "for a sunbeam of joy she has been to us since the day she was born." the dean came back and regarded the trio thoughtfully. both katrina and jan looked old and toil worn, but the eyes in their furrowed faces shone when they turned them toward the radiant young being standing between them. then the dean felt it would be a shame to mar the happiness of these two old people. addressing himself to the young girl, he said in a mild voice: "if it is true that you have been a light and a comfort to your poor parents, then you may well wear your fine dress with a good grace. for a child that can bring happiness to her father and mother is the best sight that our eyes may look upon." the new master when the ruffluck family came home from church the sunday the dean had spoken so beautifully to glory goldie they found two men perched on their fence, close to the gate. one of the men was lars gunnarson, who had become master of falla after eric's death, the other was a clerk from the store down at broby, where katrina bought her coffee and sugar. they looked so indifferent and unconcerned sitting there that jan could hardly think they wanted to see him; so he simply raised his cap as he went past them into the house, without speaking. the men remained where they were. jan wished they would go sit where he could not see them. he knew that lars had harboured a grudge against him since that ill-fated day in the forest and had hinted more than once that jan was getting old and would not be worth his day's wage much longer. katrina brought on the midday meal, which was hurriedly eaten. lars gunnarson and the clerk still sat on the fence, laughing and chatting. they reminded jan of a pair of hawks biding their time to swoop down upon helpless prey. finally the men got down off the fence, opened the gate, and went toward the house. then, after all, they had come to see him! jan had a strong presentment that they wished him ill. he glanced anxiously about, as if to find some corner where he might hide. then his eyes fell on glory goldie, who also sat looking out through the window, and instantly his courage came back. why should he be afraid when he had a daughter like her? he thought. glory goldie was wise and resourceful, and afraid of nothing. luck was always on her side, so that lars gunnarson would find it far from easy to get the best of her! when the two men came in they seemed as unconcerned as before. yet lars said that after sitting so long on the fence looking at the pretty little house they had finally taken a notion to step inside. they lavished praises upon everything in the house and lars remarked that jan and katrina had reason to feel very thankful to eric of falla; for of course it was he who had made it possible for them to build a home and to marry. "that reminds me," he said quickly, looking away from jan and katrina. "i suppose eric of falla had the foresight to give you a deed to the land on which the hut stands?" neither jan nor katrina said a word. instantly they knew that lars had now come to the matter he wanted to discuss with them. "i understand there are no papers in existence," continued lars, "but i can't believe it is so bad as all that. for in that event the house would fall to the owner of the land." still jan said nothing, but katrina was too indignant to keep silent any longer. "eric of falla gave us the lot on which this house stands," she said, "and no one has the right to take it away from us!" "and no one has any intention of doing so," said the new owner in a pacifying tone. he only wanted to have everything regular, that was all. if jan could let him have a hundred rix-dollars by october fairtime-- "a hundred rix-dollars!" katrina broke in, her voice rising almost to a shriek. lars drew his head back and tightened his lips. "and you, jan, you don't say a word!" said katrina reproachfully. "don't you hear that lars wants to squeeze from us one hundred rix-dollars?" "it won't be so easy, perhaps, for jan to come up with one hundred rix-dollars," returned lars gunnarson, "but just the same i've got to know what's mine." "and so you're going to steal our hut?" "nothing of the kind!" said lars. "the hut is yours. it's the land i'm after." "then we can move the hut off of your land," said katrina. "it would hardly be worth your while to go to the bother of moving something you'll not be able to keep." "well, i never!" gasped katrina. "then you really do mean to lay hands on our property?" lars gunnarson made a gesture of protest. no, of course he did not want to put a lien on the house, not he! had he not already told them as much? but it so happened that the storekeeper at broby had sent his clerk with some accounts that had not been settled. the clerk now produced the bills and laid them on the table. katrina pushed them over to glory goldie and told her to figure up the total amount due. it was no less than one hundred rix-dollars that they owed! katrina went white as a sheet. "i see that you mean to turn us out of house and home," she said, faintly. "oh, no," answered lars, "not if you pay what you owe." "you ought to think of your own parents, lars," katrina reminded him. "they, too, had their struggles before you became the son-in-law of a rich farmer." katrina had to do all the talking, as jan would not say anything; he only sat and looked at glory goldie--looked and waited. to his mind this affair was just something that had been planned for her special benefit, that she might prove her worth. "when you take the hut away from the poor man he's done for," wailed katrina. "i don't want to take the hut," said lars gunnarson, on the defensive. "all i want is a settlement." but katrina was not listening. "as long as the poor man has his home he's as good as anybody else, but the homeless man knows he's nobody." jan felt that katrina was right. the hut was built of old lumber and stood aslant on a poor foundation. small and cramped it certainly was, but just the same it seemed as if all would be over for them if they lost it. jan, for his part, could not think for a second it would be as bad as that. was not his glory goldie there? and could he not see how her eyes were beginning to flash fire? in a little while she would say something or do something that would drive these tormentors away. "of course you've got to have time to think it over," said the new owner. "but bear in mind that either you move on the first of october or you pay the storekeeper at broby the one hundred rix-dollars you owe him on or before that date. besides, i must have another hundred for the land." old katrina sat wringing her toil-gnarled hands. she was so wrought up that she talked to herself, not caring who heard her. "how can i go to church and how can i be seen among people when i'm so poor i haven't even a hut to live in?" jan was thinking of something else. he called to mind all the beautiful memories associated with the hut. it was here, near the table, the midwife had laid the child in his arms. it was over there, in the doorway, he had stood when the sun peeped out through the clouds to name the little girl. the hut was one with himself; with katrina; with glory goldie. it could never be lost to them. he saw glory goldie clench her fist, and felt that she would come to their aid very soon. presently lars gunnarson and the shopkeeper's clerk got up and moved toward the door. when they left they said "good-bye," but not one of the three who remained in the hut rose or returned the salutation. the moment the men were gone the young girl, with a proud toss of her head, sprang to her feet. "if you would only let me go out in the world!" she said. katrina suddenly ceased mumbling and wringing her hands. glory goldie's words had awakened in her a faint hope. "it shouldn't be so very difficult to earn a couple of hundred rix-dollars between now and the first of october," said the girl. "this is only midsummer, so it's three whole months till then. if you will let me go to stockholm and take service there, i promise you the house shall remain in your keeping." when jan of ruffluck heard these words he grew ashen. his head sank back as if he were about to swoon. how dear of the little girl! he thought. it was for this he had waited the whole time--yet how, how could he ever bear to let her go away from him? on the mountain-top jan of ruffluck walked along the forest road where he and his womenfolk, happy and content, had passed on the way home from church a few hours earlier. he and katrina, after long deliberation, had decided that before sending their daughter away or doing anything else in this matter that jan had better see senator carl carlson of storvik and ask him whether lars gunnarson had the right to take the hut from them. there was no one in the whole of svartsjö parish who was so well versed in the law and the statutes as was the senator from storvik, and those who had the good sense to seek his advice in matters of purchase and sale, in making appraisals, or setting up an auction, or drawing up a will, could rest assured that everything would be done in a correct and legal manner and that afterward there was no fear of their becoming involved in lawsuits or other entanglements. the senator was a stern and masterful man, brusque of manner and harsh of voice, and jan was none too pleased at the thought of having to talk with him. "the first thing he'll do when i come to him will be to read me a lecture because i've got no papers," thought jan. "he has scared some folks so badly at the very start that they never dared tell him what they had come to consult him about." jan left home in such haste that he had no time to think about the dreadful man he was going to see. but while passing through the groves of the ashdales toward the big forest the old dread came over him. "it was mighty stupid in me not to have taken glory goldie along!" he said to himself. when leaving home he had not seen the girl about, so he concluded that she had betaken herself to some lonely spot in the woods, to weep away her grief, as she never wanted to be seen by any one when she felt downhearted. just as jan was about to turn from the road into the forest he heard some one yodelling and singing up on the mountain, to right of him. he stopped and listened. it was a woman's voice; surely it could not be the one it sounded like! in any case, he must know for a certainty before going farther. he could hear the song clearly and distinctly, but the singer was hidden by the trees. presently he turned from the road and pushed his way through some tangle-brush in the hope of catching a glimpse of her; but she was not as near as he had imagined. nor was she standing still. on the contrary, she seemed to be moving farther away--farther away and higher up. at times the singing seemed to come from directly above him. the singer must be going up to the peak, he thought. she had evidently taken a winding path leading up the mountain, where it was almost perpendicular. here there was a thick growth of young birches; so of course he could not see her. she seemed to be mounting higher and higher, with the swiftness of a bird on the wing, singing all the while. then jan started to climb straight up the mountain; but in his eagerness he strayed from the path and had to make his way through the bewildering woods. no wonder he was left far behind! besides he had begun to feel as if he had a heavy weight on his chest; he could hardly get his breath as he tramped uphill, straining his ears to catch the song. finally he went so slowly that he seemed not to be moving at all. it was not easy to distinguish voices out in the woods, where there was so much that rustled and murmured and chimed in, as it were. but jan felt that he must get to where he could see the one who for very joy went flying up the steep. otherwise he would harbour doubts and misgivings the rest of his life. he knew that once he was on the mountain top, where it was barren of trees, the singer could not elude him. the view from the summit was glorious. from there could be seen the whole of long lake löven, the green vales encircling the lake and all the blue hills that shelter the valley. when folks from the shut-in ashdales climbed to the towering peak they must have thought of the mountain whither the tempter had once taken our lord, that he might show him all the kingdoms of the world, and their glories. when jan had at last left the dense woods behind him and had come to a cleared place, he saw the singer. at the top of the highest peak was a cairn, and on the topmost stone of this cairn silhouetted against the pale evening sky stood glory goldie sunnycastle, in her scarlet dress. if the folk in the dales and woodlands below had turned their eyes toward the peak just then, they would have seen her standing there in her shining raiment. glorv goldie looked out over miles and miles of country. she saw steep hills crowned with white churches on the shores of the lake, manors and founderies surrounded by parks and gardens, rows of farmhouses along the skirt of the woods, stretches of field and meadow land, winding roads and endless tracts of forest. at first she sang. but presently she hushed her singing and thought only of gazing out over the wide, open world before her. suddenly she flung out her arms as if wanting to take it all into her embrace--all this wealth and power and bigness from which she had been shut out until that day. jan did not return until far into the night, and when he reached home he could give no coherent account of his movements. he declared he had seen and talked with the senator, but what the senator had advised him to do he could not remember. "it's no good trying to do anything," he said again and again. that was all the satisfaction katrina got. jan walked all bent over, and looked ill. earth and moss clung to his coat, and katrina asked him if he had fallen and hurt himself. "no," he told her, but he may have lain on the ground a while. then he must be ill, thought katrina. it was not that either. it was just that something had stopped the instant it dawned on him that his little girl had offered to save the home for her parents not out of love for them, but because she longed to get away and go out in time world. but this he would not speak of. the eve of departure the evening before glory goldie of ruffluck left for stockholm jan discovered no end of things that had to be attended to all at once. he had no sooner got home from his work than he must betake himself to the forest to gather firewood, whereupon he set about fixing a broken board in the gate that had been hanging loose a whole year. when he had finished with that he dragged out his fishing tackle and began to overhaul it. all this time he was thinking how strange it seemed not to feel any actual regret. now he was the same as he had been seventeen years before; he felt neither glad nor sad. his heart had stopped like a watch that has received a hard blow when he had seen glory goldie on the mountain-top, opening her arms to the whole world. it had been like this with him once before. then folks had wanted him to be glad of the little girl's coming, but he had not cared a bit about it; now they all expected him to be sad and disconsolate over her departure, and he was not that, either. the hut was full of people who had come to say good-bye to glory goldie. jan had not the face to go in and let them see that he neither wept nor wailed; so he thought it best to stop outside. at all events it was a good thing for him matters had taken this turn, for if all had been as before he knew he should never have been able to endure the separation, and all the heartache and loneliness. a while ago, in passing by the window, he had noticed that the hut inside was decked with leaves and wild flowers. on the table were coffee cups, as on the day of which he was thinking. katrina was giving a little party in honour of the daughter who was to fare forth into the wide world to save the home. every one seemed to be weeping, both the housefolk and those who had come to bid the little girl godspeed. jan heard glory goldie's sobs away out in the yard, but they had no effect upon him. "my good people," he mumbled to himself, "this is as it should be. look at the young birds! they are thrust out of the nest if they don't leave it willingly. have you ever watched a young cuckoo? what could be worse than the sight of him lying in the nest, fat and sleek, and shrieking for food the whole blessed day while his parents wear themselves out to provide for him? it won't do to let the young ones sit around at home and become a burden to us older ones. they have got to go out into the world and shift for themselves my good friends." at last all was quiet in the house. the neighbours had left, so that jan could just as well have gone inside; but he went on puttering with his fishing tackle a while longer. he would rather that glory goldie and katrina should be in bed and asleep before he crossed the threshold. by and by, when he had heard no sound from within for ever so long, he stole up to the house as cautiously as a thief. the womenfolk had not retired. as jan passed by the open window he saw glory goldie sitting with her arms stretched out across the table, her head resting on them. it looked as if she were still crying. katrina was standing back in the room wrapping her big shawl around glory goldie's bundle of clothing. "you needn't bother with that, mother," said glory goldie without raising her head. "can't you see that father is mad at me because i'm leaving?" "then he'll have to get glad again," returned katrina, calmly. "you say that because you don't care for him," said the girl, through her sobs. "all you think about is the hut. but father and i, we think of each other, and i'll not leave him!" "but what about the hut?" asked katrina. "it can go as it will with the hut, if only father will care for me again." jan moved quietly away from the door, where he had been standing a moment, listening, and sat down on the step. he never thought for an instant that glory goldie would remain at home. indeed he knew better than did any one else that she must go away. all the same it was to him as if the soft little bundle had again been laid in his arms. his heart had been set going once more. now it was beating away in his breast as if trying to make up for lost time. with that he felt that his armour of defence was gone. then came grief and longing. he saw them as dark shadows in among the trees. he opened his arms to them, a smile of happiness lighting his face. "welcome! welcome!" he cried. at the pier when the steamer _anders fryxell_ pulled out from the pier at borg point with glory goldie of ruffluck on board, jan and katrina stood gazing after it until they could no longer see the faintest outline of either the girl or the boat. every one else had left the pier, the watchman had hauled down the flag and locked the freight shed, but they still tarried. it was only natural that the parents should stand there as long as they could see anything of the boat, but why they did not go their ways afterward they hardly knew themselves. perhaps they dreaded the thought of going home again, of stepping into the lonely hut in each other's company. "i've got no one but him to cook for now!" mused katrina, "no one but him to wait for! but what do i care for him? he could just as well have gone, too. it was the girl who understood him and all his silly talk, not i. i'd be better off alone." "it would be easier to go home with my grief if i didn't have that sour-faced old katrina sitting round the house," thought jan. "the girl knew so well how to get on with her, and could make her happy and content; but now i suppose i'll never get another civil word from that quarter." of a sudden jan gave a start. bending forward he clapped his hands to his knees. his eyes kindled with new-found hope and his whole face shone. he kept his gaze on the water and katrina thought something extraordinary must have riveted his attention, although she, who stood beside him, saw nothing save the ceaseless play of the gray-green waves, chasing each other across the surface of the lake, with never a stop. jan ran to the far end of the pier and bent down over the water, with the look on his face which he always wore whenever glory goldie approached him, but which he could never put on when talking to any one else. his mouth opened and his lips moved as though he were speaking, but not a word was heard by katrina. smile after smile crossed his face, just as when the girl used to stand and rail at him. "why, jan!" said katrina, "what has come over you?" he did not reply, but motioned to her to be still. then he straightened himself a little. his gaze seemed to be following something that glided away over the gray-green waves. whatever it was, it moved quickly in the direction the boat had taken. now jan no longer bent forward but stood quite upright, shading his eyes with his hand that he might see the better. thus he remained standing till there was nothing more to be seen, apparently. then, turning to katrina, he said: "you didn't see anything, perhaps?" "what can one see here but the lake and its waves?" "the little girl came rowing back," jan told her, his voice lowered to a whisper. "she had borrowed a boat of the captain. i noticed it was marked exactly like the steamer. she said there was something she had forgotten about when she left; it was something she wanted to say to us." "my dear jan, you don't know what you're talking about! if the girl had come back then i, too, would have seen her." "hush now, and i'll tell you what she wants of us!" said jan, in solemn and mysterious whispers. "it seems she had begun to worry about us; she was afraid we two wouldn't get on by ourselves. before she had always walked between us, she said, with one hand in mine and the other in yours, and in that way everything had gone well. but now that she wasn't here to keep us together she didn't know what might happen, 'now perhaps father and mother will go their separate ways,' she said." "sakes alive!" gasped katrina, "that she should have thought of that!" the woman was so affected by what had just been said--for the words were the echo of her own thoughts--that she quite forgot that the daughter could not possibly have come back to the pier and talked with jan without her seeing it. "'so now i've come back to join your hands,' said he, 'and you mustn't let go of each other, but keep a firm hold for my sake till i return and link hands with you again.' as soon as she had said this she rowed away." there was silence for a moment on the pier. "and here's my hand," jan said presently, in an uncertain voice that betrayed both shyness and anxiety--and put out a hand, which despite all his hard toil had always remained singularly soft. "i do this because the girl wants me to," he added. "and here's mine," said katrina. "i don't understand what it could have been that you saw, but if you and the girl want us to stick together, so do i." then they went all the way home to their hut, hand in hand. the letter one morning when glory goldie had been gone about a fortnight, jan was out in the pasture nearest the big forest, mending a wattled fence. he was so close to the woods that he could hear the murmur of the pines and see the grouse hen walking about under the trees, scratching for food-along line of grouse chicks trailing after her. jan had nearly finished his work when he heard a loud bellowing from the wooded heights! it sounded so weird and awful he began to be alarmed. he stood still a moment and listened. soon he heard it again. then he knew it was nothing to be afraid of, but on the contrary, it seemed to be a cry for help. he threw down his pickets and branches and hurried through the birch grove into the dense fir woods, where he had not gone far before he discovered what was amiss. up there was a big, treacherous marsh. a cow belonging to the falla folk had gone down in a quagmire and jan saw at once that it was the best cow they had on the farm, one for which lars gunnarson had been offered two hundred rix-dollars. she had sunk deep in the mire and was now so terrified that she lay quite still and sent forth only feeble and intermittant bellowings. it was plain that she had struggled desperately for she was covered with mud clear to her horns, and round about her the green moss-tufts had been torn up. she had bellowed so loud that jan thought every one in ashdales must have heard her, yet no one but himself had come up to the marsh. he did not tarry a second, but ran straight to the farm for help. it was slow work setting poles in the marsh, laying out boards and slipping ropes under the cow, to draw her up by. for when the men reached her she had sunk to her back, so that only her head was above the mire. after they had finally dragged her back onto firm ground and carted her home to falla the housewife invited all who had worked over the animal to come inside for coffee. no one had been so zealous in the rescue work as had jan of ruffluck. but for him the cow would have been lost. and just think! she was a cow worth at least two hundred rix-dollars. to jan this seemed a rare stroke of luck. surely the new master and mistress could not fail to recognize so great a service. something of a similar nature once happened in the old master's time. then it was a horse that had been impaled on a picket fence. the one who found the horse and had it carted home received from eric of falla a reward of ten rix-dollars; and that despite the fact that the beast was so badly injured that eric had to shoot it. but the cow was alive and in nowise harmed. so jan pictured himself going on the morrow to the sexton, or to some other person who could write, to ask him to write to glory goldie and tell her to come home. when jan came into the living-room at falla he naturally drew himself up a bit. the old housewife was pouring coffee and he did not wonder at it when she handed him his cup before even lars gunnarson had been served. then, while they were all having their coffee, every one spoke of how well jan had done, that is, every one but the farmer and his wife; not a word of praise came from them. but now that jan felt so confident his hard times were over and his luck was coming back, it was easy for him to find grounds for comfort. it might be that lars was silent because he wished to make what he would say all the more impressive. but he was certainly withholding his thanks a distressingly long while. the situation had become embarrassing. the others had stopped talking and looked a little uncomfortable. when the old mistress went round to refill the coffee cups some of the men hesitated; jan among them. "oh, have another wee drop, jan!" she said. "if you hadn't been so quick to act we would have lost a cow that's worth her two hundred rix-dollars." this was followed by a dead silence, and now every one's eyes turned toward the man of the house. all were waiting for some expression of appreciation from him. lars cleared his throat two or three times, as if to give added weight to what he was about to say. "it strikes me there's something queer about this whole business," he began. "you all know that jan owes two hundred rix-dollars and you also know that last spring i was offered just that sum for the cow. it seems to fit in altogether too well with jan's case that the cow should have gone down in the marsh to-day and that he should have rescued her." lars paused and again cleared his throat. jan rose and moved toward him; but neither he nor any of the others had an answer ready. "i don't know how jan happened to be the one who heard the cow bellowing up in the marsh," pursued lars. "perhaps he was nearer the scene when the mishap occurred than he would have us think. maybe he saw a possibility of getting out of debt and deliberately drove the cow--" jan brought his fist down on the table with a crash that made the cups jump in their saucers. "you judge others by yourself, you!" he said, "that's the sort of thing you might do, but not i. you must know that i can see through your tricks. one day last winter you--" but just when jan was on the point of saying something that could only have ended in an irreparable break between himself and his employer, the old housewife tipped him by the coat sleeve. "look out, jan!" said she. jan did so. then he saw katrina coming toward the house with a letter in her hand. that was surely the letter from glory goldie which they had been longing for every day since her departure. katrina, knowing how happy jan would be to get this, had come straight over with it the moment it arrived. jan glanced about him, bewildered. many ugly words were on the tip of his tongue, but now he had no time to give vent to them. what did he care about being revenged on lars gunnarson? why should he bother to defend himself? the letter drew him away with a power that was irresistible. he was out of the house and with katrina before the people inside had recovered from their dread of what he might have hurled at his employer in the way of accusation. august dÄr nol one evening, when glory goldie had been gone about a month, august där nol came down to the ashdales. august and glory had been comrades at the Östanby school and had been confirmed the same summer. a fine, manly lad was august där nol, and a favourite with every one. his parents were people of means and no one had a brighter or more assured future to look forward to than had he. having been absent from home for six months, he had only learned on his return that glory goldie had gone away in order to earn money to save her old home. it was his mother who told him of this, and before she had finished talking he snatched up his cap and rushed out, never pausing until he had reached the gate at ruffluck croft; there he stopped and looked toward the hut. katrina saw august standing there and made a pretext of going to the well for water in order to speak to him; but the lad did not appear to see her, so katrina immediately went back into the house. then in a little while jan came down from the forest with an armful of wood, and when august saw him coming he stepped to one side until he, too, had gone in; then he went back to the gate. presently the window of the hut swung open, disclosing jan seated at one side of the window-table smoking his pipe, and katrina at the other side, knitting. "well, katrina dear," said jan, "now we're having a real cosy evening. there's only one thing i wish for." "i wish for a hundred things!" sighed katrina, "and if i could have them all i'd still be unsatisfied." "but i only wish the seine-maker, or somebody else who can read, would drop in and read us glory goldie's letter." "you've had that letter read to you so many times since you got it that you ought to know it by heart." "that may be true enough," returned jan, "but still it always does me good to hear it read, for then i feel as though the little girl herself were standing and talking to me, and i seem to see her eyes beam on me as i listen to her words." "i wouldn't mind hearing it again, myself," said katrina, glancing out through the open window. "but on a fine light evening like this we can't expect folks to come to our hut." "it would be better to me than the taste of white bread with coffee to hear glory goldie's letter read while i'm sitting here smoking," declared jan, "but i'm sure every one in the ashdales has grown tired of being asked to read the letter over and over, and now i don't know who to turn to." the words were hardly out of his mouth, when the door opened, and in walked august där nol. jan started in surprise. "bless me! here you come, my dear august, just when wanted." after jan had shaken hands with the caller and pulled up a chair for him he said: "i've got a letter i'd like you to read to us. it's from an old schoolmate of yours. maybe you'd be interested to hear how she's getting on?" august där nol took the letter and read it aloud, lingering over each word as if drinking it in. when he had finished, jan remarked: "how wonderfully well you read, my dear august! i've never heard goldie's words sound as beautiful as from your lips. would you do me the favour to read the letter once more?" then the boy read the letter for the second time, with the same deep feeling. it was as if he had come with a thirst-parched throat to a spring of pure water. when he had read to the end he carefully folded the letter and smoothed it over with his hand. as he was about to return it to jan, it occurred to him the letter had not been properly folded and he must do it over. that done, he sat very silent. jan tried to start a conversation, but failed. finally the boy rose to go. "it's so nice to get a little help sometimes," said jan. "now i have another favour to ask of you. we don't know just what to do with glory goldie's kitten. it will have to be put out of the way, i suppose, as we can't afford to keep it; but i can't bear the thought of that, nor has katrina the heart to drown it. we've talked of asking some stranger to take it." august där nol stammered a few words, which could scarcely be heard. "you can put the kitten in a basket, katrina," jan said to his wife, "then august will take it along, so that we'll not have to see it again." katrina then picked up a little kitten that lay asleep on the bed, placed it in an old basket around which she wrapped a cloth, and then turned it over to the boy. "i'm glad to be rid of this kitten," said jan. "it's wee happy and playful--too much like glory goldie herself. it's best to have it out of the way." young där nol, without a word, went toward the door; but suddenly he turned back, took jan's hand, and pressed it. "thanks!" he said in a choked voice. "you have given me more than you yourself know." "don't imagine it, my dear august där nol!" jan said to himself when the boy had gone. "this is something i understand about. i know what i've given you, and i know who has taught me to know." october the first the first day of october jan lay on the bed the whole afternoon, fully dressed, his face turned to the wall, and nobody could get a word out of him. in the forenoon he and katrina had been down to the pier to meet the little girl. not that glory goldie had written them to say she was coming, for indeed she had not! it was only that jan had figured out that it could not be otherwise. this was the first of october, the day the money must be paid to lars gunnarson, so of course glory goldie would come. he had not expected her home earlier. he knew she would have to remain in stockholm as long as she could in order to lay by all that money; but that she should be away any longer he never supposed. even if she had not succeeded in scraping together the money, that was no reason why she should be away after the first of october. that morning while jan had stood on the pier waiting, he had said to himself: "when the little girl sees us from the boat she'll put on a sad face, and the moment she lands she'll tell us she has not been able to raise the money. when she says that katrina and i will pretend to take her at her word and i'll say that can't understand how she dared come home when she knew that all katrina and i cared about was the money." he was sure that before they were away from the pier she would go down in her pocket, bring up a well-filled purse, and turn it over to them. then, while katrina counted the bank notes, he would only stand and look at glory goldie. the little girl would then see that all in the world he cared about was to have her back, and she would tell him he was just as big a simpleton now as when she went away. thus had jan pictured to himself glory goldie's homecoming. but his dream did not come true. that day he and katrina did not have a long wait at the pier. the boat arrived on time, but it was so overladen with passengers and freight bound for the broby fair that at first glance they were unable to tell whether or not the little girl was on board. jan had expected that she would be the first to come tripping down the gangplank; but only a couple of men came ashore. then jan attempted to look for her on the boat; but he could get nowhere for the crush. all the same he felt so positive she was there that when the deck hands began to draw in the gangplank he shouted to the captain not to let the boat leave as there was another person to come ashore here. the captain questioned the purser, who assured him there were no more passengers for svartsjö. then the boat pulled out and katrina and jan had to go home by themselves, and the moment they were inside the hut jan cast himself down on the bed--so weary and disheartened that he did not know how he would ever be able to get up again. the ashdales folk who had seen the father and mother return from the pier without glory goldie were greatly concerned. one after the other, the neighbours dropped in at ruffluck to find out how matters stood with them. was it true that glory goldie had not come on the boat? they inquired. and was it true that they had received no letter or message from her during the whole month of september? jan answered not a word to all their queries. it mattered not who came in--he lay still. katrina had to enlighten the neighbours as best she could. they thought jan lay on the bed because he was in despair of losing the hut. they could think what they liked for all of him. katrina wept and wailed, and once inside the friends felt they must remain, if only out of pity for her, and to give what little comfort they could. it was not likely that lars gunnarson would take the house from them, they said. the old mistress of falla would never let that happen. she had always shown herself to be a just and upright person. besides, the day was not over yet, and glory goldie might still be heard from. to be sure it would be nothing short of marvellous if she had succeeded in earning rix-dollars in less than three months' time: but then, that girl always had such good luck. they discussed the chances for and against. katrina informed them that glory goldie had earned nothing whatever the first weeks, that she had taken lodgings with a family from svartsjö, now living in stockholm, where she had been obliged to pay for her keep. and then one day she had had the good fortune to meet in the street the merchant who had given her the red dress, and he had found a place for her. would it not be reasonable to suppose that the merchant had also raised the money for her? that was not altogether impossible. "no, it was not impossible," said katrina, "but since the girl has neither come herself nor written it's plain she has failed." every one in the hut grew more anxious and apprehensive for every moment that passed. they all felt that some dire misfortune would soon fall upon those who lived there. when the tension was becoming unbearable the door opened once more and a man who was seldom seen in the ashdales came in. the instant this man entered it became as still in the hut as on a winter night in the forest, and every one's eyes save jan's alone turned toward him. jan did not stir, although katrina whispered to him that senator carl carlson of storvik had just come in. the senator held in his hand a roll of papers and every one took for granted that he had been sent here by the new owner of falla, to notify the ruffluck folk of what must befall them, now that they could not meet lars gunnarson's claim. carl carlson wore his usual magisterial mien and no one could guess how heavily the blow he had come to deal would fall. he went up and shook hands, first with katrina, then with the others, and each one in turn rose as he came to them; the only one who did not rise was jan. "i am not very well acquainted in this district," said the senator, "but i gather that this must be the place in the ashdales that is called ruffluck croft." it was of course. every one nodded in the affirmative, but no one was able to utter an audible word. they wondered that katrina had the presence of mind to nudge börje, and make him get up and give his chair to the senator. after drawing the chair up to the table the senator laid the roll of papers down, then he took out his snuff box and placed it beside the papers, whereupon he removed his spectacles from their case and wiped them with his big blue-and-white checkered handkerchief. after these preliminaries he glanced round the room, looking from one person to the other. those who sat there were persons of such little importance he did not even know them by name. "i wish to speak with jan anderson of ruffluck," he said. "that's him over there," volunteered the seine-maker, pointing at the bed. "is he sick?" inquired the senator. "oh, no! oh, no!" replied half a dozen at the same time. "and he isn't drunk, either," added börje. "nor is he asleep," said the seine-maker. "he has walked so far to-day he's all tired out," said katrina, thinking it best to explain the matter in that way. at the same time she bent down over her husband and tried to persuade him to rise. but jan lay still. "does he understand what i'm saying?" asked the senator. "yes indeed," they all assured him. "perhaps he's not expecting any glad tidings, seeing it's senator carl carlson who is paying him a call." this from the seine-maker. the senator turned his head and stared at the seine-maker. "ol' bengtsa of lusterby has not always been so afraid of meeting carl carlson of storvik," he observed in a mild voice. turning toward the table again, he took up a letter. every one was dumbfounded. the senator had actually spoken in a friendly tone. he could almost be said to have smiled. "the fact is," he began, "a couple of days ago i received a communication from a person who calls herself glory goldie sunnycastle, daughter of jan of ruffluck, in which she says she left home some months ago to try to earn two-hundred rix-dollars, which sum her parents have to pay to lars gunnarson of falla on the first day of october in order to obtain full rights of ownership to the land on which their hut stands." here the senator paused a moment so that his hearers would be able to follow him. "and now she sends the money to me," he continued, "with the request that i come down to the ashdales and see that this matter is properly settled with the new owner of falla; so that he won't be able to play any new trick later on." "that girl has got some sense in her head," the senator remarked as he folded the letter. "she turns to me from the start. if all did as she has done there would be less cheating and injustice in this parish." before the close of that remark jan was sitting on the edge of the bed. "but the girl? where is she?" he asked. "and now i'd like to know," the senator proceeded, taking no notice of jan's question, "whether the parents are in accord with the daughter and authorize me to close--" "but the girl, the girl?" jan struck in. "where is she?" "where she is?" said the senator, looking in the letter to see. "she says it was impossible for her to earn all this money in just two or three months, but she has found a place with a kind lady, who advanced her the money, and now she will have to stay with the lady until she has made it good." "then she's not coming home?" jan asked. "no, not for the present, as i understand it," replied the senator. again jan lay down on the bed and turned his face to the wall. what did he care for the hut and all that? what was the good of his going on living, when his little girl was not coming back? the dream begins the first few weeks after the senator's call jan was unable to do a stroke of work: he just lay abed and grieved. every morning he rose and put on his clothes, intending to go to his work; but before he was outside the door he felt so weak and weary that all he could do was to go back to bed. katrina tried to be patient with jan, for she understood that pining, like any other sickness, had to run its course. yet she could not help wondering how long it would be before jan's intense yearning for glory goldie subsided. "perhaps he'll be lying round like this till christmas!" she thought. "or possibly the whole winter?" and this might have been the case, too, had not the old seine-maker dropped in at ruffluck one evening and been asked to stay for coffee. the seine-maker, like most persons whose thoughts are far away and who do not keep in touch with what happens immediately about them, was always taciturn. but when his coffee had been poured and he had emptied it into his saucer, to let it cool, it struck him that he ought to say something. "to-day there's bound to be a letter from glory goldie," he said. "i feel it in my bones." "we had greetings from her only a fortnight ago in her letter to the senator," katrina reminded him. the seine-maker blew into his saucer a couple of times before saying anything more. whereupon he again found it expedient to bridge a long silence with a word or so. "maybe some blessing has come to the girl, and it has given her something to write about." "what kind of blessing might that be?" scouted katrina. "when you've got to drudge as a servant, one day is as humdrum as another." the seine-maker bit off a corner of a sugar-lump and gulped his coffee. when he had finished an appalling stillness fell upon the room. "it might be that glory goldie met some person in the street," he blurted out, his half-dead eyes vacantly staring at space. he seemed not to know what he was saying. katrina did not think it necessary to respond; so replenished his cup without speaking. "maybe the person she met was an old lady who had difficulty in walking," the seine-maker went on in the same offhand manner, "and maybe she stumbled and fell when glory goldie came along." "would that be anything to write about?" asked katrina, weary of this senseless talk. "but suppose glory goldie stopped and helped the old lady up?" pursued the seine-maker, "and she was so thankful to the girl for helping her that she opened her purse and gave her all of ten rix-dollars--wouldn't that be worth telling?" "why certainly," said katrina, "if it were true. but this is just something you're making up." "it is well, sometimes, to be able to indulge in little thought feasts," contended the seine-maker, "they are often more satisfying than the real ones." "you've tried both kinds," returned katrina, "so you ought to know." the seine-maker went his way directly, and katrina gave no further thought to his story. as for jan, he took it at first as idle chatter. but lying abed, with nothing to take up his mind, presently he began to wonder if there was not some hidden meaning back of the seine-maker's words. the old man's tone sounded a bit peculiar when he spoke of the letter. would he have sat there and made up such a long story only for talk's sake? perhaps he had heard something. perhaps glory goldie had written to him? it was quite possible that something so great had come to the little girl that she dared not send direct word to her parents, and wrote instead to the seine-maker, asking him to prepare them. "he'll come again to-morrow," thought jan, "and then we'll hear all about it." but for some reason the seine-maker did not come back the next day, nor the day after. by the third day jan had become so impatient to see his old friend that he got up and went over to his cabin, to find out whether there was anything in what he had said. the old man was sitting alone mending a drag-net when jan came in. he was so crippled from rheumatism, he said, he had been unable to leave the house for several days. jan did not want to ask him outright if he had received a letter from glory goldie. he thought he would attain his object more easily by approaching it in the indirect way the other had taken. so he said: "i've been thinking of what you told us about glory goldie the last time you were at our place." the seine-maker looked up from his work, puzzled. it was some little time before he comprehended what jan alluded to. "why, that was just a little whimsey of mine," he returned presently. then jan went very close to the old man. "anyhow it was something pleasant to listen to," he said. "you might have told us more, perhaps, if katrina hadn't been so mistrustful?" "oh, yes," replied the seine-maker. "this is the sort of amusement one can afford to indulge in down here, in the ashdales." "i have thought," continued jan, emboldened by the encouragement, "that maybe the story didn't end with the old lady giving glory goldie the ten rix-dollars. perhaps she also invited the girl to come to see her?" "maybe she did," said the seine-maker. "maybe she's so rich that she owns a whole stone house?" "that was a happy thought, friend jan!" "and maybe the rich old lady will pay glory goldie's debt?" jan began, but stopped short, because the old man's daughter-in-law had just come in, and of course he did not care to let her into the secret. "so you're out to-day, jan," observed the daughter-in-law. "i'm glad you're feeling better." "for that i have to thank my good friend ol' bengtsa!" said jan, with an air of mystery. "he's the one who has cured me." jan said good-bye, and left at once. for a long while the seine-maker sat gazing out after him. "i don't know what he can have meant by saying that i have cured him," the old man remarked to his daughter-in-law. "it can't be that he's--? no, no!" heirlooms one evening, toward the close of autumn, jan was on his way home from falla, where he had been threshing all day. after his talk with the seine-maker his desire for work had come back to him. he felt now that he must do what he could to keep up so that the little girl on her return would not be subjected to the humiliation of finding her parents reduced to the condition of paupers. when jan was far enough away from the house not to be seen from the windows he noticed a woman in the road coming toward him. dusk had already fallen, but he soon saw it was the mistress herself--not the new one, but the old and rightful mistress of falla. she had on a big shawl that came down to the hem of her skirt. jan had never seen her so wrapped up, and wondered if she was ill. she had looked poorly of late. in the spring, when her husband died, she had not a gray hair on her head, and now, half a year afterward, she had not a dark hair left. the old mistress stopped and greeted jan, after which the two stood and talked. she said nothing that would indicate that she had come out expressly to see him, but he felt it to be so. it flashed into his head that she wanted to speak with him about glory goldie, and he was rather miffed when she began to talk about something quite different. "i wonder, jan, if you remember the old owner of falla, my father, who was master there before eric came?" "why shouldn't i remember him, when i was all of twelve at the time of his death?" "he had a good son-in-law," said the old mistress. "he had that," agreed jan. the old mistress was silent a moment, and sighed once or twice before she continued: "i want to ask your advice about something, jan. you are not the sort that would go about tittle-tattling what i say." "no, i can hold my tongue." "yes, i've noticed that this year." new hopes arose in jan. it would not be surprising, thought he, if glory goldie had turned to the old mistress of falla and asked her to tell him and katrina of the great thing that had come to her. for the old seine-maker had been taken down with rheumatic fever shortly after their interrupted conversation, and for weeks he had been too ill to see him. now he was up and about again, but very feeble. the worst of it was that after his illness his memory seemed to be gone. he had waited for him to say something more about glory goldie's letter, but as he had failed to do so, and could not even take a hint, he had asked him straight out. and the old man had declared he had not received any letter. to convince jan he had pulled out the table drawer and thrown back the lid of his clothes-chest, to let him see for himself that there was no such letter. of course he had forgotten what he did with it, jan concluded. so, no wonder the little girl had turned to the mistress of falla. pity she hadn't done it in the first place! now that the old mistress was hesitating so long he felt certain in his own mind that he was right. but when she again returned to the subject of her father, he was so surprised he could hardly follow her. she said: "when father was nearing the end he summoned eric of falla to his bedside and thanked him for his loving care of a helpless old man in his declining years. 'don't think about that, father,' said eric. 'we're glad to have you with us just as long as you care to stay.' that's what eric said. and he meant it, too!" "he did that," confirmed jan. "there were no fox-tricks about him!" "wait, jan!" said the mistress, "we'll just speak of the old people for the present. do you remember the long silver-mounted stick father used to carry?" "yes; both the stick and the high leather cap he always wore when he went to church." "so you remember the cap, too? do you know what father did at the last? he told me to fetch him his stick and cap, and then he gave them to eric. 'i could have given you something that was worth more money,' he told eric, 'but i am giving you these instead, for i know you would rather have something i have used.'" "that was an honour well earned." when jan said that he noticed that the old mistress drew her shawl closer together. he was sure now she was hiding something under it--maybe a present from glory goldie! "she'll get round to that in time," he thought. "all this talk about her father is only a makeshift." "i have often spoken of this to my children," the old mistress went on, "and also to lars gunnarson. last spring, when eric lay sick, i think both lars and anna expected that lars would be called to the bedside, as eric had once been called. i had brought him in the stick and cap so they'd be handy in case eric wished to give them to lars; but he had no such thought." the old mistress's voice shook as she said that, and when she spoke again her tone sounded anxious and uncertain. "once, when we were alone, i asked eric what his wishes were, and he said if i wanted to i could give the things to lars when he was gone as he had not the strength to make speeches." whereupon the mistress of falla threw back her big shawl, and then jan saw that she held under it a long, silver-mounted ebony stick and a stiff, high-crowned leather cap. "some words are too heavy for utterance," she said with great gravity. "answer me with just a nod, jan, if you will. can i give these to lars gunnarson?" jan drew back a step. this was a matter he had entirely dismissed from his mind. it seemed such a long time since eric of falla died he hardly remembered how it happened. "you understand, jan, that all i want to know is whether lars can accept the stick and cap with the same right as eric. you must know, as you were with him that time in the forest. it would be well for me," she added, as jan did not speak, "if i could give them to lars. i believe there would be less friction afterward between the young folks and me." her voice failed her again, and jan began to perceive why she had aged so much the past few months; but now his mind was so taken up with other things that he no longer cherished the old resentment against his new employer. "it's best to forgive and forget," he said. "it pays in the long run." the old mistress caught her breath. "then it is just as i thought!" she said, drawing herself up to her full height. "i'll not ask you to tell what took place. it's best for me not to know. but one thing is certain, lars gunnarson shall never get his hands on my father's stick!" she had already turned to go, then suddenly faced about. "here, jan," she said, holding out the things. "you may have the stick and cap, for i want them to be in good, honest hands. i daren't take them home again lest i be forced to turn them over to lars; so you keep them as a memento of the old master, who always thought well of you." then she walked away, erect and proud, and there jan stood holding the cap and stick. he hardly knew how it had come about. he had never expected to be so honoured. were these heirlooms now to be his? then in a moment, he found an explanation: glory goldie was back of it all. the old mistress knew that he was soon to be elevated to a station so exalted that nothing would be too good for him. indeed, had the stick been of silver and the cap of gold they would have been even more suitable for the father of glory goldie. clothed in satin no letter had come from glory goldie to either her father or mother. but it mattered very little now that jan knew she was silent simply because she wished her parents to be all the more surprised and happy when the time came for her to proclaim the good tidings. but, in any case, it was a good thing for him that he had peeped into her cards. otherwise he might easily have been made a fool of by persons who thought they knew more about glory's doings than he did. for instance, there was katrina's experience at church the first sunday in advent. katrina had been to service, and upon her return jan had noticed that she was both alarmed and depressed. she had seen a couple of youths who were just back from stockholm standing on the church knoll talking with a group of young boys and girls. thinking they might be able to give her some news of glory goldie, she had gone up to them to make inquiries. the youths were evidently telling of some of their escapades, for all the men, at least, laughed uproariously. katrina thought their behaviour very unseemly, considering they were on church ground. the men must have realized this themselves, for when she came up they nudged one another and hushed. she had caught only a few words, spoken by a youth whose back was turned to her, and who had not seen her. "and to think that she was clothed in satin!" he said. instantly a young girl gave him a push that silenced him, then, glancing round, he saw katrina just behind him and his face went red as blood; but immediately after he tossed his head, and said in a loud voice: "what's the matter with you? why can't i be allowed to say that the queen was arrayed in satin?" when he said that the young people laughed louder than ever. then katrina went her way, unable to bring herself to question them. and when she came home she was so unhappy that jan was almost tempted to come out with the truth about glory goldie; but on second thought, he asked her to tell him again what had been said about the queen. katrina did so, but added: "you understand of course that that was only said to sweeten the pill for me." jan meanwhile kept mum. but he could not help smiling to himself. "what are you thinking about?" asked katrina. "you have such a queer look on your face these days. you don't know what they meant, do you?" "i certainly don't," answered jan. "but we ought to have enough confidence in the little girl to think all is as it should be." "but i'm getting so anxious--" "the time to speak," jan struck in, "has not come, either for them or me. glory goldie herself has probably requested them not to say anything to us. so we must rest easy, katrina, indeed we must." stars when the little girl had been gone nearly eight months, who should come stalking into the barn at falla one fine day, while jan stood threshing there, but mad ingeborg! mad ingeborg was first cousin to jan. but as she was afraid of katrina he seldom saw her. it was to escape meeting jan's wife that she had sought him out at falla during his work hours. jan was none too pleased to see ingeborg! she was not exactly insane, but flighty--and a terrible chatterer. he went right on with his work, taking no notice of her. "stop your threshing, jan!" she said, "so that i can tell you what i dreamed about you last night." "you'd better come some other time, ingeborg," jan suggested. "if lars gunnarson hears that i'm resting from my work he'll be sure to come over to see what's up." "i'll be as quick as quick can be. if you remember, i was the brightest child in our family, which doesn't give me much to brag about, as the rest of you were a dull lot." "you were going to tell me about a dream," jan reminded her. "in a minute--a minute! you mustn't be afraid. i understand-- understand: hard master now at falla--hard master. but don't be uneasy, for you'll not be scolded on my account. there's no danger of that when you're with a sensible person like me." jan would have liked to hear what she dreamed about him, for confident as he was of the ultimate realization of his great expectations, he nevertheless sought assurances from all quarters. but now mad ingeborg was wandering along her own thought-road and at such times it was not easy to stop her. she went very close to jan, then, bending over him, her eyes shut tight, her head shaking, the words came pouring out of her mouth. "don't be so scared. do you suppose i'd be standing here talking to you while you're threshing at falla if i didn't know the master had gone up to the forest and the mistress was down at the village selling butter. 'always keep them in mind,' says the catechism. i know enough for that and take good care not to come round when they can see me." "get out of the way, ingeborg! otherwise the flail might hit you." "think how you boys used to beat me when we were children!" she rattled on. "even now i have to take thrashings. but when it came to catechism examinations, i could beat you all. 'no one can catch ingeborg napping,' the dean used to say. 'she always knows her lessons.' and i'm good friends with the little misses at lövdala manor. i recite the catechism for them both questions and answers-- from beginning to end. and what a memory i've got! i know the whole bible by heart and the hymn book, too, and all the dean's sermons. shall i recite something for you, or would you rather hear me sing?" jan said nothing whatever, but went to threshing again. ingeborg, undaunted, seated herself on a sheaf of straw and struck up a chant of some twenty stanzas, then she repeated a couple of chapters from the bible, whereupon she got up and went out. jan thought she had gone for good, but in a little while she reappeared in the doorway of the barn. "hold still!" she whispered. "hold still! now we'll say nothing but what we were going to say. only be still--still!" then up went her forefinger. now she held her body rigid and her eyes open. "no other thoughts, no other thoughts!" she said. "we'll keep to the subject. only hush your pounding!" she waited till jan minded her. "you came to me last night in a dream--yes, that was it. you came to me and i says to you like this: 'are you out for a walk, jan of the ashdales?' 'yes,' says you, 'but now i'm jan of the vale of longings.' 'then, well met,' says i. 'there's where i have lived all my life.'" whereupon she disappeared again, and jan, startled by her strange words, did not immediately resume his work, but stood pondering. in a moment or two she was there again. "i remember now what brought me here," she told him. "i wanted to show you my stars." on her arm was a small covered basket bound with cord, and while she tugged and pulled at a knot, to loosen it, she chattered like a magpie. "they are real stars, these. when one lives in the vale of longings one isn't satisfied with the things of earth; then one is compelled to go out and look for stars. there is no other choice. now you, too, will have to go in search of them." "no, no, ingeborg!" returned jan. "i'll confine my search to what is to be found on this earth." "for goodness sake hush!" cried the woman. "you don't suppose i'm such a fool as to go ahunting for those which remain in the heavens, do you? i only seek the kind that have fallen. i've got some sense, i guess!" she opened her basket which was filled with a variety of stars she had evidently picked up at the manors. there were tin stars and glass stars and paper stars--ornaments from christmas trees and confectionery. "they are real stars fallen from the sky," she declared. "you are the only person i've shown them to. i'll let you have a couple whenever you need them." "thanks, ingeborg," said jan. "when the time comes that i shall have need of stars--which may be right soon--i don't think i'll ask you for them." then at last mad ingeborg left. it was some little time, however, before jan went back to his threshing. to him this, too, was a finger-pointing. not that a crack-brained person like ingeborg could know anything of glory goldie's movements; but she was one of the kind who sensed it in the air when something extraordinary was going to happen. she could see and hear things of which wise folk never had an inkling. waiting engineer boraeus of borg was in the habit of strolling down to the pier mornings to meet the steamer. he had only a short distance to go, through his beautiful pine grove, and there was always some one on the boat with whom he could exchange a few words to vary the monotony of country life. at the end of the grove, where the road began an abrupt descent to the pier, were some large bare rocks upon which folk who had come from a distance used to sit while waiting for the boat. and there were always many who waited at the borg pier, as there was never any certainty as to when the boat would arrive. it seldom put in before twelve o'clock, and yet once in a while it reached the pier as early as eleven. sometimes it did not come until one or two; so that prompt people, who were down at the landing by ten o'clock, often had to sit there for hours. engineer boraeus had a good outlook over lake löven from his chamber window at borg. he could see when the steamer rounded the point and never appeared at the landing until just in the nick of time. therefore he did not have to sit on the rocks and wait, and would only cast a glance, in passing, at those who were seated there. however, one summer, he noticed a meek-looking little man with a kindly face sitting there waiting day after day. the man always sat quite still, seemingly indifferent, until the boat hove in sight. then he would jump to his feet, his face shining with joyous anticipation, and rush down the incline to the far end of the pier, where he would stand as if about to welcome some one. but nobody ever came for him. and when the boat pulled out he was as alone as before. then, as he turned to go home, the light of happiness gone from his face, he looked old and worn; he seemed hardly able to drag himself up the hill. engineer boreaus was not acquainted with the man. but one day when he again saw him sitting there gazing out upon the lake, he went up and spoke to him. he soon learned that the man's daughter, who had been away for a time, was expected home that day. "are you quite certain she is coming to-day?" said the engineer. "i've seen you sitting here waiting ever day for the past two months. in that case she must have sent you wrong instructions before." "oh, no," replied the man quietly, "indeed she hasn't given me any wrong instructions!" "then what in the name of god do you mean?" demanded the engineer gruffly, for he was a choleric man. "you've sat here and waited day after day without her coming, yet you say she has not given you wrong instructions." "no," answered the meek little man, looking up at the engineer with his mild, limpid eyes, "she couldn't have, as she has not sent any instructions." "hasn't she written to you?" "no; we've had no letter from her since the first day of last october." "then why do you idle away your mornings down here?" asked the engineer, wonderingly. "can you afford to leave off working like this?" "no," replied the man, smiling to himself. "i suppose it's wrong in me to do so; but all that will soon be made good." "is it possible that you're such a stupid ass as to hang round here when there's no occasion for it?" roared the engineer, furiously. "you ought to be shut up in a madhouse." the man said nothing. he sat with his hands clasped round his knees, quite unperturbed. a smile played about his mouth all the while, and every second he seemed more and more confident of his ultimate triumph. the engineer shrugged his shoulders and walked away, but before he was halfway down the hill he repented his harshness, and turned back. the stern forbidding look which his strong features habitually wore was now gone and he put out his hand to the man. "i want to shake hands with you," he said. "until now i had always thought that i was the only one in this parish who knew what it was to yearn; but now i see that i have found my master." the empress the little girl of ruffluck had been away fully thirteen months, yet jan had not betrayed by so much as a word that he had any knowledge of the great thing that had come to her. he had vowed to himself never to speak of this until glory goldie's return. if the little girl did not discover that he knew about her grandeur, her pleasure in overwhelming him would be all the greater. but in this world of ours it is the unexpected that happens mostly. there came a day when jan was forced to unseal his lips and tell what he knew. not on his own account. indeed not! for he would have been quite content to go about in his shabby clothes and let folks think him nothing but a poor crofter to the end of his days. it was for the little girl's own sake that he felt compelled to reveal the great secret. it happened one day, early in august, when he had gone down to the pier to watch for her. for you see, going down to meet the boat every day that he might see her come ashore, was a pleasure he had been unable to deny himself. the boat had just put in and he had seen that glory goldie was not on board. he had supposed that she would be finished with everything now and could leave for home. but some new hindrance must have arisen to detain her, as had been the case all summer. it was not easy for one who had so many demands upon her time to get away. anyhow it was a great pity she did not come to-day, thought jan, when there were so many of her old acquaintances at the pier. there stood both senator carl carlson and august där nol. björn hindrickson's son-in-law was also on hand, and even agrippa prästberg had turned out. agrippa had nursed a grievance against the little girl since the day she fooled him about the spectacles. jan had to admit to himself that it would have been a great triumph for him had glory goldie stood on the boat that day in all her pomp and splendour, so that prästberg could have seen her. however, since she had not come, there was nothing for him but to go back home. as he was about to leave the pier cantankerous old agrippa barred his way. "well, well!" said agrippa. "so you're running down here after that daughter of yours to-day, too?" jan knowing it was best not to bandy words with a man like agrippa, simply stepped to one side, so as to get by him. "i declare i don't wonder at your wanting to meet such a fine lady as she has turned out to be!" said agrippa with a leer. just then august där nol rushed up and seized agrippa by the arm, to silence him. but agrippa was not to be silenced. "the whole parish knows of it," he shouted, "so it's high time her parents were told of her doings! jan anderson is a decent fellow, even if he did spoil that girl of his, and i can't bear to see him sit here day after day, week in and week out, waiting for a--" he called the little girl of ruffluck such a bad name that jan would not repeat it even in his thoughts. but now that agrippa had flung that ugly word at him in a loud voice, so that every one on the pier heard what he said, all that jan had kept locked within him for a whole year burst its bonds. he could no longer keep it hidden. the little girl must forgive him for betraying her secret. he said what he had to say without the least show of anger or boastfulness. with a sweep of his hand and a lofty smile, as if hardly deigning to answer, he said: "when the empress comes--" "the empress!" grinned agrippa. "who might that be?" just as if he had not heard about the little girl's elevation. jan of ruffluck, unperturbed, continued in the same calm, even tone of voice: "when the empress glory of portugallia stands on the pier, with a crown of gold upon her head, and with seven kings behind her holding up her royal mantle, and seven tame lions crouched at her feet, and seven and seventy generals, with drawn swords, going before her, then we shall see, prästberg, whether you dare say to herself what you've just said to me!" when he had finished speaking he stood still a moment, noting with satisfaction how terrified they looked, all of them; then, turning on his heel, he walked away, but without hurry or flurry, of course. the instant his back was turned there was a terrible commotion on the pier. at first he paid no attention to it, but presently, on hearing a heavy thud, he had to look back. then he saw agrippa lying flat on his face and august där nol bending over him with clenched fists. "you cur!" cried august. "you knew well enough that he couldn't stand hearing the truth. you can't have any heart in your body!" this much jan heard, but as anything in the way of fighting or quarrelling was contrary to his nature, he went on up the hill, without mixing in the fray. but strangely enough, when he was out of every one's sight an uncontrollable spell of weeping came over him. he did not know why he wept, but probably his tears were of joy at having cleared up the mystery. he felt now as if his little girl had come back to him. the emperor the first sunday in september the worshippers at svartsjö church had a surprise in store for them. there was a wide gallery in the church extending clear across the nave. the first row of pews in this gallery had always been occupied by the gentry--the gentlemen on the right side and the ladies on the left--as far back as can be remembered. all the seats in the church were free, so that other folk were not debarred from sitting there, if they so wished; but of course it would never have occurred to any poor cotter to ensconce himself in that row of pews. in the old days jan had thought the occupants of this particular bench a delight to the eye. even now he was willing to concede that the superintendent from doveness, the lieutenant from lövdala, and the engineer from borg were fine men who made a good appearance. but they were as nothing to the grandeur which folks beheld that day. for anything like a real emperor had never before been seen in the gentry's bench. but now there sat at the head of this bench just such a great personage, his hands resting on a long silver-mounted stick, his head crowned with a high, green leather cap, while on his waistcoat glittered two large stars, one like gold, the other like silver. when the organ began to play the processional hymn the emperor lifted up his voice in song. for an emperor is obliged to sing out, loud and clear, when at church, even if he cannot follow the melody or sing in tune. folks are glad to hear him in any case. the gentlemen at his left now and then turned and stared at him. who could wonder at that? it was probably the first time they had had so exalted a personage among them. he had to remove his hat, of course, for that is something which even an emperor must do when attending divine service; but he kept it on as long as possible, that all might feast their eyes on it. and many of the worshippers who sat in the body of the church had their eyes turned up toward the gallery that sunday. their thoughts seemed to be on him more than on the sermon. they were perhaps a little surprised that he had become so exalted. but surely they could understand that one who was father to an empress must himself be an emperor. anything else was impossible. when he came out on the pine knoll at the close of the service many persons went up to him; but before he had time to speak to a soul sexton blackie stepped up and asked him to come along into the vestry. the pastor was seated in the vestry, his back turned toward the door, talking with senator carl carlson, when jan and the sexton entered. he seemed to be distressed about something, for there were tears in his voice. "these were two souls entrusted to my keeping whom i have allowed to go to ruin," he said. the senator tried to console him, saying: "you can't be responsible, pastor, for the evil that goes on in the large cities." but the clergyman would not be consoled. he covered his beautiful young face with his hands, and wept. "no," he sobbed, "i suppose i can't. but what have i done to guard the young girl who was thrown on the world, unprotected? and what have i done to comfort her old father who had only her to live for?" "the pastor is practically a newcomer in the parish," said the senator, "so that if there is any question of responsibility it falls more heavily upon the rest of us, who were acquainted with the circumstances. but who could think it was to end so disastrously? young folk have to make their own way in life. we've all been thrust out in much the same way, yet most of us have fared rather well." "o god of mercy!" prayed the pastor, "grant me the wisdom to speak to the unhappy father. would i might stay his fleeing wits--!" sexton blackie, standing there with jan, now cleared his throat. the pastor rose at once, went up to jan, and took him by the hand. "my dear jan!" he said feelingly. the pastor was tall and fair and handsome. when he came up to you, with his kindly blue eyes beaming benevolence, and spoke to you in his deep sympathetic voice, it was not easy to resist him. in this instance, however, the only thing to do was to set him right at the start, which jan did of course. "jan is no more, my good pastor," he said. "now we are emperor johannes of portugallia, and he who does not wish to address us by our proper title, him we have nothing to say to." with that, jan gave the pastor a stiff' imperial nod of dismissal, and put on his cap. they looked rather foolish, did the three men who stood in the vestry, when jan pushed open the door and walked out. book three the emperor's song in the wooded heights above loby there was still a short stretch of an old country road where in bygone days all teams had to pass, but which was now condemned because it led up and down the worst hills and rocky slopes instead of having the sense to go round them. the part that remained was so steep that no one in driving made use of it any more though foot-farers climbed it occasionally, as it was a good short cut. the road ran as broad as any of the regular crown highways, and was still covered with fine yellow gravel. in fact, it was smoother now than formerly, being free from wheel tracks, and mud, and dust. along the edge bloomed roadside flowers and shrubs; dogwood, bittervetch, and buttercups grew there in profusion even to this day, but the ditches were filled in and a whole row of spruce trees had sprung up in them. young evergreens of uniform height, with branches from the root up, stood pressing against each other as closely as the foliage of a boxwood hedge; their needles were not dry and hard, but moist and soft, and their tips were all bright with fresh green shoots. the trees sang and played like humming bees on a fine summer day, when the sun beams down upon them from a clear sky. when jan of ruffluck walked home from church the sunday he had appeared there for the first time in his royal regalia, he turned in on the old forest road. it was a warm sunny day and, as he went up the hill, he heard the music of the spruces so plainly that it astonished him. never had spruce trees sung like that! it struck him that he ought to find out why they were so loud-voiced just to-day. and being in no special haste to reach home, he dropped down in the middle of the smooth gravel road, in the shade of the singing tree. laying his stick on the ground, he removed his cap and mopped his brow, then he sat motionless, with hands clasped, and listened. the air was quite still, therefore it could hardly have been the wind that had set all these little musical instruments into motion. it was almost as if the spruces played for very joy at being so young and fresh; at being let stand in peace by the abandoned roadside, with the promise of many years of life ahead of them before any human being would come and cut them down. but if such was the case, it did not explain why the trees sang with such gusto just that day; they could rejoice over those particular blessings any pleasant summer day; they did not call for any extra music. jan sat still in the middle of the road, listening with rapt attention. it was pleasant hearing the hum of the spruce, though it was all on one note, with no rests, so that there was neither melody nor rhythm about it. he found it so refreshing and delightful up here on the heights. no wonder the trees felt happy, he mused. the wonder was they sang and played no better than they did. he looked up at their small twigs on which every needle was fine and well made, and in its proper place, and drank in the piney odour that came from them. there was no flower of the meadow, no blossom of the grove so fragrant! he noted their half-grown cones on which the scales were compactly massed for the protection of the seed. these trees, which seemed to understand so well what to do for themselves, ought to be able to sing and play so that one could comprehend what they meant. yet they kept harping all the while on the same strain. he grew drowsy listening to them, and stretched himself flat on the smooth, fine gravel to take a little nap. but hark! what was this? the instant his head touched the ground and his eyes closed, the trees struck up something new. ah, now there came rhythm and melody! then all that other was only a prelude, such as is played at church before the hymn. this was what he had felt the whole time, though he had not wanted to say it even in his mind. the trees also knew what had happened. it was on his account they tuned up so loudly the instant he appeared. and now they sang of him--there was no mistaking it now, when they thought him asleep. perhaps they did not wish him to hear how much they were making of him. and what a song, what a song! he lay all the while with his eyes shut, but could hear the better for that. not a sound was lost to him. ah, this was music! it was not just the young trees at the edge of the road that made music now, but the whole forest. there were organs and drums and trumpets; there were little thrush flutes and bullfinch pipes; there were gurgling brooks and singing water-sprites, tinkling bluebells and thrumming woodpeckers. never had he heard anything so beautiful, nor listened to music in just this way. it rang in his ear; so that he could never forget it. when the song was finished and the forest grew silent, he sprang to his feet as if startled from a dream. immediately he began to sing this hymn of the woods so as to fix it forever in his memory. the empress's father, for his part, feels so happy in his heart. then came the refrain, which he had not been able to catch word for word, but anyhow he sang it about as it had sounded to him: austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom. no gun be his but a sword of gold; now a crown for a cap on his head behold! austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom. golden apples are his meat, no more of turnips shall he eat. austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom. court ladies clothed in bright array bow as he passes on his way. austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom. when he the forest proudly treads, all the tree-tops nod their heads. austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom. it was just this "boom, boom" that had sounded best of all to him. with every boom he struck the ground hard with his stick and made his voice as deep and strong as he could. he sang the song over and over again, till the forest fairly rang with it. but then the way in which it had been composed was so out of the common! and the fact that this was the first and only time in his life he had been able to catch and carry a tune was in itself a proof of its merit. the seventeenth of august the first time jan of ruffluck had gone to lövdala on a seventeenth of august the visit had not passed off as creditably for him as he could have wished; so he had never repeated it, although he had been told that each year it was becoming more lively and festive at the manor. but now that the little girl had come up in the world, it was altogether different with him. he felt that it would be a great disappointment to lieutenant liljecrona if so exalted a personage as the emperor johannes of portugallia did not do him the honour of wishing him happiness on his birthday. so he donned his imperial regalia and sallied forth, taking good care not to be among the first arrivals. for him who was an emperor it was the correct thing not to put in an appearance until all the guests had made themselves quite at home, and the festivities were well under way. upon the occasion of his former visit he had not ventured farther than the orchard and the gravelled walk in front of the house. he had not even gone up to pay his respects to the host. but now he could not think of behaving so discourteously. this time he made straight for the big bower at the left of the porch, where the lieutenant sat with a group of dignitaries from svartsjö and elsewhere, grasped him by the hand, and wished him many happy returns of the day. "so you've come out to-day, jan," said the lieutenant in a tone of surprise. to be sure he was not expecting an honour like this, which probably accounted for his so far forgetting himself as to address the emperor by his old name. jan knew that so genial a man as the lieutenant could have meant no offense by that, therefore he corrected him in all meekness. "we must make allowances for the lieutenant," he said, "since this is his birthday; but by rights we should be called emperor johannes of portugallia." jan spoke in the gentlest tone possible, but just the same the other gentlemen all laughed at the lieutenant for having made such a bad break. jan had never intended to cause him humiliation on his birthday, so he promptly dismissed the matter and turned to the others. raising his cap with an imperial flourish, he said: "go'-day, go'-day, my worthy generals and bishops and governors." it was his intention to go around and shake hands with everybody, as one is expected to do at a party. nearest the lieutenant sat a short, stocky man in a white cloth jacket, with a gold-trimmed collar, and a sword at his side, who, when jan stepped up to greet him did not offer his whole hand, but merely held out two fingers. the man's intentions may have been all right, but of course a potentate like emperor johannes of portugallia knew he must stand upon his dignity. "i think you will have to give me your whole hand, my good bishop and governor," he said very pleasantly, for he did not want to disturb the harmony on this great day. then, mind you, the man turned up his nose! "i have just heard it was not to your liking that liljecrona called you by name," he observed, "and i wonder how you can have the audacity to say _du_ [note: du like the french "tu" is used only in addressing intimates.] to me!" then, pointing to three poor little yellow stars that were attached to his coat, he roared: "see these?" when remarks of this kind were flung at him, the emperor johannes thought it high time to lay off his humility. he quickly flipped back his coat, exhibiting a waistcoat covered with large showy "medals" of "silver" and "gold." he usually kept his coat buttoned over these decorations as they were easily tarnished, and crushable. besides, he knew that people always felt so ill at ease when in the presence of exalted personages and he had no desire to add to their embarrassment by parading his grandeur when there was no occasion for it. now, however, it had to be done. "look here, you!" he said. "this is what you ought to show if you want to brag. three paltry little stars--pooh! that's nothing!" then you had better believe the man showed proper respect! the fact that all who knew about the empress and the empire were laughing themselves sick at the major general must have had its effect, also. "by cracky!" he ejaculated, rising to his feet and bowing. "if it isn't a real monarch that i have before me! your majesty even knows how to respond to a speech." "that's easy when you know how to meet people," retorted the other. after that no gentleman in the party was so glad to be allowed to talk to the ruler of portugallia as was this very man, who had been so high and mighty at first that he would not present more than two fingers, when an emperor had offered him his whole hand. it need hardly be said that none of the others seated in the bower refused to accord the emperor a fitting greeting. now that the first feeling of surprise and embarrassment had passed and the men were beginning to perceive that he was not a difficult person to get on with, emperor though he was, they were as eager as was every one else to hear all about the little girl's rise to royal honours and her prospective return to her home parish. at last he was on so friendly a footing with them all that he even consented to sing for them the song he had learned in the forest. this was perhaps too great a condescension on his part, but since they were all so glad for every word he uttered he could not deny them the pleasure of hearing him sing, also. and when he raised his voice in song imagine the consternation! then his audience was not confined to the group of elderly gentlemen in the bower. for immediately the old countesses and the old wives of the old generals who had been sitting on the big sofa in the drawing room, sipping tea and eating bonbons, and the young barons and young court ladies who had been dancing in the ballroom, all came rushing out to hear him and all eyes were fixed on him, which was quite the proper thing, as he was an emperor. the like of that song they had never heard, of course, and as soon as he had sung it through they wanted him to sing it again. he hesitated a good while--for one must never be too obliging in such matters--but they would not be satisfied until he had yielded to their importunities. and this time, when he came to the refrain, they all joined in, and when he got to the "boom, boom" the young barons beat time with their feet and the young court ladies clapped their hands to the measure of the tune. but that was a wonderful day! as he sang it again and again, with so many smartly dressed people chiming in; so many pretty young ladies darting him glances of approval; so many young swains shouting _bravo_ after every verse, he felt as dizzy as if he had been dancing. it was as if some one had taken him in their arms and lifted him into the air. he did not lose his head, though, but knew all the while that his feet were still on the earth. meantime, he had the pleasant sensation of being elevated far above every one. on the one hand, he was being borne up by the honour, on the other by the glory. they bore him away on strong wings and placed him upon an imperial throne, far, far away amongst the rosy evening clouds. there was but one thing wanting. think, if the great empress, his little glory goldie, had only been there, too! instantly this thought flashed upon him, a red shimmer passed before his eyes. gazing at it more intently, he saw that it emanated from a young girl in a red frock who had just come out from the house, and was then standing on the porch. the young girl was tall and graceful and had a wealth of gold yellow hair. from where he stood he could not see her face, but he thought she could be none other than glory goldie. then he knew why he had been so blissfully happy that evening; it was just a foretoken of the little girl's nearness. breaking off in the middle of his song and pushing aside all who stood in his way, he ran toward the house. when he reached the steps he was obliged to halt. his heart thumped so violently it seemed ready to burst. but gradually he recovered just enough strength to be able to proceed. very slowly he mounted step by step till at last he was on the porch. then, spreading out his arms, he whispered: "glory goldie!" instantly the young girl turned round. it was not glory goldie! a strange woman stood there, staring at him in astonishment. not a word could he utter, but tears sprang to his eyes; he could not hold them back. now he faced about and staggered down the steps. turning his back upon all the merriment and splendour, he went on up the driveway. the people kept calling for him. they wanted him to come back and sing to them again. but he heard them not. as fast as he could go he hurried toward the woods, where he could be alone with his grief. katrina and jan jan of ruffluck had never had so many things to think about and ponder over as now, that he had become an emperor. in the first place he had to be very guarded, since greatness had been thrust upon him, so as not to let pride get the upper hand. he must bear in mind continually that we humans were all made from the same material and had sprung from the same first parents; that we were all of us weak and sinful and at bottom one person was no better than another. all his life long he had observed, to his dismay, how people tried to lord it over one another, and of course he had no desire to do likewise. he found, however, that it was not an easy matter for one who had become exalted to maintain a proper humility. his greatest concern was that he might perhaps say or do something that would cause his old friends, who were still obliged to pursue their humble callings, to feel themselves slighted and forgotten. therefore he deemed it best when attending such functions as dinners and parties--which duty demanded of him--never to mention in the hearing of these people the great distinction that had come to him. he could not blame them for envying him. indeed not! just the same he felt it was wisest not to make them draw comparisons. and of course he could not ask men like börje and the seine-maker to address him as emperor. such old friends could call him jan, as they had always done; for they could never bring themselves to do otherwise. but the one whom he had to consider before all others and be most guarded with was the old wife, who sat at home in the hut. it would have been a great consolation to him, and a joy as well, if greatness had come to her also. but it had not. she was the same as of yore. anything else was hardly to be expected. glory goldie must have known it would be quite impossible to make an empress of katrina. one could not imagine the old woman pinning a golden coronet on her hair when going to church; she would have stayed at home rather than show her face framed in anything but the usual black silk headshawl. katrina had declared out and out she did not want to hear about glory goldie being an empress. on the whole it was perhaps best to humour her in this. but one can understand it must have been hard for him who spent his mornings at the pier, surrounded by admiring throngs of people, who at every turn addressed him as "emperor," to drop his royal air the moment he set foot in his own house. it cannot be denied that he found it a bit irksome having to fetch wood and water for katrina and then to be spoken to as if he had gone backward in life instead of forward. if katrina had only stopped at that he would not have minded it, but she even complained because he would not go out to work now, as in former days. when she came with such things he always turned a deaf ear. as if he did not know that the empress of portugallia would soon send him so much money that he need never again put on his working clothes! he felt it would be an insult to _her_ to give in to katrina on this point. one afternoon, toward the end of august, as jan was sitting upon the flat stone in front of the hut, smoking his pipe, he glimpsed some bright frocks in the woods close by, and heard the ring of youthful voices. katrina had just gone down to the birch grove to cut twigs for a broom: but before leaving she had said to jan that hereafter they must arrange their matters so that she could go down to falla and dig ditches; he might stay at home and do the cooking and mending, since he was too fine now to work for others. he had not said a word in retort, but all the same it was mighty unpleasant having to listen to such talk; therefore he was very glad that he could turn his thoughts to something else. instantly he ran inside for his imperial cap and stick, and was out again and down at the gate just as the young girls came along. there were no less than five of them in the party, the three young misses from lövdala and two strangers, who were evidently guests at the manor. "go'-day, my dear court ladies," said jan as he swung the gate wide open and went out toward them. "go'-day, my dear court ladies," he repeated, at the same time making such a big sweep with his cap that it almost touched the ground. the girls stood stockstill. they looked a bit shy at first, but he soon helped them over their momentary embarrassment. then it was "good-day" and "our kind emperor." it was plain they were really glad to see him again. these little misses were not like katrina and the rest of the ashdales folk. they were not at all averse to hearing about the empress and immediately asked him if her highness was well and if she was not expected home soon. they also asked if they might be allowed to step into the hut, to see how it looked inside. that he could well afford to let them do, for katrina always kept the house so clean and tidy that they could receive callers there at any time. when the young misses from the manor came into the house they were no doubt surprised that the great empress had grown up in a little place like that. it may have done very well in the old days, when she was used to it, they said, but how would it be now should she come back? would she reside here, with her parents, or return to portugallia? jan had thought the selfsame things himself, and he understood of course that glory goldie could not settle down in the ashdales when she had a whole kingdom to rule over. "the chances are that the empress will return to portugallia," he replied. "then you will accompany her, i suppose?" said one of the little misses. jan would rather the young lady had not questioned him regarding that matter. nor did he give her any reply at first, but she was persistent. "possibly you don't know as yet how it will be?" she said. oh, yes, he knew all about it, only he was not quite sure how people would regard his decision. perhaps they might think it was not the correct thing for an emperor to do. "i shall remain at home," he told her. "it would never do for me to leave katrina." "so katrina is not going to portugallia?" "no," he answered. "you couldn't get katrina away from the hut, and i shall stay right here with her. you see when one has promised to love and cherish till death--" "yes, i understand that one can't break that vow." this was said by the young girl who seemed most eager to know about everything. "do you hear that, all of you?" she added. "jan won't leave his wife though all the glories of portugallia are tempting him." and think of it! the girls were very glad of this. they patted him on the back and told him he did right. that was a favourable sign, they said, for it showed that all was not over yet with good old jan anderson of ruffluck croft. he could not make out just what they meant by that; but probably they were happy to think the parish was not going to lose him. they bade him good-bye now, saying they were going over to doveness to a garden party. they had barely gone when katrina walked in. she must have been standing outside the door listening. but how long she had stood there or how much she had heard, jan did not know. anyway, she looked more amiable and serene than she had appeared in a long while. "you're an old simpleton," she told him. "i wonder what other women would say if they had a husband like you? but still it's a comfort to know that you don't want to go away from me." bjÖrn hindrickson's funeral jan anderson of ruffluck was not invited to the funeral of björn hindrickson of loby. but he understood, of course, that the family of the departed had not been quite certain that he would care to claim kinship with them now that he had risen to such glory and honour; possibly they feared it might upset their arrangements if so exalted a personage as johannes of portugallia were to attend the funeral. the immediate relatives of the late björn hindrickson naturally wished to ride in the first carriage, where by rights place should have been made for him who was an emperor. they knew, to be sure, that he was not over particular about the things which seem to count for so much with most folks. it would never have occurred to him to stand in the way of those who like to sit in the place of honour at special functions. therefore, rather than cause any ill feeling, he remained away from the house of mourning during the early forenoon, before the funeral procession had started, and went direct to the church. not until the bells had begun tolling and the long procession had broken up on church ground did he take his place among his relatives. when they saw jan there they all looked a little astonished; but now he was so accustomed to seeing folks surprised at his condescension that he took it as a matter of course. no doubt they would have liked to place him at the head of the line, but then it was too late to do so, as they were already moving toward the churchyard. after the burial service, when he accompanied the funeral party to the church and seated himself on the mourners' bench, they appeared to be slightly embarrassed. however, there was no time to comment upon his having placed himself among them instead of occupying his usual high seat, in the gentry's gallery--as the opening hymn had just begun. at the close of the service, when the conveyances belonging to the funeral party drove up onto the knoll, jan went out and climbed into the hearse, where he sat down upon the dais on which the coffin rested on the drive to the churchyard. as the big wagon would now be going back empty, he knew that here he would not be taking up some other person's place. the daughter and son-in-law of the late björn hindrickson walked back and forth at the side of the hearse and looked at him. they regretted no doubt that they could not ask him to ride in one of the first carriages. nor did he wish to incommode any one. he was what he was in any case. during the drive to loby he could not help thinking of the time when he and glory goldie had called upon their rich relatives. this time, however, it was all so different! who was great and respected now? and who was conferring an honour upon his kinsfolk by seeking them out? as the carriages drew up in turn before the house of mourning, the occupants stepped out and were conducted into the large waiting-room on the ground floor where they removed their wraps. two neighbours of the hindricksons, who acted as host and hostess, then invited the more prominent persons among the guests to step upstairs, where dinner was served. it was a difficult task having to single out those who were to sit at the first table. for at so large a funeral gathering it was impossible to make room for all the guests at one sitting. the table had to be cleared and set three or four times. some people would have regarded it as an inexcusable oversight had they not been asked to sit at the first table. as for him who had risen to the exalted station of emperor, he could be exceedingly obliging in many ways, but to be allowed to sit at the first table was a right which he must not forgo; otherwise folks might think he did not know it was his prerogative to come before all others. it did not matter so much his not being among the very first to be requested to step upstairs. it was self-evident that he should dine with the pastor and the gentry; so he felt no uneasiness on that score. he sat all by himself on a corner bench, quite silent. here nobody came up to chat with him about the empress, and he seemed a bit dejected. when he left home katrina had begged him not to come to this funeral, because the folks at this farm were of too good stock to cringe to either kings or emperors. it looked now as if she were right about it. for old peasants who have lived on the same farm from time immemorial consider themselves the superiors of the titled aristocracy. it was a slow proceeding bringing together those who were to be at the first table. the host and hostess moved about a long while seeking the highest worthies, but somehow they failed to come up to him. not far from the emperor sat a couple of old spinsters, chatting, who had not the least expectation of being called up then. they were speaking of linnart, son of the late björn hindrickson, saying it was well that he had come home in time for a reconciliation with his father. not that there had been any actual enmity between father and son, but it happened that some thirty years earlier, when the son was two and twenty and wanted to marry, he had asked the old man to let him take over the management of the farm, so that he could be his own master. this björn had flatly refused to do. he wanted the son to stay at home and go on working under him and then to take over the property when the old man was no more. "no," was the son's answer. "i'll not stay at home and be your servant even though you are my father. i prefer to go out in the world and make a home for myself, for i must be as good a man as you are, or the feeling of comradeship between us will soon end." "that can end at any time, if you choose to go your own ways," björn hindrickson told him. then the son had gone up into the wilderness northeast of dove lake, and had settled in the wildest and least populated region, where he broke ground for a farm of his own. his land lay in bro parish, and he was never again seen in svartsjö. not in thirty years had his parents laid eyes on him. but a week ago, when old björn was nearing the end, he had come home. this was good news to jan of ruffluck. the sunday before, when katrina got back from church and told him that björn was dying, he immediately asked whether the son had been sent for. but it seems he had not. katrina had heard that björn's wife had begged and implored the old man to let her send for their son and that he would not hear of it. he wanted to die in peace, he said. but jan was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. the thought of linnart away out in the wilds, knowing nothing of his father's grave condition had caused him to disregard old björn's wishes and go tell the son himself. he had heard nothing as to the outcome until now, and he was so interested in what the two old spinsters were saying, that he quite forgot to think about either the first or the second table. when the son returned he and the father were as nice as could be to each other. the old man laughed at the son's attire. "so you've come in your working clothes," he said. "i suppose i should have dressed up, since it's sunday," linnart replied. "but we've had so much rain up our way this summer and i had thought of hauling in some oats to-day." "did you manage to get in any?" the old man asked him. "i got one wagon loaded, but that i left standing in the field when word came that you were sick. i hurried away at once, without stopping to change my clothes." "who told you about it?" the father inquired. "some man i've never seen before," replied the son. "it didn't occur to me to ask him who he was. he looked like a little old beggarman." "you must find that man and thank him from me," old björn then said. "him you must honour wherever you meet him. he has meant well by us." the father and son were so happy over their reconciliation that it was as if death had brought them joy instead of grief. jan winced when he heard that linnart hindrickson had called him a beggar. but he understood of course that it was simply because he had not worn his imperial cap or carried his stick when he went up to the forest. this brought him back to his present dilemma. surely he had waited long enough! he should have been called by this time. this would never do! he rose at once, resolutely crossed the room into the hallway, climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the big dining-hall. he saw at a glance that the dinner was already on; every place at the large horseshoe table was occupied and the first course had been served. then it was not meant that he should be among the elect, for there sat the pastor, the sexton, the lieutenant from lövdala and his lady--there sat every one who should be there, except himself. one of the young girls who passed around the food rushed over to jan the instant he appeared in the doorway. "what are you doing here, jan?" she said in a low voice. "go down with you!" "but my good hostess!" jan protested, "emperor johannes of portugallia should be present at the first sitting." "oh, shut up, jan!" said the girl. "this is not the proper time to come with your nonsense. go down, and you'll get something to eat when your turn comes." it so happened that jan entertained a greater regard for this particular household than for any other in the parish; therefore it would have been very gratifying to him to be received here in a manner befitting his station. a strange feeling of despondency came over him as he stood down by the door, cap in hand; he felt that all his imperial grandeur was falling from him. then, in the middle of this sore predicament, he heard linnart hindrickson exclaim: "why, there stands the fellow who came to me last sunday and told me that father was sick!" "what are you saying?" questioned the mother. "but are you certain as to that?" "of course i am. it can't be any one but he. i've seen him before to-day, but i didn't recognize him in that queer get-up. however i see now that he's the man." "if he is our man, he mustn't be allowed to stand down by the door, like a beggar," said the old housewife. "in that case, we must make room for him at the table. him we owe both honour and thanks, for it was he who sent comfort to björn in his last hours, while to me he has brought the only consolation that can lighten my sorrow in the loss of a husband like mine." and room was made, too, though the table seemed to be crowded enough already. jan was placed at the centre of the horseshoe, directly opposite the pastor. he could not have wished for anything better. at first he seemed a little dazed. he could not comprehend why they should make such fuss over him just because he had run a few miles into the woods with a message for linnart hindrickson. suddenly he understood, and all became clear to him: it was the emperor they wished to honour; they had gone about it in this way so that no one should feel slighted or put out. it couldn't be explained in any other way. for he had always been kind and good-natured and helpful, yet never before had he been honoured or fêted in the least degree for that. the dying heart engineer boraeus on his daily stroll to the pier could not fail to notice the crowds that always gathered nowadays around the little old man from ruffluck croft. jan did not have to sit all by himself any more and while away the long, dreary hours in silent musings, as he had done during the summer. instead, all who waited for the boat went up to him to hear him tell what would happen on the homecoming of the empress, more especially when she stepped ashore here, at the borg landing. every time engineer boraeus went by he heard about the crown of gold the empress would wear on her hair and the gold flowers that would spring into bloom on tree and bush the instant she set foot on land. one day, late in october, about three months after jan of ruffluck had first proclaimed the tidings of glory goldie's rise to royal honours, the engineer saw an uncommonly large gathering of people around the little old man. he intended to pass by with a curt greeting, as usual, but changed his mind and stopped to see what was going on. at first glance he found nothing out of the ordinary, jan was seated upon one of the waiting stones, as usual, looking very solemn and important. beside him sat a tall, thin woman, who was talking so fast and excitedly that the words fairly spurted out of her mouth; she shook her head and snapped her eyes, her body bending forward all the while so that by the time she had finished speaking her face was on a level with the ground. engineer boraeus immediately recognized the woman as mad ingeborg. at first he could not make out what she was saying, so he turned to a man in the crowd and asked him what all this was about. "she's begging him to arrange for her to accompany the empress to portgallia, when her royal highness returns thither," the man explained. "she has been talking to him about this for a good while now, but he won't make her any promises." then the engineer had no difficulty in following the colloquy. but what he heard did not please him, and, as he listened, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened and reddened. here sat the only person in the world, save jan himself, who believed in the wonders of portugallia, yet she was denied the pleasure of a trip there. the poor old soul knew that in that kingdom there was no poverty and no hunger, neither were there any rude people who made fun of unfortunates, nor any children who pursued lone, helpless wanderers and cast stones at them. in that land reigned only peace, and all years were good years. so thither she longed to be taken--away from the anguish and misery of her wretched existence. she wept and pleaded, employing every argument she could think of, but "no," and again "no" was the only answer she got. and he who turned a deaf ear to her prayers was one who had sorrowed and yearned for a whole year. a few months ago, when his heart was still athrob with life, perhaps he would not have said no to her pleadings; but now at a time when everything seemed to be prospering with him, his heart had become hardened. even the outward appearance of the man showed that a great change had taken place within. he had acquired plump cheeks, a double chin, and a heavy black moustache. his eyes bulged from their sockets, and there was a cold fixed stare about them. his nose, too, looked more prominent than of yore and had taken on a more patrician mold. his hair seemed to be entirely gone; not one hair stuck out from under the leather cap. the engineer had kept an eye on the man from the day of their first talk in the summer. it was no longer an intense yearning that made jan haunt the pier. now he hardly glanced toward the boat. he came only to meet people who humoured his mania, who called him "emperor" just for the sport of hearing him sing and narrate his wild fancies. but why be annoyed at that? thought the engineer. the man was a lunatic of course. but perhaps the madness need never have become so firmly fixed as it was then. if some one had ruthlessly yanked jan of ruffluck down off his imperial throne in the beginning possibly he could have been saved. the engineer flashed the man a challenging glance. jan looked condescendingly regretful, but remained adamant as before. in that fine land of portugallia there were only princes and generals, to be sure--only richly dressed people. mad ingeborg in her old cotton headshawl and her knit jacket would naturally be out of place there. but heavenly father! the engineer actually thought-- engineer boraeus looked just then as if he would have liked to give jan a needed lesson, but he only shrugged his shoulders. he knew he was not the right person for that, and would simply make bad worse. quietly withdrawing from the crowd, he walked down to the end of the pier just as the boat hove into view from behind the nearest point. deposed long before his marriage to anna ericsdotter of falla, lars gunnarson happened one day to be present at an auction sale. the parties who held the auction were poor folk who probably had no tempting wares to offer the bargain seekers, for the bidding had been slow, and the sales poor. they had a right to expect better results, with jöns of kisterud as auctioneer. jöns was such a capital funmaker that people used to attend all auctions at which he officiated just for the pleasure of listening to him. although he got off all his usual quips and jokes, he could not seem to infuse any life into the bidders on this occasion. at last, not knowing what else he could do, he put down his hammer saying he was too hoarse to do any more crying. "the senator will have to get some one else to offer the wares," he told carl carlson of stovik, who stood sponsor for the auction. "i've shouted myself hoarse at these stone images standing around me, and will have to go home and keep my mouth shut for a few weeks, till i can get back my voice." it was a serious matter for the senator to be left without a crier, when most of the lots were still unsold; so he tried to persuade jöns to continue. but it was plain that jöns could not afford to hurt his professional standing by holding a poor auction, and therefore he became so hoarse all at once that he could not even speak in a whisper. he only wheezed. "perhaps there is some one here who will cry out the wares for a moment, while jöns is resting?" said the senator, looking out over the crowd without much hope of finding a helper. then lars gunnarson pushed his way forward and said he was willing to try. carl carslon only laughed at lars, who at that time looked like a mere stripling, and told him he did not want a small boy who had not even been confirmed. whereupon lars promptly informed carl carlson that he had not only been confirmed but had also performed military service. he begged so eagerly to be allowed to wield the hammer that the senator finally gave way to him. "we may as well let you try your hand at it for a while," he said. "i dare say it can't go any worse than it has gone so far." lars promptly stepped into jöns's place. he took up an old butter tub to offer it--hesitated and just stood there looking at it, turning the tub up and down, tapping on its bottom and sides. apparently surprised not to find any flaws in it, he presently offered the lot in a reluctant tone of voice, as if distressed at having to sell so valuable an article. for his part, he would rather that no bids be made, he said. it would be lucky for the owner if no one discovered what a precious butter tub this was, for then he could keep it. and now, when bid followed bid, everybody noticed how disappointed lars looked. it was all very well so long as the bids were so low as to be beneath his notice; but when they began to mount higher and higher, his face became distorted from chagrin. he seemed to be making a great sacrifice when he finally decided to knock down the sour old butter tub. after that he turned his attention to the water buckets, the cowls, and washtubs. lars gunnarson seemed somewhat less reluctant when it came to disposing of the older ones, which he sold without indulging in overmuch sighing; but the newer lots he did not want to offer at all. "they are far too good to give away," he remarked to the owner. "they've been used so little that you could easily sell them for new at the fair." the auction hunters had no notion as to why they kept shouting more and more eagerly. lars gunnarson showed much distress for every fresh bid; it could never have been to please him they were bidding. somehow they had come to regard the things he offered as of real worth. it suddenly occurred to them that one thing or another was needed at home and here were veritable bargains, which they were not buying now just for the fun of it, as had been the case when jöns of kisterud did the auctioning. after this master stroke lars gunnarson was in great demand at all auctions. there was never any merriment at the sales after he had begun to wield the hammer; but he had the faculty of making folks long to get possession of a lot of old junk and inducing a couple of bigwigs to bid against each other on things they had no earthly use for, simply to show that money was no object to them. and he managed to dispose of everything at all auctions at which he served. once only did it seem to go badly for lars, and that was at sven Österby's, at bergvik. there was a fine big house, with all its furnishings up for sale. many people had assembled, and though late in the autumn the weather was so mild that the auction could be held out of doors; yet the sales were almost negligible. lars could not make the people take any interest in the wares, or get them to bid. it looked as though it would go no better for him than it had gone for jöns of kisterud the day lars had to take up the hammer to help him out. lars gunnarson, however, had no desire to turn his work over to another. he tried instead to find out what it was that seemed to be distracting the attention of the people and keeping them from making purchases. nor was he long getting at the cause of it. lars had mounted a table, that every one might see what he had to offer, and from this point of vantage he soon discovered that the newly created emperor, who lived in the little hut close to falla and had been a day labourer all his life, moved about in the crowd. lars saw him bowing and smiling to right and left, and letting people examine his stars and his stick, and, at every turn, he had a long line of youngsters at his heels. nor were older folks above bandying words with him. no wonder the auction went badly, with a grand monarch like him there to draw every one's attention to himself! at first lars went right on with his auctioneering, but he kept an eye on jan of ruffluck until the later had made his way to the front. there was no fear of johannes of portugallia remaining in the background! he shook hands with everybody and spoke a few pleasant words to each and all, at the same time pushing ahead until he had reached the very centre of the ring. but the moment jan was there lars gunnarsom jumped down from the table, rushed up to him, snatched his imperial cap and stick and was back in his place before jan had time to think of offering resistance. then jan cried out and tried to climb up onto the table to get back the stolen heirlooms, but immediately lars raised the stick to him and forced him back. at that there was a murmur of disapproval from the crowd, which, however, had no effect upon lars. "i see that you are surprised at my action," he shouted in his loud auctioneering voice, which could be heard all over the yard. "but this cap and this stick belong to us falla folk. they were bequeathed to my father-in-law, eric ersa, by the old master of falla, he who ran the farm before eric took it over. these things have always been treasured in the family, and i can't tolerate having a lunatic parade around in them." jan had suddenly recovered his composure and while lars was speaking, he stood with his arms crossed on his chest a look in his face of sublime indifference to lars's talk. as soon as lars subsided, jan, with a gesture of command, turned to the crowd, and said very quietly: "now, my good courtiers, you must see that i get back my property." not a solitary person made a move to help him, but there were some who laughed. now they had all gone over to lars's side. there was just one individual who seemed to feel sorry for jan. a woman cried out to the auctioneer: "ah, lars, let him keep his royal trumpery! the cap and stick are of no use to you." "i'll give him one of my own caps, when i get home," returned lars. "but i'll be hanged if i let him go about any longer with these heirlooms, making of them a target for jests!" this was followed by loud laughs from the crowd, jan was so dumfounded that all he could do was to stand still and look at the people. he glanced from one to another, unable to get over his amazement. dear, dear! was there no one among all those who had honoured and applauded him who would help him now, in his hour of need? the people stood there, unmoved. he saw then that he meant nothing to them and that they would not lift a finger for him. he became so frightened that all his imperial greatness fell from him, and he was like a little child that is ready to cry because its playthings have been taken away. lars gunnarson turned to the huge pile of wares stacked beside him, prepared to go on with the auction. then jan attempted to do something himself. wailing and protesting, he went up to the table where lars stood, quickly bent down and tried to overturn it. but lars was too alert for him; with a swing of the imperial stick, he dealt jan a blow across his back that sent him reeling. "no you don't!" cried he. "i'll keep these articles for the present. you've wasted enough time already on this emperor nonsense. now you'd better go straight home and take to your digging again." jan did not appear to be specially anxious to obey; whereupon lars again raised the stick, and nothing more was needed to make emperor johannes of portugallia turn and flee. no one made a move to follow him or offered him a word of sympathy. no one called to him to come back. indeed folks only laughed when they saw how pitilessly and unceremoniously he had been stripped of all his grandeur. but this did not suit lars, either. he wanted to have it as solemn at his auctions as at a church service. "i think it's better to talk sense to jan than to laugh at him," he said, reprovingly. "there are many who encourage him in his foolishness and who even call him emperor. but that is hardly the right way to treat him. it would be far better to make him understand who and what he is, even though he doesn't like it. i have been his employer for some little time, therefore it is my bounden duty to see that he goes back to his work; otherwise he'll soon be a charge on the parish." after that lars held a good auction, with close and high bids. the satisfaction which he now felt was not lessened when on his homecoming the next day, he learned that jan of ruffluck had again put on his working clothes, and gone back to his digging. "we must never remind him of his madness," lars gunnarson warned his people, "then perhaps his reason will be spared to him. anyhow, he has never had more than he needs." the catechetical meeting lars gunnarson was decidedly pleased with himself for having taken the cap and stick away from jan; it looked as if he had at the same time relieved the peasant of his mania. a fortnight after the auction at bergvik a catechetical meeting was held at falla. people had gathered there from the whole district round about dove lake, the ruffluck folk being among them. there was nothing in jan's manner or bearing now that would lead one to think he was not in his right mind. all the benches and chairs in the house had been moved into the large room on the ground floor and arranged in close rows, and there sat every one who was to be catechized, including jan; for to-day he had not pushed his way up to a better seat than he was entitled to. lars kept his eyes on jan. he had to admit to himself that the man's insanity had apparently been checked. jan behaved now like any rational being; he was very quiet and all who greeted him received only a stiff nod in response, which may have been due to a desire on his part not to disturb the spirit of the meeting. the regular meeting was preceded by a roll call, and when the pastor called out "jan anderson of ruffluck croft," the latter answered "here" without the slightest hesitation--as if emperor johannes of portugallia had never existed. the clergyman sat at a table at the far end of the room, with the big church registry in front of him. beside him sat lars gunnarson, enlightening him as to who had moved away from the district within the year, and who had married. jan having answered all questions correctly and promptly, the pastor turned to lars and put a query to him in a low tone of voice. "it was not as serious as it appeared," said lars. "i took it out of him. he works at falla every day now, as he has always done." lars had not thought to lower his voice, as had the pastor. every one knew of whom he was speaking and many glanced anxiously at jan, who sat there as calm as though he had not heard a word. later, when the catechizing was well on, the pastor happened to ask a trembling youth whose knowledge of the scriptures was to be tested, to repeat the fourth commandment. it was not wholly by chance the pastor had chosen this commandment as his text for that evening. when seated thus in a comfortable old farmhouse, with its olden-time furniture, and much else that plainly bespoke a state of prosperity, he always felt moved to impress upon his hearers how well those prosper who hold together from generation to generation, who let their elders govern as long as they are able to do so, and who honour and cherish them throughout the remaining years of their lives. he had just begun to unfold the rich promises which god has made to those who honour father and mother, when jan of ruffluck arose. "there is some one standing outside the door who is afraid to come in," said jan. "go see what the matter is, börje," said the pastor. "you're nearest the door." börje rose at once, opened the door, and glanced up and down the entry. "there's nobody out there," he replied. "jan must have heard wrongly." after this interruption the pastor proceeded to explain to his listeners that this commandment was not so much of a command as it was good counsel, which should be strictly followed if one wished to succeed in life. he was himself only a youth, but this much he had already observed: lack of respect toward parents and disobedience were at the bottom of many of life's misfortunes. while the pastor was speaking jan time and again turned his head toward the door and he motioned to katrina, who was sitting on the last bench and could more easily get to the door than he could, to go open it. katrina kept her seat as long as she dared; but being a bit fearful of crossing jan these days, she finally obeyed him. when she had got the door open, she, like börje, saw no one in the entry. she shook her head at jan and went back to her seat. the pastor had not allowed himself to be disconcerted by katrina's movements. to the great joy of all the young people, he had almost ceased putting questions and was voicing some of the beautiful thoughts that kept coming into his mind. "think how wisely and well things are ordered for the dear old people whom we have with us in our homes!" he said. "is it not a blessing that we may be a stay and comfort to those who cared for us when we were helpless, to make life easy for those who perhaps have suffered hunger themselves that we might be fed? it is an honour for a young couple to have at the fireside an old father or mother, happy and content--" when the pastor said that a smothered sob was heard from a corner of the room. lars gunnarson, who had been sitting with head devoutly bowed, arose at once. crossing the floor on tiptoes, so as not to disturb the meeting, he went over to his mother-in-law, placed his arm around her, and led her up to the table. seating her in his own chair, he stationed himself behind it and looked down at her with an air of solicitude; then he beckoned to his wife to come and stand beside him. every one understood of course that lars wanted them to think that in this home all was as the pastor had said it should be. the minister looked pleased as he glanced up at the old mother and her children. the only thing that affected him a little unpleasantly was that the old woman wept all the while. he had never before succeeded in calling forth such deep emotion in any of his parishioners. "it is not difficult to keep the fourth commandment when we are young and still under the rule of our parents," the pastor continued; "but the real test comes later, when we are grown and think ourselves quite as wise--" here the pastor was again interrupted. jan had just risen and gone to the door himself. he seemed to have better luck than had börje or katrina: for he was heard to say "go'-day" to somebody out in the entry. now every one turned to see who it was that had been standing outside all the evening, afraid to come in. they could hear jan urging and imploring. evidently the person wished to be excused, for presently jan pulled the door to and stepped back into the room, alone. he did not return to his seat, but threaded his way up to the table. "well, jan," said the pastor, somewhat impatient, "may we hear now who it is that has been disturbing us the whole evening?" "it was the old master of falla who stood out there," jan replied, not in the least astonished or excited over what he had to impart. "he wouldn't come in, but he bade me tell lars from him to beware the first sunday after midsummer day." at first not many understood what lay back of jan's words. those who sat in the last rows had not heard distinctly, but they inferred from the startled look on the pastor's face that jan must have said something dreadful. they all sprang up and began to crowd nearer the table, asking to right and left who on earth he could have been talking to. "but jan!" said the pastor in a firm tone, "do you know what you are saying?" "i do indeed," returned jan with an emphatic nod. "as soon as he had given me the message for his son-in-law he went away. 'tell him,' he said, 'that i wish him no ill for letting me lie in the snow in my agony and not coming to my aid in time; but the fourth commandment is a strict one. tell him from me he'd better repent and confess. he will have until the sunday after midsummer to do it in.'" jan spoke so rationally and delivered his strange message with such sincerity that both the pastor and the others firmly believed at first that eric of falla had actually stood outside the door of his old home and talked with jan. and naturally they all turned their eyes toward lars gunnarson to see what effect jan's words had had on him. lars only laughed. "i thought jan sane," he said, "or i shouldn't have let him come to the meeting. the pastor will have to pardon the interruption. it is the madness breaking out again." "why of course!" said the pastor, relieved. for he had been on the point of believing he had come upon something supernatural. it was well, he thought, that this was only the fancy of a lunatic. "you see, pastor," lars went on explaining, "jan has no great love for me, and it's plain now he hasn't the wit to conceal it. i must confess that in a sense i'm to blame for his daughter having to go away to earn money. it's this he holds against me." the parson, a little surprised at lars's eager tone, gave him a searching glance. lars did not meet that gaze, but looked away. perceiving his mistake, he tried to look the parson in the face. somehow he couldn't--so turned away, with an oath. "lars gunnarson!" exclaimed the pastor in astonishment. "what has come over you?" lars immediately pulled himself together. "can't i be rid of this lunatic?" he said, as though jan were the one he had sworn at. "here stand the pastor and all my neighbours regarding me as a murderer only because a madman happens to hold a grudge against me! i tell you he wants to get back at me on account of his daughter. how could i know that she would leave home and go wrong simply because i wanted what was due me. is there no one here who will take charge of jan," he asked, "so that the rest of us may enjoy the service in peace?" the pastor sat stroking his forehead. lars's remarks troubled him; but he could not reprimand him when he had no positive proof that the man had committed a wrong. he looked around for the old mistress of falla; but she had slipped away. then he glanced out over the gathering, and from that quarter he got no help. he was confident that all in the room knew whether or not lars was guilty, yet, when he turned to them, their faces looked quite blank. meantime katrina had come forward and taken jan by the arm, and the two of them were then moving toward the door. anyhow, the pastor had no desire to question a crazy man. "i think this will do for to-night," he said quietly. "we will bring the meeting to a close." he made a short prayer, which was followed by a hymn. whereupon the people went their ways. the pastor was the last to leave. while lars was seeing him to the gate he spoke quite voluntarily of that which had just taken place. "did you mark, pastor, it was the sunday after midsummer day i was to be on my guard?" he said. "that just shows it was the girl jan had in mind. it was the sunday after midsummer of last year that i was over at jan's place to have an understanding with him about the hut." all these explanations only distressed the pastor the more. of a sudden he put his hand on lars's shoulder and tried to read his face. "i'm not your judge, lars gunnarson," he said in warm, reassuring tones, "but if you have something on your conscience, you can come to me. i shall look for you every day. only don't put it off too long!" an old troll the second winter of the little girl's absence from home was an extremely severe one. by the middle of january it had grown so unbearably cold that snow had to be banked around all the little huts in the ashdales as a protection against the elements, and every night the cows had to be covered with straw, to keep them from freezing to death. it was so cold that the bread froze; the cheese froze, and even the butter turned to ice. the fire itself seemed unable to hold its warmth. it mattered not how many logs one laid in the fireplace, the heat spread no farther than to the edge of the hearth. one day, when the winter was at its worst, jan decided that instead of going out to his work he would stay at home and help katrina keep the fire alive. neither he nor the wife ventured outside the hut that day, and the longer they remained indoors the more they felt the cold. at five o'clock in the afternoon, when it began to grow dark, katrina said they might as well "turn in"; it was no good their sitting up any longer, torturing themselves. during the afternoon jan had gone over to the window, time and again, and peered out through a little corner of a pane that had remained clear, though the rest of the glass was thickly crusted with frost flowers. and now he went back there again. "you can go to bed, katrina dear," he said as he stood looking out, "but i've got to stay up a while longer." "well i never!" ejaculated katrina. "why should you stay up? why can't you go to bed as well as i?" but jan did not reply to her questions. "it's strange i haven't seen agrippa prästberg pass by yet," he said. "is it him you're waiting for!" snapped katrina. "he hasn't been so extra nice to you that you need feel called upon to sit up and freeze on his account!" jan put up his hand with a sweep of authority--this being the only mannerism acquired during his emperorship which had not been dropped. there was no fear of prästberg coming to them, he told her. he had heard that the old man had been invited to a drinking bout at a fisherman's but here in the ashdales, but so far he had not seen him go by. "i suppose he has had the good sense to stay at home," said katrina. it grew colder and colder. the corners of the house creaked as if the freezing wind were knocking to be let in. all the bushes and trees were covered with such thick coats of snow and rim frost they looked quite shapeless. but bushes and trees, like humans, had to clothe themselves as well as they could, in order to be protected against the cold. in a little while katrina observed: "i see by the clock it's only half after five, but all the same i'll put on the porridge pot and prepare the evening meal. after supper, you can sit up and wait for prästberg or go to bed, whichever you like." all this time jan had stood at the window. "it can't be that he has come this way without my seeing him?" he said. "who cares whether a brute like him comes or doesn't come!" returned katrina sharply, for she was tired of hearing about that old tramp. jan heaved a deep sigh. katrina was more right than she herself knew. he did not care a bit whether or not old "grippie" had passed. his saying that he was expected was merely an excuse for standing at the window. no word or token had he received from the great empress, the little girl of ruffluck, since the day lars wrested from him his majesty and glory. he felt that such a thing could never have happened without her sanction, and inferred from this that he had done something to incur her displeasure; but what he could not imagine! he had brooded over this all through the long winter evenings; through the long dark mornings, when threshing in the barn at falla; through the short days, when carting wood from the big forest. everything had passed off so happily and well for him for three whole months, so of course he could not think she had been dissatisfied with his emperorship. he had then known a time such as he had never dreamed could come to a poor man like himself. but surely glory goldie was not offended at him for that! no. he had done or said something which was displeasing to her, that was why he was being punished. but could it be that she was so slow to forget as never to forgive him? if she would only tell him what she was angry about! he would do anything he could to pacify her. she must see for herself how he had put on his working clothes and gone out as a day labourer as soon as she let him know that such was her wish. he could not speak of this matter to either katrina or the seine-maker. he would be patient and wait for some positive sign from glory goldie. many times he had felt it to be so near that he had only to put out his hand and take it. that very day, shut in as he was, he had the feeling that there was a message from her on the way. this was why he stood peering out through the little clear corner of the window. he knew, also, that unless it came very soon he could not go on living. it was so dark now that he could hardly see as far as the gate, and his hopes for that day were at an end. he had no objection to retiring at once, he said presently. katrina dished out the porridge, the evening meal was hurridly eaten, and by a quarter after six they were abed. they dropped off to sleep, too; but their slumbers were of short duration. the hands of the big dalecarlian clock had barely got round to six-thirty when jan sprang out of bed; he quickly freshened the fire, which was almost burned out, then proceeded to dress himself. jan tried to be as quiet as possible, but for all that katrina was awakened; raising herself in bed she asked if it was already morning. no, indeed it wasn't, but the little girl had called to jan in a dream, and commanded him to go up to the forest. now it was katrina's turn to sigh! it must be the madness come back, thought she. she had been expecting it every day for some little time, for jan had been so depressed and restless of late. she made no attempt to persuade him to stay at home, but got up, instead, and put on her clothes. "wait a minute!" she said, when jan was at the door. "if you're going out into the woods to-night, then i want to go with you." she feared jan would raise objections, but he didn't; he remained at the door till she was ready. though apparently anxious to be off, he seemed more controlled and rational than he had been all day. and what a night to venture out into! the cold came against them like a rain of piercing and cutting glass-splinters. their skins smarted and they felt as if their noses were being torn from their faces; their fingertips ached and their toes were as if they had been cut off; they hardly knew they had any toes. jan uttered no word of complaint, neither did katrina; they just tramped on and on. jan turned in on the winter-road across the heights, the one they had traversed with glory goldie one christmas morning when she was so little she had to be carried. there was a clear sky and in the west gleamed a pale crescent moon, so that the night was far from pitch dark. still it was difficult to keep to the road because everything was so white with snow; time after time they wandered too close to the edge and sank deep into a drift. nevertheless, they managed to make their way clear to the huge stone that had once been hurled by a giant at svartsjö church. jan had already got past it when katrina, who was a little way behind him, gave a shriek. "jan!" she cried out. and jan had not heard her sound so frightened since the day lars threatened to take their home away from them. "can't you see there's some one sitting here?" jan turned and went back to katrina. and now the two of them came near taking to their heels; for, sure enough, propped against the stone and almost covered with rim frost sat a giant troll, with a bristly beard and a beak-like nose! the troll, or whatever it was, sat quite motionless. it had become so paralyzed from the cold that it had not been able to get back to its cave, or wherever else it kept itself nowadays. "think that there really are such creatures after all!" said katrina. "i should never have believed it, for all i've heard so much about them." jan was the first to recover his senses and to see what it was they had come upon. "it's no troll, katrina," he said. "it's agrippa prästberg." "sakes alive!" gasped katrina. "you don't tell me! from the look of him he could easily be mistaken for a troll." "he has just fallen asleep here," observed jan. "he can't be dead, surely!" they shouted the old man's name and shook him; but he never stirred. "run back for the sled, katrina," said jan, "so we can draw him home. i'll stay here and rub him with snow till he wakes up." "just so you don't freeze to death yourself!" "my dear katrina," laughed jan, "i haven't felt as warm as i feel now in many a day. i'm so happy about the little girl! wasn't it dear of her to send us out here to save the life of him who has gone around spreading so many lies about her?" a week or two later, as jan was returning from his work one evening, he met agrippa prästberg. "i'm right and fit again," agrippa told him. "but i know well enough that if you and katrina had not come to the rescue there wouldn't have been much left of johan utter agrippa prästberg by now. so i've wondered what i could do for you in return." "oh, don't give that a thought my good agrippa prästberg!" said jan, with that upward imperial sweep of the hand. "hush now, while i tell you!" spoke prästberg. "when i said i'd thought of doing you a return service, it wasn't just empty chatter. i meant it. and now it has already been done. the other day i ran across the travelling salesman who gave that lass of yours the red dress." "who?" cried jan, so excited he could hardly get his breath. "that blackguard who gave the girl the red dress and who afterward sent her to the devil in stockholm. first i gave him, on your account, all the thrashing he could take, and then i told him that the next time he showed his face around here he'd get just as big a dose of the same kind of medicine." jan would not believe he had heard aright. "but what did he say?" he questioned eagerly. "didn't you ask him about glory goldie? had he no greetings from her?" "what could he say? he took his punishment and held his tongue. now i've done you a decent turn, jan anderson, and we're even. johan utter agrippa prästberg wants no unpaid scores." with that he strode on, leaving jan in the middle of the road, lamenting loudly. the little girl had wanted to send him a message! that merchant had come with greetings from her, but not a thing had he learned because the man had been driven away. jan stood wringing his hands. he did not weep, but he ached all over worse than if he were ill. he felt certain in his own mind that glory goldie had wanted prästberg to take a message from her brought by the merchant and convey it to her father. but it was with prästberg as with the trolls--whether they wanted to help or hinder they only wrought mischief. the sunday after midsummer the first sunday after midsummer day there was a grand party at the seine-maker's to which every one in the ashdales had been invited. the old man and his daughter-in-law were in the habit of entertaining the whole countryside on this day of each year. folks wondered, of course, how two people who were so pitiably poor could afford to give a big feast, but to all who knew the whys and wherefores it seemed perfectly natural. as a matter of fact, when the seine-maker was a rich man he gave his two sons a farmstead each. the elder son wasted his substance in much the same way as ol' bengtsa himself had done, and died poor. the younger son, who was the more steady and reliable, kept his portion and even increased it, so that now he was quite well-to-do. but what he owned at the present time was as nothing to what he might have had if his father had not recklessly made away with both money and lands, to no purpose whatever. if such wealth had only come into the hands of the son in his younger days, there is no telling to what he might have attained. he could have been owner of all the woodlands in the lovsjö district, had a shop at broby, and a steamer plying lake löven; he might even have been master of the ironworks at ekeby. naturally he found it difficult to excuse the father's careless business methods, but he kept his thoughts to himself. when the crash came for ol' bengtsa, a good many persons, bengtsa among them, expected the son to come to his aid by the sacrifice of his own property. but what good would that have done? it would only have gone to the creditors. it was with the idea in mind that the father should have something to fall back upon when all his possessions were gone, that the son had held on to his own. it was not the fault of the younger son that ol' bengtsa had taken up his abode with the widow of the elder son, for he had begged the father more than a hundred times to come and live with him. the father's refusal to accept this offer seemed almost like an act of injustice; for because of it the son got the name of being mean and hard-hearted among those who knew the old man was badly off. still, there was no ill-feeling between the two. the son, accompanied by his wife and children, always drove down to the ashdales over the steep and perilous mountain road once every summer, just to spend a day with his father. if people had only known how badly he and his wife felt every time they saw the wretched hovel, the ramshackle outhouse, the stony potato patch, and the sister-in-law's ragged children, they would have understood how his heart went out to his father. the worst of all was that the father persisted in giving a big party in their honour. every time they bade the old man good-bye they begged him not to invite all the neighbours in when they came again the next year; but he was obdurate; he would not forego his yearly feast, though he could ill afford the expense. seeing how aged and broken he looked, one would hardly have thought there was so much of the old happy-go-lucky ol' bengtsa of lusterby still left in him, but the desire to do things on a grand scale still clung to him. it had caused him misfortune from which he could never recover. the son had learned inadvertently that the old man and the sister-in-law scrimped the whole year just to be able to give a grand spread on the day he was at home. and then it was nothing but eat, eat the whole time! he and his family were hardly out of the wagon before they were served with coffee and all kinds of tempting appetizers. and later came the dinner to all the neighbours with a fish course, a meat course, and game, and rice-cakes, and fruit-mold with whipped cream, and quantities of wines and spirits. it was enough to make one weep! he and his wife did nothing to encourage this foolishness. on the contrary, they brought with them only such plain fare as they were accustomed to have every day; but for all that they could not escape the feasting. sometimes they felt that rather than let the old man ruin himself on their account they might better remain away altogether. yet they feared to do so, lest their good intentions should be misinterpreted. and what a strange company they were thrown in with at these parties--old blacksmiths and fishermen and backwoodsmen! if such good, substantial folk as the falla family had not been in the habit of coming, too, there would have been no one there with whom they could have exchanged a word. ol' bengtsa's son had liked the late eric of falla best, but he also entertained in a high regard for lars gunnarson, the present master of falla. lars gunnarson came of rather obscure people, but he was a man who had the good sense to marry well, and who would doubtless forge ahead and gain for himself both wealth and position. when the old man told his son that lars gunnarson was not likely to come to the party this year, the latter was very much disappointed. "but it's no fault of mine," ol' bengsta declared. "lars isn't exactly my kind, but all the same, on your account, i went down to falla yesterday and invited him." "maybe he's weary of these parties," said the son. "oh, no," returned ol' bengtsa. "i'm sure he'd be only too glad to come, but there's something that's keeping him away." he did not explain further just then, but while they were having their coffee, he went back to the subject. "you mustn't feel so badly because lars isn't coming this evening," he said. "i don't believe you'd care for his company any more." "you don't mean that he has taken to drink?" "that wasn't such a bad guess! he took to it suddenly in the spring, and since midsummer day he hasn't drawn a sober breath." during these visits the father and son immediately they had finished their coffee always went fishing. the old man usually kept very still on these occasions, so as not to scare the fish away, but this year was the exception. he spoke to the son time and again. his words came with difficulty, as always, still there seemed to be more life in him now than ordinarily. evidently there was something special he wanted to say, or rather something he wished to draw from his son. he was like one who stands outside an empty house shouting and calling, in the hope that somebody will come and open the door to him. he harked back to lars gunnarson several times, relating in part what had occurred at the catechetical meeting, and he even dragged in all the gossip that had been circulated about lars in the ashdales since eric's death. the son granted that lars might not be altogether blameless; if he had now begun drinking it was a bad sign. "i'm curious to see how he'll get through this day," said ol' bengtsa. just then the son felt a nibble, and did not have to answer. there was nothing in this whole story that had any bearing upon the common interests of himself and his father, yet he could not but feel there was some hidden intent back of the old man's words. "i hope he'll drive over to the parsonage this evening," pursued ol' bengtsa. "there is forgiveness of sins for him who will seek it." a long silence ensued. the son was too busy baiting his hook to think of replying. besides, this was not anything which called for a response. presently there came from the old man such a heavy sigh that he had to look over toward him. "father! can't you see you've got a nibble? i believe you are letting the perch jerk the rod away from you." the old man quickly pulled up his line and released the fish from the hook. his fingers seemed to be all thumbs and the perch slipped from his hands back into the water. "it isn't meant that i shall catch any fish to-day, however much i may want to." yes, there was certainly something he wished the son to say--to confess--but surely he did not expect him to liken himself to one who was suspected of having caused the death of his father-in-law? ol' bengtsa did not bait his hook again. he stood upon a stone, with his hands folded--his half-dead eyes fixed on the smooth water. "yes--there is pardon for all," he said musingly, "for all who let their old parents lie waiting and freezing in icy chilliness-- pardon even to this day. but afterward it will be too late!" surely this could never have been said for the son's benefit. the father was no doubt thinking aloud, as is the habit of old people. anyhow, the son thought he would try to make the old man talk about something else. so he said: "how is the man who went crazy last year getting on?" "oh, you mean jan of ruffluck! well, he has been in his right mind since last fall. he'll not be at the party, either. he's only a poor crofter like myself; so him you'll not miss, of course." this was true enough. however, the son was so glad of an excuse to speak of some one other than lars gunnarson, that he asked with genuine concern what was wrong with jan of ruffluck. "oh, he's just sick from pining for a daughter who went away about two years ago, and who never writes to him." "the girl who went wrong?" "so you knew about it, eh? but it isn't because of that he's grieving himself to death. it is the awful hardness and lack of love that he can't bear up under." this forced colloquy was becoming intolerable. it made the son feel all the more uncomfortable. "i'm going over to the stone farthest out," he said. "i see a lot of fish splashing round it." by that move he was out of earshot of his father, and there was no further conversation between them for the remainder of the forenoon. but go where he would, he felt that the dim, lustreless eyes of the old man were following him. and this time he was actually glad when the guests arrived. the dinner was served out of doors. when ol' bengtsa had taken his place at the board he tried to cast off all worry and anxiety. when acting as host at a party, so much of the ol' bengtsa of bygone days came to the fore it was easy to guess what manner of man he had once been. no one from falla was present. but it was plain that lars gunnarson was in every one's thoughts; which was not surprising since this was the day he had been warned to look out for. now of course ol' bengtsa's son had to listen to further talk about the catechetical meeting at falla, and he heard more about the pastor's extraordinary dissertation on the duties of children toward their parents than he cared to hear. however, he said nothing; but ol' bengtsa must have noticed that he was beginning to be bored, for he turned to him with the remark: "what do you say to all this, nils? i suppose you're sitting there thinking to yourself it's very strange our lord hasn't written a commandment for parents on how they shall treat their children?" this was wholly unexpected. the son could feel the blood mounting to his face. it was as if he had done something dreadful, and been caught at it. "but my dear father!" he protested, "i've never said or thought--" "true," the old man struck in, turning now to his guests. "i know you will hardly believe what i tell you, but it's a fact that this son of mine has never spoken an unkind word to me; neither has his wife." these remarks were not addressed to any one in particular, nor did any one feel disposed to respond to them. "they have been put to some pretty hard tests," ol' bengtsa went on. "it was a large property they were deprived of. they could have been landed proprietors by this time if i had only done the right thing. yet they have never uttered a word of complaint and every summer they pay me a visit, just to show they are not angry with me." the old man's face looked so dead now, and his voice sounded so hollow! the son could not tell whether he was trying to come out with something or whether he talked merely for talk's sake. "now it's altogether different with lisa," said ol' bengtsa, pointing at the daughter-in-law with whom he lived. "she scolds me every day for not holding on to my property." the daughter-in-law, not in the least perturbed, retorted with a good-natured laugh: "and you scold me because i can't find time to patch all the holes in the boys' clothes." "that's true," the old man admitted. "you see, we're not shy; we say right out what we think and tell each other everything. what i've got is hers, and what she's got is mine; so i'm beginning to think it is she who is my real child." again the son felt embarrassed, and troubled as well. there was something the old man wanted to force from him--something of a personal nature; but surely he could not expect it to be forthcoming here, before all this company? it was a great relief to the son of ol' bengtsa when on looking up he saw lars gunnarson and his wife standing at the gate. not he alone, but every one was glad to see them. now it was as if all their gloomy misgivings had suddenly been dispelled. lars and his wife made profuse apologies for being so late. lars had been suffering from a bad headache and had feared he would not be able to come at all; but it had abated somewhat so he decided to come to the party, thinking he would forget about his aches and pains if he got out among people. he looked a bit hollow-eyed, but he was as jolly and sociable as he had been the year before. he had barely got down the first mouthful of food when he and the son of ol' bengtsa fell to talking of the lumber business, of big profits and interest on loans. the poor rustics round about them, aghast at the mere mention of these large figures, were afraid to open their mouths. ol' bengtsa was the only one who wanted to have his say in the matter. "since you're talking of money," he said, "i wonder, nils, if you remember that note for , rix-dollars i got from the old ironmaster at doveness? it was mislaid, if you recollect, and couldn't be found at the time when i was in such hard straits. just the same, i wrote to the ironmaster requesting immediate payment; but received the reply that he was dying. later on, after his death, the administrators of the estate declared they could find no record of my claim. i was informed that it wasn't possible for them to pay me unless i produced the note. we searched high and low for it, both i and my sons, but we couldn't find it." "you don't mean to tell me that you've come across it at last!" the son exclaimed. "it was the strangest thing imaginable!" the old man went on. "jan of ruffluck came over here one morning and told me he knew for a certainty that the note was in the secret drawer of my cedar chest. he had seen me take it out in a dream, he said." "but you must have looked there?" "yes, i did search through the secret drawer on the left-hand side. but jan said it was in the drawer on the right, and then, when i looked more carefully, i found a secret drawer that i'd never known about; and in that lay the note." "you probably put it there some time when you were in your cups." "very likely i did." the son laid down his knife and fork for a moment, then took them up again. something in the old man's tone made him a bit wary. "maybe it's just a hoax," he thought to himself. aloud he said, "it was outlawed, of course?" "oh, yes," replied the old man, "it would doubtless have been so regarded by any other debtor. but i rowed across to doveness one day and took the note to the new ironmaster, who admitted at once that it was good. 'it's as clear as day that i must pay my father's debt, ol' bengtsa,' he said. 'but you'll have to give me a few weeks' grace. it is a large sum to pay out all at once.'" "that was spoken like a man of honour!" said the son, bringing his hand down heavily on the table. a sense of gladness stole in upon him in spite of his suspicions. to think that it was something so splendid the old man had been holding back from him the whole day! "i told the ironmaster that he needn't pay me just then; that if he would only give me a new note the money could remain in his safekeeping." "that was well," said the son approvingly. there was a strong, glad ring in his voice, that betrayed an eagerness he would rather not have shown, for he knew of old that one could never be quite sure of ol' bengtsa--in the very next breath he might say it was just a yarn. "you don't believe me," observed the old man. "would you like to see the note? run in and get it, lisa!" almost immediately the son had the note before his eyes. first he glanced at the signature, and recognized the firm, legible hand of the ironmaster. then he looked at the figures, and found them correct. he nodded to his wife, who sat opposite him, that it was all right, at the same time passing the note to her, knowing how interested she would be to see it. the wife examined the note carefully. "what does this mean?" she asked--"'payable to lisa persdotter of lusterby'--is lisa to have the money?" "yes," the old man answered. "she gets this money because she has been a good daughter to me." "but this is unfair--" "no, it is not unfair," drawled the old man in a tired voice. "i have squared myself and owe nobody anything. i might have had one other creditor," he added turning to this son, "but after looking into matters, i find that i haven't." "you mean me, i suppose," said the son. "but you don't seem to think i--" all that the son had wanted to say to the father was left unsaid, as he was interrupted by a piercing shriek from the opposite side of the table. lars gunnarson had just seized a bottle of brandy and put it to his mouth. his wife, screaming from terror, was trying to take it from him. he held her back until he had emptied half the contents, whereupon he set the bottle down and turned to his wife, his face flushed, his eyes staring wildly, his hands clenched. "didn't you hear it was jan who found the note?" he said in a hoarse voice. "all his dreams come true! can't you comprehend that the man has the gift of second sight? you'll see that something dreadful will happen to me this day, as he has predicted." "why he has only cautioned you to be on your guard," said the wife. "you begged and teased me to come here so that i should forget what day it was, and now i get this reminder!" again lars raised the brandy bottle to his lips. this time, however, the wife cast herself upon him with prayers and tears. replacing the bottle on the table, he said with a laugh: "keep it! keep it for all of me!" with that he rose and kicked the chair out of his way. "good-bye to you, ol' bengtsa," he said to the host. "i hope you will pardon my leaving, but to-day i must go to a place where i can drink in peace." he rushed toward the gate, his wife following. when he was passing out into the road, he pushed her back. "why can't you let me be!" he cried fiercely. "i've had my warning, and i go to meet my doom!" summernight all day, while the party was going on at the seine-maker's, jan of ruffluck kept to his hut. but at evening he went out and sat down up on the flat stone in front of the house, as was his wont. he was not ill exactly, but he felt weak and tired. the hut had become so overheated during the long, hot sunny day that he thought it would be nice to get a breath of fresh air. he found, however, that it was not much cooler outside, but he sat still all the same, mostly because there was so much out here that was beautiful to the eye. it had been an excessively hot and dry month of june and forest fires, which always rage every rainless summer, had already got going. this he could tell by the pretty bluish-white smoke banks that rose above the hills at the other side of the lake. presently, away off to southward, a shimmery white curly cloud head appeared, while in the west, over against great peak, huge smoke-blended clouds rolled up and up. it seemed to him as if the whole world were afire. no flames could be seen from where he sat, but there was no mistaking that fire had broken out and could hold sway indefinitely. he only hoped it would confine itself to the forest trees, and not sweep down upon huts and farmsteads. he could scarcely breathe. it was as if such quantities of air had been consumed that there was very little of it left. at short intervals he sensed an odour, as of something burning, that stuck in his nostrils. that odour did not come from any cook stove in the ashdales! it was a salutation from the great stake of pine needles, and moss, and brushwood that sizzled and burned many miles away. a little while ago the sun had gone down, red as fire, leaving in its wake enough colour to tint the whole sky, which was now rose hued not only across that corner of it where the sun had just been seen, but over its entire expanse. at the same time the waters of dove lake had become as dark as mirror glass in the shadow of the towering hills. in this black-looking water ran streaks of red blood and molten gold. it was the sort of night that makes one feel that the earth is not worthy a glance; that only the heavens and the waters that mirror them are worth seeing. as jan sat gazing out at the beauties of the light summer night he suddenly began to wonder. could it be that he saw aright? but it actually looked as if the firmament were sinking. anyway, to his vision it was much nearer to the earth than usual. could it be possible that something had gone wrong? surely his eyes were not deceiving him! the great pink dome of sky was certainly moving down toward the earth, and all the while it was becoming hotter and more oppressive. he already felt the terrible heat that seemed to come from the red-hot dome that was sinking toward him. to be sure jan had heard a good deal of talk about the coming destruction of the world and had often pictured it as being effected by means of thunder-storms and earthquakes that would hurl the mountains into the seas and drive the waters of the lakes and rivers over plains and valleys, so that all life would become extinct. but he never imagined the end should come in this way: by the earth's burial under the vault of heaven with its inhabitants all dying from heat and suffocation! this, it seemed to him, was the worst of all. he put down his pipe, though it was only half-smoked, but remained quietly seated in the one spot. for what else could he do? this was not something which he could ward off--something he could run away from. one could not take up arms and defend one's self against it, nor find safety by creeping into cellars or caves. even if one had the power to empty all the oceans and lakes, their waters would not suffice to quench the fires of the firmament. if one could uproot the mountains and prop them, beam-like, against the sky, they could not hold up this heavy dome if it was meant that it should sink. singularly enough no one but himself seemed to be aware of what was happening. ah, look! what was that that went shooting up above the crest of the hill over yonder? a lot of black specks suddenly appeared in among the pale smoke clouds. these specks whirled round each other with such rapidity that to jan's eyes they looked like a succession of streaks moving in much the same way as when bees swarm. they were birds of course. the strange part of it was that they had risen in the night and soared into the clouds. they probably knew more than the human kind, thought jan, for they had sensed that something was about to happen. instead of the air becoming cooler, as on other nights, it grew warmer and warmer. anything else was hardly to be expected, with the fiery dome coming nearer and nearer. jan thought it had already sunk to the brow of great peak. but if the end of the world was so close at hand and there was no hope of his getting any word from glory goldie, much less of his seeing her, before all was over, then he would pray for but a single grace--that it might be made clear to him what he had done to offend her, so that he could repent of it before the end of everything pertaining to the earth life. what had he done that she could not forgive nor forget? why had the crown and sceptre been taken away from him? as he put these queries to himself his glance fell upon a bit of gilt paper that lay glittering on the ground in front of him. but his mind was not on such things now. this must have been one of the paper stars he had borrowed of mad ingeborg. but he had not given a thought to this empty show since last autumn. it kept getting hotter and hotter, and it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. "the end is nearing," thought jan. "maybe it's just as well it wasn't too long coming." a great sense of lassitude came over him. unable to sit up any longer, he slipped down off the stone and stretched himself out on the ground. he felt it was hardly fair to katrina not to let her know what was taking place. but katrina had gone to the seine-maker's party and was not back yet. if he only had the strength to drag himself thither! he would have liked to say a word of farewell to ol' bengtsa, too. he was very glad when he presently saw katrina coming down the lane, accompanied by the seine-maker. he wanted to call out to them to hurry, but not a sound could he get past his lips. shortly afterward the two of them stood bending over him. katrina immediately ran for water and made him drink some; and then he got back just enough strength to tell them that the last judgment was at hand. "how you talk!" said katrina. "the last judgment indeed! why, you've got fever, man, and you're out of your head." then jan turned to the seine-maker. "can't you see either that the firmament is sinking and sinking?" the latter did not give him any reply, but turned instead to katrina, saying: "this is pretty serious. i think we'll have to try the remedy we talked of on the way. i may as well go down to falla at once." "but lars will never consent to it." "why you know that lars has gone down to the tavern. i'm sure the old mistress of falla will have the courage--" jan cut him short. he could not bear to hear them speak of commonplace matters when such momentous things were in the air. "stop talking," he said. "don't you hear the last trump? don't you hear the rumbling up in the mountains?" they paused a moment and listened, just to please jan. and then they, too, heard a strange noise. "there's a wagon rattling along in the woods," said katrina. "what on earth can that mean?" as the rumbling noise grew more and more distinct, their astonishment increased. "and it's sunday, too!" observed katrina. "now if this were a weekday you could understand it; but who can it be that's out driving in the woods on a sunday night?" she listened again. then she heard the scraping of wheels against stones and the clatter of hoofs along the steep forest road. "do you hear?" asked jan. "do you hear?" "yes, i hear," said katrina. "but no matter who comes i've got to get the bed ready for you at once. it's that i have to think of." "and i'm going down to falla," said the seine-maker. "that's more important than anything else. good-bye for the present." the old man hurried away while katrina went in to prepare the bed; she was hardly inside the door when the rattling noise, which she and the seine-maker believed was caused by a common wagon, sounded as if it were almost upon them. to jan it was the rumble of heavy war chariots, at whose approach the whole earth trembled. he called in a loud voice to katrina, who came out immediately. "dear heart, don't be so scared!" she said reassuringly. "i can see the horse now. it's the old bay from falla. sit up and you'll see it, too." slipping her hand under jan's neck she raised him to a sitting posture. through the elder bushes at the edge of the road a horse could be seen running wildly in the direction of ruffluck. "don't you see it's only lars gunnarson driving home? he must have drunk himself full at the tavern, for he doesn't seem to know which way he's going." when katrina said that a horse and wagon dashed by their gate. both she and jan noticed that the wagon was empty and the horse driverless. all at once she let out a shriek: "lord deliver us! did you see him, jan? he's being dragged alongside the wagon!" without waiting for a reply she rushed across the yard into the road, where the horse had just bolted past. jan let her go without a word. he was glad to be alone again. he had not yet found an answer to his query as to why the empress was angry at him. the bit of gilt paper now lay directly under his eyes. it glistened so that he had to look at it again and again. meanwhile his thoughts went back to mad ingeborg--to the time when he had come upon her at the borg landing. it struck him instantly that here was the answer he had been seeking. now he knew what it was the little girl had been displeased about all this while. he had been unkind to mad ingeborg; he should never have refused to let her go along to portugallia. how could he ever have imagined anything so mean of the great empress as that she would not want to have mad ingeborg with her! it was that kind that she liked best to help. no wonder she was angry! he ought to have known that the poor and unfortunate were always welcome in her kingdom. there was very little that could be done in this matter if no to-morrow dawned, mused jan. but what if there should be one? ah, then he would go and talk with mad ingeborg first thing. he closed his eyes and folded his hands. anyway, it was a blissful relief to him that this anxiety had been stilled. now it would not be nearly so hard to die. he had no idea as to how much time had elapsed before he again heard katrina's voice close to him. "jan, dear, how do you feel now? you're not going to die and leave me, are you?" katrina sounded so doleful that he had to look up at her. then he saw in her hand the imperial stick and the green leather cap. "i asked the folks down at falla to let me take these to you," she explained. "i told them that come what might it was better for you to have them again than to have you lose all interest in life." "the dear little girl, the great empress, isn't she wonderful!" jan said to himself. no sooner had he come to a realization of his sin and promised to atone for it, than she again granted him her grace and her favour. he had such a marvellous feeling of lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. the firmament had raised itself and let in air, at the same time drawing away the excessive heat. he was able to sit up now and fumble for the imperial regalia. "now you can have them for good and all," said katrina. "there'll be no one to come and take them away from you, for lars gunnarson is dead." the emperor's consort katrina of ruffluck croft came into the kitchen at lövdala manor with some spun wool. lady liljecrona herself received the yarn, weighed it, paid for it, and commended the old woman for her excellent work. "it's fortunate for you, katrina, that you are such a good worker," said lady liljecrona. "i dare say you have to earn the living for both yourself and the husband nowadays." katrina drew herself up a bit and two pink spots came into her face, just over the sharp cheekbones. "jan does his best," she retorted, "but he has never had the strength of a common labourer." "at any rate, he doesn't seem to be working now," said lady liljecrona. "i have heard that he only runs about from place to place, showing his stars and singing." lady liljecrona was a serious-minded and dutiful woman who liked industrious and capable folk like katrina of ruffluck. she had sympathy for her and wanted to show it. but katrina continued to stand up for her husband. "he is old and has had much sorrow these last years. he has need of a little freedom, after a lifetime of hard toil." "it's well you can take your misfortune so calmly," observed lady liljecrona somewhat sharply. "but i really think that you, with your good sense, should try to take out of jan the ridiculous nonsense that has got into his head. you see, if this is allowed to go on it will end in his being shut up in a madhouse." now katrina squared her shoulders and looked highly indignant. "jan is not crazy," she said. "but our lord has placed a shade before his eyes so he'll not have to see what he couldn't bear seeing. and for that one can only feel thankful." lady liljecrona did not wish to appear contentious. she thought it only right and proper for a wife to stand by her husband. "then, katrina, everything is all right as it is," she said pleasantly. "and don't forget that here you will find work enough to keep you going the year around." and then lady liljecrona saw the stern, set old face in front of her soften and relax: all that had been bound in and held back gave way--grief and solicitude and love came breaking through, and the eyes overflowed. "my only happiness is to work for him," said the old woman. "he has become so wonderful with the years that he's something more than just human. but for that i suppose they'll come and take him away from me." book four the welcome greeting she had come! the little girl had come! it is hard to find words to describe so great an event. she did not arrive till late in the autumn, when the passenger boats that ply lake löven had discontinued their trips for the season and navigation was kept up by only two small freight steamers. but on either of these she had not cared to travel--or perhaps she had not even known about them. she had come by wagon from the railway station to the ashdales. so after all jan of ruffluck did not have the pleasure of welcoming his daughter at the borg pier, where for fifteen years he had awaited her coming. yes, it was all of fifteen years that she had been away. for seventeen years she had been the light and life of his home, and for almost as long a time had he missed her. it happened that jan did not even have the good fortune to be at home to welcome glory goldie when she came. he had just stepped over to falla to chat a while with the old mistress, who had now moved out of the big farmhouse and was living in an attic room in one of the cottages on the estate. she was one of many lonely old people on whom the emperor of portugallia peeped in occasionally, to speak a word of cheer so as to keep them in good spirits. it was only katrina who stood at the door and received the little girl on her homecoming. she had been sitting at the spinning wheel all day and had just stopped to rest for a moment, when she heard the rattle of a team down the road. it so seldom happened that any one drove through the ashdales that she stepped to the door to listen. then she discovered that it was not a common cart that was coming, but a spring wagon. all at once her hands began to tremble. they had a way of doing that now whenever she became frightened or perturbed. otherwise, she was well and strong despite her two and seventy years. she was only fearful lest this trembling of the hands should increase so that she would no longer be able to earn the bread for herself and jan, as she had done thus far. by this time katrina had practically abandoned all hope of ever seeing the daughter again, and that day she had not even been in her thought. but instantly she heard the rumble of wagon wheels she knew for a certainty who was coming. she went over to the chest of drawers to take out a fresh apron, but her hands shook so hard that she could not insert the key into the keyhole. now it was impossible for her to better her attire, therefore she had to go meet her daughter just as she was. the little girl did not come in any golden chariot, she was not even seated in the wagon, but came afoot. the road to the ashdales was as rocky then as at the time when eric of falla and his wife had driven her to the parsonage, to have her christened, and now she and the driver tramped on either side of the wagon steadying a couple of large trunks that stood on end behind the seat, to prevent them being jolted into the ditch. she arrived with no more pomp and state than this, and more was perhaps not called for either. katrina had just got the outer door open when the wagon stopped in front of the gate. she should have gone and opened the gate, of course, but she did not do so. she felt all at once such a sinking at the heart that she was unable to take a step. she knew it was glory goldie who had come, although the person who now pushed the gate open looked like a grand lady. on her head was a large hat trimmed with plumes and flowers and she wore a smart coat and skirt of fine cloth; but all the same it was the little girl of ruffluck croft! glory goldie, hurrying into the yard in advance of the team, rushed up to her mother with outstretched hand. but katrina shut her eyes and stood still. so many bitter thoughts arose in her at that moment! she felt that she could never forgive the daughter for being alive and coming back so sound of wind and limb, after letting her parents wait in vain for her all these years. she almost wished the daughter had never bothered to come home. katrina must have looked as if ready to drop, for glory goldie quickly threw her arms around her and almost carried her into the house. "mother dear, you mustn't be so frightened! don't you know me?" katrina opened her eyes and regarded the daughter scrutinizingly. she was a sensible person, was katrina, and of course she did not expect that one whom she had not seen in fifteen years should look exactly as she had looked when leaving home. nevertheless, she was horrified at what she beheld. the person standing before her appeared much older than her years; for she was only two and thirty. but it was not because glory goldie had turned gray at the temples and her forehead was covered with a mass of wrinkles that katrina was shocked, but because she had grown ugly. she had acquired an unnatural leaden hue and there was something heavy and gross about her mouth. the whites of her eyes had become gray and bloodshot, and the skin under her eyes hung in sacks. katrina had sunk down on a chair. she sat with her hands tightly clasped round her knees to keep them from shaking. she was thinking of the radiant young girl of seventeen in the red dress; for thus had she lived in katrina's memory up to the present moment. she wondered whether she could ever be happy over glory goldie's return. "you should have written," she said. "you should at least have sent us a greeting, so that we could have known you were still in the land of the living." "yes, i know," said the daughter. her voice, at least, had not failed her; it sounded as confident and cheery as of old. "i went wrong in the beginning--but perhaps you've heard about it?" "yes; that much we know," sighed katrina. "that was why i stopped writing," said glory goldie, with a little laugh. there was something strong and sturdy about the girl then, as formerly. she was not one of those who torture themselves with remorse and self-condemnation. "don't think any more of that, mother," she added, as katrina did not speak. "i've been doing real well lately. for a time i kept a restaurant and now, i'll have you know, i'm head stewardess on a steamer that runs between malmö and lübeck, and this fall i have fitted up a home for myself at malmö. sometimes i felt that i ought to write to you, but finding it rather hard to start in again, i decided to put it off until i was prepared to take you and father to live with me. then, after i'd got everything fixed fine for you, i thought it would be ever so much nicer to come for you myself than to write." "and you haven't heard anything about us?" asked katrina. all that glory goldie had told her mother should have gladdened her, but instead it only made her feel the more depressed. "no," replied the daughter, then added, as if in self-justification: "i knew, of course, that you'd find help if things got too bad." at the same time she noticed how katrina's hands shook for all they were being held tightly clasped. she understood then that the old folks were worse off than she had supposed, and tried to explain her conduct. "i didn't care to send home small sums, as others do, but wanted to save until i had enough money to provide a good home for you." "we haven't needed money," said katrina. "it would have been enough for us if you had only written." glory goldie tried to rouse her mother from her slough of despond, as she had often done in the old days. so she said: "mother, you don't want to spoil this moment for me, do you? why, i'm back with you again! come, now, and we'll take in my boxes and unpack them. i've brought provisions along. we'll have a fine dinner all ready by the time father comes home." she went out to help the driver take the luggage down from the wagon, but katrina did not follow her. glory goldie had not asked how her father was getting on. she supposed, of course, that he was still working at falla. katrina knew she would have to tell the daughter of the father's condition, but kept putting it off. anyway, the little girl had brought a freshening breeze into the hut and the mother felt loath to put a sudden end to her delight at being home again. while glory goldie was helping unload the wagon, half a dozen children came to the gate and looked in; they did not speak; they only pointed at her and laughed--then ran away. but in a moment or two they came back. this time they had with them a little faded and shrivelled old man, who strutted along, his head thrown back and his feet striking the ground with the measured tread of a soldier on parade. "what a curious looking figure!" glory goldie remarked to the driver as the old man and the youngsters crowded in through the gate. she had not the faintest suspicion as to who the man was, but she could not help noticing a person who was so fantastically arrayed. on his head was a green leather cap, topped with a bushy feather; round his neck he wore a chain of gilt paper stars and crosses that hung far down on his chest. it looked as though he had on a gold necklace. the youngsters, unable to hold in any longer, shouted "empress, empress!" at the top of their voices. the old man strode on as if the laughing and shrieking children were his guard of honour. when they were almost at the door of the hut glory goldie gave a wild shriek, and fled into the house. "who is that man?" she asked her mother in a frightened voice. "is it father? has he gone mad?" "yes," said katrina, the tears coming into her eyes. "is it because of me?" "our lord let it happen out of compassion. he saw that his burden was too heavy for him." there was no time to explain further, for now jan stood in the doorway, and behind him was the gang of youngsters, who wanted to see how this meeting, which they had so often heard him picture, would be in reality. the emperor of portugallia did not go straight up to his daughter but stopped just inside the door and delivered his speech of welcome. "welcome, welcome, o queen of the sun! o rich and beautiful glory goldie!" the words were delivered with that stilted loftiness which dignitaries are wont to assume on great occasions. all the same, there were tears of joy in jan's eyes and he had hard work to keep his voice steady. after the well-learned greeting had been recited the emperor rapped three times on the floor with his imperial stick for silence and attention, whereupon he began to sing in a thin, squeaky voice. glory goldie had drawn close to katrina. it was as if she wished to hide herself, to crawl out of sight behind her mother. up to this she had kept silence, but when jan started to sing she cried out in terror and tried to stop him. then katrina gripped her tightly by the arm. "leave him alone!" she said. "he has been comforted by the hope of singing this song to you ever since you first became lost to us." then glory goldie held her peace and let jan continue: "the empress's father, for his part, feels so happy in his heart. austria, portugal, metz, japan, read the newspapers, if you can. boom, boom, boom, and roll. boom, boom." but glory goldie could stand no more. rushing forward she quickly hustled the youngsters out of the house, and banged the door on them. then turning round upon her father she stamped her foot at him. now she was angry in earnest. "for heaven's sake, shut up!" she cried. "do you want to make a laughing-stock of me by calling me an empress?" jan looked a little hurt, but he was over it in a twinkling. she was the great empress, to be sure. all that she did was right; all that she said was to him as honey and balsam. in the supreme happiness of the moment he had quite forgotten to look for the crown of gold and the field marshals in golden armour. if she wished to appear poor and humble when she came, that was her own affair. it was joy enough for him that she had come back. the flight one morning, just a week from the day of glory goldie's homecoming, she and her mother stood at the borg pier, ready to depart for good and all. old katrina was wearing a bonnet for the first time in her life, and a fine cloth coat. she was going to malmö with her daughter to become a fine city dame. never more would she have to toil for her bread. she was to sit on a sofa the whole day, with her hands folded, and be free from worry and care for the remainder of her life. but despite all the promised ease and comfort, katrina had never felt so wretchedly unhappy as then, when standing there on the pier. glory goldie, seeing that her mother looked troubled, asked her if she was afraid of the water, and tried to assure her there was no danger, although it was so windy that one could hardly keep one's footing on the pier. glory goldie was accustomed to seafaring and knew what she was talking about. "these are no waves," she said to her mother. "i see of course that there are a few little whitecaps on the water, but i wouldn't be afraid to row across the lake in our old punt." glory goldie, who did not seem to mind the gale, remained on the pier. but katrina, to keep from being blown to pieces, went into the freight shed and crept into a dark corner behind a couple of packing cases. there she intended to remain until the boat arrived, as she had no desire to meet any of the parish folk before leaving. at the same time she knew in her heart that what she was doing was not right, since she was ashamed to be seen by people. she had one consolation at least; she was not going away with glory goldie because of any desire for ease and comfort, but only because her hands were failing her. what else could she do when her fingers were becoming so useless that she could not spin any more? then who should come into the shed but sexton blackie! katrina prayed god he would not see her and come up and ask her where she was going. for how would she ever be able to tell him she was leaving husband and home and everything! she had tried to bring about some arrangement whereby jan and she could stay on at the croft. if the daughter had only been willing to send them a little money--say about ten rix-dollars a month-- they could have managed fairly well. but glory would not hear of this; she had declared that not a penny would she give them unless katrina went along with her. katrina knew of course it was not from meanness that glory goldie had said no to this. the girl had been to the trouble of fitting up a home for her parents and had looked forward to a time when she could prove to them how much she thought of them, and how hard she had worked for them, and now she wanted to have with her one parent, at least, to compensate her for all her bother. jan had been uppermost in her thought when she was preparing the home, for she had been especially fond of her father in the old days. now, however, she felt it would be impossible to have him with her. herein lay the whole difficulty: glory goldie had taken a violent dislike to her father. she could not abide him now. never had he been allowed to talk with her of portugallia or of her riches and power; why, she could hardly bear the sight of him decked out in his royal trumpery. all the same jan was as pleased with her as ever he had been, and always wanted to be near her, though she only ran away from him. katrina was sure that it was to escape seeing her crazy father that the girl had not remained at home longer than a week. presently glory goldie, too, came into the freight shed. she was not afraid of sexton blackie. not she! she went right up to him and began to chat. she told him in the very first breath that she was returning to her own home and was taking her mother back with her. then sexton blackie naturally wanted to know how the father felt about this, and glory goldie informed him as calmly as though she were speaking of a stranger that she had arranged for her father to board with lisa, the daughter-in-law of ol' bengtsa. lisa had built her a fine new house after the old man's death, and she had a spare room that jan could occupy. sexton blackie had a countenance that revealed no more of his thought than he wanted to reveal. and now, as he listened to glory goldie, his face was quite impassive. just the same katrina knew what he, who was like a father to the whole parish, was thinking. "why should an old man who has a wife and daughter living be obliged to live with strangers? lisa is a good woman, but she can never have the patience with jan that his own folks had." that was what he thought. and he was right about it, too! katrina suddenly looked down at her hands. after all, perhaps she was deceiving herself in laying the blame on them. the real reason for her desertion of jan was this: the daughter had the stronger will and she seemed unable to oppose her. all this time glory goldie stood talking to the sexton. now she was telling him of their being compelled to steal away from home so that jan should not know of their leaving. this had been the most dreadful part of it to katrina. glory goldie had sent jan on an errand to the store away up in bro parish and as soon as he was gone they had packed up their belongings and left. katrina had felt like a criminal in sneaking away from the house in that way, but glory goldie had insisted it was the only thing to do. for had jan known of where they were going he would have cast himself in front of the wagon, to be trampled and run over. and now, on his return, lisa would be at the house to receive him and of course she would try her best to console him; but still it hurt to think of how hard he would take it when he learned that his daughter had left him. sexton blackie had listened quietly to glory goldie, without putting in a word. katrina had begun to wonder whether he was pleased with what he had learned, when he suddenly took the girl's hand in his and said with great gravity: "inasmuch as i am your old teacher, glory goldie, i shall speak plainly to you. you want to run away from a duty, but that does not say that you will succeed. i have seen others try to do the same thing, but it has invariably resulted in their undoing." when katrina heard this she rose and drew a breath of relief. those were the very words she herself had been wanting to say to her daughter. glory goldie answered in all meekness that she did not know what else she could have done. she certainly could not take an insane man along to a strange city, nor could she remain in svartsjö, and jan had himself to thank for that. when she went past a house the youngsters came running out shouting "empress, empress" at her, and last sunday at church the people in their eager curiosity to see her had crowded round her and all but knocked her down. "i understand that such things are very trying," said the sexton. "but between you and your father there has been an uncommonly close bond of sympathy, and you musn't think it can be so easily severed." then the sexton and glory goldie went outside. katrina followed immediately. she had altered her mind now and wanted to talk to the sexton, but stopped a moment to glance up toward the hill. she had the feeling that jan would soon be there. "are you afraid father will come?" asked glory goldie, leaving the sexton and going over to her mother. "afraid!" cried katrina. "i only hope to god he gets here before i'm gone!" then, summoning all her courage, she went on: "i feel that i have done something wicked for which i shall suffer as long as i live." "you think that only because you've had to live in gloom and misery so many years," said glory goldie. "you'll feel differently once we're away from here. anyhow, it isn't likely that father will come when he doesn't even know we've left the house." "don't be too sure of that!" returned katrina. "jan has a way of knowing all that is necessary for him to know. it has been like that with him since the day you left us, and this power of sensing things has increased with the years. when the poor man lost his reason our lord gave him a new light to be guided by." then katrina gave glory goldie a brief account of the fate of lars gunnarson and of other happenings of more recent date, to prove to her that jan was clairvoyant, as folks call it. glory goldie listened with marked attention. before katrina had tried to tell her of jan's kindness toward many poor old people, but to that she had not cared to listen. this, on the contrary, seemed to impress the girl so much that katrina began to hope the daughter's opinion of jan would change and that she, too, would turn back. but katrina was not allowed to cling to this hope long! in a moment glory goldie cried out in a jubilant voice: "here's the boat, mother! so after all it has turned out well for us, and now we'll soon be off." when katrina saw the boat at the pier her old eyes filled up. she had intended to ask sexton blackie to say a good word for jan and herself to glory goldie, but now there was no time. she saw no way of escaping the journey. the boat was evidently late, for she seemed to be in a great hurry to get away again. there was not even time to put out the gangplank. a couple of hapless passengers who had to come ashore here were almost thrown onto the pier by the sailors. glory goldie seized her mother by the arm and dragged her over to the boat, where a man lifted her on board. the old woman wept and wanted to turn back, but no pity was shown her. the instant katrina was on deck glory goldie put her arm around her, to steady her. "come, let's go over to the other side of the boat," she said. but it was too late. old katrina had just caught sight of a man running down the hill toward the pier. and she knew who it was, too! "it's jan!" she cried. "oh, what will he do now!" jan did not stop until he reached the very edge of the pier; but there he stood--a frail and pathetic figure. he saw glory goldie on the outgoing boat and greater anguish and despair than were depicted on his face could hardly be imagined. but the sight of him was all katrina needed to give her the strength to defy her daughter. "you can go if you want to," she said. "but i shall get off at the next landing and go home again." "do as you like, mother," sighed glory goldie wearily, perceiving that here was something which she could not combat. and perhaps she, too, may have felt that their treatment of the father was outrageous. no time was granted them for amends. jan did not want to lose his whole life's happiness a second time, so with a bound he leaped from the pier into the lake. perhaps he intended to swim out to the boat. or maybe he just felt that he could not endure living any longer. loud shrieks went up from the pier. instantly a boat was sent out, and the little freight steamer lay by and put out her skiff. but jan sank at once and never rose to the surface. the imperial stick and the green leather cap lay floating on the waves, but the emperor himself had disappeared so quietly, so beyond all tracing, that if these souvenirs of him had not remained on top of the water, one would hardly have believed him gone. held! it seemed extraordinary to many that glory goldie of ruffluck should have to stand at the borg pier day after day, watching for one who never came. glory goldie did not stand there waiting on fine light summer days either! she was on the pier in bleak and stormy november and in dark and cold december. nor did she have any sweet and solacing dreams about travellers from a far country who would step ashore here in pomp and state. she had eyes and thoughts only for a boat that was being rowed back and forth on the lake, just beyond the pier, dragging for the body of a drowned man. in the beginning she had thought that the one for whom she waited would be found immediately the dragging was begun. but such was not the case. day after day a couple of patient old fishermen worked with grappling hooks and dragnets, without finding a trace of the body. there were said to be two deep holes at the bottom of the lake, close to the borg pier, and some folks thought jan had gone down into one of them. others maintained there was a strong under-tow here at the point which ran farther in, toward big church inlet, and that he had been carried over there. then glory goldie had the draglines lengthened, so that they would reach down to the lowest depths of the lake, and she ordered every foot of big church inlet dragged; yet she did not succeed in bringing her father back into the light of day. on the morning following the tragic end of her father glory goldie ordered a coffin made. when it was ready she had it brought down to the pier, that she might lay the dead man in it the moment he was found. night and day it had to stand out there. she would not even have it put into the freight shed. the guard locked the shed whenever he left the pier, and the coffin had to be at hand always so that jan would not be compelled to wait for it. the old emperor used to have kind friends around him at the pier, to enliven his long waiting hours. but glory goldie nearly always tramped there alone. she spoke to no one, and folks were glad to leave her in peace, for they felt that there was something uncanny about her which had been the cause of her father's death. in december navigation closed. then glory goldie had the pier all to herself. no one disturbed her. the fishermen who were conducting the search on the lake wanted to quit now. but that put glory goldie in despair. she felt that her only hope of salvation lay in the finding of her father. she told the men they must go on with the search while the lake was still unfrozen, that they must search for him down by nygard point; by storvik point--they must search the length and breadth of all lake löven. for each day that passed glory goldie became more desperately determined to find the body. she had taken lodgings in a cotter's but at borg. in the beginning she remained indoors at least some moments during the day, but after a time her mind became prey to such intense fear that she could scarcely eat or sleep. now she paced the pier all the while--not only during the short hours of daylight but all through the long, dark evenings, until bedtime. the first two days after jan's death katrina had stayed on the pier with glory goldie, and watched for his return. then she went back to ruffluck. it was not from any feeling of indifference that she stopped coming to the pier, it was simply that she could not stand being with her daughter and hearing her speak of jan. for glory goldie did not disguise her real sentiments. katrina knew it was not from any sense of pity or remorse that glory goldie was so determined her father's body should rest in consecrated soil, but she was afraid, unreasonably afraid while the one for whose death she was responsible still lay unburied at the bottom of the lake. she felt that if she could only get her father interred in churchyard mould he would not be such a menace to her. but so long as he remained where he was she must live in constant terror of him and of the punishment he would mete out to her. glory goldie stood on the borg pier looking down at the lake, which was now gray and turgid. her gaze did not penetrate beneath the surface of the water, yet she seemed to see the whole wide expanse of lake bottom underneath. down there sat he, the emperor of portugallia, his hands clasped round his knees, his eyes fixed on the gray-green water--in constant expectation that she would come to him. his imperial regalia had been discarded, for the stick and cap had never gone down into the depths with him, and the paper stars had of course been dissolved by the water. he sat there now in his old threadbare coat with two empty hands. but there was no longer anything pretentious or ludicrous about him; now he was only powerful and awe-inspiring. it was not without reason he had called himself an emperor. so great had been his power in life that the enemy whose evil deeds he hated had been overthrown, while his friends had received help and protection. this power he still possessed. it had not gone from him even in death. only two persons had ever wronged him. one of them had already met his doom. the other one was herself--his daughter who had first driven him out of his mind and had afterward caused his death. her he bided down there in the deep. his love for her was over. now he awaited her not to render her praise and homage, but to drag her down into the realms of death, as punishment for her heartless treatment of him. glory goldie had a weird temptation: she wanted to remove the heavy coffin lid and slide the coffin into the lake, as a boat, and then to get inside and push away from shore, and afterward stretch herself out on the bed of sawdust at the bottom of the coffin. she wondered whether she would sink instantly or whether she would drift a while, until the lashing waves filled her bark and drew it under. she also thought that she might not sink at all but would be carried out to sea only to be cast ashore at one of the elm-edged points. she felt strangely tempted to put herself to the test. she would lie perfectly still the whole time, she said to herself, and use neither hand nor foot to propel the coffin. she would put herself wholly at the mercy of her judge; he might draw her down or let her escape as he willed. if she were thus to seek his indulgence perhaps his great love would again speak to her; perhaps he would then take pity on her and grant her grace. but her fear was too great. she no longer dared trust in his love, and therefore she was afraid to put the black coffin out on the lake. an old friend and schoolmate of glory goldie sought her out at this time. it was august där nol of prästerud, who was still living under the parental roof. august där nol was a quiet and sensible man whom it did her good to talk with. he advised her to go away and take up her old occupation. it was not well for her to haunt the desolate pier, watching for the return of a dead man, he said. glory goldie answered that she would not dare leave until her father had been laid in consecrated ground. but august would not hear of this. the first time he talked with her nothing was decided, but when he came again she promised to follow his advice. they parted with the understanding that he was to come for her the following day and take her to the railway station in his own carriage. had he done so possibly all would have gone smoothly. but he was prevented from coming himself and sent a hired man with the team. all the same glory goldie got into the carriage and drove off. on the way to the station she talked with the driver about her father and encouraged him to relate stories of her father's clairvoyance, the ones katrina had told her on the pier and still others. when she had listened a while she begged the driver to turn back. she had become so alarmed that she was afraid to go any farther. he was too powerful, was the old emperor of portugallia! she knew how the dead that have not been buried in churchyard mould haunt and pursue their enemies. her father would have to be brought up out of the water and laid in his coffin. god's holy word must be read over him, else she would never know a moment's peace. jan's last words along toward christmas time glory goldie received word that her mother lay at the point of death. then at last she tore herself away from the pier. she went home on foot, this being the best way to get to the ashdales--taking the old familiar road across loby, then on through the big forest and over snipa ridge. when going past the old hindrickson homestead she saw a big, broad-shouldered man, with a strong, grave-looking visage, standing at the roadside mending a picket fence. the man gave her a stiff nod as she went by. he stood still for a moment, looking after her, then hastened to overtake her. "this must be glory goldie of ruffluck," he said as he came up with her. "i'd like to have a word with you. i'm linnart, son of björn hindrickson," he added, seeing that she did not know who he was. "i'm terribly pressed for time now," glory goldie told him. "so perhaps you'd better wait till another day. i've just learned that my mother is dying." linnart hindrickson then asked if he might walk with her part of the way. he said that he had thought of going down to the pier to see her and now he did not want to miss this good opportunity of speaking with her, as it was very necessary that she should hear what he had to say. glory goldie made no further objections. she perceived, however, that the man had some difficulty in stating his business and concluded it was something of an unpleasant nature. he hemmed and hawed a while, as if trying to find the right words; presently he said, with apparent effort: "i don't believe you know, glory goldie, that i was the last person who talked with your father--the emperor, as we used to call him." "no, i did not know of this," answered the girl, at the same time quickening her steps. she was thinking to herself that this conversation was something she would rather have escaped. "one day last autumn," linnart continued, "while i was out in the yard hitching up a horse to drive over to the village shop, i saw the emperor come running down the road; he seemed in a great hurry, but when he espied me he stopped and asked if i had seen the empress drive by. i couldn't deny that i had. then he burst out crying. he had been on his way to broby, he said, but such a strange feeling of uneasiness had suddenly come over him that he had to turn back, and when he reached home he found the hut deserted. katrina was also gone. he felt certain his wife and daughter were leaving by the boat and he didn't know how he should ever be able to get down to the borg pier before they were gone." glory goldie stood stock still. "you let him ride with you, of course?" she said. "oh, yes," replied linn art. "jan once did me a good turn and i wanted to repay it. perhaps i did wrong in giving him a lift?" "no, indeed!" said glory goldie. "it was i who did wrong in attempting to leave him." "he wept like a child the whole time he sat in the wagon. i didn't know what to do to comfort him, but at last i said, 'don't cry like that, jan! we'll surely overtake her. besides, these little freight steamers that run in the autumn are never on time.' no sooner had i said that than he laid his hand on my arm and asked me if i thought they would be harsh and cruel toward the empress--those who had carried her off." "those who had carried me off!" repeated glory goldie in astonishment. "i was as much astonished at that as you are," linnart declared, "and i asked him what he meant. well, he meant those who had lain in wait for the empress while she was at home--all the enemies of whom glory goldie had been so afraid that she had not dared to put on her gold crown or so much as mention portugallia, and who had finally overpowered her and carried her into captivity." "so that was it!" "yes, just that. you understand of course that your father did not weep because he had been deserted and left alone, but because he thought you were in peril." it had been a little hard for linnart to come out with the last few words; they wanted to stick in his throat. perhaps he was thinking of old björn hindrickson and himself, for there was that in his own life which had taught him the true worth of a love that never fails you. but glory goldie did not yet understand. she had thought of her father only with aversion and dread since her return and muttered something about his being a madman. linnart heard what she said, and it hurt him. "i'm not so sure that jan was mad!" he retorted. "i told him that i hadn't seen any gaolers around glory goldie. 'my good linnart,' he then said, 'didn't you notice how closely they guarded her when she drove by? they were pride and hardness, lust and vice, all the enemies she has to battle against back there in her empire.'" glory goldie stopped a moment and turned toward linnart. "well?" was all she said. "i replied that these enemies i, too, had seen," returned linnart hindrickson curtly. the girl gave a short laugh. "but instantly i regretted having said that," pursued the man. "for then jan cried out in despair: 'oh, pray to god, my dear linnart, that i may be able to save the little girl from all evil! it doesn't matter what becomes of me, just so she is helped.'" glory goldie did not speak, but walked on hurriedly. something had begun to pull and tear at her heart strings--something she was trying to force back. she knew that if that which lay hidden within should burst its bonds and come to the surface, she would break down completely. "and those were jan's last words," said linnart. "it wasn't long after that before he proved that he meant what he said. don't think for a moment that jan jumped into the lake to get away from his own sorrow; it was only to rescue glory goldie from her enemies that he plunged in after the boat." glory goldie tramped on, faster and faster. her father's great love from first to last now stood revealed to her. but she could not bear the thought of it and wanted to put it behind her. "we keep pretty well posted in this parish as to one another's doings," linnart continued. "there was much ill feeling against you at first, after the emperor was drowned. i for my part considered you unworthy to receive his farewell message. but we all feel differently now; we like your staying down at the pier to watch for him." then glory goldie stopped short. her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed with indignation. "i stay down there only because i'm afraid of him," she said. "you have never wanted to appear better than you are. we know that. but we understand perhaps better than you yourself do what lies back of this waiting. we have also had parents and we haven't always treated them right, either." glory goldie was so furious that she wanted to say something dreadful to make linnart hush, but somehow she couldn't. all she could do was to run away from him. linnart hindrickson made no attempt to follow her further. he had said what he wanted to say and he was not displeased with that morning's work. the passing of katrina katrina lay on the bed in the little hut at ruffluck croft, the pallor of death on her face, her eyes closed. it looked as if the end had already come. but the instant glory goldie reached her bedside and stood patting her hand, she opened her eyes and began to speak. "jan wants me with him," she said, with great effort. "he doesn't hold it against me that i deserted him." glory goldie started. now she knew why her mother was dying; she who had been faithful a lifetime was grieving herself to death for having failed jan at the last. "why should you have to fret your heart out over that, when i was the one who forced you to leave him?" said glory goldie. "just the same the memory of it has been so painful," replied katrina. "but now all is well again between jan and me." then she closed her eyes and lay very still, and into her thin, wan face came a faint light of happiness. soon she began to speak again, for there were things which had to be said; she could not find peace until they were said. "don't be so angry with jan for running after you! he meant only well by you. things have never been right with you since you and he first parted, and he knew it, too, nor with him either. you both went wrong, each in your own way." glory goldie had felt that her mother would say something of this sort, and had steeled herself beforehand. but her mother's words moved her more than she realized, and she tried to say something comforting. "i shall think of father as he was in the old days. you remember what good friends we always were at that time." katrina seemed to be satisfied with the response, for she settled back to rest once more. apparently she had not intended to say anything further. then, all at once, she looked up at her daughter and gave her a smile that bespoke rare tenderness and affection. "i'm so glad, glory goldie, that you have grown beautiful again," she said. for that smile and those words all glory goldie's self-control gave way; she fell upon her knees beside the low bedstead, and wept. it was the first time since her homecoming that she had shed real tears. "mother, i don't know how you can feel toward me as you do!" cried the girl. "it's all my fault that you are dying, and i'm to blame for father's death, too." katrina, smiling all the while, moved her hands in a little caress. "you are so good, mother," said glory goldie through her sobs. "you are so good to me!" katrina gripped hard her daughter's hand and raised herself in bed, to give her final testimony. "all, that is good in me i have learned from jan," she declared. after which she sank back on her pillow and said nothing more that was clear or sensible. the death struggle had begun, and the next morning she passed away. but all through the final agony glory goldie lay weeping on the floor beside her mother's bed; she wept away her anguish; her fever-dreams; her burden of guilt. there was no end to her tears. the burial of the emperor it was on the sunday before christmas they were to bury katrina of ruffluck. usually on that particular sabbath the church attendance is very poor, as most people like to put off their church-going until the great holy day services. when the few mourners from the ashdales drove into the pine grove between the church and the town hall, they were astonished. for such crowds of people as were assembled there that sunday were rarely seen even when the dean of bro came to svartsjö once a year, to preach, or at a church election. it went without saying that it was not for the purpose of following old katrina to her grave that every one to a man turned out. something else must have brought them there. possibly some great personage was expected at the church, or maybe some clergyman other than the regular pastor was going to preach, thought the ashdales folk, who lived in such an out-of-the-way corner that much could happen in the parish without their ever hearing of it. the mourners drove up to the cleared space behind the town hall, where they stepped down from the wagons. here, as in the grove, they found throngs of people, but otherwise they saw nothing out of the ordinary. their astonishment increased, but they felt loath to question any one as to what was going on; for persons who drive in a funeral procession are expected to keep to themselves and not to enter into conversation with those who have no part in the mourning. the coffin was removed from the hearse and placed upon two black trestles which had been set up just outside the town hall, where the body and those who had come with it were to remain until the bells began to toll and the pastor and the sexton were ready to go with them to the churchyard. it was a stormy day. rain came down in lashing showers and beat against the coffin. one thing was certain: it could never be said that fine weather had brought all these people out. but that day nobody seemed to mind the rain and wind. people stood quietly and patiently under the open sky without seeking the shelter of either the church or the town hall. the six pall-bearers and others who had gathered around katrina noticed that there were two trestles there besides those on which her coffin rested. then there was to be another burial that day. this they had not known of before. yet no funeral procession could be seen approaching. it was already so late that it should have been at the church by that time. when it was about ten minutes of ten o'clock and time to be moving toward the churchyard, the ashdales folk noticed that every one withdrew in the direction of the där nol home, which was only two minutes' walk from the church. they saw then what they had not observed before, that the path leading from the town hall to the house of där nol was strewn with spruce twigs and that a spruce tree had been placed at either side of the gate. then it was from there a body was to be taken. they wondered why nothing had been said about a death in a family of such prominence. besides, there were no sheets put up at the windows, as there should be in a house of mourning. then, in a moment, the front doors opened and a funeral party emerged. first came august där nol, carrying a crêped mace. behind him walked the six pall-bearers with the casket. and now all the people who had been standing outside the church fell into line behind this funeral party. then it was in order to do honour to _this_ person they had come. the coffin was carried down to the town hall and placed beside the one already there. august där nol arranged the trestles so that the two coffins would rest side by side. the second coffin was not so new and shiny as katrina's. it looked as if it had been washed by many rains, and had seen rough handling, for it was both scratched and broken at the edges. all the folk from the ashdales suddenly caught their breath. for then they knew it was not a där nol that lay in this coffin! and they also knew that it was not for the sake of some stranger of exalted rank that so many people had come out to church. instantly every one looked at glory goldie, to see whether she understood. it was plain she did. glory goldie, pale and heart-broken, had been standing all the while by her mother's coffin, and as she recognized the one that had been brought from the där nol home she was beside herself with joy as one becomes when gaining something for which one has long been striving. however, she immediately controlled her emotion. then, smiling wistfully, she lightly stroked the lid of katrina's coffin. "now it has turned out as well for you as ever you could have wished," she seemed to be saying to her dead mother. august där nol then stepped up to glory goldie and took her by the hand. "no doubt this arrangement is satisfactory to you," he said. "we found him only last friday. i thought it would be easier for you this way." glory goldie stammered a few words, but her lips quavered so that she could hardly be understood. "thanks. it's all right. i know he has come to mother, and not to me." "he has come to you both, be assured of that, glory goldie!" said august där nol. the old mistress of falla, who was now well on toward eighty and bowed down by the weight of many sorrows, had come to the funeral out of regard for katrina, who for many years had been her faithful servant and friend. she had brought with her the imperial cap and stick, which had been returned to her after jan's death. she intended to place them in the grave with katrina, thinking the old woman would like to have with her some reminder of jan. presently glory goldie turned to the old mistress of falla and asked her for the imperial regalia, and then she stood the long stick up against jan's coffin and set the cap on top of the stick. every one understood that she was sorry now that she had not wanted jan to deck himself out in these emblems of royalty and was trying to make what slight amends she could. there is so little that one can do for the dead! instantly the stick was placed there the bells in the church tower began ringing and the pastor, the sexton, and the verger came out from the vestry and took their places at the head of the funeral procession. the rain came in showers that day, but it happened, luckily, that there was a let-up while the people formed into line--menfolk first, then womenfolk--to follow the two old peasants to their grave. those who lined up looked a little surprised at their being there, for they did not feel any grief, nor did they care especially to honour either of the dead. it was simply this: when the news was spread throughout the parish that jan of ruffluck had come back just in time to be buried with katrina they had all felt that there was something singularly touching and miraculous about this, which made them want to come and see the old couple reunited in death. and of course no one dreamed that the same thought would occur to so many others. they felt that this was almost too much of a demonstration for a couple of poor and lowly cotters. people glanced at one another rather shamefacedly; but now that they were there, there was nothing to do but go along to the churchyard. then, as it occurred to them that this was just what the emperor of portugallia would have liked, they smiled to themselves. two mace-bearers (for there was also one from the ashdales) walked in front of the coffins, and the whole parish marched in the funeral procession. it could not have been better had the emperor himself arranged for it. and they were not altogether certain that the whole thing was not his doing. he had become so wonderful after his death, had the old emperor. he must have had a purpose in letting his daughter wait for him; a purpose in rising up out of the deep at just the right time--as sure as fate! when they had all come up to the wide grave and the coffins had been lowered into it, the sexton sang "my every step leads to the grave." sexton blackie was now an old man. his singing reminded glory goldie of that of another old man, to whom she had not wanted to listen. and the recollection of this brought with it bitter anguish; she pressed her hands to her heart and closed her eyes, so as not to betray her sufferings. and while she stood thus she saw before her her father as he had been in her childhood, when he and she were such good friends and comrades. she recognized his face as she had seen it one sunday morning after a blizzard, when the road was knee-deep with snow and he had to carry her to church. she saw him again as he appeared the sunday she went to church in the red dress. no one had ever looked kinder or happier than jan did then. but after that day there had been no more happiness for him, and she had never been quite contented either. she strove to hold this face before her eyes. it did her good. there rose up in her such a strong wave of tenderness as she looked at it! that face only wished her well. it was not something to be feared. this was just the old kind-hearted jan of ruffluck. he would never sit in judgment upon her; he would not bring misfortune and suffering upon his only child. glory goldie had found peace. she had come into a world of love now that she could see her father as he was. she wondered how she could ever have imagined that he hated her; he, who only wanted to forgive! wherever she was or wherever she went he would be there to protect her; he had no thought or wish but that. again she felt the great tenderness well up in her heart like a mighty wave-filling her whole being. then she knew that all was well again between her father and her; that he and she were one, as in the old days. now that she loved him, there was nothing to be atoned. glory goldie awoke as from a dream. while she had stood looking into her father's kindly face the pastor had performed the burial service. now he was addressing a few remarks to the people; he thanked them, one and all, for coming to this funeral. it was no great or distinguished man that had just been laid to rest, he said, but he was perhaps one who had borne the richest and warmest heart in these regions. when the pastor said this the people again glanced at one another. and now every one looked pleased and satisfied. the parson was right: it was because of jan's great heart they had come to the funeral. then the pastor spoke a few words to glory goldie. he said that she had received greater love from her parents than had any one he knew of, and that such love could only turn to blessing. at this everybody looked over at glory goldie, and they all marvelled at what they saw. the pastor's saying had already come true. for there, at the grave of her parents, stood glory goldie sunnycastle, who had been named by the sun itself, shining like one transfigured! she was as beautiful now as on that sunday when she came to church in the red dress, if not more beautiful. [transcriber's note: some words which appear to be typos or misspelled are printed thus in the original book.] the home in the valley. by emilie f. carlÉn, author of "one year of wedlock," "the whimsical woman," "gustavus lindorm," etc. etc. from the original swedish by elbert perce. new york charles scribner, nassau-street. . entered according to act of congress in the year , by charles scribner, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of new york. tobitt's combination-type, william st. translator's preface a few years ago, mrs. carlén was comparatively unknown to readers in this country; but the marked success which followed the publication of "one year of wedlock" encouraged the translator in the endeavor to present that lady's works to the american public. in her writings mrs. carlén exhibits a versatility which may be considered remarkable. while in one book she revels in descriptions of home-scenes and characters, in another she presents her readers with events and incidents that bear a strong resemblance to the startling and melo-dramatic productions of many of the modern romance writers of france. this peculiarity, however, may be accounted for by the fact that she writes--as she herself confesses--entirely from impulse. when her mind is clouded by sorrow--and she has been oppressed with many bitter griefs--she seeks to remove the cause of her despondency by creating a hero or heroine, afflicted like herself, and following this individual through a train of circumstances which, she imagines, would naturally occur during a life of continued gloom and sorrow. on the other hand, when life appears bright and beautiful to her, then she tells a tale of joy; a story of domestic life, for where does pure happiness exist except at the fireside at home? it must have been during one of these bright intervals of her life that mrs. carlén wrote "the home in the valley," for the work is a continued description of the delights of home, which, although occasionally obscured by grief, and in some instances, by folly, are rendered still more precious by their brief absence. _new york_, august th, . chapter i. the valley. in one of father la fontaine's books, may be found a description of a lovely valley, the residence of a beautiful and modest maiden, and of the heroine of this arcadia he writes: "there stands our heroine, as lovely as the valley, her home, and as virtuous and good as her mother, who has devoted a lifetime to the education of her daughter." but with the history of this maiden he weaves the workings of an evil genius, which in the end is triumphant; for even the pure are contaminated after they arrive at that period when they consider that vice has its virtues. our story is located near the beautiful lake wenner, in a valley which much resembles that described by la fontaine. as we enter this valley, the first object that meets our view is a small red-colored cottage. a vine twines itself gracefully over one of the windows, the glass panes of which glisten through the green leaves, which slightly parted, disclose the sober visage of an ancient black cat, that is demurely looking forth upon the door yard. she has chosen a sunny spot on the window sill, for the cheering beams of the sun are as grateful to a cat, as is the genial warmth of the stove to an old man, when winter has resumed his sway upon earth. if we should enter the cottage, we would in all probability find the proprietor of the little estate seated in his old arm-chair, while his daughter-in-law--but more of this anon. from the cottage the ground descended in a slight slope, which terminated in a white sandy beach at the margin of the lake. near the beach were fastened the small skiffs, which swayed to and fro amongst the rushes, where the children delighted to sail their miniature ships. from the rear of the house the little valley extended itself in undulating fields and meadows, interspersed with barren hillocks and thrifty potato patches. in the fields could be heard the tinkling of the cow-bells, the bleating of lambs, and the barking of a dog as he gathered together his little flock. carlo was a fortunate dog, for the farm was so small that he could keep his entire charge within sight at all times. near the centre of the valley stood a large tree, the widely spread branches of which shaded a spring, which gushed forth from beneath a huge moss-covered stone. this was the favorite place of resort of a beautiful maiden, who might be seen almost every summer evening reclining upon the moss that bordered the verge of the spring. "there stands our heroine, as lovely as the valley, her home, and as virtuous and good as her mother, who has devoted a lifetime to the education of her daughter." but many years before the date of our story, nanna had lost the protection of her beloved mother; yet the loss had been partially supplied by her sister-in-law, who occupied the places of a kind mother, a gentle sister, and a faithful friend. nanna was now in her sixteenth year; but to all appearances she was much younger. unlike others of her years, her cheeks did not display the bloom of maidenhood, and her countenance lacked the vivacity natural to her age. her features wore an expression of melancholy, which was perfectly in keeping with the pallor of her cheeks, the pearly whiteness of which vied in brilliancy with the hue of a lily. nanna was the child of poverty, and belonged to that class of beings, who, situated between riches and nobility on the one hand, and poverty on the other, are considered as upstarts by the wealthy as well as the poor. nanna's father, when young, was placed in an entirely different position of life than that in which we now find him. an illegitimate son, he entered the world with a borrowed title, but with fair prospects for the future; for his father, a man of consequence and wealth, intended to marry his mother, and thus the son would bear no longer the stigma of his father's crime. but death, who in this case had been forgotten, suddenly cut the thread of his father's life, and the mother and son were driven forth from the house of their protector, deprived of honor, wealth, and station. this is an old, very old and thread-bare story, and not more novel is that which generally follows. first comes melancholy, then great exertions on the part of the injured party; next dashed hope, and finally gloomy resignation. the mother died, the son lived to pass through the life we have above described, but which was ended, however, by matrimony. he married after he had passed his fortieth year. before his marriage, carl lonner passed through the various gradations in society, from the nobleman to the simple gentleman. he supported himself by revenues he derived from a small business, and by drawing up legal papers for the surrounding peasantry and fishermen. for a wife he had chosen the daughter of a half pay sergeant, and in this case his fortunate star was in the ascendant, for she not only brought him a loving heart, but also the little farm on which he resided at the date of our story. we will now, however, turn our attentions to nanna, who is sitting beneath the tree near the spring, in which she has been bathing her feet. * * * * * as nanna glanced into the clear water of the spring, she shuddered convulsively, although the air was warm, for it was a june evening, but it was a shudder from within that shook her slight form. nanna had lately perceived that her dear sister-in-law, magde, when she thought herself unseen, had shed tears, and the poor girl's heart beat with a sensation of undefined fear, for when magde weeps, thought she, there must have been a great cause. "why is the world so formed as it is? some flowers are so modest and little that they would be trodden under foot unless great care is taken, while others elevate their great and gaudy heads above the grass. the latter are the rich, while the little down-trodden blossoms are the poor. and so it is with even the birds! one is greater than the other, and mankind is not behind them. we belong to the poor; there," she continued, turning her deep eyes towards a distant point in the horizon, on the other side of the lake, "there lives the rich; they take no notice of us. even the poor fishermen and peasants say, 'our children cannot be the play-fellows of mademoiselle nanna.' mademoiselle, mademoiselle," she repeated slowly, "it is shameful to call me so! and how much better it would be to call magde good mother, than to give her the title of my lady! to be poor is not so bad, but to be friendless is bitter indeed." as she thus sat, with her eyes fixed mournfully upon the distant object which was the roof of an elegant house, which was barely visible over the brow of a hill, she was startled by the noise of approaching footsteps. she had scarcely cast her mantle over her white shoulders, which she had uncovered during her ablutions, when, to her great astonishment, she discovered a stranger rapidly approaching towards her. he was clothed in a light frock coat; a knapsack was fastened upon his shoulders, and in his hand he swung a knotted stick. nanna had never before beheld a personage who resembled the stranger. his face, browned in the sun, until it resembled that of a gipsy, wore an honest and frank expression, and his dark curling hair, which fell in thick clusters from his black felt hat, added to the pleasing aspect of his countenance. nanna, who at her first glance at the youth, had thought him a gipsy, which wild tribe she greatly feared, was reassured by a second look. the stranger, on his side, appeared greatly astonished at the sudden appearance of the beautiful water nymph, for such a goddess nanna much resembled, as she stood, with her garments flowing gracefully around her slight figure; her tiny white feet playing with the moist grass, and her pale and mournful face, encircled with golden locks, that fell negligently upon her white and well rounded shoulders. the youth thus addressed her: "pardon me, lovely naiad. it appears that i have taken the wrong path, although i supposed that i had chosen the right direction." "whither are you going?" inquired nanna, in a voice sweet and melodious. "to almvik," replied the stranger. "alas!" said the maid, casting a peculiar glance at his knapsack, "i hoped that you were not a member of the aristocracy." "oh, my little sylph, for i know not what else to call you, is my face so poor a recommendation, that i cannot be considered a man because i carry a pack on my back?" "are those of noble birth the only men?" inquired nanna, and a gloomy expression fell upon her lips, which a moment before had been illumined with a sunny smile. "ah," replied the youth, "the longer i gaze upon your dear face, the more i esteem you. far be it from me to wound your sensitive nature. if it will comfort you, i will say that no man can long more earnestly than i do for the time when all mankind shall be equal." "do you speak from your heart?" "i do, earnestly; but tell me your name." "nanna, nanna of the valley, i am called." "that is poetical; but have you no other name?" "i am sometimes called mademoiselle nanna; but that grieves me, for we are poor people." "ah! i thought that you were something more than a peasant girl. pardon me, i have spoken too familiarly. i knew not your station." "familiarly!" "i addressed you too warmly." "your words sounded well when you thus spoke." "possibly; but henceforth i shall address you as mademoiselle nanna." "shall we then see each other again?" "yes, yes, quite probably--we are to be neighbors." "you intend, then, to reside at almvik?" "yes, for a few weeks, perhaps during the whole summer; but i pray you come with me a few steps on my road, i need your guidance." nanna sprang to her feet, and as she stood before the young man, her eyes sparkling with unusual brilliancy, her garments falling in graceful folds over her sylph-like limbs, he gazed at her as if enchained by her almost superhuman beauty. to the youthful stranger's request she answered by putting her little white feet in such active motion, that they seemed to tread upon the air instead of the green sward. chapter ii. the cottage. the interior of the little building to which we now turn, was thus arranged: the ground floor was divided into a kitchen and three other apartments, viz:--a middle sized room, by favor called the parlor, in which was generally the dwelling place of the family, and a small chamber on either side of the parlor. one of these was the bed-chamber of carl lonner, and the other was occupied by his eldest son and his wife. the upper story, that is, the attic, contained two divisions, and the sole dominion of these airy apartments was granted to two younger members of the family; the front room belonging to nanna, and the other to her brother carl, known in the neighborhood by the nick-name of "wiseacre," and under certain circumstances as "crazy carl," although it would have been difficult to find throughout the entire neighborhood a personage wiser than honest carl. throughout the entire building the marks of poverty were plainly evident; but at the same time each object presented a tidy and cleanly appearance and although the cottage lacked many luxuries, still comfort seemed to reign supreme. the rush covered floor; the table, polished to brightness; and the flower vases, filled with odorous boquets of lilacs, the neat window curtains, the handicraft of nanna, the crimson sofa curtain, embroidered by the thrifty magde, all combined, proved that the inmates of the cottage, had not only the taste, but also the inclination to render home pleasant even under the most adverse circumstances. * * * * * at the time that nanna had started forth as a guide to the youthful stranger, old mr. lonner was seated near the side of his bed in his private apartment. although weighed down by age and the grief that had oppressed his early life, he nevertheless possessed that gentleness and sociability, which had ever been the characteristic traits of his life. his flowing white locks fell around his countenance, from which the traces of manly beauty had not been entirely eradicated, and as he smoked his pipe with an air of dignified pleasure, he would occasionally glance towards a young matron, who, seated in a large arm chair, was reading aloud a letter to him. the letter bore the postmark of goteborg, and was written by the old man's eldest son, ragnar lonner, the husband of the matron. he was mate of a trading vessel, and three months before had bidden farewell to his wife and family. as she continued reading the letter, three children who had been playing, commenced a little dispute about the proprietorship of a large apple. in an opposite corner carl had stationed himself. he was a full grown youth with a face bearing an expression of mingled silliness and wisdom.--as he glanced from under his long hair, first at the bed-quilt, then at the quarrelling children, he paid close attention to all that his sister-in-law was reading aloud. carl was not the simpleton people considered him, although his highest ambition appeared to consist in erecting dirt houses and making mud-pies. "magde," said the old man, casting a glance of affection upon the vivacious magdalena. "you had better read that letter again. ragnar is a son who has his heart in the right place." "and a husband too!" added magde, and a flush of joyful pride overspread her blooming cheeks. "yes, and a brother also; read the letter once more, it will be none the less pleasant to read it a third time when nanna returns." magde, who had not refolded the letter, commenced reading again, and her voice trembled with pride and emotion as she read as follows:-- "beloved magde: "when you shall break the seal of this letter, i feel assured that you will wish you possessed wings that you might be enabled to fly to your loving husband. and as i think i see you approaching me through the air, surrounded by our little angels,--may god protect them,--the tears start to my eyes, tears which no man should be ashamed to shed, and i feel an inward desire to hasten to meet you. "but now, dear magde, i must control my thoughts, and so direct them to you, that they shall prove intelligible. i arrived, on the eighth day of this month, at goteborg, in safety and in good health. i hope our father is well and capable of enjoying as usual, the balmy air and bright verdure of summer. "our little cottage is a pleasant residence, in spite of all its disadvantages, and i feel assured that both yourself and nanna do all that lies in your power to cheer our mutual parent, when he is sick and dispirited. "one night while our vessel was lying in the canal, i was visited by an evil dream, but dreams are empty and meaningless, and i hope that no more of my disagreeable fancies will be realized than that you at home, may experience a little anxiety and solicitude concerning the welfare of the absent one. "the spring of the year is always the most severe season, for winter consumes the harvest of the preceding summer. "well, we have many mouths to feed--god protect our children.--when they are older they will work for us. it was my intention to send you a small sum of money in this letter; but i was obliged to wait until jon jonson, who is here at present with his sloop, shall commence his homeward voyage, for i can place no dependence upon young rask to whom i am obliged to entrust this letter, as he might be tempted on his way to the post office to enter a beer-house, and there lose the money. i am forced to send rask to the office, as i am obliged to remain on the vessel until it is unloaded. "i will tell you in advance that i shall not be able to send you a large amount of money; but instead of that, i shall forward you when jonson returns, a quantity of foreign goods which i have been fortunate enough to purchase and to place on board his sloop without paying the duty, which you know is heavy. it consists of sugar, coffee, tobacco, cotton yarn, and a package of silks. "you, my dear wife, must select the best, a silk shawl which you will find in the package. nanna may have the next best shawl, and you may give carl the blue handkerchief which is at the bottom of the parcel. i have not forgotten father. i shall send him a small cask of liquor, and in the parcel of silks you will find a bundle of toys for the children. "you cannot imagine--but still you must--how pleasant it is to deprive oneself of luxuries that you may provide for the wants of those whom you have left at home. "my ship-mates frequently say that i am severe towards them when at sea, perhaps i am; but it grieves me when i see those noble men, so skillful in the management of our vessel, lavish their money when on shore in foolish pleasures. they have as great reason to be economical as i have myself, and i cannot resist from occasionally censuring them, and therefore i may not appear so kind to them as i am to you when at home, or while i am writing this letter. although all my efforts may be fruitless, still i feel assured that there is not one man amongst them who would not peril his existence to rescue 'the tiger,' as they call me, from any danger. they well know that i would not stop to think, but would spring into the ocean at once, if it was necessary, to rescue them. "but, my dear magde, a word in confidence. i am neither as wise or as well educated as my father was in his younger days, yet i would not wound your feelings either by word or action; but i must inform you that a rumor has reached my ears about a certain man, whose neck i once would have twisted willingly, because, when in church, he looked at you oftener than he did at the minister. "but if, when i return, i discover that that villain from almvik has been poaching on my grounds, he must look to safety. in you, magde, i can place all confidence, and shall therefore say nothing further. and now farewell. remember me firstly to my father, and then to my sister, and my children. "your faithful husband, "ragnar lonner. "p.s. during the soft moonlight nights, when on my watch, i see your form, dear magde, bright and beautiful, as i look over the wake of the vessel. and when the night is dark and cloudy, i see you sitting by my side, the binnacle light shining upon your pleasant face, which is illumined with smiles as i gaze upon little conrad, whom i imagine a fine full grown lad, climbing the shrouds with all the eagerness of a competent sailor. but, belay, otherwise my letter will be under sail again." when magde read the portion of her husband's letter which he had intended as confidential, her voice trembled as it did when she had first read the letter. "it would have been my desire," said she, "that ragnar had sent the money in the letter. it has been more than three weeks, dear father, since you have partaken of other food than fish, bread and potatoes. ah! i wish we had a quarter of beef!" "o, stop your prating, child! fish is very good food indeed." "but not strengthening. how delicious it would be if we only had a partridge, or even a rabbit. certainly they would not cost much! but who dare think of such luxuries? all delicacies must be sent to almvik." "god grant that we may have nothing worse to expect from almvik, than that they should prevent us from enjoying luxuries that poor people cannot expect to procure." "o, that is not my opinion. in winter-time, when ragnar is at home, he procures us many a savory dish with his gun." "yes, but i think that if ragnar has disturbed the hunting grounds of almvik, he may consider himself fortunate if the proprietor has not poached upon his own premises in return. the affairs of almvik are far differently conducted than they were formerly, under the sway of the ancient proprietor." during their conversation the old man and magde had taken no notice of carl, who, while he listened to their words, contorted his face in such a manner that it would have been difficult to decide whether he was laughing or crying. he placed his hands over his face; but between his fingers his eyes could be seen peering out with a peculiar expression at magde. "i will no longer feign ignorance of your meaning, father," replied magde, with a visible effort to suppress her anger. "it is true that in words, and even in actions, he has conducted himself with more presumption than he would have dared to assume last winter; but fear not, i well know how to protect the honor of my name." "and as you thus speak you vainly endeavor to conceal your emotions," said the old man suspiciously. "do not think that he has endeavored to plant his snare for a simple dove. when he would snatch his prize, he may learn that i possess both beak and talons." "well, my child," replied mr. lonner, with a laugh, "it is a fortunate chance that you are the daughter of a father who was a man of the world; but your birth entitled you to a higher position in life than that which you now occupy." "you speak strangely, father." "why, you might have married mr. trystedt who possessed riches and lands, while now you live in absolute poverty." "why should you think of that? is it not better to live in poverty with love, than to possess untold riches without love? does the whole earth contain a better husband than my ragnar? is he not a skillful sailor? i have no doubt but that had he not been married he would long ago have been promoted to a captaincy. he is a thousand times more of a gentleman, at any time, than that old trystedt, who was a torment to all he whom he met." "thank god! if you are satisfied, then all is right, and even if we are at present in straightened circumstances all will be made right when jonson arrives. i hope that he will be careful of the goods entrusted to him." a slight noise in an adjoining room, notified the mother that her infant child had awakened. she instantly arose and left the apartment. magde was a dignified and elegant woman, although her countenance was pleasing rather than beautiful, and as she moved towards the door the old man's eyes followed her with a gaze of admiration and love. chapter iii. husband and wife. about a half a mile from the valley--the name of which we shall conceal, as many personages who are to play a part in our little story are still living--was situated the estate of almvik, which the present proprietor fabian h----, had purchased one year before, and had immediately removed thither with his family. mr. h----, and above all his puissant wife mistress ulrica eugenia, her proper name, but which she had afterwards tortured into the more refined patronymic, ulrique eugenie--were individuals who moved in the higher classes of society, at least he who should endeavor to prove to the contrary would find the task a thankless one. mr. fabian h----, imagined himself a second brutus, that is to say; he was fully convinced that the time would certainly arrive when he should arouse himself from his present listlessness; when he should be released from the thraldom of his wife, and awaken to renewed strength and vigor. but it was much to be feared that poor brutus never would realize his bright anticipations of liberty. mistress ulrica eugenia was characterized by a strong desire to assist in the work of emancipating women from the tyranny of men, and that she might forward the good work she had entirely set at naught the command that a wife should obey her husband; she openly declared that the ancient law which compelled the woman to subserve to the man, was but a concoction of man himself, that the bible itself never contained such an absurd command, but that the translators, who she triumphantly affirmed were men, had placed that law in the scripture, merely to suit their own selfish ends. she also affirmed that she would stake her life upon the issue that she would not find, even if she should search the scriptures through, such an absurd command. and she was right. _she_ would not find it. in the immediate neighborhood of almvik, mr. h---- was reverenced as a wealthy nobleman, and a man of power. he wished to be considered a hospitable man, and frequently rejoiced his neighbors with invitations to visit his beautiful estate. to him strangers were godsends. he entertained them to the best of his ability, invited the neighbors to see them, and although his little soirees were very pleasant, still, as the guests were drawn from all classes of society, many amusing scenes were enacted, in all of which, mistress ulrica eugenia performed a prominent and independent part. although mrs. ulrica had liberated herself from all obedience to her legal master, and had in fact assumed the reins of government herself, she nevertheless possessed some, if not a great deal of affection for the rosy cheeks and sleepy eyes of her husband, and at the same time she kept a watchful eye upon those whom she suspected of partaking with her in this sentiment. not only was mrs. h---- occasionally aggravated by the pangs of jealousy, but she was also tormented by the thought that her husband entirely confided in her own fidelity, thus at once cutting off the possibility of a love quarrel and a reconciliation. upon the evening when we first made the personal acquaintance of the inmates of almvik, mr. h---- and his wife were riding out in their gig; for in the morning they rode in a light hunting wagon, and at noon they used the large family coach. mr. h----, immediately before starting forth on the ride had received a severe lecture from his spouse, because he indulged in an afternoon's nap, instead of devising means for the amusement of the family, that is, of the worthy dame herself, and their only treasure, the little eugene ulrich, and mr. h----, we say, never felt inclined for sprightly conversation after such a lecture. he well knew that he would be obliged to succumb in everything; but like a stubborn boy, who is punished by being compelled to stand in a corner until shame forces him to submit, mr. h---- determined, to speak figuratively--to stand silently in that corner the entire day rather than to acknowledge himself conquered. that was, at least, one point gained, towards his emancipation. it cannot but be supposed, however, that, if the lecture had been upon any other subject less trivial than the mere act of sleeping, mr. h---- would have undoubtedly acted in an entirely different manner. at least that is the only excuse we can find for his conduct on this occasion. "well," said mistress ulrica, straightening herself up in her seat with the utmost dignity, "upon my honor, mr. h----, you are a _very_ agreeable companion." "i am obliged to be careful while driving." "is it necessary that you should sit there as dumb as a fence post?" no reply. "well, i must say that your sulkiness is not to be envied. suppose some one should see us--i mean you--why they would readily believe that your wife was an old woman." "now, now, my dear ulrique eugenie, don't--" "your dear ulrique eugenie is not yet thirty eight years old, and even though you are two years younger, i do not think that should make any difference." "on the contrary, on the contrary," grumbled her husband, chuckling inwardly. "i do not know but what your words have a double meaning; but fabian, _we_ must not quarrel, let us become reconciled, there is my hand." "your heart ever overflows with the milk of human kindness, my dear," said he. "thank you, my dear husband,--but can you imagine what i really intended to say?" "indeed i cannot." "i intended to say, should you ever cast your eyes upon another--" "god forbid!" "you may well say god forbid, am i not your wife, who will not allow her rights to be trodden under foot?" "am i not aware of that?" "even if you are, my dear, there is no harm in my saying that if i should discover the slightest cause which would arouse my suspicion i would scratch out your eyes!" "sweet _ulgenie_!" _ulgenie_, a word which the reader will observe, is compounded from the words ulrica and eugenie, was one of those contorted terms of endearment, which mrs. h---- permitted her husband to use during their moments of tenderness. should he wish to address her in an extremely affectionate manner, he would term her his "pet ulte," an expression which had also originated in the fertile mind of the loving wife! on this occasion the husband considered the first expression sufficiently affectionate, and in all probability many tender recollections were associated with those three syllables, for no sooner had he uttered the name "ulgenie," than she cast her eyes downward with an unusual gentle expression, and in a changed tone of voice, she whispered:-- "never again my dearest husband shall we differ in our opinions. equality in marriage renders it a useful institution; but to change the subject, it is long since you have made any hunting excursions, dear fabian, to-morrow you must go." as mistress ulrica was determined that her husband should become a skillful sportsman, she gave him rest neither night nor day, unless he devoted at least two days of the week to hunting or fishing excursions. not that mr. h---- was a sportsman; but that it afforded his wife great pleasure to inform her guests, that a certain moorcock was killed by her dear fabian, or that he had caught the pike which then graced their table, for, she would add complacently, her fabian was well aware that she took great delight in eating the game taken by his skillful hand. therefore there were no means of escape for him, he must by force become a sportsman, for a wife who is laboring for the emancipation of womankind, never will permit her desires to remain ungratified. during the conversation the vehicle approached the mansion. mr. fabian h----, during the entire ride, had thought upon the pipe and sofa which awaited him upon his return, for he smoked like a turk, and loved the ease of oriental life. there was one pursuit, however, which afforded him still greater pleasure, and that was to ogle other men's wives, for he was an unfortunate son of adam, never being able to discover beauties which his wife might have possessed. * * * * * "who can that be!" exclaimed mistress ulrica eugenia as the gig entered the court-yard, "who is that elegant young man descending the door steps? is it possible that he is my nephew little gottlieb?" "yes he is, my dear aunt ulrica, i was little gottlieb, but i have grown up to be big gottlieb," answered a cheerful voice, and the next moment the young man whose acquaintance we have before made, embraced the lady warmly, and then heartily shook his uncle's extended hand. uncle fabian however, was not overjoyed at his wife's determination of introducing into his house a stripling who might perhaps become a spy upon his actions and make reports that would call forth the entire vigor of his wife's tongue. after the first torrent of welcomings, questions and answers,--for mr. h---- did not dare do otherwise than to cordially welcome his guest--had subsided, and the family had entered the dining room, and the hostess had pressed the acceptance of a third cup of tea upon the young man, who was already sufficiently heated without undergoing this ordeal; she thus addressed him:-- "now, my dear little gottlieb, you look remarkably well, you little rogue. is it really true that you have made this long journey to see us on foot?" "it is indeed true; this green coat is my usual costume when i do not wear a blouse, which is my favorite garment. my better apparel is contained within my knapsack, and thus i have given you an invoice of my wardrobe, which you see, my dear aunt, is not very extensive." "but your under-clothes, my child?" "what, under-clothes, do you think i could give my dear uncle so much trouble as to bring linen clothes with me?" "what a careless fellow you are!" "'you have now,' said my mother, when i took my leave, 'you have now four rare pieces of linen, styled shirts; but when you return, you must travel by steam, for you will undoubtedly possess twenty-four!'" "ah!" replied his aunt, with a smile, "i understand you now." "how do you understand me?" inquired gottlieb. "as belonging to that class of persons, sir, who never find themselves at a loss," replied uncle fabian, in a tone of voice which he intended should be overwhelming. gottlieb, however, was not inclined to be thus easily driven from the field. "you have hit the nail upon the head," said he, with an assumed expression of respect for the decision of his uncle, "and it is by the means of that very trait of character which you have mentioned, that i hope to work myself through the world, although i am only the son of a poor secretary in a government office, who is embarrassed by debt and a large family, thus you perceive i cannot depend solely upon the whims of fortune." "what then are your prospects for the future?" inquired the lady seriously. "i have but one," replied gottlieb. "and what is that?" "my plan is very simple, i have thoroughly studied financial matters, and in the fall intend to help my father in his office, so that he can spare the services of his two assistants. he will then have only one salary to pay; but i think that i can do the work of three, and as i intend to become a model of order, capability and energy, i hope to be able to win the favor of the head of the treasury department, so that when my father, who at present is in a very feeble state of health, shall be obliged to resign, i may be appointed in his stead. this is my plan." "you are a shrewd young man," said mistress ulrica. "it is not necessary to be shrewd when the high road is plain before you." "but at least you must possess sufficient knowledge of the world to prevent you, in your youth, from leaving the high road, and wasting your time in useless dreaming." "of dreaming, he who has nothing but his head and hands to depend on, must not be afraid. if one wishes to enjoy pleasant dreams, he must not trouble his head about that which he is to eat when he awakes." "good! good!" exclaimed ulrica, "i hope that your wise plans will succeed, and i do not doubt but what they will, they are so well laid, and aside from that you are not striving for yourself alone, but for your parents, to whom i am sure you will always prove a dutiful and grateful child." "that is why i should become my father's successor, dear aunt. had i not thought of this plan, i would undoubtedly have formed some other; but with this i am satisfied." "and do you intend to afford us the pleasure of your company this summer?" inquired uncle fabian, abruptly. "with your permission, dear uncle, your invitation arrived at a lucky moment, as it came during my vacation." "well, well, nephew," said mrs. ulrica, "we will go and prepare a chamber for you." "nephew, nephew," exclaimed gottlieb, merrily, "why we look more like cousins!" "you are a little wag!" "o, i must say more. my mother might have been your mother also, from all appearances." "ah, i was a mere girl when she was married. she was the eldest while i was the youngest of the family, and the fourteen years discrepancy between our ages accounts for the differences in our appearance." "and riches and fortune also," added gottlieb; "poor mother, misfortune has always been her lot; and although she has much trouble, she has nevertheless an angel's forbearance." "her disposition resembles mine more than her person does," said mrs. h----, casting a glance of tender inquiry upon her husband. "yes, my dear," replied he, "your angelic disposition and patience are well known." he well understood the smile with which his wife had accompanied her words. "good fabian, you know how to appreciate your wife!" "sweet ulgenie!" gottlieb glanced from his aunt to his uncle. "strange people these," thought he. "i think they are playing bo-peep with each other, or perhaps they are blinding me; well, i care not; so long as they do not disturb me, i will not meddle with their affairs." chapter iv. the attic-rooms. as we have before stated, nanna had supreme control over one of the attic-rooms of the cottage, and for a long time it had been a sanctuary in which she stored her precious things. old mr. lonner loved nanna as the apple of his eye. she was not only the youngest child, and consequently the favorite, but she also possessed strong perceptive qualities, and a heart susceptible of the tenderest emotions. she was, so to speak, a living emblem of those harmonious dreams that her father in his youth had hoped to see realized. the pale and delicate countenance of nanna, who he thought was destined in all probability to droop and die like a water lily, which she so much resembled, carried the old man's mind back to the time when his father had promised to wed his mother, and he sighed as he thought how different nanna's station in life would have been had that promise been fulfilled. instead of neglect and insult, homage from all would have been her portion. yet nanna was the pride and joy of her father's heart, for ragnar, who at an early age was obliged to labor for his own support, had preferred to become a sailor, rather than to acquire a refined education, and carl could scarcely comprehend more than that which was necessary for the performance of family worship. nanna, on the contrary, would listen to her father with the utmost pleasure and interest as he related and explained matters and things which were entirely novel to one placed in her position of life. and then, with what eagerness would nanna read those few books with which her father's little library was supplied! she fully comprehended all she read, and she could not resist from becoming gently interested in the characters described in her books. she sympathised with the unhappy and oppressed, and although she rejoiced with those happy heroes and heroines who had passed safely through the ordeals of their loves, yet when she read of the fortunate conclusion of all their troubles, she would sigh deeply. but after sighing for those who _had_ lived, she sighed also for the _living_. she looked forward, with terror, to the day when she should lose her father, whom she worshipped almost as a supreme being. her innocent heart shrunk within her as she thought of the time when a man,--for these thoughts had already entered her little head--should look into her eyes in search of a wife. who shall that man be? she thought. is it possible that he can be any other than a peasant or a fisherman? perhaps he may be even worse; a common day-laborer of the parish. o, that would be impossible! such a rude uncouth husband would prove her death. how could she entertain the same thoughts, after her marriage with such a boor, as she had before? he could never sympathise with her. no, she would be obliged to remain unmarried for ever. perhaps not even a laborer would wed her! on st. john's eve, when she had ventured to attend the ball, did any body request her to dance? no, not one, no, they only gazed at mademoiselle nanna, with a stupid and imbecile stare--_she_ did not belong to their class. * * * * * the next evening after nanna had encountered the young stranger near the spring, she was seated alone in her bed-chamber. during the entire day she had endeavored to assist her sister-in law, in the various domestic duties, with her usual activity; which however it must be confessed, was mingled with much pensive abstraction. but after the tea service was removed, she had retired to her chamber, that she might in solitude commune with her own thoughts. the silence of her apartment was soothing to nanna's mind. besides a small sofa, which was her sleeping place, her little dominions contained a book shelf; three or four flower vases; a bureau, and a small work table. the two latter articles of furniture were specimens of carl's workmanship. carl, when he _chose_ to display his ability, was a skillful carpenter, and formerly nanna was his special favorite. of late, however, it could readily be perceived that magde possessed his affections. she, had she so chosen, could have abused him as if he had been a dog, and like a cur he would have crept back to kiss the hand which had maltreated him. magde, however, was soft-hearted, and did not abuse her power over the singular boy; but she compelled him to labor with much more assiduity than he had formerly. when at home, carl generally performed the duties of a nursery maid. the children remained with him willingly, for he tenderly loved them; in fact every child in the neighborhood loved the "wiseacre," for he would play with them, and upon all occasions take them under his special protection. when he saw his little nephews and nieces, subjected to the discipline of their mother, he would fly into a frenzy of passion, and then he was called, "crazy carl." he was an inveterate enemy to corporeal punishment, and he could invent no better method of explaining his doctrine, than by administering to those, who differed with him, a practical illustration of the cruelty of personal castigation. therefore he would fly around among the parents and the straggling children, preventing their punishment of his favorites by means of his own stalwart arm, and then after the tumult had subsided he would repent and tearfully sue for pardon. crazy carl was laughed at for his exertions in behalf of the children, yet to spare his feelings the necessary punishment of the children was deferred till he was out of sight. none of the neighboring peasant women would leave their homes, to go to the market, to a wedding, or to a funeral, without requesting carl to remain with the children, and upon his compliance they would go forth untroubled, for they were well aware of the unbounded influence "wiseacre" possessed over the young people. carl's bed-room, which adjoined nanna's apartment, contained a bedstead, a well whittled table, and a chair mutilated in a like manner. in this chair carl would rock backward and forward, for hours, and with half closed eyes would look as if by stealth, at a striped woolen waistcoat, which was suspended against the wall, or some other little gift from magde. at the same time that nanna was seated in her room looking towards the large tree near the spring, carl was rocking in his chair, gazing with his peculiar expression at a brown earthen vase, which was standing upon the table before him. the vase contained two freshly plucked lilacs, one blue and the other white, which emitted a fragrant odor. after carl had sufficiently regarded these objects, he slowly jerked his chair towards the table, and at each pause his mouth widened into a simple simper. at length he arrived so near the table that by bending forward he could have easily touched the flowers with his nostrils. to accomplish this movement, which was his evident intention, he proceeded with as much gravity and carefulness as he had evinced in approaching the table. he bowed down his head inch by inch, until he could no longer withstand the desire of his senses. with one plunge he thrust his nostrils amidst the fresh leaves of the fragrant flowers. suddenly, however, he raised his head, a thought struck his mind--his face lengthened and his brow became cloudy. and yet a few moments ago he appeared supremely happy. * * * * * nanna's pretty face was pressed against the window pane. her little world had never before appeared so fresh and beautiful. so great was her abstraction that she did not hear the door open, as carl with his peculiar lofty strides entered the room. "thank you, nanna," said carl. nanna did not hear him. his voice was lost in her recollection of the words of the strange youth, she had met the day before. "thank you, nanna," repeated carl. nanna started. "what for?" said she. "do you not know?" replied carl, "why for the flowers!" "flowers?" "o," said carl smiling imbecilely and gazing vacantly around the room. "if you found lilacs in your room, i did not place them there," said nanna. "ah! then perhaps little christine sent them to me." "no, dear carl," replied nanna, "the flowers were sent by one who is better than even myself or christine." "who can it be?" "magde, of course." "ah!" carl slowly stepped towards the door. "magde, yes, i ought to have known that!" "ask her, and then you will know certainly," said nanna. "o, no, but they are beautiful flowers. i hope i will not break them, they smell so sweetly!" thus saying carl strode across the floor to his own chamber where he again seated himself upon his chair and resumed his former occupation; but he did not profane them with his nostrils, for now he regarded them in a holier light. they were magde's gift. while he was thus happily engaged, a messenger arrived at the cottage to disturb him. a peasant's wife, who wished to attend a funeral desired his services, and the obliging carl, although he protested that he had a great deal to engage his attention at home, willingly promised to go to the woman's cottage and take care of her children until her return. in order that his arrival at the cottage might be joyfully welcomed, he returned to his room, and commenced the manufacture of sundry whistles and as he whittled and sung verses of his own composition--for carl was a poet--he occasionally cast loving glances towards the brown earthen vase. but how was nanna employed? was she reading some of her favorite books, an amusement to which she often devoted her leisure hours? or perhaps she was proceeding over the path which conducted to the spring in the meadow. neither. she at present appeared perfectly satisfied with her unaccustomed listlessness, from which however she was soon aroused. from between the trees that bordered the side of the hill, she saw a green coat emerge, which when it reached the plain made its way towards the little fountain beneath the tree. the wearer of the coat, who was the young man who had carried the knapsack and had called nanna his little naiad, a term which he supposed she did not understand, cast himself upon the grass near the trunk of the tree. perhaps he was expecting some one. for a few moments nanna stood undecidedly upon the threshold of the door. her inclinations drew her towards the spring; but her modesty cautioned her to remain. why had she so long postponed her usual walk on this particular occasion? she had not expected any one. certainly not! at length, however, she seized her bonnet and hastened from the room. chapter v. the first disappointment. nanna had arrived at the bottom step of the flight of stairs, when she encountered magde who was returning from a visit at a neighbor's house. she had walked fast, and her face was crimson with heat and vexation. when magde first saw the young girl, she drew her bonnet close around her face, intending to enter the house as quickly as nanna wished to depart; but when nanna had reached the threshold she exclaimed: "where are you going?" "to take a little walk," replied nanna. "be careful, nanna," said magde seriously, "you will soon be a young woman." "and why should that affect you so?" replied nanna, astonished at magde's caution. "o, only that poor women who wish to preserve their fair fame, are not allowed to go out when they choose." "what did you say?" "i say that the sun, earth, water, trees, and flowers, are made only for the rich, who can admire them from their fine carriages and pleasure yachts." "but, dear magde, you have always--" "silence, child," interrupted magde, "you do not know the insults to which we females of humble birth are exposed." "we are not born that we should thus be insulted," said nanna. "true, true; but then we should have been born as deformed and ugly as those sins, which even our modesty will not preserve us from being suspected of." "can that be possible!" thought nanna. magde, who as she spoke had passed her hand upon her forehead, now removed it, and from the expression of her dark eyes, which beamed with her accustomed cheerfulness, and from her proud and lofty bearing, it could be perceived that she had regained her usual self-possession. "i grieve you, dear nanna," said she in a softened tone of voice, "i do not imagine you to be more than a dove which is still fostered within the dovecote. but i was troubled, as i am sometimes, without really knowing the cause." "is there no cause, then?" inquired nanna. "i can say that there is or is not a cause, and therefore shall remain silent." "then remain silent, dear magde, let us speak no further on the subject," said nanna quickly, for she was burning with impatience to visit the spring. she longed to discover by experience whether it was really so dangerous for a woman to walk out alone. until the day before, it had not been dangerous, for no one had forbidden her the free enjoyment of god's beautiful earth, and neither had her modesty ever been insulted. on any other occasion, nanna would have been influenced not only by curiosity, but by a far purer feeling, namely, sympathy for magde's sorrows,--for she dearly loved her sister-in-law,--and would have asked an explanation of matters which she at present was anxious to avoid. magde was silent. nanna stepped over the door sill. but stern fate compelled her to turn back a second time, for the moment that magde turned to pass into the house, old mr. lonner advanced to the door. "nanna my child," said he, "bring my chair out into the door-yard. the evening air is so cool and pleasant that it will invigorate my old body; but it would be better i think, if my rheumatism will permit it, to take a little stroll in the fields, with the aid of my walking cane on one side, and with you as a staff to support me on the other." nanna blushed so deeply that she felt the blood burning her cheeks, as she advanced the opinion that the exercise might prove injurious to him. "poor child, you are grieved on account of your old father. i will take your advice. bring my arm-chair out, and we will sit here and have a little chat together." hitherto, when her father had chatted to her of all that he had seen and experienced, nanna had considered herself amply rewarded for her days of labor, but on this occasion, she not only went after the chair reluctantly, but also, when she as usual seated herself with her knitting work on her little bench at his side she sighed deeply. her father did not observe her dejection, perhaps he considered it an impossibility for his precious jewel to sigh when she was with him. "well, nanna," said he stroking his long beard which gave a venerable appearance to his benevolent features, "are you thinking of the fine shawl that ragnar is to send you by his friend jon jonson?" "not at all, dear father," replied nanna. "true," continued the old man, "your disposition in that respect does not resemble magde's. she is pleased, as every young woman should be, when she has an opportunity of decorating her person with elegant clothing." "i think, that hereafter," said nanna, slightly confused, "i shall also cultivate a taste for such things; but thus far i have had but little opportunity." "i hope so," replied her father, "i have frequently been much troubled in mind, when i have observed your indifference to dress, so unnatural to one of your age; but which is only a result of the romantic notions that you have always indulged in." "but dear father, is it not wrong to strive to make ourselves beautiful when we are only poor people?" "beautiful!" exclaimed the old man, "what put that into your little head?" "magde told me that all poor women ought to be born ugly, that their reputation might not be suspected." "magde was a little out of humor, when she said that, and she who wishes to please her husband so much, could not have really intended what she said." "yes, but when a woman is married, it alters the case entirely." "but why should not an unmarried girl wish herself handsome for the sake of her father, her brother, and above all for her own sake? that is a good wish so long as it continues innocent." "when then, is it not innocent?" inquired nanna. "it is no longer innocent when the love of fine apparel, and the desire to be beautiful, changes the heart, and the girl neglects her duties, and gives her sole attention to that which should only serve as a simple recreation; but that i am sure will never be the case with you." nanna was silent. she drooped her head. "there is no danger of that," thought she, "for who will care to witness the change?" "on next st. john's day," continued her father, "you must wear that elegant silk shawl which belonged to your poor mother." as nanna heard these words, a smile of peculiar meaning passed over her lips. it was the smile of a woman who anticipates a future triumph. "thank god," said the old man, turning the conversation in another channel, "for all the blessings he has bestowed upon us. although we may now be in trouble, when ragnar's packages arrive, we shall be in better circumstances. poverty has many blessings of which the rich man cannot even dream. the poor man's gratitude and joy for even the slightest piece of fortune is too great to describe. the rich man has not that relish for the good things of life that the poor man has." while honest lonner was thus losing himself in his meditations, nanna moved in her seat uneasily, and dropped stitch after stitch of her knitting-work. the former topic of conversation was endurable, but this-- meanwhile, however, she did not dare to express her desire to be liberated from her irksome position. why was she afraid to do so? she asked herself the question; the only reply she could make was, that yesterday it would have been easy for her to say, "father, i want to take a little walk in the meadow;" but to-day, oh! that was different! "i see you have your bonnet on!" said her father, "were you about taking a walk?" "i have not been out of the house before, to-day," replied nanna. "well, then run away, my child; take all the enjoyment you can. you have but little here." perhaps it was by expressions of this description from her father, that mournful thoughts were engendered within the mind of the young girl, causing her to fancy that something was wanting to complete her happiness, and that she stood beyond the pale of those who should have been her companions. it is certainly plausible to suppose that these moments which the old man had set apart for familiar conversation with his daughter, whom he loved above all earthly things, for she reminded him of past days, might have proved highly detrimental to nanna's sensitive and susceptible mind. as matters now stood, it was plainly evident that, however economical, industrious and thrifty she might be, nanna would be compelled to be content with her lot, should she wed an honest mechanic or a sloop captain, which were the highest prizes which she, or any of the neighboring maidens, might expect to win. like a captive bird which, after many fruitless struggles, finally regains its liberty, nanna quickly made use of her restored freedom, and hastened from the door-yard. she was fully convinced that the young man was no longer in the meadow, and now she suddenly remembered that she had said nothing to her father or magde about the stranger whom she had encountered the previous evening. how strange it was that she had forgotten to tell them! yes, it was the strangest thing that ever had occurred during her whole life, and how greatly astonished they would be when she should tell them of her little adventure! thus thought nanna, as she proceeded towards the meadow. chapter vi the agreement. "it was just as i thought!" exclaimed our heroine, as she looked, with pouting lips at the reflection of her pretty figure in the clear waters of the spring. never before had her hair been so nicely arranged, and her neat white apron, which she had kept concealed beneath her cloak during her entire conversation with magde and her father, and which she had carefully tied about her waist as soon as she had entered the meadows, how pretty it looked! but how was she repaid for all her trouble? she was about disencumbering herself both of her apron and a little scarf which she had thrown over her shoulders, when she heard a voice that she had already learned to distinguish, calling to her in the distance. with pleased astonishment she lifted her eyes, and saw an individual whom we need scarcely inform our readers was the owner of the knapsack. he was descending a hill, holding to his lips a blade of grass, upon which he would occasionally blow a vigorous and ear-piercing blast. "have you come at last, my naiad queen?" said the youth. "we were such pleasant companions last evening, that i came hither in the hope of finding you at your bath again." "a naiad queen might bathe her feet before you; but i--" she ceased speaking, and a deep blush suffused her cheeks. "ah! then you know something about the naiads, my child?" "yes, and about the sylphs, too," replied nanna, nodding her head, proud at having an opportunity of displaying her knowledge before one whom, besides her father, was the only person that she had ever cared to interest. "you surprise me! what have you read?" "o, a little of everything. my father has a large book case, and i have a small collection of books, myself." "hm, hm," said the embryo secretary, "but enumerate to me some of the books you have read." "do you really wish to know?" "yes, dear nanna,--pardon me--mademoiselle nanna i should have said. now mademoiselle, please be seated, the grass is quite soft. i wish to catechise you a little." "but i shall not answer you, sir, if you call me mademoiselle; it sounds so cold and disagreeable." "well, i will be careful not to do so; but let us make a commencement." "with my qualifications?" "certainly; but why do you sit at such a distance?" "we are not so far from each other." "that proves you to be no mathematician. now, tell me, how many yards distance are there between us?" "three, i think." "poor child, you have not reached your a b c's in arithmetic; but i will be your instructor." "how so?" "you shall soon see." he quickly unloosed his neckcloth. "this," he continued, "is precisely one yard in length. now, i will measure the ground, and when i have measured three yards, then--" "what then?" "then i will seat myself; for you have yourself chosen the distance." the unsuspecting nanna had not the slightest idea of the little plot the young man had arranged to entrap her. the poor child was unaccustomed to mirth; for although magde, ragnar, and carl, often indulged in boisterous sports, still nanna never could feel an inclination to mingle with them, but had merely smiled at their ridiculous jokes. never had the clear ringing laugh of gleeful childhood issued over her lips; but upon the present occasion her innocent heart entered into the spirit of her gay companion, and when he deliberately measured three lengths of his neckcloth from the spot where he was sitting, and then gravely seated himself at her very side, a merry laugh broke from her lips, in which the youth joined. "well," said he, assuming a comfortable position, "i can touch you, at least, now." "yes," replied nanna seriously, for she was musing on magde's words of caution, "yes, you can; but i do not wish you to." "you do not?" "i do not," replied she firmly. "what an obstinate little creature you are!" "you desired to know what i have read," said nanna, wishing to change the subject of conversation. "true, but why do you hide your little hand under your apron, i shall not touch it without your permission?" nanna smiled as she slowly withdrew her hands from their place of concealment and folded them upon her lap. "now, my child," said the young man with an assumed air of dignity, "first of all, you may commence at the beginning." "when i was a little girl, my father bought for me some picture books, which as i read, he explained to me. next as i progressed further--" "well, what happened?" "next i studied the catechism, which i liked very much, then i commenced reading the bible, a book which i love above all others, the new testament especially. all that i do not understand my father explains to me, and after he has finished, i go alone to my room, and as i read i cannot refrain from weeping--but my tears are not sorrowful, i think only of--" "of what?" "i know not whether i should tell you that." "certainly you should; am i not your friend?" "well then--but do not speak about it to any one--i cannot help thinking that if i had lived when our saviour was upon earth, i should have been one of the holy women." "who ever heard of such ambition! why perhaps you would like to have been the virgin mary, herself?" "oh," exclaimed nanna, turning her face, that she might conceal the blush, which his words of ridicule, as she esteemed them, had called forth. "but, my child," continued her companion, "we will dwell no longer upon your holy thoughts, so different from others of your age; proceed if you please." "aside from the books i have mentioned, at my father's request, i studied history, geography, natural philosophy, and finally ancient mythology." "you surprise me! your education has not been neglected; but you can write, can you not?" "certainly, and i have also practised drawing a little." "indeed! upon my honor, mademoiselle nanna you frighten me!" "why?" "because i cannot comprehend how you can use all your knowledge in this valley." "i have often thought of that," replied nanna, sighing deeply. "perhaps, it is not such a terrible matter after all," said gottlieb, "i must thoroughly convince myself." gottlieb now commenced to examine and cross-question nanna in the various departments of learning that she had mentioned, and was pleased to discover by her accurate replies that she comprehended thoroughly all that she had studied. in fact, nanna was quite his equal in her knowledge of ancient mythology, which had always been her favorite study. "but how is it possible that your father should be so well educated? yesterday, when we were walking together, you told me that he had resided in this valley nearly half his lifetime, with scarcely sufficient means to support himself and family." "alas! a sorrowful story is connected with my father's younger days; but he never speaks of it. he had high hopes, when young, and had they been realized, he would have been a man of consequence; but the death of his patron crushed everything." "i must call upon your father some pleasant evening. do you think he would be pleased to see me?" "of course, and magde would also." "your sister-in-law? well, well, i will soon visit them both; but listen now--" "i will." "as the error has already been committed--" "what error?" "that you should have been taught more than you ought to know; but still, it is now too late to repent as you have already learned a little, and i do not think there will be any harm in teaching you more." "who will teach me?" "i shall of course.--i have an idea." nanna glanced inquiringly towards her companion. "you might be able," he continued, "to earn a little competency for yourself; would you be willing to become a school-teacher?" "o, yes, nothing could be better! then i would not be obliged to think of--of--" "of marriage?" "yes, of marriage." "and i am of your opinion, for to speak candidly, whom could you marry?" "i do not know; there is the parish tailor, who has already spoken to magde about it--" "the parish tailor!--aha!" "and captain larsson who owns a sloop, offered ragnar two barrels of rye flour if he would speak a good word to me about him." "two barrels of rye flour as a bribe! and your brother's reply?" "o, ragnar is not to be played with," replied nanna; "'if you wish to purchase my sister,' said he, 'you had better speak to her yourself, she has not authorized me to sell her.'" "so you have two lovers!" "yes, and the sexton, an old widower, is the third. he has considerable wealth, and therefore applied to my father, himself." "without success?" "yes, father told him i was too young." "do you not prefer either of your suitors?" "i would rather throw myself into lake wenner, than to marry either of them." "then let us speak of the school. it will give you a little income, and is, as far as i can see, the only method of using your accomplishments to advantage." "you are right. it is my only choice." "i fear so too, for a lover suitable for you would not in all probability find his way hither; but in me you have found a friend at least." "thank god, for that." "but it is necessary that we should make one agreement--" "what is it?" "that we shall not fall in love with each other." "oh, there is no danger!" "ah! who can be sure of that? you possess beauties beyond your personal charms, miss nanna, that may conquer me in spite of myself." "you are also beautiful; but i do not believe that--that--" "you do not believe that you would ever fall in love with me, you were about saying. upon my word that is so much the better, for to speak truly i am placed in as bad circumstances as you are yourself." "you are!" "yes, yes, i speak the truth. my only ambition is to become an assistant in my father's office." "if that is the case," said nanna, "you must fall in love with a rich girl only." "i shall be careful of my own interests i assure you," replied gottlieb, "but now this perplexing point is rightly settled--is it not?" "yes, you are to marry a wealthy girl, and i am to keep a school, is that the agreement?" "yes, and now we must make another arrangement, which is that we must agree to meet each other during the evening hours at this spot. i own many books that will be useful to you, and if you can sing--" "i can sing a little, and the old sexton says my voice is beautiful." "allow me to hear you sing." "to-morrow, i cannot this evening." "o, you should not refuse a friend in that manner. it would be quite different if i was your lover." without further words, nanna commenced singing an old ballad, and her sweet voice, as she trilled forth the beautiful words of her song, fell upon the ear of her young companion like the soft music of a bird. "you sing excellently, nanna, and i think your voice would be improved if you could play upon the guitar. i have one at home, and might bring it with me." "but the guitar would not benefit my future pupils." "it will serve for your amusement after your scholars have left you in the afternoon. you will find such a relaxation quite necessary, and when you play upon it, and sing one of your beautiful ballads, you will think of your friend." "and drive away the tedium of the long hours.--o, sir, you are too kind!" "stop, nanna! call me gottlieb, not sir. you know friends should--" "thanks, sir gottlieb! what a beautiful name! but it is quite late!" nanna, who was fearful that magde, anxious at her long absence, would come in search of her, arose from her seat upon the grass, and hastily departed. chapter vii. the chase. the next morning, a few hours before carl, whistling a ballad of which he was the author, commenced his journey over ditches and stiles, to fulfill his engagement to watch with the children of the peasant woman, mr. fabian h---- was awakened by his affectionate wife, who informed him that it was time for him to prepare himself for his hunting expedition. sleepy, and unwilling to leave his cozy bed, for the sake of enjoying the damp morning air, mr. fabian addressed his spouse with all the tenderness which his state of mind would permit: "dear ulgenie, you--" mistress ulrica, however, did not permit herself to be moved by this gentle epithet. "fabian," said she, shaking his shoulder roughly, "you are going to sleep again. quick! get up! i have had your top boots nicely greased, and on the chair you will find your hunting coat and game-bag. everything is made as comfortable as possible." "sweet ulgenie," expostulated mr. fabian. the amiable lady smiled as she heard him speak, and had not an unfortunate yawn accompanied those two tender words, in all probability they would have terminated this chapter. but the word yawn is not found in love's dictionary, and consequently the unlucky husband was forced to rise from his bed preparatory to going forth to perform deeds of valor in obedience to the commands of his mistress. "do not neglect to awaken gottlieb. he also must learn the noble art of hunting." "i will, my dear, i will," said her husband, perspiring with his exertions, as he forced himself into his hunting garments which mistress ulrica had made from a pattern of her own invention. but when mr. fabian had completed his toilette, he hastened from the house, intentionally forgetting to awaken gottlieb, for, as we shall soon discover, he had urgent reasons for wishing to perform his hunting exploits without the hindrance of a companion. as sir fabian was, so to speak, his wife's butler, he had provided himself with a deputy butler, who generally received a hint of the day and the hour, when stern fate would compel his master to encase his feet in heavy hunting boots. we now see this martyr to the holy cause of matrimony, puffing and blowing beneath the weight of his heavy gun, as he wends his way across the fields towards a certain spot in the forest at which he finally arrives. he looks around him with searching eyes; his brow is clouded with anxiety and impatience. suddenly his eyes gleam with an expression of joy; but he instantly recovers himself and assumes an air of dignified composure, while he gazes angrily upon the form of a man, who is approaching him through the trees. "fool! you have kept me waiting!" said he harshly as the man advanced. humbly but with a humility which was more assumed than natural, the "butler," presented mr. fabian with two hares, and two partridges; which would fill his game-bag uncommonly well and ensure a loving welcome upon his return home. after this ceremony was performed mr. h---- threw his accomplice a few pieces of silver, and when the last named performer in this little scene had vanished, our huntsman fatigued by his arduous exertions cast himself upon a moss-covered bank and was soon continuing the dream which had been so unpleasantly interrupted by his sweet ulgenie. * * * * * "in the woods, near the sea i have lived many a day! ho, ho, ho, ha, ha, ha, it is so lovely on the earth!" thus sang or hummed carl as he proceeded on his way. suddenly he experienced a strong desire to rush into the woods to listen to the sighing of the wind as it swept through the high branches of the trees. in this music carl took such delight that he would listen to it, for hours, while great tears of pleasure and excitement would roll down his sun-burnt cheeks. but it was the pleasure and excitement of a religious enthusiast in the house of the god he worshipped. carl never spoke of these sentiments, and how would it have been possible for him to do so. he never thought from whence they originated. he followed his inclination only. while carl was thus engaged he suddenly saw an object which caused him instantly to neglect the sound of his favorite music. in the grass near the fence over which carl was about climbing, he saw the slumbering huntsman, with the freshly killed game reposing at his side. carl, without knowing why, had conceived the idea that magde disliked mr. fabian h----, and as for himself, he instinctively hated that worthy gentleman. and another thought entered his head as he looked upon the game. he remembered that magde had once said: "ah! had we but a hare or a partridge, how delicious it would be! but such things are too good for us, they must be sent to the manor house." carl laughed silently. he extended his hand towards the sleeping man, and then withdrew it undecidedly. our friend carl possessed a few indistinct ideas concerning the law of _meum and teum_. by dint of great exertion, his father had implanted in his mind the great necessity of observing the eighth commandment, and upon the present occasion the lesson of his younger days interfered in a great degree with the accomplishment of his present designs; for as he gazed upon the objects of his envy, he muttered to himself: "_the eighth commandment:_ thou shalt not steal!" his brain was not only troubled with the eighth, but the words of the tenth commandment came to his memory, "thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his servant, nor his maid, nor his ox, nor his ass." as he thus spoke, and thought first of the commandments and then of magde, he continued to advance and retreat, wavering in his decision, and he might have remained in this state until mr. fabian awoke, had not a bright idea forced itself upon his mind. "o," exclaimed he, "the commandments say nothing about _game_!" and as even the veriest simpleton has it in his power to convince himself of the purity of an action, however wrong, carl soon satisfied himself with the excuse which he had so ingeniously invented. he entirely forgot the closing line of the commandment, "nor anything that is his," which, however, would not bear consideration on that occasion. he therefore seized the two hares that were nearest him, and by the assistance of a long stick he gained possession of the partridges also. in the meantime, mr. fabian's assistant, who had not yet left the forest, having been attracted by carl's movements, had been an eye-witness to his proceedings. but instead of warning the lad of his crime, the spectator seemed rather to rejoice at his patron's misfortune. he might safely do this, for after the crime had been committed, he could easily disclose the name of the thief, and thus avert suspicion from himself. he thought that mr. h---- would not injure a person of carl's character, and that at all events he would be likely to receive a proper reward for any zeal he should exert to promote the interest of his employer. carl had discovered that his actions had been observed; but as the spectator, by sundry winks and nods, seemed rather to encourage than to prevent him, carl proceeded without fear. and now, having won the victory, he hastened to magde. but here trouble awaited him. when carl presented magde the game, she was delighted; but after her outburst of admiration had subsided, her first question naturally was as to where he had procured his prize. "is it not enough that it is here?" said carl, as he stood on the threshold, twirling his hat in his hand. "heavens! i trust you have not procured it in an unlawful way?" "no, i got it while going the right way," replied carl, mischievously. "my dear carl," said magde, seriously, "you must not think to deceive me by your cunning words." "you should not say so," answered carl, sulkily. "no, i should not, carl, i spoke foolishly; but if you are a good boy, and love me, you will tell me who has given you this game, or whether you have promised to pay for it by working by-and-bye." "i have already worked for it," said carl, with a laugh, "but i must go now, or else i will be too late at sunnangaarden." thus saying, carl was about putting his long legs in active motion, when magde exclaimed: "carl! carl! a word more! stop, carl!" "i have staid too long already," said carl; but still he remained. "tell me frankly, carl, did you procure the game honestly?" carl, who rested upon the tenth commandment, in which neither hares nor partridges were mentioned, answered shrewdly: "if you doubt my honor, i will refer you to the catechism. do you believe in the catechism?" "is it true then that you have done nothing contrary to its precepts?" "it is indeed true," replied carl, gravely. "then i am satisfied," said magde, "and i am grateful to you, my good carl, for the welcome present." "good? yes, can i really believe you, magde?" "yes, i so consider you, and therefore i am good to you." carl commenced laughing, and assumed a crane-like position, as he balanced himself upon one leg. this was his usual custom when pleased. "well, well, then you love poor carl a little. that's good!" "carl is my good boy," replied magde, who during the conversation had been engaged in spreading out a number of skeins of knitting yarn that had been placed out to bleach upon the grass plot. "listen," said carl, approaching nigher to magde, "would magde shed a tear upon my grave if god should call me from earth?" there reposed in these words a tone of mingled fear and humility, and magde, much moved by the peculiar expression of carl's countenance, replied: "certainly, carl, i would shed many, many tears, for i believe there are none who love you as i do." "i am grateful, magde," said carl, violently scraping the ground with the sole of his hob-nailed shoe, an action which could scarcely be called a bow--"your words shall be remembered. i am magde's servant, and shall be so as long as i live." with these words, he turned on his heel, and trotted towards his place of destination. "the poor lad has a good heart," thought magde, as she concluded her labors in the yard; but she little imagined the true state of carl's heart. magde now entered the house to prepare breakfast. her three children crowded around her, loudly testifying their admiration of the partridges and hares. she commenced dressing the game with that placidity of countenance, and with that dexterity which proved she was well versed in that most important branch of a housekeeper's duties--cookery. chapter viii. concerning the hunter in the woods, and his homeward walk. we now return to our friend the sportsman, who soon awoke from his sound slumber, quite refreshed. he yawned, stretched himself, and mechanically extended his hand towards the spot where he had placed his game-bag. although his hand touched nothing but the grass and his gun, he nevertheless was not troubled, for he thought that he had miscalculated the distance. he searched still further; but to his surprise the game-bag was still missing. he now raised himself up in a sitting posture, and rubbing his eyes vigorously, he searched the ground closely. but his eyes, usually so good, must have been dimmed by some enchantment, for he could perceive neither the hares nor the partridges, which he could not but think were there. determined, however, not to believe in such marvels, for honest fabian was a man of intelligence, he arose and peered through the bushes in the grass; he looked in the air, and he closely scanned the tops of the trees; but his efforts were fruitless. the game was not to be found. "it is astonishing!" said he to himself. "i can not believe it! they must be here! but where the devil are they then!" the trees retained a stubborn silence, and their example was followed by the earth, the air, and the water. although the heat of the day was rendered still more insufferable by mr. fabian's thick hunting suit, yet his flesh chilled with fear when he discovered the actual loss of his partridges and hares. to return home without his game, was a misfortune, which under ordinary circumstances he could have endured; but on this occasion he had reason to expect a more than usually severe lecture from his wife whose command he had stubbornly disobeyed by not awakening gottlieb. while the unfortunate sportsman was bewailing his fate he discovered the face of his "butler," who was peering out from between the bushes with an expression of mingled humility and mirthfulness. "where are my partridges, you rascal?" shouted mr. fabian, his face glowing with anger. "do you think, mr. h----, that i have taken them?" "such a jest would be but natural. what are you doing here? have i not paid you enough?" "i never do anything without orders, and if you do not wish me to remain, i will go instantly. i thought, however, that you would be pleased if i should tell you what had become of your game." "that is just what i wish to know! has any one presumed to steal it?" "very likely." "who? quick! tell me!" but the butler answered only with a long drawn. "ah!" "can you substantiate what you are about to say?" "i can swear to it, if it is necessary. i waited here only that i might be able to explain everything to my employer, after he should awake." "you are a fine fellow, now tell me what evil being has entered the woods, and committed this depredation?" "if you wish to have a full account of the matter, you should tender full payment," said the butler, who considered this play of words exceedingly apt and forcible. "yes, yes, i will not be ungenerous," replied mr. fabian taking a bank-note from his pocket. "carl,--the fool of the valley--purloined the hares and partridges." "what! that cur!--the son of old lonner!" "the same." "are you certain?" "yes, as certain as i am that i live." "good," said mr. fabian, and he repeated the same word several times, each time appearing better satisfied, and certainly the thoughts that occupied his mind must have afforded him great pleasure, for he not only forgot the trouble that awaited his return home, but also the question, which in truth should have been the first one--why the butler had not stopped the thief and rescued the booty. the butler, however, thought it expedient not to await further questions, and therefore soon found an opportunity of retreating. our readers may be assured that when the sportsman returned home his wife was not in the best of humor. she awaited his coming in the parlor; but when she heard his footsteps in the court-yard, she could no longer restrain her impatience, but hastened to the window and exclaimed: "where were your silly thoughts wandering, when you left the house without calling gottlieb. i must say that you conduct yourself friendly towards _my_ relations, and i do think it is equally astonishing that you have come home without him. i sent him to look for you a long time ago. what! can i believe my eyes! where is the game that i was to have for dinner?" "dear ulrique eugenie, can you not wait until i have changed my clothes? i have travelled so far through the woods, that i can scarcely breathe, i am so weary." "where is the game?" "whew!" ejaculated her husband, "i can stand these clothes no longer." thus saying, he hastened into the house, and proceeded to his apartment. but this respite was of short duration. mistress ulrica eugenie was familiar with the road to the chamber, and her rage reached its highest point, when she heard that the game which was intended for her dinner, had been stolen while her husband, overcome by his arduous exertions, had fallen asleep. "o, if i only knew who did this, yes, if i only knew, i would have the rascal put in the stocks. but you, you dormouse, yes you, you call yourself a man! you! don't you wish to borrow my petticoat! to sleep when engaged in the noble art of hunting! to complain of fatigue! fie upon such men! but can you not discover the thief?" "no, my dear, i assure you. i cannot, how could i know what happened while i was sleeping?" "that is the reason why you never knew anything in your life," replied the exasperated woman. "but see there comes gottlieb with a partridge in his hand. he is a pattern. _he_ never allows _his_ game to be stolen," and mistress ulrica composed her features, and assumed an expression of motherly benevolence, while she descended the stairs to receive her nephew. "thank you, good gottlieb," said she meeting him at the door, "thank you, your uncle has been unfortunate this morning; but come with me to the dairy, and you shall have the cream of an entire pan of milk." "the milk also, if you please, aunty, i feel myself able to devour every thing, pan and all." "well, satisfy yourself. by and by we will go to my bleachery and you may select a piece of linen.--do you understand?" "not a word. it is all a mystery. but i do know that there is not a nephew on the entire scandinavian peninsula, who possesses an aunt with such an affectionate disposition." "ah, you flatterer, it is well that you are my nephew or else fabian might be jealous." "well i am not sure but that he may yet have an occasion, for, i am not aware that nephews are forbidden to love their aunts." from that day forward gottlieb was taken under the especial protection of his aunt, and as her favorite he was certain of a comfortable and pleasant life. when she became acquainted with his manners, virtues and accomplishments, her esteem for him was, if possible, doubly increased. what could he not do, the dear boy? not to speak of his wonderful success in amusing little jean ulrick, mr. fabian's sole heir, he was able to read aloud to his aunt from her favorite volume, and to repeat with almost sublime patience, all those tender passages to which she in a plaintive tone would sigh _de capo_. more than all this. he could sing--the model nephew--and accompany his voice with the guitar not only to the tune of "my love and i," but also to his aunt's favorite ballad, "in the shadows of the wood; in the cavern hid away." and finally there was not a female domestic in the house who dared to compete with gottlieb in the art of chopping string beans. in short, he was a nephew whose peer could not be found in all sweden, and who knows whether the piece of linen he chose from the bleachery was the last he received from his indulgent aunt. poor gottlieb, while you are thus the prime favorite of your strong minded aunt, having free access to the pantries and dairy-rooms, have you no misgivings that the day will arrive when the doors of this house shall be closed against you? relentless fate who ever demands a sacrifice. how true are the words of the wise solomon, "all is vanity and vexation of spirit; and there is no profit under the sun." but it is not to be believed that mr. fabian's slumbers were disturbed because his wife had deserted him. no, he even preferred the company of hunger and thirst rather than that of his ulgenie. not that this state of mind originated from the many lectures he had received from his wife. ah, no, there were far more powerful reasons; but it is certain that if mistress ulrica had suspected that her husband's indifference arose from any other motive than the wish to escape a deserved punishment she would have, undoubtedly, increased the vigor of her tongue to such a pitch that his house would have been uncomfortably warm to him. after dining upon gottlieb's partridge which had done much to smoothe her ruffled temper, mrs. ulrica was thus insinuatingly addressed by her husband: "have you any errands for me to perform at the parsonage, dear ulgenie? i wish to ride down there to talk over the parish matters with the parson." "that's right, dear fabian. take gottlieb along with you. he would like to see the young ladies, each of whom are worth a ton of gold." at this proposal mr. fabian's brow darkened; but the gloom was soon dispelled as gottlieb declined the pleasure of going, and the first smile which the young man had received from his uncle was when he replied: "excuse me to-day, my dear aunt, i wish to write to my mother." he had no desire to disappoint his young pupil of the valley. "excellent youth!" exclaimed his aunt, "pleasure cannot wile you from your duties. god forbid that i should attempt to do so; and you fabian," she added extending her arms towards her husband, "kiss me before you go. your ulgenie has no desire to deprive you of any reasonable enjoyments." chapter ix. mr. fabian and magde lonner. "o, how thankful i am that you can come out here on the green, dear father." thus said magde, as she gave old mr. lonner his hat and cane, after nanna had filled and lighted his pipe. it was a beautiful scene to behold the two sisters thus employed. ragnar was right. without waiting for a request, they were apparently striving to outvie each other in performing little services for the old man. in short, mr. lonner had not a wish which was not gratified. they anticipated his every desire. "there, that will do, my daughters; i thank you. i feel so young to-day, that i am quite happy. my rheumatism has left me almost entirely; so give me your arm, nanna, and we will go." "where are you going?" inquired magde. "o, after we have taken a short walk," replied nanna, "i have proposed that we should go to the spring in the meadow, and sit down awhile. it used to be one of papa's favorite spots." "perhaps you had better take a book with you," said magde, "and then you can read to him." nanna blushed. her object was to afford to her father another and much greater pleasure. she hoped in this manner to introduce gottlieb to him before the youth should visit the cottage, because she feared that magde in that case would wonder at her familiarity with the new comer. many times during the day, nanna had endeavored to say to magde, "last evening, and the evening before, i met an elegant young man near the spring in the meadow;" but for some unknown reason, the words never passed over her lips. she imagined that if she was alone with her father, she would not fear to tell him, and she also thought that when gottlieb would see her with the old man, he would know that she had not agreed to meet him alone. her father would also converse with them about the time when she should commence her school, about which she had already erected many castles in the air. a little house she had thought should be erected in the valley. here she should dwell alone with her cat, her little goldfinch with his elegant green cage, and she would also have a shed for her cow. she also wished to take a dog with her; but finally she thought she would not do so, for he would eat too much, and aside from that, would not be of the slightest benefit to her, for carl would certainly assume the entire control of him. there was no doubt, she had thought, but that good carl would help her with her heavy work. that is, he would come to her little house on wednesday and sunday afternoons, to scrub her floors and bring the wood, while she was engaged in making cakes and pies for her father and magde, who should visit her on those evenings. of course this plan was to be followed during the summer only. during the winter, she would spend those afternoons and evenings in the large house. what true happiness did the girl experience as she thus innocently dreamed of her future life! her joy was increased as she fancied herself seated in her little school-room after the close of her labors for the day. that little room was to be a bright place in her memory forever for was it not he, her friend, who had told her that she would require some recreation after school hours, and was he not also to teach her the means for doing so? we will not describe nanna's blushing confusion as she told her father of her acquaintance with gottlieb, neither will we paint at length, the mingled sentiments of fear and hope which filled the old man's heart as he heard his daughter's story; but will simply remark that the meeting between old mr. lonner and gottlieb was mutually gratifying, and that as is naturally the case under such circumstances, they each wished to continue the acquaintance thus pleasingly commenced. upon the sand in front of the cottage magde's children were playing in the sun, while christine, the servant girl, was dividing her attention between her sewing work, and the baby which was reposing in a kneading trough, upon a little bed of rushes. she would also occasionally cast her eyes towards the other children, as they dug little ditches which they filled with water brought from the house in an old kettle, and then sailed their little bark boats in these miniature canals. in the meantime, magde, as usual, was sitting in the parlor, weaving at her loom with such violence that the window panes rattled in their sashes. as she was thus engaged she hummed a little song, which ragnar during their courtship had frequently sung beneath her window as a signal that he wished to see her alone. as magde loved her husband above all other earthly things, his favorite song had never become discordant to her. this song she took most pleasure in singing when she was alone, for then she could give full rein to her fancy, and look forward to the time when her loved husband should become a captain, and command an elegant schooner in which he could receive his wife, for she hoped that she might be able to take one voyage at least to goteborg, to preside at the table in captain ragnar's cabin. then thought she, what a great stir her appearance in the vessel would create! "heavens," one would say, "what a beautiful wife our captain has!" yes, the captain is a man of taste. "the captain, always the captain. o, how grand it sounded! the captain loves her so much," the sailors would also say, "that he scarcely takes his eyes from her, and how affectionately she looks at him! o, it must be a happy life, to be thus married!" while magde was thus engaged in her pleasant reveries, the latch was lifted and the door swung open slowly. "mercy! what can be mr. h----'s business here!" she exclaimed. "o, do not disturb yourself," said mr. fabian, for it was our valorous huntsman who thus disturbed magde's dreams, "i hope everything may be arranged without trouble. i am not the man who would injure his neighbor, even if i had it in my power." "what do you mean!" exclaimed magde dropping her shuttle in her terror. in the meantime the worthy gentleman had gradually approached magde, but so softly and cautiously that he resembled a cat about pouncing upon a trembling mouse. "heaven forbid," replied mr. fabian, "that i should think that you knew anything about it. a woman so virtuous as you are, would not engage in any wrong action; but i do think that a man's property should be respected." "mr. h----, if you have any evil tidings speak them out at once. perhaps jon jonson has arrived, and the goods that ragnar--" "with a deep blush magde suddenly ceased speaking; but her visitor required nothing further. he pretended, however, not to have understood her words; but as he well knew that jon jonson's vessel was still at goteborg for he expected some merchandise in it himself, it did not require much penetration for him to surmise that the mate lonner had taken an opportunity of sending home some smuggled goods by his friend jonson. "i know nothing about jon jonson's vessel," said mr. h---- after a moment's pause, "but, i can readily perceive that you expect some compliments from your husband." "yes, not only compliments; but also a quantity of merchandise," replied magde, who, after a moment's reflection had concluded that it was better not to make a secret of it, "as ragnar had a little overplus he concluded to send us a few necessary articles from goteborg. we are poor, and cannot demand credit until he returns." "it is better not to do so," replied her visitor, "but at present we have neither jon jonson nor ragnar to speak about. a certain person in this neighborhood has placed himself in an unpleasant position." "who can it be?" exclaimed magde, terrified by mr. fabian's imposing aspect, "i will run and call father!" "if the old man is not at home," replied her visitor concealing his joy by assuming a frown of vexation, "it will be better not to call him as it will only cause the venerable man much pain." "tell me, do tell me, what has been done?" stammered the frightened woman. "i refer to your brother carl!" "carl, the half-witted carl." "o, he is in no want of wit, and his weak mind shall not serve him as a protection when he stands before the justice. theft is theft, no matter who commits it. at least so the law considers it." "the game!" cried magde clasping her hands in despair and terror. "you are right, the game that he stole from me this morning while i was sleeping. i knew full well that the proud and conscientious magde, would not deny that he had brought it home." "but who could have--have--" "right, who could have believed that he would have done so, and that is the very point, and an unlucky one, for it proves that he must have been seen while committing the theft." "how terrible this is! a few days ago i happened to say that i wished we had some game for our old father, and now--now--" "calm yourself," interrupted mr. fabian, extending his hand and enforcing his consolation by a love-tap upon magde's shoulder. in her affliction magde did not withdraw from this salute, and mr. fabian had an opportunity of gazing upon her lovely neck for a full moment, to prolong which he would have given the value of a hundred hares and partridges. but magde arousing herself from her stupor, looked her guest full in the face, and there read an expression which displeased her. with a blush she replaced the handkerchief around her neck, and suddenly enquired: "what then, sir, is the real intention of your visit? you said you would not disturb us, and as the game is untouched we can return it immediately." "the game is not the object of my visit." "what is then?" "the theft. carl will be brought before the justice, i told you there was a witness to his crime." "but how can that happen unless you enter a complaint?" "have i not the right to enforce the law which is made to protect our property? but it is possible that i might hush the matter up if i chose; and when i fancy that i see the poor fellow under arrest, when i behold him in the culprit's box, in the court-room; when i--" "may god protect him!" interrupted magde, "you have said enough, mr. h----. i am but the wife of a poor sailor; but if my humble prayers will be of the least avail--" and magde, the proud magde, who before had often dismissed mr. fabian with disdainful gestures, now clasped her hands, and looked into his face with an expression of tearful entreaty. "o, do not despair, my dear magde," said he, "such tender prayers and looks, have a wonderful influence upon me. aside from that your present attitude is perfectly charming." overpowered by a sudden revulsion of feelings, magde closed her eyes, and sank her head upon her bosom. "i see," said she, "that you do not intend to assist us from our present trouble." "on the contrary," replied mr. fabian with much animation, "i will do everything for you, if you will only conduct yourself towards me, in a manner different from that which you have done heretofore." "if mr. h---- demands nothing more than friendship," replied magde, with difficulty repressing her anger, "that shall not be wanting." "nothing more, upon my honor," said mr. h----, joyfully, "if you, dear magde, will promise that when you meet me you will favor me with a look of kindness, i assure you by my honor, that nothing more shall be heard about this unpleasant affair; and as a proof that we shall hereafter be friends, i demand the slight favor of a kiss." "that cannot be," replied magde, with the coolness of despair, "i love carl as my brother, and will give anything to preserve him from disgrace, except that which does not belong to me." "what do you mean, my little piece of stubbornness, do not your lips belong to yourself?" "from the moment that i entered my bridal chamber, i considered myself as belonging to my husband alone, and mr. h----, you can be assured that you are not the person who can cause me to forget my husband's rights." "look you," shouted a harsh voice from the door, "before magde should kiss your wrinkled old lips, i would run into the prison of my own accord;" and first carl's head, and then his uncouth form appeared, as he entered the room. his face was convulsed with passion, and his eyes glanced irefully upon the surprised fabian. "simpleton! you trespass upon my good nature!" exclaimed mr. fabian, foaming with rage. "do i?" replied carl, "perhaps i shall trespass upon something else. do you know, sir, what i shall say when the justice questions me?" "what would you say, good carl?" inquired magde, encouragingly. "i would say, for i know exactly how it will come to pass, i would humbly say to the justice, that i did take the hares and partridges from the proprietor of almvik." "yes," interrupted mr. fabian, "you will be obliged to show your hand." "'now,' the judge will reply," continued carl, without noticing the interruption, "'my lad, why did you do so?' then i will answer, because it is not forbidden in my catechism; if the game had been an ox or an ass, i would not have taken it. then i would say to the justice, at the same time looking at him in this way"--and carl made such a ridiculous grimace that magde nearly laughed outright--"that there was no danger that mr. fabian h---- would frighten such fierce animals as the ox and the ass, for it is his custom to charm the hares and partridges by the sweet sound of his snores, for your honor must know that this huntsman pursues his game while comfortably snoring in the grass." "what do you say, clown?" "and then i can call as a witness the very man whom you intend to use against me, and finally i think that the justice will smile a little when i tell him that mr. fabian h---- was willing to forget all harsh measures for a kiss from magde." "ha! ha! ha!" exclaimed mr. fabian, with a forced laugh, with which he attempted to conceal his uneasiness, "you are a waggish rogue! your last words have afforded me so much amusement that i have not the heart to injure you for such a trifle. but listen, you little simpleton; you must not suppose that the justice would allow you to say all that. no, he would have sent you away long before you could have had time to utter a word about it." carl made no further reply than by applying his thumb to his nasal organ; and gyrating his fingers in a manner so significant that we will not endeavor to interpret his meaning. having executed this manoeuver, he hastily left the room, but remained at such a distance that he could keep a watchful eye through the open door upon the unwelcome guest. mr. fabian, who did not wish to appear vanquished, was at a loss how to change the conversation to such a theme as would afford him a suitable opportunity to take his leave in a dignified manner. but good magde, who had now entirely recovered her usual equanimity, soon assisted him--by means of that instinct which sometimes puts superior knowledge to the blush--out of his dilemma by saying: "i am grateful to you, mr. h----, for having forgiven carl because his words amused you; but what a simpleton the boy is!" "it was because he was a simpleton that i forgave him; but now as my visit is at an end, i will release you from your unwelcome guest. as for the game, carl can keep it. it would at all events create suspicion if it was sent to almvik." "and you, mr. h----, you will not be angry with us?" "i, god forbid. when i forgive i forget everything." magde arose and courtesied as her visitor took his departure. she accompanied him a short distance from the house, and waited till he unfastened the horse's halter. after mounting his animal, he drove his horse near the spot where magde was standing, and as he passed her he bowed deeply, but his face wore an expression that caused her entire form to tremble with an undefined fear. chapter x. the truant. fourteen days elapsed. gottlieb had fully learned the road from almvik to the cottage in the valley. it had never entered the mind of any one of the inmates of the cottage to consider him a dangerous guest. magde, who possessed a quick eye, soon discovered that nanna was the cause of his visits; but she also perceived that gottlieb was no dissembler. magde did not look further than this, for she did not suppose nanna would ever love one who did not return her affection. unrequited love she did not believe in, and she thought that nanna was of her opinion in this respect. and in truth thus it appeared, for neither nanna nor gottlieb experienced the slightest degree of restraint when in each other's society. the change that had taken place in nanna's appearance was marvellous; the blossoms of buoyant and happy girlhood had usurped the place formerly occupied by lilies on her cheeks, and our young hero had more than once laughingly said: "it is fortunate, miss nanna, that we made our agreement when we first met, for if we had not i do not know what would have happened. you become lovelier every day, nanna." yet in spite of these words gottlieb would blush with displeasure when their meetings at the spring were disturbed by a third person. the youthful teacher and pupil continued their meetings at the little fountain, and gottlieb at this spot gave nanna her first instructions upon the guitar. to his great pleasure she learned quickly, and soon she was able to sing her beautiful songs to her own accompaniment on his favorite instrument. words are inadequate to describe gottlieb's pride and elation when this was accomplished, and he was none the less rejoiced when he discovered how readily nanna comprehended him when he read to her the writings of his favorite bards. on her part nanna replied to her kind teacher, by confiding to him all of her little plans, among the first of which she mentioned the school-room, the cat and the singing bird which he was to have, and gottlieb gave her his advice concerning the arrangement of the benches in the school-room; the position which the black-board should occupy, and what little presents she should make her pupils as rewards of merit. he concluded by promising to send her every year a letter of advice; possibly he might come himself, occasionally, who knew? "i am sure of that," said nanna, one afternoon in reply to gottlieb, as he thus expressed himself, "for when you are married you will be obliged to visit almvik to show your rich wife to your uncle and aunt." "perhaps," replied gottlieb, with a laugh, "that journey will not be necessary, for if my aunt could only have her own way, she would certainly find me a wife in this neighborhood." "who could you possibly marry in this neighborhood?" inquired nanna curiously. "ah! mademoiselle nanna," replied gottlieb, "i easily perceive that you are not in the least danger, for you can hear that your friend gottlieb is to be married and betray not the slightest emotion." "why should i be moved, mr. gottlieb? it will have to occur sometime," said nanna innocently. "and yet--" "what yet!" "you are a good girl." "ah, but don't you remember the agreement?" "yes, and i only intended to remark that it would not be difficult for you to adhere to it." "does that displease you, sir?" inquired nanna in a tone of displeasure which was the more pertinent as it was foreign to her usual manner. "certainly not, miss nanna, on the contrary i am delighted that you should follow my advice so faithfully--either of the young ladies at the parsonage are suitable." "did you refer to one of those?" inquired nanna, her countenance assuming a deathly paleness, "o they are so beautiful." "yes, perfectly angelic--especially miss--miss--what is her name?" "you probably allude to miss charlotte." "right, miss charlotte, whose hair is so black and beautiful." "o, no, that is sophia!" exclaimed nanna. "well then, miss sophia, i prefer her." "but why is it that you changed their names?" inquired nanna. "why, you heard that i did not confound her black hair with her sister's brown ringlets." "how strange! charlotte's hair is quite light!" "of what earthly difference is it," replied gottlieb, "whether charlotte's hair is brown or white, i think only of the roguish and pretty miss sophia." "i think you are jesting with me, sir," said nanna laughing so heartily that the roses instantly returned to her cheeks. "i jest with you!" "of course. miss sophia is so serious and thoughtful that no person would call her roguish." "were you not as quiet as an old prayer-book the first time i saw you?" replied gottlieb. "and even if it was so--" "just look into the water, my little miss, and tell me whether you look as you used to." "then you would say, mr. gottlieb, that by some magic spell you have driven away miss sophia's gloominess?" "yes, i can say miss sophia's also." "_also?_--that is a bold speech!" "are you angry?" "oh, gottlieb!" "ah, miss nanna. are you weeping?" "mr. gottlieb may be mischievous and tantalizing enough to compel me to do so; but this time he has not succeeded." "well, as i cannot force you to weep, i must confess the truth, and that is--" "that you have seen neither of them," interrupted nanna. "not that, there you are mistaken, for i called at the parsonage one evening with my aunt, and i was so much pleased with the young ladies, that now i am here with you, while they are at almvik, where they arrived this morning. what do you think of that?" * * * * * what nanna thought gottlieb did not learn; but he soon was made acquainted with his aunt ulrica's opinion concerning his absence. gottlieb arrived at the latticed gate of the court-yard at almvik, just in time to salute the young ladies from the parsonage as they drove forth from the yard on their return home. they appeared somewhat displeased, and returned gottlieb's bow with a stiff and cold salute. mr. fabian observed with pleasure, the cloud which shadowed the brow of his beloved ulrica, foretelling the storm that was to burst forth; but not on himself. "nephew gottlieb," said aunt ulrica drawing the young man aside, "you have to-day for the first time afforded me an unpleasant surprise." "in what manner, dear aunt," replied gottlieb. "is it your custom when in your father's house to remain away all day when young ladies are visiting your parents?" "nothing would have been thought about it if such had been the case. my mother is not overfond of such strict principles of etiquette." "that is to be regretted, for boys who have not been carefully guided, rarely become gallant and well behaved young men; but we will say no more on that subject." "in that i concur." "we will therefore confine ourselves to that subject to which an innate knowledge guides us." "that leads us back upon the same road." "on the contrary, my young friend, if you will permit me to follow my own course i will place you on the road to heaven." "are you sure, my dear aunt, that you have discovered the right road?" "certainly, only think, a ton and a half of gold; beauty, amiability, and a knowledge of cookery which excels that of miss nylander [the author of a celebrated swedish cook book.] herself!" "but love, my dear aunt, is that not to be found in heaven?" "o, yes, and it might have already made rapid progress if you had assisted me in my first step towards the completion of my designs, by remaining at home instead of running away." "which proves that nothing existed before in which love could take root." "nonsense!" exclaimed mrs. ulrica, "if you wish to succeed your father you ought to improve your situation by some good marriage. miss charlotte is a lovely blonde, and miss sophia, a beautiful brunette, a perfect spanish donna." "yes, she has a remarkable resemblance to a donna; but unfortunately i do not prefer spanish ladies." "well, then charlotte possesses an affectionate disposition. you cannot but admire her fine sensitive nature, which should kindle a love equalling werther's love of lotta." "that is precisely what i fear. how would i look imitating werther?" "i do not wish you to follow his example. charlotte is a girl for whose sake a man might act foolishly, and still be pardoned--then you prefer charlotte?" "no, above all things in the world i detest preferences." "that is to say, you will cheerfully take the one of the two sisters you most admire after you have had an opportunity of visiting them a few weeks, and judging of their good qualities for yourself." "nothing of the kind, dear aunt." "then, what do you mean?" "that i have a great desire to look out for myself in this matter; and that taking all things into consideration, i am much too young to think of marriage." "then you despise your aunt's assistance?" "god forbid that such a sentiment should ever enter my heart. i honor and love god. i am grateful to him that he has given me a heart, and i pray him not to send me a bride which that heart cannot love." "your words sound well; but i shall not have my little plot marred by them. will you or will you not, accompany me to the parsonage, and conduct yourself as you should before the young ladies?" "i will behave politely towards any young lady; but, aunt, if you have any other meaning concealed beneath those words then--i will say no!" "you wish to quarrel with me, then. do you understand what that means, my dear nephew?" "i dare not think of such a misfortune." "yet that misfortune will certainly come. god knows i would do much for you; but consider upon your words while you have yet time--you need not trouble yourself to be present at the fishing excursion this evening." "why so, aunt, am i outlawed?" mrs. ulrica eugenia assumed an air of haughtiness. "then i have fallen into disgrace," continued gottlieb. "i will not deny," replied mistress ulrica, coldly, "that you are on the road to disgrace; but i hope this wholesome lesson will cause you to think better of my exertions in your behalf." "of that i have my doubts," thought gottlieb as his aunt majestically left the room; "and yet perhaps it is foolish on my part not to take her advice.--oh, why is not my little nymph of the fountain the possessor of a ton and a half of gold?--the little creature--hm--she is really too beautiful!" chapter xi. the fisherman. the usually turbulent lake wenner, presented, on the evening of which we are about to write, an unruffled and mirror-like appearance. in its clear bosom was reflected the lofty cliffs of mount kinnekulle, and sloop after sloop passed over this gigantic image until a puffing steamboat dashed over it and the picture was lost in the foaming spray in her wake. almvik was situated on a truly romantic spot near the margin of the lake, of which a magnificent view could be obtained from the mansion. the surface of the lake this evening presented a pleasing spectacle. fishes were leaping out of the water near little boats which were swinging at anchor, or were being pulled by sturdy fishermen who were going forth to ensnare the subjects of the water queen; but the proud queen, who, from her crystal palace beheld the danger, commanded her subjects to retreat, and quickly the sportive fishes hastened to the depths of the water that afforded them a barrier through which their enemies could not break. in consequence of these manoeuvers on the part of the water queen, our friend mr. fabian, who frequently endeavored to capture her subjects, was invariably unsuccessful. undoubtedly this must have been a source of much misery to the poor man, for he was situated between two iron wills, namely that of his wife and that of the water queen; the latter would not pay tribute, while the former demanded with all the firmness of an absolute monarch, that the tribute should be forced from the water queen at all hazards. after the above explanation our readers can well imagine mr. fabian's feelings when after having congratulated himself that his wife's anger with her nephew would occupy her mind for the entire evening, he received a summons from her that the boat and fishing tackle were ready for use. fishing was one of mistress ulrica's favorite pastimes, and although she did not generally participate in it, yet when she observed her husband's unskillfulness, she would indignantly cast aside her parasol, and grasp the fishing rod. however it may be, whether the water queen below wished to compliment the earthly queen above,--we know that ladies are prone to be polite to each other--or that some truant fish remained behind to become an easy prey to the enemy, suffice it to say that mistress ulrica was generally fortunate; but she did not--as she might have done--make use of her advantage, as she herself would say, "to cause her husband to blush with shame." when the dutiful husband arrived at the landing, he found his tender wife, standing near the boat, clasping her child's hand in her own, and our friend was obliged to see that his jewels were safely seated in the boat. after he had rowed the skiff out as far as ulrica thought was proper, he with many misgivings threw out his line. "how strange it is my dear fabian, that every time you fish you sit still there on your seat like a perfect automaton!" with this preamble, mistress ulrica opened the floodgates of her ill-humor, to which on occasions like the present especially she gave perfect freedom. "an automaton, my dear!" "a post, a perfect post. you do not even turn your head; just as though the company of your wife and child was the most wearisome thing of your life." but dearest ulrique eugenie, i must keep watch for a bite. if i turn around--" "you would not lose the sense of feeling if you should; but you hope, i suppose, that persons on the shore will think you master of the boat. simpleton! what folly to think that!" "dear ulrique eugenie, shall i ask if you have spared my nephew your ill-humor that you may vent it on me. it is my opinion--" "what is your opinion, sir?" "o nothing further than that i am sufficiently burdened with your natural bad-temper already, without having it increased by the aid of another." "burdened!--ill-humor--bad temper!--is the man mad? do you thus speak to me, your wedded wife, who bears your stupid indifference; your want of tenderness and love with angelic forbearance? o, this is too much! it is shameful! it is undeserved!" "now, now, ulgenie, do not be so hasty. you know how patient i am." "and what am i, then, to be married to such a musty husband? your wife is courted before your very eyes; you see nothing! you hear nothing!--i could be unfaithful to you, and even then you would close your eyes. o, fate! o bitter life! such a husband can drive a wife to desperation, and from thence it is but one step to madness." "who is again playing the gallant to you?" and in this "again," reposed an expression which displayed that such scenes were not new to him. mistress ulrica, like other women, possessed her weak points, one of which was that if a gentleman happened to converse with her pleasantly, she immediately imagined that he was desperately in love with her. but to her great sorrow, mrs. ulrica, although she possessed entire control over her husband's actions, never could make an othello of him. had mr. fabian but known her desire in this respect, he could have deprived his wife of her sceptre, and taken up the reins of matrimonial government himself. a tyrannical husband would have been able to bend mrs. ulrica like a reed, and to have trodden her under his feet which she would willingly have kissed; but now mr. fabian kissed her feet, and therefore she crushed him to the dust, and although she did not merit the reproach that desdemona received, it was, nevertheless, no fault of his. but of what use would it have been even should she have merited it? othello was a fanciful creation which her husband of all men would have been least willing to personate. "my fabian," she would say to herself, "my fabian can never prove unfaithful to me. he is too much of an idler, and thinks only of his sofa, pipe and tobacco." but we will resume the thread of the worthy couple's conversation. "who is again making love to you?" inquired mr. fabian again. mrs. ulrica uplifted her reproachful eyes to heaven. "he asks who! he has not even observed it!" "no, my dear wife, i have not." "and yet he has this entire day--," she turned her face aside, feigning to conceal a blush. "to-day! why we have had no gentlemen guests to-day, except the pastor's assistant who came with the young ladies, and took his departure before they did." "no gentlemen guests! as if he, the accomplished scholar, and entertaining gentleman, was nobody! and it was nothing that--" "well, what further?" "that he, carried away by those charms, that you have so long observed with indifference, should become deeply smitten with me." "what! do you think he entertains a secret affection for you?" "affection, i will not say affection; but passion, which word your dull brain cannot comprehend, you virtuous and modest joseph!" the lady laughed at her own joke, and then continued, "i am not certain whether i had better tell the young man that i have discovered his hope; but i shall be forced to forbid his visiting me, which will be the same as telling the whole world how this delicate affair stands." "will you permit me to give you a little advice?" said mr. fabian. "why not, fabian, you are my husband, and as such you have the right to do so." "then i would say, drop the subject where it stands." "are you not fearful! do you not shudder at the possibility of an unpleasant event?" "o, my dearest ulgenie, can i for a moment doubt your strength of soul, your virtue?" "it is true i am thus strongly armed, and i thank you, my dear fabian, for confiding in my faithfulness."--as was usual a few cheering sun-beams followed the cooling shower.--"forgive me, my dear husband, for harrowing your feelings; but there are times when even the strongest minded are weak." "you are an exception, my love." these confident words had nearly renewed the vexation within mistress ulrica's bosom; but suddenly she was struck with an idea that caused her to assume a still more affectionate expression of countenance. "we will trouble ourselves no more concerning that deeply to be pitied young man. i have something else which i wish to confide to you." "another lover?" inquired mr. fabian, widening his eyes. "i refer to a youth, for whose welfare i am deeply concerned." "explain yourself, my dear." "fabian, you must not hate him, for the young man does not understand himself, this i will answer for with my life, and perhaps he only indulges a platonic affection for one who realizes the romantic ideas which his youthful imagination had formerly brought forth." "you do not mean gottlieb, do you?" inquired fabian, unsuccessfully endeavoring to conceal a laugh. "fabian, why do you speak so sardonically? if in spite of your watchfulness, his has, unobserved by you, paid a tribute to your wife's beauty, you must remember that he did not know he was sinning. it was merely an accident that made me acquainted with the secret of his heart." "will you permit me to inquire what that accident was?" "with pleasure. i had--i tell you this in confidence--i had chosen one of the pastor's daughters as his wife; i invited her to almvik to-day, but he avoided her presence. he retired to that solitude which he seeks every evening either before or after we go out on our drive. a certain instinctive sentiment causes him to leave the house when you are absent, and more than all, when i reproached him for his faults, and pointed to the advantageous match i had in view for him, he had the boldness to say that he would retain to himself the right of disposing of his own heart." "and do you believe, my dear, that you are the first cause of this trouble?" "i have felt grieved at the thought that it might be so, nothing further." "well, well, dear ulgenie, i will release you from this burden on your conscience." mr. fabian, who always found it a difficult matter to converse long upon a serious matter, spoke the above words in a tone of voice especially lively, for his heart was rejoiced at the thought that now he had an opportunity of ridding himself of an unwelcome guest, without giving cause for any one to believe that it was his own desire to do so. "what are you babbling about?" inquired mistress ulrica, sharply, "what do you know about my nephew's affairs?" "nothing further than that he has had a little love affair of his own, which occupies his attention during those solitary walks you referred to a moment ago." "he! gottlieb! has he dared to fall in love!" "certainly." "impossible!" "but i assure you that it is true, and if you will ask him why he so frequently visits the valley, he certainly will not deny that he goes there for the purpose of meeting handsome nanna, the daughter of old mr. lonner. he reads poetry to her, and under the pretence of teaching her the guitar, he finds an opportunity of pressing her pretty little white hands." "if that is true. if he, while he remains under my roof, enters into such a miserable intrigue, i will--for i consider it my duty as occupying the place of his mother--i will to-morrow morning mar his plans. but how did you learn this?" this was a question which mr. fabian could not truthfully answer, for if he should do so, he would have been obliged to state that he, after his disagreeable parting with magde, had taken a roundabout path towards almvik, which conducted him so near the valley that he discovered two persons sitting beneath the tree near the fountain, and that from that day forward he had closely watched gottlieb's movements, so that he might be enabled to hold a weapon over the one who might perhaps be a spy upon his own actions. it was therefore an accident which opened mr. fabian's eyes to gottlieb's crime; but he had not wished to play the part of an accuser, o, no, for such love affairs were common to all young men, at least he thus assured his wife. "make no excuse for him, sir," interrupted mistress ulrica sharply, "this indeed is excellent, and will become still richer if not prevented in time. the reproaches of a mother on the one hand, and the curses of a father on the other; a seduced girl, perhaps something worse; a criminal investigation, and a scandal in which our house, and possibly ourselves, will figure largely; all this we must expect. as true as my name is ulrique eugenie, this matter shall have an end, and a speedy end, too." "but how will you accomplish that?" inquired fabian. "that i shall attend to myself. gottlieb has said that he should like to travel over the mountains into norway. now then he can go to amal, and from thence he may commence his journey. he shall have money, but must obey me." * * * * * the following morning, after mistress ulrica had convinced herself by her own eyes of the truth of her husband's report, for she followed gottlieb to the meadow that morning instead of taking her usual ride, gottlieb was summoned to her apartment, and underwent an examination that nearly exhausted his entire stock of patience. the interview resulted in his determination to accept his aunt's proposal, that he should take a journey into norway. he did not inform nanna, however, of the cause of his sudden departure, for he feared that it would grieve her. their last interview was cheered by bright anticipations of the day when gottlieb should return and observe the improvement which nanna should make, both in her performance on the guitar, and in her education; for when his aunt had made a contract of peace with him, gottlieb had insisted that nanna should have the guitar, to which clause the old lady consented. the young couple parted in the hope of a joyful meeting, and gottlieb's farewell kiss did not assist nanna to forget him. the next day after gottlieb had taken his departure, jon jonson's sloop arrived in the bay opposite the little cottage in the valley. chapter xii. grief. nearly two months had elapsed since those remarkable days on which nanna had received her first kiss, and magde had heard from her husband by the arrival of jon jonson's sloop. great had been her joy when ragnar's gifts arrived in safety.--she then thought that everything had come to a good conclusion. but greatly was she deceived! there was a man to whom magde had invariably conducted herself with cool indifference, and who, after having been defeated by her in the manner which we have before described bestowed upon her a parting glance which had caused her to shudder as if she had trodden upon a serpent. and he was indeed a serpent in human guise, for soon she felt the delayed sting of the venomous reptile. until ragnar had received his appointment as mate, old mr. lonner had invariably purchased his supplies of the merchants at goteborg; but as ragnar thought that foreign goods could be obtained much cheaper by procuring them himself, and sending them home without paying the duty, he soon persuaded the old man to adopt his opinion on the subject. until now no unpleasant consequence had resulted from ragnar's occasionally smuggling a few articles for the use of the family; but the old adage says "a pitcher which goes oft to the fountain is soon broken," and in ragnar's case this proverb was verified. yet, for this accident, the custom house officers were not so much to blame, for not one in that service would have thought for a moment of searching the cottage in the valley, unless positive information was received, nay more, unless that information was accompanied with threats of exposure, for dereliction of duty. unfortunately, the custom house stamp was wanting upon the handkerchiefs, shawls, and other goods sent by ragnar, and the family not only were deprived of them, but were menaced with fines and penalties, which to pay, was entirely out of their power. to add to their misfortune their protector, ragnar, who would have soon put an end to their troubles, had started a few days before the catastrophe, upon a voyage to brazil. magde and nanna wept only when they were alone, or at least when they were with each other. they concealed their tears from the old man, his life should not be further embittered; it was bitter enough already. the little fortune on which they had hoped to subsist for many months was entirely swept away. old mr. lonner, however, observed the secret grief of his daughters, and said to himself: "poor children, you do not know what is yet to come." the smuggled goods were marked with old mr. lonner's name only, and he well knew that a heavy penalty was yet to follow. "we have enjoyed so much happiness, and peace, since ragnar and magde were married," said he encouragingly to his daughter, "that we should bravely endure a little misfortune. it is not allotted to man that he should enjoy a constant season of prosperity." but nanna and magde smiled sorrowfully as he thus spoke. the inmates of the cottage now exerted themselves to the utmost to better their sad condition. our friend carl exerted himself beyond all the others. he who had neglected the affairs of his own relations for those of his neighbors, now scarcely had leisure to step beyond the boundary line of his father's estate. he was everything, and did everything so willingly and skilfully, that it was not necessary for the family to hire any servant to assist them as they had formerly done, and although latterly he had been somewhat feeble in health, he cared not for himself, but worked manfully in wet as well as dry weather. his troubles and toil were all forgotten, when magde would reward him for his efforts with a friendly nod of her head. and when she would say, "you will work yourself to death, my carl," he would laugh pleasantly, and immediately renew his efforts ten fold. he now determined that after his duties at home were performed, to go among the neighbors; not to be a nurse for their children, as before, but to work for wages, and after this when he returned and placed the money on magde's weaving loom, a bright object might have been discovered glistening upon the crumpled bank-note. it was a tear of joy which carl had shed. magde after the first occurrence of this incident, dared to praise carl no further. she already perceived the consequence of so doing, but after the lilacs and lilies had faded, the tulips, roses and lavender bushes, bloomed, and however weary magde might find herself after a day of toil, she would each evening place elegant boquets in carl's flower vases. at length, and too soon, the decision in regard to the smuggled goods arrived, and as mr. lonner was unable to pay the penalty imposed upon him, he was doomed to imprisonment. in this their day of trouble, mr. lonner alone retained his courage. he well knew in truth to whom they were indebted for their distress, but he feared nothing. he trusted in the belief that magde would do all that was in her power to raise the sum of money necessary to pay the fine. it was unfortunate, however, that magde, without the old man's knowledge, had expended their small stock of money to pay a few debts that they had contracted the previous spring. we will not attempt to depict the misery of the moment when old mr. lonner stepped into the boat which was to conduct him to the prison at harad which was located on the opposite side of the lake, and where he was to be confined for the time being. both of his daughters wished to accompany him to the opposite shore; but he forbade them so seriously that they dared not press their desires further. it was touching to observe these sorrow stricken females, amidst their terror search high and low in the cottage for various articles of comfort for their beloved father. at length, with a slight degree of sorrowful impatience old mr. lonner ordered the boatmen to push off from the shore, and then it was piteous in the extreme to behold both magde and nanna, as they clung to the gunwale, to whisper their tearful adieu's, and to promise that they would pay him a visit in his prison in a few days. finally the bitter moment was over; the boat rapidly proceeded from the land; but so long as they could discern the old man's white locks fluttering in the breeze and even until the boat appeared a speck in the distance, nanna and magde remained on the shore gazing out upon the water. in the meantime carl without the knowledge of the family had proceeded to the opposite shore of the lake, and when the boat which contained his father touched the shore, carl greeted him tenderly and presented him with a ten dollar bank note. this was a treasure indeed, and carl had obtained it by selling the only article of value which he possessed. it was a silver watch, which his mother had given him before she died. on his return home that evening he remarked:--"father need not fear. he can live in his prison rolling in riches; a gentleman met him on the other shore and loaned him ten dollars." how magde and nanna blessed the kind hearted gentleman; but their joy was but momentary. what should they do now? how should they provide for themselves in this unexpected trouble. their poor neighbors like themselves, were moneyless, and their wealthy neighbors would undoubtedly require some security before they would loan them money. nanna often looked towards the spot in the meadow, so full of pleasant memories. if her kind friend would only return. he certainly, would be able to advise them how to act in their present strait. three days elapsed after the old man's departure, and many were the plans formed by magde, but the only apparently feasible one, was that which she would most unwillingly undertake to carry into effect. she was perfectly convinced that the proprietor of almvik would willingly assist her; but he would do it _too_ willingly, for afterwards he would cause her to feel that she was in his debt. "but," thought she in a maze of doubt and fear, "what shall i do? is it better to remain as we are and allow the poor old man to languish in prison, or to go to almvik, and thus receive the only boon our father wishes, liberty? but what would ragnar advise me to do. he loves his father as he does the apple of his eye; but his wife he loves as he does his own heart--and then if he should imagine that mr. fabian h---- --oh! my god! what trouble would then arise!--but again i shall not be able to assist the old man--no, no, that will not do, i can hold out no longer." magde had no person with whom to consult, for what advice could poor carl give? nanna was a mere child, and magde felt that she could not consult her upon such an intricate question. she had conversed with the parson concerning her trouble, yet although he was not backward in giving her good advice, he nevertheless refused to assist her with his purse, for he was as miserly as he was wealthy. the time had now arrived when magde could no longer postpone the promised visit to her father, and all the members of the family wished to go upon this little pilgrimage. great were the preparations that were made to supply themselves with a sufficient quantity of provisions which they were to take to the old man. magde baked pan-cakes, and nanna made pies, and if a smile did appear on magde's lips it was when they spoke of the pleasant surprise they were preparing for their father. at length the moment for their departure arrived. even little christine and the favorite dog carlo, were to form a portion of the company, that they might be able to see their old friend. the children leaped with joy. they thought only of the pleasant trip over the swelling billows of the lake. magde finished lading the skiff; but her heart was overflowing with grief, for she had no glad tidings with which to gladden the heart of the old man. nanna who during the busy activity of the morning had successfully endeavored to suppress her sorrow, was so much overcome as she was about stepping into the boat that she nearly fainted. she saw in her imagination the pale and suffering countenance of her father; who was however smiling patiently as he stood ready to greet his children, that were to leave him again in his dreary and lonely prison. the poor child in anticipation suffered all the pangs of a second farewell with her imprisoned parent. "it will not do for you to accompany us," said magde in a firm and motherly tone, "you are ill, and therefore had better return." "i am afraid," replied nanna trembling violently, "that i shall be obliged to do so. give my love to him, and tell him--" and now her long suppressed tears burst forth in torrents--"tell him if i do not come, it is not because i do not love him." "silence, silence my poor sister, i know myself what i have to say--go and may god be with you--here is the key--lock the door--carl take the oars." chapter xiii. the banishment--the re-union. when magde's boat passed the mansion at almvik, two persons were walking on the verge of the shore near the lake. the one was mistress ulrica, and her companion was gottlieb, who had returned a few days before, from his trip through norway. as the boat shot round a rocky point of land, gottlieb exclaimed, as he recognized its occupants, and bowed friendly to them: "where are they all going! they look so sorrowful and dejected!" "sorrowful!" repeated mrs. ulrica, "you may thank god that it is not necessary for you to participate in the sorrows of the lower classes." "if they are in trouble, i do not see why i should not sympathise with them." aunt ulrica shook her head with a dissatisfied expression of countenance. "you may certainly boast of your firmness of mind, and your knowledge of human nature; i have shown you the danger of associating with such persons. i sent you away--i--" "i beg your pardon," interrupted gottlieb, hastily, "i was not _sent_ away. i took a journey which i had decided on myself, and returned as i departed, with a heart ever ready to sympathise with the afflicted." "then go, and participate in the sorrows of your beggar friends. i suppose, from your liberal words, that you are well supplied with money." "what has happened to them?" "the old man, in connection with his son, has been detected in smuggling foreign goods, and of course his property was confiscated. the old gentleman in whose name the business was transacted, was sent to prison because he had no money to pay the penalty, and there he will remain until you go to his release." "and he shall not wait long," replied gottlieb. "i have accomplished greater undertakings than that in my time." "ah, ha," sneered mrs. ulrica, "you speak boldly, boy. i am astonished." "if any one should be astonished, i am the person." "indeed!" "i come to relatives who at first welcomed me cordially. my affections attached themselves to my kind friends, for it is a necessary quality for me to be grateful; but suddenly everything is changed, and i am treated like a school boy, whom you must curb, or else fear that he might commit some folly. to this description of guardianship i have not been accustomed, and as it is not my desire to submit to your control, i must beg you, aunt ulrica, not to attempt to govern me in this manner, for i assure you that your efforts will always be fruitless." "foolish boy! you forget that i could be useful to you; could smooth your path by my wealth and influence." "i do not forget it, and i should have been very happy to have been able to retain your good will; but at the price of my liberty of thought and action, i do not desire your favor." "then you will return to the valley, to miss nanna." "undoubtedly. she requires my presence, and i long to see her." "then you still love the young girl?" inquired mrs. ulrica. "i do not know whether i loved her when i departed from almvik; but this much i do know, that her image has been with me constantly during my absence; and that i shall see her again to-day." "to tell her of this folly?" "o, no, that would be unjust, as i can tell her nothing more." "thank heaven for that! you, yourself, see that it would be impossible to--" "what?" inquired gottlieb, as his aunt paused. "to marry her." "i do not at all consider it impossible; but as it is uncertain whether i ought to wed nanna when the time arrives for me to marry, it is better for both of us that we should rest satisfied with friendship alone." "listen to me, gottlieb. sometimes you speak so wisely that i am not certain but that it would repay me to make a proposal to you." "well, i am all attention." "if i am not much mistaken, pity is the only sentiment that you feel for that girl, nanna. if i was to take it upon myself to pay the old man's fine; if i should further promise you to provide for nanna's future maintenance--you know i would not break my word--will you bind yourself not to see her again?" "no, i will never do that. she would be oppressed with sorrow throughout her whole life, if i should be capable of making such an unworthy promise." "obstinate youth! you force me to perform my duty to your mother my sister, and command you to visit almvik no longer. i will not burden my conscience by abetting you in your misconduct." "i will remain a few days longer," replied gottlieb without evincing the slightest emotion, "to rest myself after my journey, and then i shall be ready to obey your command." "right," muttered mrs. ulrica hotly, as she hastily left the young man, "you shall repent this." without wasting time by thinking upon this conversation with his aunt, gottlieb hastened on the road towards the little cottage. he had observed nanna was not in the boat, and after proceeding to the spring, and fruitlessly searching for her, he hurried to the cottage, his heart beating with such rapidity as he stood before the door, that he was astonished at his great emotion. "illness could not have prevented her from going with them," thought he, "certainly not, or they would have remained with her." thus thinking he knocked at the door; but he was obliged to repeat the summons several times before he heard the sound of slow footsteps approaching. "who is there?" inquired a soft voice from within. "'tis i, nanna!" an exclamation of joyful surprise was the only reply. the bolt was quickly thrown back; the door opened, and nanna appeared upon the threshold, pale and careworn. she was clothed in her only holiday dress, a black merino frock which fitted closely around her neck, thereby disclosing her graceful bust to its best advantage. without speaking, but overwhelmed with her joyful emotions, she cast herself in gottlieb's arms, and never was there a purer embrace given or returned than on this occasion. with tender gentleness gottlieb imprinted his second kiss upon her lips, and then said softly:-- "poor nanna, poor child, you have at least one friend in your adversity." "then gottlieb is acquainted with--" she blushingly withdrew herself from his embrace. she had not thought that her greeting had been contrary to customary usage. "yes, i know your sorrow; and you may rest assured that i will give myself no rest, during the few days that i remain here, until i see your father at liberty and safely in his own house again." "o, if that were but possible!" she clasped her hands and lifted her eyes, confidingly, to the face of her youthful friend. "it shall be possible, nanna. you have my word for it. if i had been here it would not have happened." "i thought so. an inner voice told me that if _he_ would only come to us all would be well again." "i am grateful for your confidence and shall always remember it with pleasure." "remember it!" exclaimed nanna, "are you going to leave us again?" nanna again clasped her hands, and this action and the mournful expression of her countenance spoke more than words could have expressed. "will you miss me, nanna?" "always." "and perhaps wish we had never met?" inquired gottlieb earnestly. "ah, no," replied nanna warmly, "the remembrance of you will perhaps work a happier future for me than i would have had without it." "but tell me," said gottlieb changing the subject to one less dangerous, "why did not your sister apply to the proprietor of almvik." "o, she would never apply to him. she would rather allow things to take their own course." "why so?" "i know not whether i dare tell you. papa and magde, consider me a mere child, yet i can understand that mr. h---- has sought her with wrong motives, and if i can believe my brother, carl--" "what then?" interrupted gottlieb eagerly. "then i can believe that all of our troubles have originated in the fact that magde refused to give that gentleman a kiss when he requested it." "what, did he wish to purchase a kiss?" "yes, for carl's pardon," and now nanna related every circumstance connected with the theft of the game, in nearly the same words in which she had heard it from carl. after a short season of reflection, during which he compared the different circumstances, gottlieb arrived at the same conclusion that carl had expressed to his sister; and at the same time he also fancied that he had discovered a method for old mr. lonner's release, which could not fail of success. in the meantime he merely inquired whether mr. fabian h---- had visited the cottage since his discomfiture. "i have several times observed him prowling about the premises," replied nanna; "he probably hoped to have an opportunity of seeing magde alone, which however he has never had, for even should he offer his assistance, she would not have dared to accept it, for if she did, ragnar would be very angry." when gottlieb returned to almvik, he learned that his worthy uncle, whom as he before knew had left the house early that morning, was not expected to return until late in the evening. in consequence of this unfortunate circumstance, gottlieb saw nothing before him except a vexatious delay in his intended operations; but it soon entered his mind that mr. fabian's absence might be connected in some degree with his wayward love. the day on which he had visited magde, in order to take advantage of carl's theft, he had also departed from almvik in the morning, for during the evening hours his wife was invariably on the watch. the more gottlieb considered this circumstance the more he was convinced that if his uncle had sown the seed it was done for his own benefit, and undoubtedly the time was now at hand when he should reap the harvest. "ah!" thought gottlieb, "if i should only be so fortunate as to obtain a power over my uncle, my suspicions and conjectures would exert a powerful influence upon his yielding disposition, especially, if i should place his wife in the back-ground. but to surprise him, with my own eyes in forbidden grounds, would be as good as to have old mr. lonner safe back in his cottage again." chapter xiv. the prisoner. while the incidents last narrated were transpiring on the one side of the lake, magde's boat had reached the other, and the occupants of the boat were about landing, yes, carl had even secured the boat to the stake, when one of the little ones in attempting to reach the landing, fell overboard with a loud cry. the young and always self-possessed mother, answered the boy's cry, not by crying out herself, but by springing into the water after him, and when carl turned to learn the cause of the confusion, she had already reached her little boy, and was holding him up at arm's length out of the water. it was all done in a moment, without the least unnecessary confusion. "carl," said she quietly, "take the boy." but carl had lost his self-possession entirely. after he had literally thrown the boy on the landing, he inquired with a trembling voice:-- "could you not wait for me? the boy would not have sunk immediately." "you must not scold me, carl, i am only a little wet." she then quietly drew herself to the shore. "how will you dry yourself now?" inquired carl in a tone of uneasiness and vexation. "o, easily, i will call on mother larsson and borrow a dress to wear while we visit our father, and my clothing will be dry by the time we return." carl was silent. he was displeased because magde had not called him to her assistance. meanwhile he proceeded with the children to the prison, that he might prepare the old man for the visit. magde did not tarry long at mother larsson's. as soon as she had obtained the necessary garments, she hurried on, clothed in a neat peasant's frock which fitted her fine form gracefully. the prison at harad was located in the ruins of an old castle. its outward appearance presented a dark and forbidding aspect. the heart of the beholder would contract within him as he gazed upon those ruins of fallen greatness, as they reposed before him, dark and deserted, like an evil omen in his path. but the interior of the prison, with its tottering weather beaten projections, apparently ready to fall from their resting places, presented an appearance still more gloomy and forbidding. dampness, and mould of a hundred years growth had obliterated all traces of the fresco paintings that had formerly ornamented the ceiling, on which the moisture had gathered and fell at regular intervals with a hollow patter upon the stone pavement below. the places once occupied by glittering chandeliers were now shrouded with immense spider webs, in which a whole colony of spiders lived subsisting on the noisome vapors of this gloomy charnel like abode. aside from these poisonous insects, an occasional rat, and a few unfortunate prisoners, there were no other inhabitants in this dark prison. a flock of jackdaws had built their nest beneath the eaves of the old castle, and as they received good treatment from the prisoners they would pay them a passing visit at their grated windows to look in upon them or to receive a few crumbs of bread. old mr. lonner had already made their acquaintance and derived much pleasure from attending to their little wants, while he anxiously awaited the arrival of his children. when magde arrived she found carl had prepared the way for her so that she, without hindrance, proceeded directly to the old man's cell. mr. lonner was deeply moved by the visit of his children; but he appeared perfectly resigned. magde's two children were seated upon his knees, while carl was standing before him relating all that had transpired during his imprisonment. the cloud which had rested upon the old man's brow changed instantly to an expression of joy when he beheld magde the wife of his beloved son, enter the room. his arms trembled as he embraced her, and his heart throbbed painfully when she described her sorrows and troubles, and told him that nanna had nearly fainted as they were about entering the boat, at the mere thought of the second parting. "it was right to leave her behind," said mr. lonner, "and if we can only find some means whereby i may be released before the autumn, that the cold may not increase my feebleness, then--" "means must be found, father, i think, of immediately going to the city, to take our cow and the two sheep with me, aside from those i will also take the piece of linen which i have made for ragnar's shirts. by adding all these together i--" "but, dear daughter, if you sell the cow, how will these little ones prosper?" he clasped his hands upon the two little white heads of the children who were sitting in his lap. "o, i can borrow some milk of our neighbors, and we can repay them in the fall, after ragnar returns, for then we shall have another cow." "that will never do, my child. we must discover some other method." "i had an idea, also," said carl, advancing from a corner into which he had withdrawn when magde entered. "what is it, my good boy?" inquired his father. "i was thinking about that which ragnar has so often told us, about the people in england who procured money by pawning themselves--what was it he called it?" continued he, scratching his head to arouse his memory. "life insurance, was it not?" replied his father. "that's it, father, and ragnar also told me that even here in sweden, gold might be obtained from england on such terms. now, if we could find some one who understood this matter, and would undertake to draw up the proper writings, i would willingly give my life as security, and then you see, father, i should be just the same as so much ready money." "my good son, your words are well intended; but it is not as you think in relation to life insurance." "o, that is too bad, father, or you might have received a large sum of money when i am dead." "my life, i hope, will be finished before yours," said his father, "i am old, and you are young." "true, i am young in years; but lately, yes, last friday, while i passed through the church yard, i heard a voice, and that voice i believed." "what ideas you invent!" exclaimed magde, frightened for the first time, as she observed carl's hollow cheeks and sunken eye, "but what did the voice say?" "'carl, carl, carl,' it said, calling my name three times, 'you will not live long.'" "your brain is weak, my boy, because you have worked too hard. when your body has received rest, and rest it must have, you will feel much better. but tell me, carl, what you thought when you imagined you heard the voice." "i did not think, but merely replied, 'indeed.'" "but, carl, with this superstition you will make your father sorrowful." "sorrowful? i do not think so. should he be sorrowful because our saviour in his grace is willing to call me to his fold? instead of being sorrowful, the day of my departure should be a festive day. how many troubles do we escape after we are placed in the earth!" "but if you think in that manner, you will become mournful yourself, you will not be able to laugh any more." "not laugh," replied carl, and without an effort he commenced laughing merrily. his face glowed with mirthfulness, and his melancholy humor seemed to have vanished as if by magic. it appeared so strange to him that magde should desire him to laugh, that he forgot all about the life insurance or the warning voice, and once thus engaged, he took no farther part in the consultation. an hour elapsed, and magde, after having emptied the basket of its contents, experienced a return from the hope that had sustained her during the interview, to her former despondency, as the moment of parting approached. carl proceeded in advance to prepare the boat. "in four days, at the furtherest, i shall return," said magde, pausing upon the threshold of her father's cell, "and then, as i hope for ragnar's continued love, i shall bring you good tidings." "thank you, my dear magde. ragnar shall learn all that you have done for his old father. kiss nanna, poor little innocent, for me, and tell her that she must not come here, for it will only make her heart more heavy and sad." a moment later, and the creaking doors resounded throughout the ruins, the prisoner was again alone. but once more did he hear a dear voice, for when magde arrived at the outside, she remembered with a feeling of uneasiness, that her youngest child had not been blessed by its grandfather. in the haste of departure, the little one had been entirely forgotten; but as it was impossible for her to leave the prison with the dear child unblessed, she stood beneath the grated window, and exclaimed: "father, dear father, please look through the window, and i will hold up the baby for you, that you may give it your blessing." immediately the old man's white head appeared at the window, and magde held the child aloft in her hands towards him. and now everything was performed rightly; the last farewell glances were exchanged, and then magde and her children disappeared from the old man's sight. chapter xv. gottlieb on the watch. the heat of the day had been followed by the pleasant coolness of an august evening. the hands of the clock pointed to the hour of ten, and gottlieb, who had been walking during the entire evening in the neighborhood of the little red cottage, began to think that his uncle fabian had in all comfort reached his home by another road. "it is so quiet in the cottage," thought he, "that i think they have all retired." he glanced stealthily over the lilac hedge towards magde's window. the entire valley was bathed in moonlight, and the moonbeams glanced directly through the window panes of magde's apartment, with such vivid brightness that gottlieb was undecided how to act. soon, however, he resolved to convince himself of the true state of affairs, that he might be prepared if his uncle should arrive. he gradually made an opening in the hedge and having found his way clear before him he advanced to the window which, as the weather was warm, was secured only by a small cord. he glanced through the window, and a beautiful picture met his gaze. in this chamber, the husband and wife's little temple, the moonlight was brilliantly reflected from ragnar's brightly polished hunting and fishing implements which, neatly arranged, were hung against the walls. at the opposite side of the room, a much worn sailor's hat, commonly called a tarpaulin, was balanced upon the point of a fishing rod, and beneath this trophy was placed a small side board, the open doors of which disclosed a number of shelves laden with gilt edged drinking vessels of white and blue china; a set of rose colored tea-cups, and several polished silver plated mugs. a few uncommonly excellent specimens of carving in wood, decorated one of the shelves, and another shelf contained several articles of jewelry which magde had received both before and after she was married. all these little valuables magde had gathered together, after she had put the children to bed, in the hope that she might find some few articles among them that would save her from disposing of the cow. but her search, undoubtedly, had proved fruitless, for magde's ornaments were made almost entirely of bronze. seated in a chair with her hand resting upon the cradle, magde was now sleeping soundly. she had been called, probably, while she was engaged in assorting her little treasures, to attend to the wants of her infant, and overcome by fatigue had unwillingly submitted to the power of that consoler of human grief, sleep. her face was turned towards the window, and the moonlight illumined her entire figure, which was rendered more prominent by the fact that the cradle stood in the centre of the room. she was still attired in the garments she had borrowed, and her brown hair, fell in two long braids over her loose white sleeves, from whence they dropped upon the face of the sleeping child, while magde's elbow was resting upon the little pillow. "what a picture for a painter!" thought gottlieb. "young lonner is not the most miserable of men, by my faith; but i know one who at some future time will look much prettier in that position!" the dull sound of a horse's hoofs, aroused him from his reveries. "ah, ha," thought he as a smile of triumph played upon his lips, "i was right. we shall now see what is to happen." gottlieb returned to his hiding place in the hedge with noiseless rapidity. he had not remained long in his somewhat tiresome position, when the sound of the horse's hoofs ceased, and from the noise which proceeded from the other side of the hedge he concluded that the owner of the horse had dismounted and was securing his animal to a tree. he soon heard the sound of light footsteps proceeding over the grass, and then he discovered the familiar form of mr. fabian approaching the cottage. after the new comer had assured himself that the door was fastened he advanced to the window near which gottlieb had been standing a moment before. instead of spending time in useless watchfulness he immediately tapped upon the window; but magde slept so soundly that the noise did not disturb her. mr. fabian flatted his nose against the window pane and suddenly discovered the picture that gottlieb had so much admired. yet it was not an expression of love which passed his lips as he gazed upon her. "confound that woman!" he exclaimed, "she drives me mad, and i believe she would look on, if i was parching with thirst in the torments of hell, and not give me a single drop of water." he again tapped upon the pane so loudly, that a person less fatigued than magde would have awakened. at this moment mr. fabian was struck with fear at his own temerity. "only think," thought he, "suppose i should awaken some one else! what if an account of this should come to my wife's ear!"--the thought was terrible, and the guilty husband's knees trembled violently. so much did he respect his "dear ulgenie," that he felt it even at his present distance from her, and perhaps he would have relinquished all his plans in relation to his beautiful magde, had he not discovered that the window was fastened only with a small cord. to break off a small twig from a neighboring bush, and to thrust it through the crevice of the window and remove the cord from the hook, was the work of an instant, and before gottlieb could fully understand the nature of his uncle's movements he saw him suddenly disappear through the window. of course magde was now awakened by the noise of mr. fabian's abrupt entrance, and she quickly sprang from the chair. when she recognized the intruder she was seized with a deathly fear; which was however but of momentary continuance. with flashing eyes, and haughtily curling lips she advanced towards him with a bearing so threatening that mr. h---- retreated in fear. "why do you visit me at this hour?" she inquired. "i was unable to come earlier. i have been to see the justice and made such arrangements that i think mr. lonner can be released as early as to-morrow." "and to speak these words--undoubtedly well intended--you have crawled through my window." "upon my honor it was not my fault. i knocked several times, and not wishing to go home without telling you this good news, which i thought would cause you to sleep better--and observing you had not retired--i seized the only opportunity remaining." "well," replied she, "i do not think harm will result from your friendly visit, but as it is out of the order of things that you should remain here, i must request you to leave the room in the manner you entered, and then i can converse with you through the window." "cruel magde!" exclaimed mr. fabian entreatingly, and even dared to extend his hand towards her. but magde repulsed him with a look of scorn and anger. "travel no further upon this crooked path, and call me magde no longer, i bear the name of my husband, and wish to be called by that title alone." gottlieb who could observe and overhear all that occurred, or was said in magde's chamber, could scarcely refrain from laughter as he saw his good uncle retreating before the virtuous woman until he arrived at the window from which he somewhat clumsily descended. gottlieb was on the point of rushing forward to receive his loved relative in his arms and thus preventing him from injuring his precious limbs, when the sound of magde's voice prevented him from rendering this important service to his uncle. "there, that will do," said she, "we can now converse without inconvenience to either of us. i hope mr. h---- has not hurt himself." "o, never mind me," replied he, "your heart is too hard to be moved at my sufferings." "i wish to say a word to you, mr. h----. your labor is entirely thrown away upon me. i can pity the folly of a man if his folly is not evil; but--" "am i evil? try me," interrupted mr. fabian hastily. "i will," replied magde. "if you will bind yourself to release my father i shall ever be grateful for the service." "and nothing further?" "nothing." "then, at least give me your hand that i may with it wipe away the tears that scald my eyes. i am a weak, a tender hearted man, and must weep when i am scoffed at. but never mind, give me your hand, a moment." "it is impossible." "give me but your little finger." in lieu of a reply, magde endeavored to close the window; but her admirer prevented her from doing so. "ah!" exclaimed he furious at his defeat. "you wish to enjoy a boon, and not reward the donor. then listen, the old man shall remain where he is. if i do not interest myself for him no one else will." "that remains to be seen. mr. gottlieb has returned--" "ah! then, he has returned. well, what can he do?" "not much, my dear uncle," exclaimed gottlieb advancing towards mr. fabian, "except to give my dear aunt ulrica, a full account of the interesting conversation i have accidentally overheard." "without replying mr. fabian stared a moment in bewildered surprise, at the intruder, and then rushing wildly to his horse, he mounted and urged the animal to a furious speed. "well, well," exclaimed magde, "we can well compare mr. h---- to a hare. but mr. gottlieb, whatever chance brought you here, do not bring sorrow upon him, by speaking to his wife of this adventure." "fear not, mrs. lonner, i have not been on the watch here to become an informer; but as i heard certain things from nanna to-day, and as i from the first have suspected my uncle, and as i wished to have him in my power--" "i understand you mr. gottlieb. you are an honest and faithful friend, and we shall never forget--" "and i, mrs. lonner," interrupted gottlieb, "i shall not forget this valley i assure you, and now good night; in a short time everything will be as it was before." "thank you, a thousand times! when ragnar returns, through god's assistance we will repay you." * * * * * gottlieb's heart bounded with joy, as he proceeded on his road towards almvik, but the heart of another traveller in the same direction was oppressed with gloomy forebodings. it is almost unnecessary to say that the latter traveller was mr. fabian h----. on his arrival at almvik he entered his wife's chamber trembling with anxiety, lest gottlieb had been there before him. "what is the matter with you?" inquired his wife, who had already retired to her bed; "has the horse been balky, or have you met with an accident?" "nothing, nothing, darling ulgenie; but my head has been heavy all the afternoon." "that is caused by your excessive sleeping," said mrs. ulrica. "perhaps it is. hereafter i shall sleep less, and after this, my dear wife, i will follow your advice in everything." "then, my dear, you will be a good husband. if i should always find you so, i would not have so many causes for complaint." "have you any complaint to make now?" inquired mr. fabian, anxiously. mr. fabian was in a state of fearful suspense. the air to him appeared populated with evil spirits. "i did not speak thus for the purpose of troubling you, dear fabian, it would not be just for me to choose this moment, when you feel so repentant, to remind you of other moments when you do not seem impressed with the worth of your wife." "yes, yes, that would indeed be cruel, for it is true, really true, that--that--" "what, fabian, good fabian?" "that i never before have so much esteemed and adored you, my dear, dear--" he was unable to proceed. "ah! fabian, that is the true spirit. you at last understand how happy you are." "yes, as happy as the condemned sinner," sighed fabian; but in such a manner that his wife heard the first word only. chapter xvi. the festival. the next morning, when gottlieb awoke, he discovered that he had a visitor even at that early hour of the day. his uncle fabian was pacing backward and forward at the side of his nephew's bed, with a countenance so wretched and woe begone, that gottlieb could not but pity him. "good morning, uncle," said gottlieb, cheerfully, "how is your health?" "why do you ask?" "your voice sounds just as if i was a robber demanding your purse or your life. what is the matter?" "that which you told me yesterday makes your comparison very apt." "you are mistaken. it is not my intention to play the part of the famous rinaldo rinaldini. i am the most peaceable person in the world, and if you wish to remain at peace at home--which is very natural, you know--i have no desire to prevent you from doing so." "but, perhaps, you intend to demand from me three times the sum of money necessary to fee a lawyer, to bribe you to secrecy." "shame upon you. i have not demanded anything. i only expect--" "what?" inquired his uncle. "that you will of your own free will and accord loan me the money necessary to pay old mr. lonner's fine. in a few months, when ragnar lonner returns and repays me, i will settle with you. if he does not repay me, why it is but a small sum to lose." "and what will you require for yourself?" inquired mr. fabian. "shall i peddle out my secret like a jew? i swear by my honor that i will not divulge to my aunt one word of all that has passed." mr. fabian thrust his hand into his capacious pocket, and withdrawing his purse, with a sigh counted the money into gottlieb's hand. "i shall not give you my note for this, for if i am not repaid i do not expect to repay you." his uncle did not immediately reply, but after opening and closing his purse several times, he addressed his nephew in a tone which displayed deep and true emotion. "gottlieb," said he, "i am not miserly. you have spared me when you might have prepared a place of torment for me. i am grateful. have you any debts? your father is not rich." "that is spoken like a man of honor and a true relation," said gottlieb, warmly, "but fortunately i have always been obliged to live economically, and therefore have escaped from falling into the foolish habit of contracting debts." "well, then, if you have no debts, you at least have a future to prepare for. you must not therefore refuse my offer." "i do not wish to make use of it at present. yet i do not wish you to consider it refused entirely. at this moment i do not require anything, unless indeed you wish to spare my feet and my boots, by giving me a little money to pay my travelling expenses. when the time comes, and i find myself fully engaged in my father's office, i will consider your proposal with the greatest pleasure." "do so, and i will have a good memory, i assure you." "one word more, uncle. you must promise me to trouble the worthy mrs. lonner no longer. she will never submit to your desires." as he thus spoke, an ashy paleness o'erspread mr. fabian's countenance, and with a shudder he glanced fearfully around the room. "o, the walls have no ears," said gottlieb; "but uncle you will promise me this, will you not." "most assuredly," replied his uncle. "that woman has driven me almost mad; but i think that last night's fright has entirely cured me. i shall not go there again under any circumstances." * * * * * the songs of the birds of the valley were more melodious than ever before, the perfume of the roses and lilacs were sweeter than formerly, at least so thought the occupants of the little cottage when gottlieb visited them that afternoon. certainly, however, the feast which was given on that day had never been equalled before, except perhaps on the day of the arrival of ragnar after a long absence from his wife and home. it was a splendid dinner--roasted spare ribs, and fish, and cakes. the old man occupied the seat at the head of the table. gottlieb, who had provided this repast from the money he had received from his uncle for travelling expenses, was seated beside nanna. the children ate so rapidly and heartily that it appeared as though they intended to swallow a sufficient supply to last them for a year to come. carl, wearing his sunday vest, a vest that magde had made, and with a rose in his jacket button-hole, a rose that magde had plucked, was seated in his usual place at the table, cheerful and contented. magde attended almost solely to the old man's wants, filling his plate, and replenishing his cup. and lastly, little christine, who trotted from place to place, taking care of the cow, dog, sheep, goats, and the ancient cat, was as happy and cheerful as the others. altogether the scene was beautiful and harmonious. "and for all this happiness," said the old man, looking tearfully upon the youth, "for all this happiness, mr. gottlieb, next to god, we are indebted to you. happy must be the parents of such a son!" "father lonner," said gottlieb glancing around the table, with a friendly smile, "you have no reason to be envious." "that is true," replied the old man nodding his head pleasantly to the circle of beloved ones. in the afternoon, after the old man had retired to his comfortable bed, now doubly comfortable to him, to rest himself awhile, and magde was seated by his bedside pleasantly chatting with him, while carl was busy making little boats for the children, nanna and gottlieb were seated near the spring beneath the tree, in the meadow. it could easily be believed that the young couple were not very talkative, for nanna was busily engaged in searching in the grass for a four leaved clover, and gottlieb was amusing himself, according to his childish custom, by blowing shrill blasts upon a thick blade of grass. it was sunset. the glowing reflection of the sun fell upon nanna's pale neck and face, illumining them with a golden blush. "i am sorry," said gottlieb, at length, throwing aside the blade of grass, and assuming a serious cast of countenance, "i am sorry that our lessons must have an end; but all is for the best, for, my child, you know enough already." "more than enough," replied nanna, softly. "especially for a school teacher," said gottlieb. "yes, especially for a school teacher," repeated nanna. "but you speak so abstractedly. you are not so lively as usual." "i did not know it; but if gottlieb says so, it must be true. when one has been so glad as i have been to-day, and then as sorrowful, it takes much courage to meet the change indifferently." "but, dear nanna, you were aware that i should be forced to go away soon." "i did not know that you were going so soon as to-morrow morning." "neither did i, myself, when i saw you yesterday; but when i determined to go by the steamboat, you perceive that--" "yes, yes." "and then again what difference will a day or two more or less make, when we part--" "never again to meet," interrupted nanna. "you will do right in the meantime not to hope too much." nanna glanced inquiringly towards gottlieb. "do you not think it strange, nanna, that we who have been acquainted but so short a season, should think so much of each other?" "it is perfectly natural that we should. persons in fashionable society cannot become so well acquainted with each other as we could in one hour. at first we met each other every evening, then every morning and evening, and at length--" "and at length morning, noon and night!" interrupted gottlieb, with a smile. "in truth, nanna, you are right, for if our every meeting was so divided that we should be together but once each week, our acquaintance would have been prolonged for an entire year." "o, much longer than that even," said nanna, joining in gottlieb's laugh. "and as we have remained by our agreement not to fall in love with each other, we part as friends, and not in despair, and what is still better, not with reproaches, which, had the case been different, we would have been obliged to make and listen to." "yes, it is fortunate, very fortunate, that--that--" stammered nanna, unable to finish the sentence. "we need not conceal from ourselves that in making that arrangement we ran a great risk. for my part, i am not too proud to say that it has been very difficult for me to keep it." "but gottlieb," replied nanna, "as you have kept it, it is better as it is." "certainly; but then it is not so good as i wish to have it." "how do you wish it to be then?" inquired nanna innocently. "upon my honor i can hardly say; but if i was placed in better circumstances--" nanna dropped her eyelids over their soft tell-tale orbits; but not so quickly but that gottlieb detected a ray of hope gleaming from their deep wells. "will you advise me what course to take, when i have obtained a competency?" continued gottlieb. "no, that would be of no use; but mr. gottlieb, when i hear that you have wedded the rich wife of whom you have spoken, i will rejoice at your good fortune." "and does not the thought of that rich wife cost you even half a sigh?" "not if that wife will render you happy." "nanna, you speak as though you did not love me at all!" exclaimed gottlieb hastily, forgetting entirely the part he had determined to play during this interview. "and should i love you?" inquired nanna blushing deeply. "i think i am not such a foolish girl as that." "but i believe that you love me," replied gottlieb. "can you deny that your heart is mine?" "i do not deny it; but i shall not allow it to be so," said nanna with a glance that immediately cooled gottlieb's sudden ardor. "my heart is my own, and should not be an object of trouble to you; and i assure you mr. gottlieb that i shall not allow any weakness on my part to cause you to break the judicious contract we have made." "ah! nanna, you are both wise and charitable. i shall not endeavor to wrest the secret from you; but you are so much esteemed by me, that at some future day, when i can follow my own inclinations i will return to you." "i will forget these last words, mr. gottlieb, for i think them the saddest you have ever uttered." "you are right; but i spoke as i thought. it is not my fault if i thought that you were above all others most suitable to become my wife." as he thus spoke nanna trembled violently and she looked upon him with a gaze which contained more bitterness than words could have expressed. "i believe i am mad indeed. i have endeavored to speak in a better spirit, and instead of so doing--i had better go immediately--or--" "or what?" "or i will, yes, i will, hold you to my heart, and swear to you, as true as i am an honest man, that i love you, and you alone, come what may, i can withhold myself no longer." gottlieb suited the action to the word, and enfolded the blushing girl in his warm embrace. "o, gottlieb!" cried nanna, weeping and laughing, "this is madness indeed!" "no, on the contrary it is happiness!" "but to-morrow you will repent it!" "never, nanna, i sincerely believe that all is for the best. we can work hard; we have only a few needs, and it is such happiness to love each other." "but--" "you must accustom yourself to omit that disagreeable word. when my mind is once made up, i permit of no _ifs_ nor _buts_. and as we do not require a great amount of money to defray our little domestic expenses, i think it would be wrong for us to waste the best part of our lives in useless delay. after one year has elapsed, the parson shall unite us as man and wife, and i shall take you from this valley, and we will look forward to all the joys and sorrows, which our heavenly father in his wisdom shall send us." nanna, who for a long season had battled against the intoxicating desire which had filled her heart, gradually assented to gottlieb's words, and the interview terminated with a second agreement, which was directly contrary to the first one, for by it they bound themselves to love each other forever. they agreed that this change from their former agreement should be concealed from all others. they alone should know the secret. chapter xvii. ragnar. autumn arrived. the valley was strewn with yellow leaves. the birds had ceased their songs. the grass had withered. rains and storms had discolored the fountain. yet, although nature seemed to have been engaged in contentious strife, still joy reigned supreme within the little cottage. ragnar, the beloved husband, the darling son, had returned. seated in the midst of his children beside his lovely wife, and with his arm encircling her waist, he listened with a countenance changing from cheerfulness to solemnity to a recital of all that had transpired during his absence. as soon as mr. lonner, for he was the narrator, had concluded, ragnar advanced and enfolded the old man in his arms. "what viper did this? i have a strong suspicion--to cast such an old man into prison--and i was away from you, unable to protect you and these weak and deserted women." as he thus spoke, his countenance glowed with indignation. a slight cough at the other side of the room attracted ragnar's attention. it was carl. "i understand you, carl," said he, "you must pardon me. i forgot myself when i said the women were deserted." and the frank and honest ragnar, whose ruddy brown countenance bespoke his health, advanced and extended his hand to carl, who with a face as sickly and yellow as the seared leaves without, was reclining upon the sofa, watching the family group with a restless eye. poor carl, each day he gradually faded, and his belief in the warning voice he had heard in the church yard became firm and unwavering. he accepted ragnar's proffered hand with a grateful smile. "how hot you are!" exclaimed ragnar, "i will hasten to the village and speak to the physician." as ragnar thus spoke, carl laughed in his peculiar manner. "that will be profitable indeed!" said he. "certainly it will, dear carl," said magde, approaching the sick youth, "ragnar is right." "ragnar is always right," said carl, in an unusually sharp tone, "so long as you please him you do not care if you neglect my wishes." "what, carl, do you not love your brother?" said ragnar, in a tone of reproach, at the same time pressing a kiss unobserved, as he thought, upon his wife's lips. ragnar always felt an inclination to conceal from the observation of others the fact that he still loved his wife as he had when he first wedded her, and therefore rarely caressed her when in the presence of witnesses; but on this occasion, his affection was so great that he could not resist the pleasure of stealing a kiss. "is not the entire room large enough for you to kiss in without my seeing you?" said carl, harshly, "i do not wish you to do so right before me." "perhaps you envy me," said ragnar, with a laugh. he had not given carl's expression a serious thought. carl lifted himself upon his elbow, and gazing full in his brother's eyes, he replied slowly and firmly, "yes." "why do you, carl?" inquired ragnar. "because i do not wish any body to kiss magde--is it not so, magde? you well know how i behaved myself when mr. fabian h---- wanted to buy a kiss of you." "what! i believe the poor boy is mad! what! buy a kiss of magde! poor carl!" "am i speaking false, magde? answer me." "o, carl, how strangely you tell your story!" exclaimed magde, "you ought first to have related how it happened, and--" magde flushed and paled alternately, and in her excitement could scarcely express herself. "can there be any truth in this?" said ragnar, and his eyes sparkled. magde had now recovered her presence of mind, and related, without concealing a single fact, all that had happened between herself and mr. fabian. "i am now firmly convinced that this--this--no matter, that mr. h---- was the prime cause of our father's imprisonment." "he was," interrupted old mr. lonner. "i am as firmly convinced of it, as i am that the young man of whom i have spoken was the cause of my release. i wish you were acquainted with mr. gottlieb. he is a worthy young man." "i will tell him so in the letter i shall write him; but what if he entertained the same desire that influenced mr. h----." "fear not for me, at least," replied magde, casting a roguish look towards nanna. "ah! that is singular indeed; but after all nanna will bear a pretty close inspection--but i cannot drive that mr. fabian from my mind." "first you must tell us some of your adventures," and magde's countenance wore such an entreating expression that her husband understood her immediately; and therefore as long as he remained in the presence of his father, and his sister and brother, he continued speaking of all the singular things he had seen and heard, which was listened to by a pleased and expectant audience. at length the time arrived when the husband and wife were at liberty to interchange their thoughts freely; the children had been nicely tucked in their little beds, and ragnar and magde alone occupied their private apartment. "now, dear magde, now you must give me a good kiss. god bless you for this happy moment. after tossing six months upon the ocean, it is a joy indeed to return to one's own home and wife." "is it true indeed, dear ragnar, that you love me now as you did when we were married?" "did you find no four-leaved clover last summer, that you ask me this question?" without replying, magde hastily opened a clothes press, and produced an old compass box, from which she took a handful of withered clover leaves. "see here," said she. "and do these not convince you?" inquired ragnar. in this old box, magde preserved, so to speak, the tokens of her wedded joys. from the first year of her marriage, she, whenever her husband was absent, would seek in the meadow for four-leaved clovers, under the conviction that so long as she continued to find them, she might rely upon the continued love and fidelity of her husband. and she was invariably successful, and each year she deposited the clover leaves in the old compass box. as ragnar uttered his last question, magde cast herself upon his breast, and gazed tenderly into his face. "o don't look at me too closely, to-morrow i will look better, after i am washed and dressed," said ragnar, arranging his shirt bosom, and smoothing down his jacket collar. "you are so good already, that if you should be better it would be dangerous; but ragnar, you have forgotten to measure the children to see how much they have grown since your departure. you used to do that as soon as you entered the house after a return from a long voyage." "this time," replied ragnar, "you greeted me with such strange news that i quite forgot all my usual habits. it grieves me to observe that carl is upon the verge of the grave. true, he was ill last winter; but he soon recovered." "he exerted himself too much during our troubles," said magde, "then he has taken no care of himself, and then--yes, yes, there is something very strange about carl." "what do you mean by strange, magde?" inquired her husband. "do you think that he is really insane?" "oh no, i did not mean that; but--" "speak on, speak your mind." "now, do not laugh at my fancy--or be vexed with poor carl. i think that--he loves me too much, and his passion has weighed heavily upon him, although he does not, himself, understand it." "your words are worthy of reflection, magde; now i remember, his conduct did appear peculiar when he said he envied me the privilege of kissing you. poor fellow, how could i be vexed with him? he, probably, never desired to vex either you or myself." "never. frequently during the summer i have placed flowers in his room, and in them he took his greatest delight. even now he loves to hear me sing to him, or to read a chapter in the bible, above all other things." "such love," said ragnar, "is a beautiful rose, the perfume of which cheers a drooping spirit. he may continue his love; it will sustain him in his last trial. hereafter, i will not even take your hand in his presence." "how kind you are, dear ragnar. now i can be to him as i was before your return." magde wiped the tears from her long eyelashes, and before ragnar could question her, she continued: "you may depend upon my fidelity. i only wish to afford him a slight ray of joy while he is still on earth. without me he stands alone." "act your own pleasure, my dear magde, you are aware that i confide in you as in my own heart. although i shall act gently towards carl, who with his own desire, would not injure me, still i will not be so submissive with an individual like mr. h----, who has conducted himself most wrongfully." from these words magde became aware that she would be obliged to relate all that had occurred between mr. fabian and herself, and this she did accordingly. she feared more from ragnar's silence than she would if he had given vent to his rage in words. ragnar possessed a faculty of controlling his anger by a silence which was much more impressive than furious speech. "ah, then he entered your window, after he had first removed the old man. well, well, worse things have been done before." this was all he said; and as not only the following, but also the second day passed, without mr. fabian's name being mentioned, magde thought that ragnar had looked at the affair with sensible eyes. she even felt somewhat annoyed at the thought that mr. fabian's punishment should be so light. chapter xviii. an hour in mistress ulrica's chamber. throughout the entire fall, mr. fabian had been his "sweet ulgenie's" humblest slave, and therefore had been trod deeper into the dust. since he had learned of the return of ragnar lonner, he had suffered a feverish anxiety. even his easy chair no longer afforded him rest, for sleeping or waking, one object alone was constantly before his eyes: ragnar lonner's wrathful countenance peering through the door. he was suddenly seized with as strong a desire for active life, as he formerly possessed for easy rest, and he felt himself in no safety except when at a distance from the mansion, for he knew that ragnar possessed too much honor to entrap him in an ambuscade. one morning, when he, as had been his custom for the previous week, went to his wife with the information that he was compelled to take a short journey, she sharply accosted him: "man, what does all this restlessness mean? are you insane? am i always to be left at home alone?" "ah, my dear," replied mr. fabian, "you are aware that i must attend to my business." "i know that not long since you found it difficult to take care of yourself. this sudden change in your disposition will never do." "dear ulgenie, i acknowledge your superior judgment; but to-day i really must attend the auction at rorby, there is to be a sale of some genuine spanish sheep." "ah! as that is really some business, you may go; but come home early." "i hope to return before eleven o'clock." mrs. ulrica presented him her hand to kiss, and after he had pressed it to his lips with all the gallantry which was still left him, he quickly turned away from her. mrs. ulrica during the entire day was filled with wonder at the sudden change that had taken place in her husband, and if she could have for a moment entertained such a thought, she would have believed that her husband had become acquainted with some intriguing female. but among her female acquaintances in the neighborhood, there was not one whom fabian had not seen at least twenty times, and he had undergone each new ordeal with a firmness which proved that he was out of all danger. this point once settled, mistress ulrica was more composed, and after having spent the day in attending to her domestic duties, she retired to her bed at an early hour, for she always felt weary and ill-humored when her fabian, whom she really loved, was not at home to hear her tender words and reproaches. about an hour had elapsed after mrs. ulrica had fallen asleep. the servant also slept soundly, for, although she had been told to wait for her master, she had satisfied her conscience by leaving the hall door unlocked--contrary to her mistress' strict command--and then retired to her bed. as before said, mrs. ulrica had been asleep about an hour, when she was disturbed by a singular noise which resembled the shuffling of feet near the bed. she opened one eye that she might warn her husband that one of his first duties should be not to disturb his wife's slumbers. but the warning produced no effect. this being the case, mistress ulrica found it necessary to open the other eye, that by the aid of the night light she might discover fabian's true condition. she first glanced towards the sofa; it was empty. then she looked towards the easy chair; but as this stood partially in the shadow of the large bed curtains, she was able only to perceive a pair of feet, and it was these very feet that had the impertinence to shuffle in her room, without asking her permission. "fabian," she exclaimed, "are you not ashamed of yourself? what are you doing?" but fabian did not reply. "ah, you foolish man, i see now that you have been made drunk, you could not withstand their entreaties, poor man; please prepare for bed." and yet no answer. "he is as drunk as possible. go to your own room, fabian; be careful, do not take a light with you, and do not fall down stairs and hurt yourself. are you going to move to-night? shall i ring the bell for the servants, that they may carry you to bed?" not receiving a reply, mrs. ulrica tore aside the bed curtains, and extending her hand, placed it upon a strange head of hair. "heavens!" she exclaimed, "that is not my husband!" "what of that, it is the husband of another," replied a calm voice. terror prevented mrs. ulrica from crying aloud. "a thief!" she gasped. "i do not think so," replied the voice. "who are you then?" stammered she. "sleep quietly, you shall not be disturbed." mistress ulrica continued to feel for the bell cord. "i believe," said she, "he wishes to murder me when i am asleep." "sleep quietly, i neither wish to steal nor to murder. i only wish to--" the unfortunate cramp, which at her first terror had attacked mrs. ulrica's throat, now suddenly disappeared, and she emitted a long and loud scream; but no sooner had this been accomplished, than a large brawny hand was placed roughly over her mouth. "please do that no more," said the voice, "or i shall be forced to be troublesome, and do not look for the bell-rope, it would only be disagreeable for you if the servants should enter the room now." "what do you want then, fearful man?" "to remain where i am. at present i want nothing further." suddenly a new light dawned in mrs. ulrica's brain. what if he should be an unfortunate suitor for her love. "how?" said she, forcing all her pride and dignity into her words, "how? remain here? sir, this is my bed-room." "i am aware of the fact." "and here no man has a right to enter except my husband." "and myself," added the voice. at this unexpected reply, the lady summoned courage to examine the unabashed visitor more closely. he was an elegantly formed man, and as he gazed at her with his expressive eyes, interest and repugnance were both created within her heart. the repugnance was caused by the fact that the man wore a blue frieze coat, which unfortunate garment at once dispelled her romantic dreams. "will you explain the cause of this unheard of impertinence?" "that cause will very soon arrive." "very soon? you did not seek me then?" "not precisely." "then probably you wish to see my husband?" "yes." "am i at all concerned, then?" "slightly." "ah!" exclaimed mrs. ulrica, who now remembered her strange visitor's first observation, "there must be a mystery about this which i do not understand. you remarked that you were the husband of another." "true." "and furthermore you said you had a right to seek my husband in this room?" "you certainly know your alphabet." "then you have--o, what will become of us!--you have--a demand to make of my husband." "no, he has a claim on me, and this i will pay back, principal and interest." "o, the monster! the crocodile! he has been untrue to me." "yes, both in heart and desire; but my wife is not one who cries out, or attempts to pull the bell-rope. she commands respect without so much trouble." "and do i not, also?" "i do not know what you would do, if you should see a man, at this time of night, crawl through your window, and attempt to bring you to disgrace by the promise that he would release an old father from prison; but i do know you have nothing to fear at present." "you are then mr. ragnar lonner?" "i am." "and for such a miserable reward--that woman--" "what! miserable reward!--that woman!--well, that night lamp is not very brilliant, but i can easily perceive that i have before me an old dutch galleon, so badly rigged and managed, that i would prefer to crowd sail and make my escape rather than to take her in tow. and you call my wife that woman! miserable reward!" "i do not understand your gibberish, my good man: but that you are unrefined and uneducated i can easily see, and i command you to quit my room immediately." "you would then force me to retreat, as my magde drove back your husband. please try the experiment." "monster! unfeeling wretch!" exclaimed she, "is this the manner to speak to a lady, to an injured wife who is obliged to bemoan the infidelity of her husband. o, the villain! i will overpower him with my wrath!" "my turn comes first," interrupted ragnar. "ah, ha, i understand. my cup is filled to the brim--blood must flow--lonner do you wish to kill my husband, then?" "to fight with him. god forbid. such things i leave to people of rank. i have another method of doing my business." "and what is that?" "o, it is very simple. i thought that nothing would be more unpleasant to him than to be placed in a disgraceful position before his wife, and perhaps a greater punishment for such a miserable man could not be devised than to--but no matter, your husband knows why he leaves his house every day." mrs. ulrica clapped her hands together violently. now the riddle was solved. she now knew the cause of the sudden change in her husband's conduct. "and, as it has been impossible to find him at home in the daytime," continued ragnar, "i have come this evening to settle with him in this place, and at this hour." ragnar had scarcely ceased speaking, when heavy and slow footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. like an infuriated tigress waiting for her prey, mrs. ulrica, enveloped in her crimson shawl, sat up in her bed; her eyes flashing with rage, and her face flushed to a redness which outvied the crimson of her shawl. she was awaiting the approach of her husband. ragnar arose, and as silent and unmoved as a statue awaited the entrance of mr. fabian. ragnar had not produced a dagger or sword; but he drew forth from under his loose jacket a cow-hide of the greatest elasticity, and the best quality. without dreaming of the terrible storm that had gathered, and was about to pour down upon his devoted head, mr. fabian entered the apartment. but the moment his eyes fell upon the forms of his wife, the doom pronouncer, and lonner the genius of revenge, he staggered back towards the door, and had not his legs refused their office he would have sought safety in flight; but at two stern glances, one from lonner, the other from his wife, he sank powerless to the floor. and yet, if ever, this was the time for him to assume the character of brutus. and what better cause had he to arouse himself from his stupor, than that lucretia had received a male visitor in her bed-chamber. true, mrs. ulrica had not received an insult, neither did she appear prepared sacrifice herself, like lucretia, as an atonement for the outrage. all in all, present appearances were well calculated to arouse sterner sentiments within mr. fabian's heart; but he was so frightened that he would have forgiven everything if he could have assured himself that the horrible spectacle was but a dream which would vanish at the coming of the morning. "perjured traitor!" screamed mrs. ulrica, "you hide yourself like adam after his fall. but come forth, this lucifer will teach you that you no longer dwell in paradise." "mr. lonner," stammered mr. fabian, "i am an innocent, unhappy man, and i swear to you that mrs. magde has never--" as he heard these words ragnar trembled violently. "silence, reprobate," said he, "the name of my virtuous wife shall not pass your lips. she needs none of your recommendations; but _your_ wife, you pitiful coward, she shall learn from me, now, what your true character is." thus saying lonner with one hand seized the unlucky fabian by the coat-collar, and brandished the horse-whip over his head with the other. but as mr. fabian made no resistance, but wept and begged for mercy in loud and wailing tones, ragnar released him, and, confused at the singularity of his own sentiments, he glanced towards mrs. ulrica, and said: "he is so cowardly, that it seems almost as bad to whip him, as it would be to beat a hare. in giving him over to you i am fully revenged." the cow-hide disappeared beneath his coat, and lonner departed. but ragnar lonner had made a miscalculation, when he thought that mr. fabian would fall into the hands of the medusa within the bed-curtains. the very thought of the humiliation he had undergone, and the fear of what was yet in store for him, inspired mr. fabian with an unusual degree of courage or rather drove him to desperation. brutus aroused himself. he could see no other method of escape than by crushing the tigress before she pounced upon him. he therefore at once attacked her with passionate actions and wild expressions. "o, you miserable woman! you faithless wife! do you think that i shall allow myself to be blinded by the farce you have just played with your lover? i will leave you alone in your house. i cast you from my heart. the whole world shall know you as i know you now." "fabian! fabian! are you mad?" mistress ulrica was both frightened and pleased. this was a scene she had long desired. "if i am mad, who has driven me to madness?" shouted mr. fabian, determined to retain the advantage he had already won. then assuming an imposing position he gazed sternly into the face of his trembling wife. "how long i have closed my eyes to your little indiscretions! how many bitter tears i have shed, when i observed how you encouraged that shark who made love to my wife while he feasted at my table." mistress ulrica, who was suddenly changed from a tigress into a lamb, assured her husband that she was innocent; that she had not even entertained a guilty thought. but as she humbled herself, mr. fabian's wrath increased, and astonished that he had not long before discovered this method of taming his wife, he played the tyrant _con amore_. he accused his wife of so many things, that she, humiliated and crushed, fell on her knees before him, and entreated him to restrain his rage until he had ample proofs of her guilt. this boon mr. fabian h---- finally condescendingly granted, and like an indulgent pascha, entreated by his favorite slave, he at length permitted her to slumber at his side. this entire change of government was effected in the short space of one hour. the sun was high in the heavens when mistress ulrica awoke. at first she could not distinctly remember the drama which had been performed the preceding night; but when all the events were brought clear to her mind, she sighed deeply. her destiny was entirely changed; but after a few moments' reflection, she determined to submit to her fate, and become the one who should obey, not command. while she was meditating in what manner she should refute the charges brought against her by her husband, she was interrupted by a truly soft and persuasive voice, which said:-- "sweet ulgenie, dearest wife, can your heart be touched? i dreamed last night that i might dare approach it." "oh, so you have noticed me," said mrs. ulrica, immediately assuming her former authority, when she found herself thus entreated. "have you slept out your debauch?" "was i--is it possible that i was inebriated? i have quite forgotten what happened last night." "you fool, when were you able to remember anything unless _i_ reminded you?" the perusal of a continuance of this scene will scarcely repay our readers. suffice it to say that mr. fabian's reign of one hour remained thereafter a legend only. like all other unsuccessful revolutions, it was followed by a government still more exacting and severe. chapter xix. carl. winter had departed. ragnar, the bold seaman, had left his home, and his ship was ploughing the broad ocean. the grass in the valley waved gracefully in the light winds of spring. the children once more launched their miniature boats, and the occupants of the cottage all labored for the good of the little commonwealth. but there was one of the family who could not mingle in their labors, and who sat quietly in his corner, gazing cheerfully upon the operations of the others. it was carl. during the winter carl had been confined to his bed, but at the present time he occupied his father's arm-chair, which the old man had relinquished to him. he usually sat in a corner near magde's spinning wheel and his father's bed-room door. when the children returned from their out of doors sports, they would sit on the floor near carl's chair, and listen to the many tales of fairies, nymphs, and sea gods, that he told them in a pleasant but weak voice, while he as formerly made willow whistles and repaired their little boats. the neighbors' children also visited the cottage that they might hear his last stories, and they all brought with them many little gifts that their mothers had prepared for poor carl. at a later period the mothers came themselves, bringing their own presents, which they carried in large baskets, for there was not one in the entire neighborhood for whom carl had not performed a service, and without a solitary exception they all loved him. then who was to take his place, after he should be taken from his friends. in fact perfect pilgrimages were made to carl, who always received the pilgrims with pleasant words and cheerful smiles. carl was not insensible to the pleasure he derived from being able in turn to present to magde the gifts he received from his friends. "ah," nanna often said, "how pleasant it is to be beloved," and she would sigh as she thought of the absent one who had vowed to love her forever, and whose word was her creed of life. how much happiness nanna derived from this creed! it solaced her in many lonely hours, and produced a favorable effect upon her every action and thought. she no longer was oppressed, as formerly, with dreaming indolence. her cheeks were roses now. old mr. lonner and magde were much gratified at this unexpected change in nanna's deportment, and they could account for it only by supposing that she was much wiser than other girls of her age. carl, however, had peculiar views upon this subject, and when nanna would exclaim, "o, how pleasant it is to be beloved!" he would reply: "you know right well that there is some one who loves you, or else you would not be so light hearted." when carl thus spoke nanna would blush with confusion. "you must not speak so when any one can hear you," she would reply. carl would then nod his head pleasantly, and one day he learned the secret, for he felt he could not remain long on this earth, and he wished to know all, and aside from that nanna was anxious to discover whether he believed as firmly as she did in gottlieb's vows. "do you think, carl," said she, as she concluded her recital, "do you think he will return?" "as certainly as i shall never see the sun rise on st. john's day, for i saw that in his eye, which assured me he would not break his promises." "why do you use such an ominous comparison, carl? why do you think you will not see the sunrise on st. john's day?" the pain caused by the beginning of carl's remark, clouded the pure joy which his concluding words would have otherwise created. "i am waiting," said he, "only that i may see the lilacs bloom once more. in those beautiful flowers i have found my greatest joy." old mr. lonner occasionally attempted to prepare his son's mind for the future which awaited him; but he ceased when one day carl innocently addressed him: "father," said he, "i wish you would not talk with me thus. i believe in our saviour and his love for us sinners, and as i do not think i have done much harm--except perhaps when i stole the game--i fear not for the future. i shall wait patiently until my saviour chooses to take me to himself. i can well imagine that there is not much space in heaven; but i believe that there is a small place for one so insignificant as me, where i can wait the coming of magde, nanna, father, ragnar, and all the little ones, that is if they do not hold me in contempt." "how strangely you talk, dear carl!" said magde, entering into the conversation. "you well know that i would like to be near you in heaven, for you are aware that next to ragnar i love you more than any other being on earth." "you say so only to make me happy; but i am not so vain as to believe your words." "is there any one here who displays more love for you than i?" inquired magde. carl smiled, and glanced at the wall. there hung a new vest, the pattern of which carl examined as carefully as though each thread had been a painting in itself. "do you think," said he, after a pause, during which his father left the room, "do you think that ragnar is vexed with me? he certainly must have observed that i love you more than, perhaps, i should--i speak frankly to you, magde, for i know you are different from others, and i could not die in peace if i thought that my brother ragnar was offended with me." "be convinced, my dear carl, that ragnar loves you as a brother should. he saw undoubtedly that no one could please you so well as i; but he often told me, and especially before his last departure--" "what did he say?" inquired carl, eagerly. "'magde,' said he, 'never desert carl. he is an honest and faithful soul, who can find no joy unless with you; but carl is not the one who would seek to injure me by word or thought, and therefore i shall not interfere with his sentiments, but allow him to entertain them freely, and,' he added, 'you may tell him this at some future time when he may feel troubled on my account.'" "did he speak thus, assuredly?" "he did, i swear it by my hopes of meeting him again." "and you have obeyed him, and not deserted me; but will you do so as long as i am with you here?" "never shall i desert you, carl." "and when the last moment approaches," said he in a soft tone, "you will moisten my lips, you will smooth my pillow, and when the struggle of death comes upon me, i wish you to hold my hand in yours, as you now do, that i may feel that you are with me. then you must--will you do so, magde?--close my eyes with your own hands, and sing a psalm to me." to all these touching requests, which were rendered still more affecting by the tender expression of his eyes, magde replied tearfully: "my dear carl, your words shall be obeyed." carl smiled. he was now happier at the thought of his approaching death, which would bring such proofs of magde's affection, than one who might have possessed a prospect of a long and luxurious life. the lilac bushes blossomed, and magde placed the first flowers in his hands while he yet could inhale their fragrance. the last flowers she strewed upon his grave. chapter xx. conclusion. a long season of gloom and despondency succeeded the death of carl. it was fortunate that ragnar returned home at an earlier period than usually; the flowers on carl's grave had not withered when magde piously conducted him to his brother's final resting-place. "rest in peace, poor brother," said ragnar, brushing away a tear, "god saw best to take you from us--but, dear magde, you must not grieve too much for his death, or you will not be able to rejoice at the news i have for you." "what news, ragnar?" "captain hanson, who has been master of the brig sarah christiana ever since i have been her mate, has latterly become very much reduced in health, and he has concluded not to go to sea again." "well, that cannot be joyful news. he was a better captain than perhaps you will ever sail under again." "i shall never sail under another captain. i shall be captain myself, hereafter. the owners of the vessel have tendered the captaincy to me." "is it possible?" "it will soon be more than possible, for my old captain has so well recommended me, that mr. lund has advanced me a sufficient sum of money to pay the charges of my examination, and as soon as christmas is over--for until then i shall study at home--i will take a journey to prepare myself, and after the examination you will be the wife of a captain. then you and nanna can go with me to goteborg, that you may see the vessel before i go to sea." magde quietly clasped her hands. her pious gratitude was evinced in her every expression. she thanked her god for having thus favored them with fortune. ragnar silently embraced her. "i did not say anything about it yesterday, for i wished to tell you here near carl, who always placed his pleasures aside that they might not interfere with yours." "bless you, bless you, ragnar! i now know why i found so many four leaved clovers last summer--only think, a captain's wife!--and still you love me as before?" "now and forever, my magde. you shall have a bonnet as magnificent as any other lady; you shall have a cashmere shawl, and a black silk dress. yes, i promise you all this, and more." "let us return home quickly, that i may rejoice father and nanna." and nanna and her father were as much rejoiced at the glad tidings as was magde herself. a few days afterwards, magde and her father were seated together in the parlor consulting about the future. "the lord thus distributes joys and sorrows. one year ago our prospects were much different." "have i forgotten that time? no! and if i should live a hundred years, i would never forget the day you were taken from us to prison, nor the day you were released by mr. gottlieb. this year ragnar must send him the balance still due him." "we can repay him the money; but we can never reward him for his kindness and love. he has not returned to almvik, and perhaps it is for the best, and as nanna under any circumstance--" the old man was suddenly interrupted by a shrill blast from the outside, which blast was produced by some one blowing upon a blade of grass. "well, well," exclaimed magde glancing through the window, and then rushing to the door, "the old proverb is true, 'talk of--'" "a certain gentleman and he is here," interrupted gottlieb, entering the door with his face beaming with his usual cheerfulness. he presented one hand to magde, and the other to old mr. lonner, who exclaimed with glistening eyes: "welcome, welcome, mr. gottlieb. ragnar intended to write you to-day, and i just told magde we are able to discharge one part of our debt, but the other can never be repaid." "enough, enough, good father lonner, i too was influenced by a selfish motive--but pardon me, where is nanna?" "she has gone to fish with ragnar and little conrad," said magde, who had already manufactured an urn of coffee, "but they will soon return." "aha! is mate lonner at home. then i can become acquainted with him." "_captain_ lonner, next spring at least, mr. gottlieb," said magde, proudly. "crown secretary, now, instead of mr. gottlieb, if you please, mrs. lonner." "so soon?" "yes, eight days ago i received the appointment; but my _great_ fortune will come next spring, for then i hope to have a little house of my own." "yes, and perhaps a housekeeper too," added magde. "possibly." at this reply magde cast a secret glance towards her father, which he returned. gottlieb, however, changed the conversation, and commenced speaking of the death of poor carl of which he had before been informed. during the next half hour, gottlieb evinced the utmost impatience. he would walk to the window and gaze anxiously towards the lake, not observing that magde and her father were exchanging significant glances and smiles behind his back. at length he spied the boat, and he hastened down to the beach. the skiff contained the brother and sister, and their little companion. a sympathetic sentiment seemed to have pervaded the entire family, for during their excursion nanna and ragnar conversed almost entirely about her young friend gottlieb. so nicely had ragnar probed his sister's heart that he knew almost as much about its true condition as carl had previously learned. although ragnar would have desired to have believed as carl did, he did not think it proper to offer nanna any further consolation, than by saying that since he had received a captaincy she was placed on a more equal footing with gottlieb and that he would do everything in his power to render her happy. "i know you will, ragnar," replied nanna, "but only one thing can ever afford me happiness." after these words the conversation ceased, and the brother and sister commenced their homeward ride. in his great haste gottlieb nearly ran into the water, in which ragnar was standing fastening the boat; but so much was he astonished by the marvellous change which taken place in nanna's appearance that he was forced to start back and gaze silently upon her. nanna in the meantime appeared abstracted. she had not observed gottlieb's approach; but sat in the boat slowly moving one of the oars, apparently in the deepest thought. but how can we describe nanna's joyful surprise when she discovered gottlieb. ragnar's presence prevented her from giving vent to her joy in words; but the joyful expression of her eyes was a more than sufficient welcome. we will not describe the first interview between ragnar and gottlieb--suffice it to say it was the meeting of two brothers; not of two strangers. neither will we describe the first hour of _mutual_ congratulations; but we will at once draw the reader's attention to a pleasing picture near the fountain in the meadow. here the two lovers had proceeded that they might confer with each other uninterrupted. "you see, my little nymph, i have come back. do you think that i have an honorable spirit and a true heart? now tell me, have you grown so beautiful, for me; yes so beautiful that i can well be proud of you as my own little wife?" "wife! are you then serious?" "serious we shall never be, we will make a third agreement, which is that we shall live henceforth without a gloomy thought or serious foreboding. although we shall marry, as it is said, for 'love in a cottage,' yet we are both so familiar with the reality of the cottage, that our romantic dreams, if we have any, will be fully realized." "true, very true," said nanna smiling, and her countenance radiant with joy, appeared still more beautiful, "and now i am--" "--betrothed," said gottlieb joyfully embracing her. how happy were the inmates of the little cottage that evening! * * * * * when the news of gottlieb's betrothal reached almvik, mrs. ulrica foretold that nothing but evil would result from the wedding. mr. fabian, however, who secretly esteemed gottlieb, was silent; but afterwards when the young couple were firmly united he would hold them up as examples and say that some men could be happy with a wife who did not possess riches and station. "but that," insisted mrs. ulrica, "is no reason why a poor man should not know to prize the happiness which a wealthy wife could procure for him." _from a swedish_ homestead _from a swedish_ homestead _by_ selma lagerlÖf _translated by_ jessie brochner [illustration] garden city new york doubleday, page & company _copyright, , by_ doubleday, page & company _a_ list _of the_ stories _page_ _the_ story _of a_ country house _queens at_ kungahÄlla _on the_ site _of the great_ kungahÄlla _the forest_ queen sigrid storrÄde astrid _old_ agnete _the fisherman's_ ring _santa_ caterina _of_ siena _the empress's_ money-chest _the_ peace _of_ god _a_ story _from_ halstanÄs _the_ inscription _on the_ grave _the_ brothers _from a swedish_ homestead i _the_ story _of a_ country house _the_ story _of a_ country house i it was a beautiful autumn day towards the end of the thirties. there was in upsala at that time a high, yellow, two-storied house, which stood quite alone in a little meadow on the outskirts of the town. it was a rather desolate and dismal-looking house, but was rendered less so by the virginia-creepers which grew there in profusion, and which had crept so high up the yellow wall on the sunny side of the house that they completely surrounded the three windows on the upper story. at one of these windows a student was sitting, drinking his morning coffee. he was a tall, handsome fellow, of distinguished appearance. his hair was brushed back from his forehead; it curled prettily, and a lock was continually falling into his eyes. he wore a loose, comfortable suit, but looked rather smart all the same. his room was well furnished. there was a good sofa and comfortable chairs, a large writing-table, a capital bookcase, but hardly any books. before he had finished his coffee another student entered the room. the new-comer was a totally different-looking man. he was a short, broad-shouldered fellow, squarely built and strong, ugly, with a large head, thin hair, and coarse complexion. 'hede,' he said, 'i have come to have a serious talk with you.' 'has anything unpleasant happened to you?' 'oh no, not to me,' the other answered; 'it is really you it concerns.' he sat silent for a while, and looked down. 'it is so awfully unpleasant having to tell you.' 'leave it alone, then,' suggested hede. he felt inclined to laugh at his friend's solemnity. 'i can't leave it alone any longer,' said his visitor. 'i ought to have spoken to you long ago, but it is hardly my place. you understand? i can't help thinking you will say to yourself: "there's gustaf alin, son of one of our cottagers, thinks himself such a great man now that he can order me about."' 'my dear fellow,' hede said, 'don't imagine i think anything of the kind. my father's father was a peasant's son.' 'yes, but no one thinks of that now,' alin answered. he sat there, looking awkward and stupid, resuming every moment more and more of his peasant manners, as if that could help him out of his difficulty. 'when i think of the difference there is between your family and mine, i feel as if i ought to keep quiet; but when i remember that it was your father who, by his help in days gone by, enabled me to study, then i feel that i must speak.' hede looked at him with a pleasant smile. 'you had better speak out and have done with it,' he said. 'the thing is,' alin said, 'i have heard people say that you don't do any work. they say you have hardly opened a book during the four terms you have been at the university. they say you don't do anything but play on the violin the whole day; and that i can quite believe, for you never wanted to do anything else when you were at school in falu, although there you were obliged to work.' hede straightened himself a little in his chair. alin grew more and more uncomfortable, but he continued with stubborn resolution: 'i suppose you think that anyone owning an estate like munkhyttan ought to be able to do as he likes--work if he likes, or leave it alone. if he takes his exam., good; if he does not take his exam., what does it matter? for in any case you will never be anything but a landed proprietor and iron-master. you will live at munkhyttan all your life. i understand quite well that is what you must think.' hede was silent, and alin seemed to see him surrounded by the same wall of distinction which in alin's eyes had always surrounded his father, the squire, and his mother. 'but, you see, munkhyttan is no longer what it used to be when there was iron in the mine,' he continued cautiously. 'the squire knew that very well, and that was why it was arranged before his death that you should study. your poor mother knows it, too, and the whole parish knows it. the only one who does not know anything is you, hede.' 'don't you think i know,' hede said a little irritably, 'that the iron-mine cannot be worked any longer?' 'oh yes,' alin said, 'i dare say you know that much, but you don't know that it is all up with the property. think the matter over, and you will understand that one cannot live from farming alone at vesterdalarne. i cannot understand why your mother has kept it a secret from you. but, of course, she has the sole control of the estate, so she need not ask your advice about anything. everybody at home knows that she is hard up. they say she drives about borrowing money. i suppose she did not want to disturb you with her troubles, but thought that she could keep matters going until you had taken your degree. she will not sell the estate before you have finished, and made yourself a new home.' hede rose, and walked once or twice up and down the floor. then he stopped opposite alin. 'but what on earth are you driving at, alin? do you want to make me believe that we are not rich?' 'i know quite well that, until lately, you have been considered rich people at home,' alin said. 'but you can understand that things must come to an end when it is a case of always spending and never earning anything. it was a different thing when you had the mine.' hede sat down again. 'my mother would surely have told me if there were anything the matter,' he said. 'i am grateful to you, alin; but you have allowed yourself to be frightened by some silly stories.' 'i thought that you did not know anything,' alin continued obstinately. 'at munkhyttan your mother saves and works in order to get the money to keep you at upsala, and to make it cheerful and pleasant for you when you are at home in the vacations. and in the meantime you are here doing nothing, because you don't know there is trouble coming. i could not stand any longer seeing you deceiving each other. her ladyship thought you were studying, and you thought she was rich. i could not let you destroy your prospects without saying anything.' hede sat quietly for a moment, and meditated. then he rose and gave alin his hand with rather a sad smile. 'you understand that i feel you are speaking the truth, even if i _will_ not believe you? thanks.' alin joyfully shook his hand. 'you must know, hede, that if you will only work no harm is done. with your brains, you can take your degree in three or four years.' hede straightened himself. 'do not be uneasy, alin,' he said; 'i am going to work hard now.' alin rose and went towards the door, but hesitated. before he reached it he turned round. 'there was something else i wanted,' he said. he again became embarrassed. 'i want you to lend me your violin until you have commenced reading in earnest.' 'lend you my violin?' 'yes; pack it up in a silk handkerchief, and put it in the case, and let me take it with me, or otherwise you will read to no purpose. you will begin to play as soon as i am out of the room. you are so accustomed to it now you cannot resist if you have it here. one cannot get over that kind of thing unless someone helps one; it gets the mastery over one.' hede appeared unwilling. 'this is madness, you know,' he said. 'no, hede, it is not. you know you have inherited it from the squire. it runs in your blood. ever since you have been your own master here in upsala you have done nothing else but play. you live here in the outskirts of the town simply not to disturb anyone by your playing. you cannot help yourself in this matter. let me have the violin.' 'well,' said hede, 'before i could not help playing, but now munkhyttan is at stake; i am more fond of my home than of my violin.' but alin was determined, and continued to ask for the violin. 'what is the good of it?' hede said. 'if i want to play, i need not go many steps to borrow another violin.' 'i know that,' alin replied, 'but i don't think it would be so bad with another violin. it is your old italian violin which is the greatest danger for you. and besides, i would suggest your locking yourself in for the first few days--only until you have got fairly started.' he begged and begged, but hede resisted; he would not stand anything so unreasonable as being a prisoner in his own room. alin grew crimson. 'i must have the violin with me,' he said, 'or it is no use at all.' he spoke eagerly and excitedly. 'i had not intended to say anything about it, but i know that it concerns more than munkhyttan. i saw a young girl at the promotion ball in the spring who, people said, was engaged to you. i don't dance, you know, but i liked to watch her when she was dancing, looking radiant like one of the lilies of the field. and when i heard that she was engaged to you, i felt sorry for her.' 'why?' 'because i knew that you would never succeed if you continued as you had begun. and then i swore that she should not have to spend her whole life waiting for one who never came. she should not sit and wither whilst waiting for you. i did not want to meet her in a few years with sharpened features and deep wrinkles round her mouth----' he stopped suddenly; hede's glance had rested so searchingly upon him. but gunnar hede had already understood that alin was in love with his _fiancée_. it moved him deeply that alin under these circumstances tried to save him, and, influenced by this feeling, he yielded and gave him the violin. when alin had gone, hede read desperately for a whole hour, but then he threw away his book. it was not of much good his reading. it would be three or four years before he could be finished, and who could guarantee that the estate would not be sold in the meantime? he felt almost with terror how deeply he loved the old home. it was like witchery. every room, every tree, stood clearly before him. he felt he could not part with any of it if he were to be happy. and he was to sit quietly with his books whilst all this was about to pass away from him. he became more and more restless; he felt the blood beating in his temples as if in a fever. and then he grew quite beside himself because he could not take his violin and play himself calm again. 'my god!' he said, 'alin will drive me mad. first to tell me all this, and then to take away my violin! a man like i must feel the bow between his fingers in sorrow and in joy. i must do something; i must get money, but i have not an idea in my head. i cannot think without my violin.' he could not endure the feeling of being locked in. he was so angry with alin, who had thought of this absurd plan, that he was afraid he might strike him the next time he came. of course he would have played, if he had had the violin, for that was just what he needed. his blood rushed so wildly, that he was nearly going out of his mind. just as hede was longing most for his violin a wandering musician began to play outside. it was an old blind man. he played out of tune and without expression, but hede was so overcome by hearing a violin just at this moment that he listened with tears in his eyes and with his hands folded. the next moment he flung open the window and climbed to the ground by the help of the creepers. he had no compunction at leaving his work. he thought the violin had simply come to comfort him in his misfortune. hede had probably never before begged so humbly for anything as he did now, when he asked the old blind man to lend him his violin. he stood the whole time with his cap in his hand, although the old man was blind. the musician did not seem to understand what he wanted. he turned to the young girl who was leading him. hede bowed to the poor girl and repeated his request. she looked at him, as if she must have eyes for them both. the glance from her big eyes was so steady that hede thought he could feel where it struck him. it began with his collar, and it noticed that the frills of his shirt were well starched, then it saw that his coat was brushed, next that his boots were polished. hede had never before been subjected to such close scrutiny. he saw clearly that he would not pass muster before those eyes. but it was not so, all the same. the young girl had a strange way of smiling. her face was so serious, that one had the impression when she smiled that it was the first and only time she had ever looked happy; and now one of these rare smiles passed over her lips. she took the violin from the old man and handed it to hede. 'play the waltz from "freischütz," then,' she said. hede thought it was strange that he should have to play a waltz just at that moment, but, as a matter of fact, it was all the same to him what he played, if he could only have a bow in his hand. that was all he wanted. the violin at once began to comfort him; it spoke to him in faint, cracked tones. 'i am only a poor man's violin,' it said; 'but such as i am, i am a comfort and help to a poor blind man. i am the light and the colour and the brightness in his life. it is i who must comfort him in his poverty and old age and blindness.' hede felt that the terrible depression that had cowed his hopes began to give way. 'you are young and strong,' the violin said to him. 'you can fight and strive; you can hold fast that which tries to escape you. why are you downcast and without courage?' hede had played with lowered eyes; now he threw back his head and looked at those who stood around him. there was quite a crowd of children and people from the street, who had come into the yard to listen to the music. it appeared, however, that they had not come solely for the sake of the music. the blind man and his companion were not the only ones in the troupe. opposite hede stood a figure in tights and spangles, and with bare arms crossed over his chest. he looked old and worn, but hede could not help thinking that he looked a devil of a fellow with his high chest and long moustaches. and beside him stood his wife, little and fat, and not so very young either, but beaming with joy over her spangles and flowing gauze skirts. during the first bars of the music they stood still and counted, then a gracious smile passed over their faces, and they took each other's hands and began to dance on a small carpet. and hede saw that during all the equilibristic tricks they now performed the woman stood almost still, whilst her husband did all the work. he sprang over her, and twirled round her, and vaulted over her. the woman scarcely did anything else but kiss her hand to the spectators. but hede did not really take much notice of them. his bow began to fly over the strings. it told him that there was happiness in fighting and overcoming. it almost deemed him happy because everything was at stake for him. hede stood there, playing courage and hope into himself, and did not think of the old tight-rope dancers. but suddenly he saw that they grew restless. they no longer smiled; they left off kissing their hands to the spectators; the acrobat made mistakes, and his wife began to sway to and fro in waltz time. hede played more and more eagerly. he left off 'freischütz' and rushed into an old 'nixie polka,' one which generally sent all the people mad when played at the peasant festivals. the old tight-rope dancers quite lost their heads. they stood in breathless astonishment, and at last they could resist no longer. they sprang into each other's arms, and then they began to dance a waltz in the middle of the carpet. how they danced! dear me, how they danced! they took small, tripping steps, and whirled round in a small circle; they hardly went outside the carpet, and their faces beamed with joy and delight. there was the happiness of youth and the rapture of love over these two old people. the whole crowd was jubilant at seeing them dance. the serious little companion of the blind man smiled all over her face, and hede grew much excited. just fancy what an effect his violin could have! it made people quite forget themselves. it was a great power to have at his disposal. any moment he liked he could take possession of his kingdom. only a couple of years' study abroad with a great master, and he could go all over the world, and by his playing earn riches and honour and fame. it seemed to hede that these acrobats must have come to tell him this. that was the road he should follow; it lay before him clear and smooth. he said to himself: 'i will--i _will_ become a musician! i _must_ be one! this is better than studying. i can charm my fellow-men with my violin; i can become rich.' hede stopped playing. the acrobats at once came up and complimented him. the man said his name was blomgren. that was his real name; he had other names when he performed. he and his wife were old circus people. mrs. blomgren in former days had been called miss viola, and had performed on horseback; and although they had now left the circus, they were still true artists--artists body and soul. that he had probably already noticed; that was why they could not resist his violin. hede walked about with the acrobats for a couple of hours. he could not part with the violin, and the old artists' enthusiasm for their profession appealed to him. he was simply testing himself. 'i want to find out whether there is the proper stuff for an artist in me. i want to see if i can call forth enthusiasm. i want to see whether i can make children and idlers follow me from house to house.' on their way from house to house mr. blomgren threw an old threadbare mantle around him, and mrs. blomgren enveloped herself in a brown cloak. thus arrayed, they walked at hede's side and talked. mr. blomgren would not speak of all the honour he and mrs. blomgren had received during the time they had performed in a real circus; but the _directeur_ had given mrs. blomgren her dismissal under the pretence that she was getting too stout. mr. blomgren had not been dismissed: he had himself resigned his position. surely no one could think that mr. blomgren would remain with a _directeur_ who had dismissed his wife! mrs. blomgren loved her art, and for her sake mr. blomgren had made up his mind to live as a free artist, so that she could still continue to perform. during the winter, when it was too cold to give performances in the street, they performed in a tent. they had a very comprehensive repertoire. they gave pantomimes, and were jugglers and conjurers. the circus had cast them off, but art had not, said mr. blomgren. they served art always. it was well worth being faithful to art, even unto death. always artists--always. that was mr. blomgren's opinion, and it was also mrs. blomgren's. hede walked quietly and listened. his thoughts flew restlessly from plan to plan. sometimes events happen which become like symbols, like signs, which one must obey. there must be some meaning in what had now happened to him. if he could only understand it rightly, it might help him towards arriving at a wise resolution. mr. blomgren asked the student to notice the young girl who was leading the blind man. had he ever before seen such eyes? did he not think that such eyes must mean something? could one have those eyes without being intended for something great? hede turned round and looked at the little pale girl. yes, she had eyes like stars, set in a sad and rather thin face. 'our lord knows always what he is about,' said mrs. blomgren; 'and i also believe that he has some reason for letting such an artist as mr. blomgren perform in the street. but what was he thinking about when he gave that girl those eyes and that smile?' 'i will tell you something,' said mr. blomgren; 'she has not the slightest talent for art. and with those eyes!' hede had a suspicion that they were not talking to him, but simply for the benefit of the young girl. she was walking just behind them, and could hear every word. 'she is not more than thirteen years old, and not by any means too old to learn something; but, impossible--impossible, without the slightest talent! if one does not want to waste one's time, sir, teach her to sew, but not to stand on her head. her smile makes people quite mad about her,' mr. blomgren continued. 'simply on account of her smile she has had many offers from families wishful to adopt her. she could grow up in a well-to-do home if she would only leave her grandfather. but what does she want with a smile that makes people mad about her, when she will never appear either on horseback or on a trapeze?' 'we know other artists,' said mrs. blomgren, 'who pick up children in the street and train them for the profession when they cannot perform any longer themselves. there is more than one who has been lucky enough to create a star and obtain immense salaries for her. but mr. blomgren and i have never thought of the money; we have only thought of some day seeing ingrid flying through a hoop whilst the whole circus resounded with applause. for us it would have been as if we were beginning life over again.' 'why do we keep her grandfather?' said mr. blomgren. 'is he an artist fit for us? we could, no doubt, have got a previous member of a hofkapell if we had wished. but we love that child; we cannot do without her; we keep the old man for her sake.' 'is it not naughty of her that she will not allow us to make an artist of her?' they said. hede turned round. the little girl's face wore an expression of suffering and patience. he could see that she knew that anyone who could not dance on the tight-rope was a stupid and contemptible person. at the same moment they came to another house, but before they began their performance hede sat down on an overturned wheelbarrow and began to preach. he defended the poor little girl. he reproached mr. and mrs. blomgren for wishing to hand her over to the great, cruel public, who would love and applaud her for a time, but when she grew old and worn out, they would let her trudge along the streets in rain and cold. no; he or she was artist enough, who made a fellow-being happy. ingrid should only have eyes and smiles for one, should keep them for one only; and this one should never leave her, but give her a safe home as long as he lived. tears came into hede's eyes whilst he spoke. he spoke more to himself than to the others. he felt it suddenly as something terrible to be thrust out into the world, to be severed from the quiet home-life. he saw that the great, star-like eyes of the girl began to sparkle. it seemed as if she had understood every single word. it seemed as if she again felt the right to live. but mr. blomgren and his wife had become very serious. they pressed hede's hand and promised him that they would never again try and persuade the little girl to become an artist. she should be allowed to lead the life she wished. he had touched them. they were artists--artists body and soul; they understood what he meant when he spoke of love and faithfulness. then hede parted from them and went home. he no longer tried to find any secret meaning in his adventure. after all, it had meant nothing more than that he should save this poor sorrowful child from always grieving over her incapacity. ii munkhyttan, the home of gunnar hede, was situated in a poor parish in the forests of vesterdalarne. it was a large, thinly-populated parish, with which nature had dealt very stingily. there were stony, forest-covered hills, and many small lakes. the people could not possibly have earned a livelihood there had they not had the right to travel about the country as pedlars. but to make up for it, the whole of this poor district was full of old tales of how poor peasant lads and lassies had gone into the world with a pack of goods on their backs, to return in gilded coaches, with the boxes under the seats filled with money. one of the very best stories was about hede's grandfather. he was the son of a poor musician, and had grown up with his violin in his hand, and when he was seventeen years old he had gone out into the world with his pack on his back. but wherever he went his violin had helped him in his business. he had by turns gathered people together by his music and sold them silk handkerchiefs, combs, and pins. all his trading had been brought about with music and merriment, and things had gone so well with him that he had at last been able to buy munkhyttan, with its mine and ironworks, from the poverty-stricken baron who then owned the property. then he became the squire, and the pretty daughter of the baron became his wife. from that time the old family, as they were always called, had thought of nothing else but beautifying the place. they removed the main building on to the beautiful island which lay on the edge of a small lake, round which lay their fields and their mines. the upper story had been added in their time, for they wanted to have plenty of room for their numerous guests; and they had also added the two large flights of steps outside. they had planted ornamental trees all over the fir-covered island. they had made small winding pathways in the stony soil, and on the most beautiful spots they had built small pavilions, hanging like large birds'-nests over the lake. the beautiful french roses that grew on the terrace, the dutch furniture, the italian violin, had all been brought to the house by them. and it was they who had built the wall protecting the orchard from the north wind, and the conservatory. the old family were merry, kind-hearted, old-fashioned people. the squire's wife certainly liked to be a little aristocratic; but that was not at all in the old squire's line. in the midst of all the luxury which surrounded him he never forgot what he had been, and in the room where he transacted his business, and where people came and went, the pack and the red-painted, home-made violin were hung right above the old man's desk. even after his death the pack and the violin remained in the same place. and every time the old man's son and grandson saw them their hearts swelled with gratitude. it was these two poor implements that had created munkhyttan, and munkhyttan was the best thing in the world. whatever the reason might be--and it was probably because it seemed natural to the place that one lived a good, genial life there, free from trouble--hede's family clung to the place with greater love than was good for it. and more especially gunnar hede was so strongly attached to it that people said that it was incorrect to say of him that he owned an estate. on the contrary, it was an old estate in vesterdalarne that owned gunnar hede. if he had not made himself a slave of an old rambling manor-house and some acres of land and forest, and some stunted apple-trees, he would probably have continued his studies, or, better still, gone abroad to study music, which, after all, was no doubt his proper vocation in this world. but when he returned from upsala, and it became clear to him that they really would have to sell the estate if he could not soon earn a lot of money, he decided upon giving up all his other plans, and made up his mind to go out into the world as a pedlar, as his grandfather before him had done. his mother and his _fiancée_ besought him rather to sell the place than to sacrifice himself for it in this manner, but he was not to be moved. he put on peasant's attire, bought goods, and began to travel about the country as a pedlar. he thought that if he only traded a couple of years he could earn enough to pay the debt and save the estate. and as far as the latter was concerned he was successful enough. but he brought upon himself a terrible misfortune. when he had walked about with his pack for a year or so he thought that he would try and earn a large sum of money at one stroke. he went far north and bought a large flock of goats, about a couple of hundred. and he and a comrade intended to drive them down to a large fair in vermland, where goats cost twice as much as in the north. if he succeeded in selling all his goats, he would do a very good business. it was in the beginning of november, and there had not yet been any snow, when hede and his comrade set out with their goats. the first day everything went well with them, but the second day, when they came to the great fifty-mile forest, it began to snow. much snow fell, and it stormed and blew severely. it was not long before it became difficult for the animals to make their way through the snow. goats are certainly both plucky and hardy animals, and the herd struggled on for a considerable time; but the snow-storm lasted two days and two nights, and it was terribly cold. hede did all he could to save the animals, but after the snow began to fall he could get them neither food nor water. and when they had worked their way through deep snow for a whole day they became very footsore. their feet hurt them, and they would not go any longer. the first goat that threw itself down by the roadside and would not get up again and follow the herd hede lifted on to his shoulder so as not to leave it behind. but when another and again another lay down he could not carry them. there was nothing to do but to look the other way and go on. do you know what the fifty-mile forest is like? not a farmhouse, not a cottage, mile after mile, only forest; tall-stemmed fir-trees, with bark as hard as wood, and high branches; no young trees with soft bark and soft twigs that the animals could eat. if there had been no snow, they could have got through the forest in a couple of days; now they could not get through it at all. all the goats were left there, and the men too nearly perished. they did not meet a single human being the whole time. no one helped them. hede tried to throw the snow to one side so that the goats could eat the moss; but the snow fell so thickly, and the moss was frozen fast to the ground. and how could he get food for two hundred animals in this way? he bore it bravely until the goats began to moan. the first day they were a lively, rather noisy herd. he had had hard work to make them all keep together, and prevent them from butting each other to death. but when they seemed to understand that they could not be saved their nature changed, and they completely lost their courage. they all began to bleat and moan, not faintly and peevishly, as goats usually do, but loudly, louder and louder as the danger increased. and when hede heard their cries he felt quite desperate. they were in the midst of the wild, desolate forest; there was no help whatever obtainable. goat after goat dropped down by the roadside. the snow gathered round them and covered them. when hede looked back at this row of drifts by the wayside, each hiding the body of an animal, of which one could still see the projecting horns and the hoofs, then his brain began to give way. he rushed at the animals, which allowed themselves to be covered by the snow, swung his whip over them, and hit them. it was the only way to save them, but they did not stir. he took them by the horns and dragged them along. they allowed themselves to be dragged, but they did not move a foot themselves. when he let go his hold of their horns, they licked his hands, as if beseeching him to help them. as soon as he went up to them they licked his hands. all this had such a strong effect upon hede that he felt he was on the point of going out of his mind. it is not certain, however, that things would have gone so badly with him had he not, after it was all over in the forest, gone to see one whom he loved dearly. it was not his mother, but his sweetheart. he thought himself that he had gone there because he ought to tell her at once that he had lost so much money that he would not be able to marry for many years. but no doubt he went to see her solely to hear her say that she loved him quite as much in spite of his misfortunes. he thought that she could drive away the memory of the fifty-mile forest. she could, perhaps, have done this, but she would not. she was already displeased because hede went about with a pack and looked like a peasant; she thought that for that reason alone it was difficult to love him as much as before. now, when he told her that he must still go on doing this for many years, she said that she could no longer wait for him. this last blow was too much for hede; his mind gave way. he did not grow quite mad, however; he retained so much of his senses that he could attend to his business. he even did better than others, for it amused people to make fun of him; he was always welcome at the peasants' houses. people plagued and teased him, but that was in a way good for him, as he was so anxious to become rich. and in the course of a few years he had earned enough to pay all his debts, and he could have lived free from worry on his estate. but this he did not understand; he went about half-witted and silly from farm to farm, and he had no longer any idea to what class of people he really belonged. iii raglanda was the name of a parish in the north of east vermland, near the borders of dalarne, where the dean had a large house, but the pastor only a small and poor one. but poor as they were at the small parsonage, they had been charitable enough to adopt a poor girl. she was a little girl, ingrid by name, and she had come to the parsonage when she was thirteen years old. the pastor had accidentally seen her at a fair, where she sat crying outside the tent of some acrobats. he had stopped and asked her why she was crying, and she had told him that her blind grandfather was dead, and that she had no relatives left. she now travelled with a couple of acrobats, and they were good to her, but she cried because she was so stupid that she could never learn to dance on the tight-rope and help to earn any money. there was a sorrowful grace over the child which touched the pastor's heart. he said at once to himself that he could not allow such a little creature to go to the bad amongst these wandering tramps. he went into the tent, where he saw mr. and mrs. blomgren, and offered to take the child home with him. the old acrobats began to weep, and said that although the girl was entirely unfitted for the profession, they would so very much like to keep her; but at the same time they thought she would be happier in a real home with people who lived in the same place all the year round, and therefore they were willing to give her up to the pastor if he would only promise them that she should be like one of his own children. this he had promised, and from that time the young girl had lived at the parsonage. she was a quiet, gentle child, full of love and tender care for those around her. at first her adopted parents loved her very dearly, but as she grew older she developed a strong inclination to lose herself in dreams and fancies. she lived in a world of visions, and in the middle of the day she could let her work fall and be lost in dreams. but the pastor's wife, who was a clever and hard-working woman, did not approve of this. she found fault with the young girl for being lazy and slow, and tormented her by her severity so that she became timid and unhappy. when she had completed her nineteenth year, she fell dangerously ill. they did not quite know what was the matter with her, for this happened long ago, when there was no doctor at raglanda, but the girl was very ill. they soon saw she was so ill that she could not live. she herself did nothing but pray to god that he would take her away from this world. she would so like to die, she said. then it seemed as if our lord would try whether she was in earnest. one night she felt that she grew stiff and cold all over her body, and a heavy lethargy fell upon her. 'i think this must be death,' she said to herself. but the strange thing was that she did not quite lose consciousness. she knew that she lay as if she were dead, knew that they wrapped her in her shroud and laid her in her coffin, but she felt no fear of being buried, although she was still alive. she had but the one thought that she was happy because she was about to die and leave this troublesome life. the only thing she was uneasy about was lest they should discover that she was not really dead and would not bury her. life must have been very bitter to her, inasmuch as she felt no fear of death whatever. but no one discovered that she was living. she was conveyed to the church, carried to the churchyard, and lowered into the grave. the grave, however, was not filled in; she had been buried before the service on sunday morning, as was the custom at raglanda. the mourners had gone into church after the funeral, and the coffin was left in the open grave; but as soon as the service was over they would come back, and help the grave-digger to fill in the grave. the young girl knew everything that happened, but felt no fear. she had not been able to make the slightest movement to show that she was alive, even if she had wanted to; but even if she had been able to move, she would not have done so; the whole time she was happy because she was as good as dead. but, on the other hand, one could hardly say that she was alive. she had neither the use of her mind nor of her senses. it was only that part of the soul which dreams dreams during the night that was still living within her. she could not even think enough to realize how terrible it would be for her to awake when the grave was filled in. she had no more power over her mind than has one who dreams. 'i should like to know,' she thought, 'if there is anything in the whole wide world that could make me wish to live.' as soon as that thought rushed through her it seemed to her as if the lid of the coffin, and the handkerchief which had been placed over her face, became transparent, and she saw before her riches and beautiful raiment, and lovely gardens with delicious fruits. 'no, i do not care for any of these things,' she said, and she closed her eyes for their glories. when she again looked up they had disappeared, but instead she saw quite distinctly a little angel of god sitting on the edge of the grave. 'good-morning, thou little angel of god,' she said to him. 'good-morning, ingrid,' the angel said. 'whilst thou art lying here doing nothing, i would like to speak a little with thee about days gone by.' ingrid heard distinctly every word the angel said; but his voice was not like anything she had ever heard before. it was more like a stringed instrument; it was not like singing, but like the tones of a violin or the clang of a harp. 'ingrid,' the angel said, 'dost thou remember, whilst thy grandfather was still living, that thou once met a young student, who went with thee from house to house playing the whole day on thy grandfather's violin?' the girl's face was lighted by a smile. 'dost thou think i have forgotten this?' she said. 'ever since that time no day has passed when i have not thought of him.' 'and no night when thou hast not dreamt of him?' 'no, not a night when i have not dreamt of him.' 'and thou wilt die, although thou rememberest him so well,' said the angel. 'then thou wilt never be able to see him again.' when he said this it was as if the dead girl felt all the happiness of love, but even that could not tempt her. 'no, no,' she said; 'i am afraid to live; i would rather die.' then the angel waved his hand, and ingrid saw before her a wide waste of desert. there were no trees, and the desert was barren and dry and hot, and extended in all directions without any limits. in the sand there lay, here and there, objects which at the first glance looked like pieces of rock, but when she examined them more closely, she saw they were the immense living animals of fairy tales, with huge claws and great jaws, with sharp teeth; they lay in the sand, watching for prey. and between these terrible animals the student came walking along. he went quite fearlessly, without suspecting that the figures around him were living. 'but warn him! do warn him!' ingrid said to the angel in unspeakable fear. 'tell him that they are living, and that he must take care.' 'i am not allowed to speak to him,' said the angel with his clear voice; 'thou must thyself warn him.' the apparently dead girl felt with horror that she lay powerless, and could not rush to save the student. she made one futile effort after the other to raise herself, but the impotence of death bound her. but then at last, at last, she felt her heart begin to beat, the blood rushed through her veins, the stiffness of death was loosened in her body. she arose and hastened towards him. iv it is quite certain the sun loves the open places outside the small village churches. has no one ever noticed that one never sees so much sunshine as during the morning service outside a small, whitewashed church? nowhere else does one see such radiant streams of light, nowhere else is the air so devoutly quiet. the sun simply keeps watch that no one remains on the church hill gossiping. it wants them all to sit quietly in church and listen to the sermon--that is why it sends such a wealth of sunny rays on to the ground outside the church wall. perhaps one must not take it for granted that the sun keeps watch outside the small churches every sunday; but so much is certain, that the morning ingrid had been placed in the grave in the churchyard at raglanda, it spread a burning heat over the open space outside the church. even the flint stones looked as if they might take fire as they lay and sparkled in the wheel-ruts. the short, down-trodden grass curled, so that it looked like dry moss, whilst the yellow dandelions which grew amongst the grass spread themselves out on their long stems, so that they became as large as asters. a man from dalarne came wandering along the road--one of those men who go about selling knives and scissors. he was clad in a long, white sheep-skin coat, and on his back he had a large black leather pack. he had been walking with this burden for several hours without finding it too hot, but when he had left the highroad, and came to the open place outside the church, he stopped and took off his hat in order to dry the perspiration from his forehead. as the man stood there bare-headed, he looked both handsome and clever. his forehead was high and white, with a deep wrinkle between the eyebrows; the mouth was well formed, with thin lips. his hair was parted in the middle; it was cut short at the back, but hung over his ears, and was inclined to curl. he was tall, and strongly, but not coarsely, built; in every respect well proportioned. but what was wrong about him was his glance, which was unsteady, and the pupils of his eyes rolled restlessly, and were drawn far into the sockets, as if to hide themselves. there was something drawn about the mouth, something dull and heavy, which did not seem to belong to the face. he could not be quite right, either, or he would not have dragged that heavy pack about on a sunday. if he had been quite in his senses, he would have known that it was of no use, as he could not sell anything in any case. none of the other men from dalarne who walked about from village to village bent their backs under this burden on a sunday, but they went to the house of god free and erect as other men. but this poor fellow probably did not know it was a holy day until he stood in the sunshine outside the church and heard the singing. he was sensible enough at once to understand that he could not do any business, and then his brain began to work as to how he should spend the day. he stood for a long time and stared in front of him. when everything went its usual course, he had no difficulty in managing. he was not so bad but that he could go from farm to farm all through the week and attend to his business, but he never could get accustomed to the sunday--that always came upon him as a great, unexpected trouble. his eyes became quite fixed, and the muscles of his forehead swelled. the first thought that took shape in his brain was that he should go into the church and listen to the singing, but he would not accept this suggestion. he was very fond of singing, but he dared not go into the church. he was not afraid of human beings, but in some churches there were such quaint, uncanny pictures, which represented creatures of which he would rather not think. at last his brain worked round to the thought that, as this was a church, there would probably also be a churchyard, and when he could take refuge in a churchyard all was well. one could not offer him anything better. if on his wanderings he saw a churchyard, he always went in and sat there awhile, even if it were in the middle of a workaday week. now that he wanted to go to the churchyard a new difficulty suddenly arose. the burial-place at raglanda does not lie quite near the church, which is built on a hill, but on the other side of the road; and he could not get to the entrance of the churchyard without passing along the road where the horses of the church-goers were standing tied up. all the horses stood with their heads deep in bundles of hay and nosebags, chewing. there was no question of their being able to do the man any harm, but he had his own ideas as to the danger of going past such a long row of animals. two or three times he made an attempt, but his courage failed him, so that he was obliged to turn back. he was not afraid that the horses would bite or kick. it was quite enough for him that they were so near that they could see him. it was quite enough that they could shake their bridles and scrape the earth with their hoofs. at last a moment came when all the horses were looking down, and seemed to be eating for a wager. then he began to make his way between them. he held his sheepskin cloak tightly around him so that it should not flap and betray him, and he went on tiptoe as lightly as he could. when a horse raised its eyelid and looked at him, he at once stopped and curtsied. he wanted to be polite in this great danger, but surely animals were amenable to reason, and could understand that he could not bow when he had a pack full of hardware upon his back; he could only curtsy. he sighed deeply, for in this world it was a sad and troublesome thing to be so afraid of all four-footed animals as he was. he was really not afraid of any other animals than goats, and he would not have been at all afraid of horses and dogs and cats had he only been quite sure that they were not a kind of transformed goats. but he never was quite sure of that, so as a matter of fact it was just as bad for him as if he had been afraid of all kinds of four-footed animals. it was no use his thinking of how strong he was, and that these small peasant horses never did any harm to anyone: he who has become possessed of such fears cannot reason with himself. fear is a heavy burden, and it is hard for him who must always carry it. it was strange that he managed to get past all the horses. the last few steps he took in two long jumps, and when he got into the churchyard he closed the gate after him, and began to threaten the horses with his clenched fist. 'you wretched, miserable, accursed goats!' he did that to all animals. he could not help calling them goats, and that was very stupid of him, for it had procured him a name which he did not like. everyone who met him called him the 'goat.' but he would not own to this name. he wanted to be called by his proper name, but apparently no one knew his real name in that district. he stood a little while at the gate, rejoicing at having escaped from the horses, but he soon went further into the churchyard. at every cross and every stone he stopped and curtsied, but this was not from fear: this was simply from joy at seeing these dear old friends. all at once he began to look quite gentle and mild. they were exactly the same crosses and stones he had so often seen before. they looked just as usual. how well he knew them again! he must say 'good-morning' to them. how nice it was in the churchyard! there were no animals about there, and there were no people to make fun of him. it was best there, when it was quite quiet as now; but even if there were people, they did not disturb him. he certainly knew many pretty meadows and woods which he liked still better, but there he was never left in peace. they could not by any means compare with the churchyard. and the churchyard was better than the forest, for in the forest the loneliness was so great that he was frightened by it. here it was quiet, as in the depths of the forest; but he was not without company. here people were sleeping under every stone and every mound; just the company he wanted in order not to feel lonely and strange. he went straight to the open grave. he went there partly because there were some shady trees, and partly because he wanted company. he thought, perhaps, that the dead who had so recently been laid in the grave might be a better protection against his loneliness than those who had passed away long ago. he bent his knees, with his back to the great mound of earth at the edge of the grave, and succeeded in pushing the pack upwards, so that it stood firmly on the mound, and he then loosened the heavy straps that fastened it. it was a great day--a holiday. he also took off his coat. he sat down on the grass with a feeling of great pleasure, so close to the grave that his long legs, with the stockings tied under the knee, and the heavy laced shoes dangled over the edge of the grave. for a while he sat still, with his eyes steadily fixed upon the coffin. when one was possessed by such fear as he was, one could not be too careful. but the coffin did not move in the least; it was impossible to suspect it of containing any snare. he was no sooner certain of this than he put his hand into a side-pocket of the pack and took out a violin and bow, and at the same time he nodded to the dead in the grave. as he was so quiet he should hear something pretty. this was something very unusual for him. there were not many who were allowed to hear him play. no one was ever allowed to hear him play at the farms, where they set the dogs at him and called him the 'goat'; but sometimes he would play in a house where they spoke softly, and went about quietly, and did not ask him if he wanted to buy any goat-skins. at such places he took out his violin and treated them to some music; and this was a great favour--the greatest he could bestow upon anybody. as he sat there and played at the edge of the grave it did not sound amiss; he did not play a wrong note, and he played so softly and gently that it could hardly be heard at the next grave. the strange thing about it was that it was not the man who could play, but it was his violin that could remember some small melodies. they came forth from the violin as soon as he let the bow glide over it. it might not, perhaps, have meant so much to others, but for him, who could not remember a single tune, it was the most precious gift of all to possess such a violin that could play by itself. whilst he played he sat with a beaming smile on his face. it was the violin that spoke and spoke; he only listened. was it not strange that one heard all these beautiful things as soon as one let the bow glide over the strings? the violin did that. it knew how it ought to be, and the dalar man only sat and listened. melodies grew out of that violin as grass grows out of the earth. no one could understand how it happened. our lord had ordered it so. the dalar man intended to remain sitting there the whole day, and let the dear tunes grow out of the violin like small white and many-coloured flowers. he would play a whole meadowful of flowers, play a whole long valleyful, a whole wide plain. but she who lay in the coffin distinctly heard the violin, and upon her it had a strange effect. the tones had made her dream, and what she had seen in her dreams caused her such emotion that her heart began to beat, her blood to flow, and she awoke. but all she had lived through while she lay there, apparently dead, the thoughts she had had, and also her last dream--everything vanished in the same moment she awoke to consciousness. she did not even know that she was lying in her coffin, but thought she was still lying ill at home in her bed. she only thought it strange that she was still alive. a little while ago, before she fell asleep, she had been in the pangs of death. surely, all must have been over with her long ago. she had taken leave of her adopted parents, and of her brothers and sisters, and of the servants. the dean had been there himself to administer the last communion, for her adopted father did not think he could bear to give it to her himself. for several days she had put away all earthly thoughts from her mind. it was incomprehensible that she was not dead. she wondered why it was so dark in the room where she lay. there had been a light all the other nights during her illness. and then they had let the blankets fall off the bed. she was lying there getting as cold as ice. she raised herself a little to pull the blankets over her. in doing so she knocked her head against the lid of the coffin, and fell back with a little scream of pain. she had knocked herself rather severely, and immediately became unconscious again. she lay as motionless as before, and it seemed as if life had again left her. the dalar man, who had heard both the knock and the cry, immediately laid down his violin and sat listening; but there was nothing more to be heard--nothing whatever. he began again to look at the coffin as attentively as before. he sat nodding his head, as if he would say 'yes' to what he was himself thinking about, namely, that nothing in this world was to be depended upon. here he had had the best and most silent of comrades, but had he not also been disappointed in him? he sat and looked at the coffin, as if trying to see right through it. at last, when it continued quite still, he took his violin again and began to play. but the violin would not play any longer. however gently and tenderly he drew his bow, there came forth no melody. this was so sad that he was nearly crying. he had intended to sit still and listen to his violin the whole day, and now it would not play any more. he could quite understand the reason. the violin was uneasy and afraid of what had moved in the coffin. it had forgotten all its melodies, and thought only of what it could be that had knocked at the coffin-lid. that is how it is one forgets everything when one is afraid. he saw that he would have to quiet the violin if he wanted to hear more. he had felt so happy, more so than for many years. if there was really anything bad in the coffin, would it not be better to let it out? then the violin would be glad, and beautiful flowers would again grow out of it. he quickly opened his big pack, and began to rummage amongst his knives and saws and hammers until he found a screw-driver. in another moment he was down in the grave on his knees and unscrewing the coffin-lid. he took out one screw after the other, until at last he could raise the lid against the side of the grave; at the same moment the handkerchief fell from off the face of the apparently dead girl. as soon as the fresh air reached ingrid, she opened her eyes. now she saw that it was light. they must have removed her. now she was lying in a yellow chamber with a green ceiling, and a large chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. the chamber was small, but the bed was still smaller. why had she the sensation of her arms and legs being tied? was it because she should lie still in the little narrow bed? it was strange that they had placed a hymn-book under her chin; they only did that with corpses. between her fingers she had a little bouquet. her adopted mother had cut a few sprigs from her flowering myrtle, and laid them in her hands. ingrid was very much surprised. what had come to her adopted mother? she saw that they had given her a pillow with broad lace, and a fine hem-stitched sheet. she was very glad of that; she liked to have things nice. still, she would rather have had a warm blanket over her. it could surely not be good for a sick person to lie without a blanket. ingrid was nearly putting her hands to her eyes and beginning to cry, she was so bitterly cold. at the same moment she felt something hard and cold against her cheek. she could not help smiling. it was the old, red wooden horse, the old three-legged camilla, that lay beside her on the pillow. her little brother, who could never sleep at night without having it with him in his bed, had put it in her bed. it was very sweet of her little brother. ingrid felt still more inclined to cry when she understood that her little brother had wanted to comfort her with his wooden horse. but she did not get so far as crying. the truth all at once flashed upon her. her little brother had given her the wooden horse, and her mother had given her her white myrtle flowers, and the hymn-book had been placed under her chin, because they had thought she was dead. ingrid took hold of the sides of the coffin with both hands and raised herself. the little narrow bed was a coffin, and the little narrow chamber was a grave. it was all very difficult to understand. she could not understand that this concerned her, that it was she who had been swathed like a corpse and placed in the grave. she must be lying all the same in her bed, and be seeing or dreaming all this. she would soon find out that this was no reality, but that everything was as usual. all at once she found the explanation of the whole thing--'i often have such strange dreams. this is only a vision'--and she sighed, relieved and happy. she laid herself down in her coffin again; she was so sure that it was her own bed, for that was not very wide either. all this time the dalar man stood in the grave, quite close to the foot of the coffin. he only stood a few feet from her, but she had not seen him; that was probably because he had tried to hide himself in the corner of the grave as soon as the dead in the coffin had opened her eyes and begun to move. she could, perhaps, have seen him, although he held the coffin-lid before him as a screen, had there not been something like a white mist before her eyes so that she could only see things quite near her distinctly. ingrid could not even see that there were earthen walls around her. she had taken the sun to be a large chandelier, and the shady lime-trees for a roof. the poor dalar man stood and waited for the thing that moved in the coffin to go away. it did not strike him that it would not go unrequested. had it not knocked because it wanted to get out? he stood for a long time with his head behind the coffin-lid and waited, that it should go. he peeped over the lid when he thought that now it must have gone. but it had not moved; it remained lying on its bed of shavings. he could not put up with it any longer; he must really make an end of it. it was a long time since his violin had spoken so prettily as to-day, he longed to sit again quietly with it. ingrid, who had nearly fallen asleep again, suddenly heard herself addressed in the sing-song dalar dialect: 'now, i think it is time you got up.' as soon as he had said this he hid his head. he shook so much over his boldness that he nearly let the lid fall. but the white mist which had been before ingrid's eyes disappeared completely when she heard a human being speaking. she saw a man standing in the corner, at the foot of the coffin, holding a coffin-lid before him. she saw at once that she could not lie down again and think it was a vision. surely he was a reality, which she must try and make out. it certainly looked as if the coffin were a coffin, and the grave a grave, and that she herself a few minutes ago was nothing but a swathed and buried corpse. for the first time she was terror-stricken at what had happened to her. to think that she could really have been dead that moment! she could have been a hideous corpse, food for worms. she had been placed in the coffin for them to throw earth upon her; she was worth no more than a piece of turf; she had been thrown aside altogether. the worms were welcome to eat her; no one would mind about that. ingrid needed so badly to have a fellow-creature near her in her great terror. she had recognized the goat directly he put up his head. he was an old acquaintance from the parsonage; she was not in the least afraid of him. she wanted him to come close to her. she did not mind in the least that he was an idiot. he was, at any rate, a living being. she wanted him to come so near to her that she could feel she belonged to the living and not to the dead. 'oh, for god's sake, come close to me!' she said, with tears in her voice. she raised herself in the coffin and stretched out her arms to him. but the dalar man only thought of himself. if she were so anxious to have him near her, he resolved to make his own terms. 'yes,' he said, 'if you will go away.' ingrid at once tried to comply with his request, but she was so tightly swathed in the sheet that she found it difficult to get up. 'you must come and help me,' she said. she said this, partly because she was obliged to do it, and partly because she was afraid that she had not quite escaped death. she must be near someone living. he actually went near her, squeezing himself between the coffin and the side of the grave. he bent over her, lifted her out of the coffin, and put her down on the grass at the side of the open grave. ingrid could not help it. she threw her arms round his neck, laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed. afterwards she could not understand how she had been able to do this, and that she was not afraid of him. it was partly from joy that he was a human being--a living human being--and partly from gratitude, because he had saved her. what would have become of her if it had not been for him? it was he who had raised the coffin-lid, who had brought her back to life. she certainly did not know how it had all happened, but it was surely he who had opened the coffin. what would have happened to her if he had not done this? she would have awakened to find herself imprisoned in the black coffin. she would have knocked and shouted; but who would have heard her six feet below the ground? ingrid dared not think of it; she was entirely absorbed with gratitude because she had been saved. she must have someone she could thank. she must lay her head on someone's breast and cry from gratitude. the most extraordinary thing, almost, that happened that day was, that the dalar man did not repulse her. but it was not quite clear to him that she was alive. he thought she was dead, and he knew it was not advisable to offend anyone dead. but as soon as he could manage, he freed himself from her and went down into the grave again. he placed the lid carefully on the coffin, put in the screws and fastened it as before. then he thought the coffin would be quite still, and the violin would regain its peace and its melodies. in the meantime ingrid sat on the grass and tried to collect her thoughts. she looked towards the church and discovered the horses and the carriages on the hillside. then she began to realize everything. it was sunday; they had placed her in the grave in the morning, and now they were in church. a great fear now seized ingrid. the service would, perhaps, soon be over, and then all the people would come out and see her. and she had nothing on but a sheet! she was almost naked. fancy, if all these people came and saw her in this state! they would never forget the sight. and she would be ashamed of it all her life. where should she get some clothes? for a moment she thought of throwing the dalar man's fur coat round her, but she did not think that that would make her any more like other people. she turned quickly to the crazy man, who was still working at the coffin-lid. 'oh,' she said, 'will you let me creep into your pack?' in a moment she stood by the great leather pack, which contained goods enough to fill a whole market-stall, and began to open it. 'you must come and help me.' she did not ask in vain. when the dalar man saw her touching his wares he came up at once. 'are you touching my pack?' he asked threateningly. ingrid did not notice that he spoke angrily; she considered him to be her best friend all the time. 'oh, dear good man,' she said, 'help me to hide, so that people will not see me. put your wares somewhere or other, and let me creep into the pack, and carry me home. oh, do do it! i live at the parsonage, and it is only a little way from here. you know where it is.' the man stood and looked at her with stupid eyes. she did not know whether he had understood a word of what she said. she repeated it, but he made no sign of obeying her. she began again to take the things out of the pack. then he stamped on the ground and tore the pack from her. however should ingrid be able to make him do what she wanted? on the grass beside her lay a violin and a bow. she took them up mechanically--she did not know herself why. she had probably been so much in the company of people playing the violin that she could not bear to see an instrument lying on the ground. as soon as she touched the violin he let go the pack, and tore the violin from her. he was evidently quite beside himself when anyone touched his violin. he looked quite malicious. what in the world could she do to get away before people came out of church? she began to promise him all sorts of things, just as one promises children when one wants them to be good. 'i will ask father to buy a whole dozen of scythes from you. i will lock up all the dogs when you come to the parsonage. i will ask mother to give you a good meal.' but there was no sign of his giving way. she bethought herself of the violin, and said in her despair: 'if you will carry me to the parsonage, i will play for you.' at last a smile flashed across his face. that was evidently what he wanted. 'i will play for you the whole afternoon; i will play for you as long as you like.' 'will you teach the violin new melodies?' he asked. 'of course i will.' but ingrid now became both surprised and unhappy, for he took hold of the pack and pulled it towards him. he dragged it over the graves, and the sweet-williams and southernwood that grew on them were crushed under it as if it were a roller. he dragged it to a heap of branches and wizened leaves and old wreaths lying near the wall round the churchyard. there he took all the things out of the pack, and hid them well under the heap. when it was empty he returned to ingrid. 'now you can get in,' he said. ingrid stepped into the pack, and crouched down on the wooden bottom. the man fastened all the straps as carefully as when he went about with his usual wares, bent down so that he nearly went on his knees, put his arms through the braces, buckled a couple of straps across his chest, and stood up. when he had gone a few steps he began to laugh. his pack was so light that he could have danced with it. * * * * * it was only about a mile from the church to the parsonage. the dalar man could walk it in twenty minutes. ingrid's only wish was that he would walk so quickly that she could get home before the people came back from church. she could not bear the idea of so many people seeing her. she would like to get home when only her mother and the maid-servants were there. ingrid had taken with her the little bouquet of flowers from her adopted mother's myrtle. she was so pleased with it that she kissed it over and over again. it made her think more kindly of her adopted mother than she had ever done before. but in any case she would, of course, think kindly of her now. one who has come straight from the grave must think kindly and gently of everything living and moving on the face of the earth. she could now understand so well that the pastor's wife was bound to love her own children more than her adopted daughter. and when they were so poor at the parsonage that they could not afford to keep a nursemaid, she could see now that it was quite natural that she should look after her little brothers and sisters. and when her brothers and sisters were not good to her, it was because they had become accustomed to think of her as their nurse. it was not so easy for them to remember that she had come to the parsonage to be their sister. and, after all, it all came from their being poor. when father some day got another living, and became dean, or even rector, everything would surely come right. then they would love her again, as they did when she first came to them. the good old times would be sure to come back again. ingrid kissed her flowers. it had not been mother's intention, perhaps, to be hard; it was only worry that had made her so strange and unkind. but now it would not matter how unkind they were to her. in the future nothing could hurt her, for now she would always be glad, simply because she was alive. and if things should ever be really bad again, she would only think of mother's myrtle and her little brother's horse. it was happiness enough to know that she was being carried along the road alive. this morning no one had thought that she would ever again go over these roads and hills. and the fragrant clover and the little birds singing and the beautiful shady trees, which had all been a source of joy for the living, had not even existed for her. but she had not much time for reflection, for in twenty minutes the dalar man had reached the parsonage. no one was at home but the pastor's wife and the maid-servants, just as ingrid had wished. the pastor's wife had been busy the whole morning cooking for the funeral feast. she soon expected the guests, and everything was nearly ready. she had just been into the bedroom to put on her black dress. she glanced down the road to the church, but there were still no carriages to be seen. so she went once again into the kitchen to taste the food. she was quite satisfied, for everything was as it ought to be, and one cannot help being glad for that, even if one is in mourning. there was only one maid in the kitchen, and that was the one the pastor's wife had brought with her from her old home, so she felt she could speak to her in confidence. 'i must confess, lisa,' she said, 'i think anyone would be pleased with having such a funeral.' 'if she could only look down and see all the fuss you make of her,' lisa said, 'she would be pleased.' 'ah!' said the pastor's wife, 'i don't think she would ever be pleased with me.' 'she is dead now,' said the girl, 'and i am not the one to say anything against one who is hardly yet under the ground.' 'i have had to bear many a hard word from my husband for her sake,' said the mistress. the pastor's wife felt she wanted to speak with someone about the dead girl. her conscience had pricked her a little on her account, and this was why she had arranged such a grand funeral feast. she thought her conscience might leave her alone now she had had so much trouble over the funeral, but it did not do so by any means. her husband also reproached himself, and said that the young girl had not been treated like one of their own children, and that they had promised she should be when they adopted her; and he said it would have been better if they had never taken her, when they could not help letting her see that they loved their own children more. and now the pastor's wife felt she must talk to someone about the young girl, to hear whether people thought she had treated her badly. she saw that lisa began to stir the pan violently, as if she had difficulty in controlling her anger. she was a clever girl, who thoroughly understood how to get into her mistress's good books. 'i must say,' lisa began, 'that when one has a mother who always looks after one, and takes care that one is neat and clean, one might at least try to obey and please her. and when one is allowed to live in a good parsonage, and to be educated respectably, one ought at least to give some return for it, and not always go idling about and dreaming. i should like to know what would have happened if you had not taken the poor thing in. i suppose she would have been running about with those acrobats, and have died in the streets, like any other poor wretch.' a man from dalarne came across the yard; he had his pack on his back, although it was sunday. he came very quietly through the open kitchen-door, and curtsied when he entered, but no one took any notice of him. both the mistress and the maid saw him, but as they knew him, they did not think it necessary to interrupt their conversation. the pastor's wife was anxious to continue it; she felt she was about to hear what she needed to ease her conscience. 'it is perhaps as well she is gone,' she said. 'yes, ma'am,' the servant said eagerly; 'and i am sure the pastor thinks just the same. in any case he soon will. and the mistress will see that now there will be more peace in the house, and i am sure the master needs it.' 'oh!' said the pastor's wife, 'i was obliged to be careful. there were always so many clothes to be got for her, that it was quite dreadful. he was so afraid that she should not get as much as the others that she sometimes even had more. and it cost so much, now that she was grown up.' 'i suppose, ma'am, greta will get her muslin dress?' 'yes; either greta will have it, or i shall use it myself.' 'she does not leave much behind her, poor thing!' 'no one expects her to leave anything,' said her adopted mother. 'i should be quite content if i could remember ever having had a kind word from her.' this is only the kind of thing one says when one has a bad conscience, and wants to excuse one's self. her adopted mother did not really mean what she said. the dalar man behaved exactly as he always did when he came to sell his wares. he stood for a little while looking round the kitchen; then he slowly pushed the pack on to a table, and unfastened the braces and the straps; then he looked round to see if there were any cats or dogs about. he then straightened his back, and began to unfasten the two leather flaps, which were fastened with numerous buckles and knots. 'he need not trouble about opening his pack to-day,' lisa said; 'it is sunday, and he knows quite well we don't buy anything on sundays.' she, however, took no notice of the crazy fellow, who continued to unfasten his straps. she turned round to her mistress. this was a good opportunity for insinuating herself. 'i don't even know whether she was good to the children. i have often heard them cry in the nursery.' 'i suppose it was the same with them as it was with their mother,' said the pastor's wife; 'but now, of course, they cry because she is dead.' 'they don't understand what is best for them,' said the servant; 'but the mistress can be certain that before a month is gone there will be no one to cry over her.' at the same moment they both turned round from the kitchen range, and looked towards the table, where the dalar man stood opening his big pack. they had heard a strange noise, something like a sigh or a sob. the man was just opening the inside lid, and out of the pack rose the newly-buried girl, exactly the same as when they laid her in the coffin. and yet she did not look quite the same. she looked almost more dead now than when she was laid in her coffin. then she had nearly the same colour as when she was alive; now her face was ashy-gray, there was a bluish-black shadow round her mouth, and her eyes lay deep in her head. she said nothing, but her face expressed the greatest despair, and she held out beseechingly, and as if to avert their anger, the bouquet of myrtle which she had received from her adopted mother. this sight was more than flesh and blood could stand. her mother fell fainting to the ground; the maid stood still for a moment, gazing at the mother and daughter, covered her eyes with her hands, and rushed into her own room and locked the door. 'it is not me she has come for; this does not concern me.' but ingrid turned round to the dalar man. 'put me in your pack again, and take me away. do you hear? take me away. take me back to where you found me.' the dalar man happened to look through the window. a long row of carts and carriages was coming up the avenue and into the yard. ah, indeed! then he was not going to stay. he did not like that at all. ingrid crouched down at the bottom of the pack. she said not another word, but only sobbed. the flaps and the lids were fastened, and she was again lifted on to his back and carried away. those who were coming to the funeral feast laughed at the goat, who hastened away, curtsying and curtsying to every horse he met. v anna stina was an old woman who lived in the depths of the forest. she gave a helping hand at the parsonage now and then, and always managed opportunely to come down the hillside when they were baking or washing. she was a nice, clever old woman, and she and ingrid were good friends. as soon as the young girl was able to collect her thoughts, she made up her mind to take refuge with her. 'listen,' she said to the dalar man. 'when you get onto the highroad, turn into the forest; then go straight on until you come to a gate; there you must turn to the left; then you must go straight on until you come to the large gravel-pit. from there you can see a house: take me there, and i will play to you.' the short and harsh manner in which she gave her orders jarred upon her ears, but she was obliged to speak in this way in order to be obeyed; it was the only chance she had. what right had she to order another person about--she who had not even the right to be alive? after all this she would never again be able to feel as if she had any right to live. this was the most dreadful part of all that had happened to her: that she could have lived in the parsonage for six years, and not even been able to make herself so much loved that they wished to keep her alive. and those whom no one loves have no right to live. she could not exactly say how she knew it was so, but it was as clear as daylight. she knew it from the feeling that the same moment she heard that they did not care about her an iron hand seemed to have crushed her heart as if to make it stop. yes, it was life itself that had been closed for her. and the same moment she had come back from death, and felt the delight of being alive burn brightly and strongly within her, just at that moment the one thing that gave her the right of existing had been torn from her. this was worse than sentence of death. it was much more cruel than an ordinary sentence of death. she knew what it was like. it was like felling a tree--not in the usual manner, when the trunk is cut through, but by cutting its roots and leaving it standing in the ground to die by itself. there the tree stands, and cannot understand why it no longer gets nourishment and support. it struggles and strives to live, but the leaves get smaller and smaller, it sends forth no fresh shoots, the bark falls off, and it must die, because it is severed from the spring of life. thus it is it must die. at last the dalar man put down his pack on the stone step outside a little house in the midst of the wild forest. the door was locked, but as soon as ingrid had got out of the pack she took the key from under the doorstep, opened the door, and walked in. ingrid knew the house thoroughly and all it contained. it was not the first time she had come there for comfort; it was not the first time she had come and told old anna stina that she could not bear living at home any longer--that her adopted mother was so hard to her that she would not go back to the parsonage. but every time she came the old woman had talked her over and quieted her. she had made her some terrible coffee from roasted peas and chicory, without a single coffee-bean in it, but which had all the same given her new courage, and in the end she had made her laugh at everything, and encouraged her so much, that she had simply danced down the hillside on her way home. even if anna stina had been at home, and had made some of her terrible coffee, it would probably not have helped ingrid this time. but the old woman was down at the parsonage to the funeral feast, for the pastor's wife had not forgotten to invite any of those of whom ingrid had been fond. that, too, was probably the result of an uneasy conscience. but in anna's room everything was as usual. and when ingrid saw the sofa with the wooden seat, and the clean, scoured table, and the cat, and the coffee-kettle, although she did not feel comforted or cheered, she felt that here was a place where she could give vent to her sorrow. it was a relief that here she need not think of anything but crying and moaning. she went straight to the settle, threw herself on the wooden seat, and lay there crying, she did not know for how long. the dalar man sat outside on the stone step; he did not want to go into the house on account of the cat. he expected that ingrid would come out and play to him. he had taken the violin out long ago. as it was such a long time before she came, he began to play himself. he played softly and gently, as was his wont. it was barely possible for the young girl to hear him playing. ingrid had one fit of shivering after the other. this was how she had been before she fell ill. she would no doubt be ill again. it was also best that the fever should come and put an end to her in earnest. when she heard the violin, she rose and looked round with bewildered glance. who was that playing? was that her student? had he come at last? it soon struck her, however, that it was the dalar man, and she lay down again with a sigh. she could not follow what he was playing. but as soon as she closed her eyes the violin assumed the student's voice. she also heard what he said; he spoke with her adopted mother and defended her. he spoke just as nicely as he had done to mr. and mrs. blomgren. ingrid needed love so much, he said. that was what she had missed. that was why she had not always attended to her work, but allowed dreams to fill her mind. but no one knew how she could work and slave for those who loved her. for their sake she could bear sorrow and sickness, and contempt and poverty; for them she would be as strong as a giant, and as patient as a slave. ingrid heard him distinctly and she became quiet. yes, it was true. if only her adopted mother had loved her, she would have seen what ingrid was worth. but as she did not love her, ingrid was paralyzed in her efforts. yes, so it had been. now the fever had left her, she only lay and listened to what the student said. she slept a little now and then; time after time she thought she was lying in her grave, and then it was always the student who came and took her out of the coffin. she lay and disputed with him. 'when i am dreaming it is you who come,' she said. 'it is always i who come to you, ingrid,' he said. 'i thought you knew that. i take you out of the grave; i carry you on my shoulders; i play you to sleep. it is always i.' what disturbed and awoke her was the thought that she had to get up and play for the dalar man. several times she rose up to do it, but could not. as soon as she fell back upon the settle she began to dream. she sat crouching in the pack and the student carried her through the forest. it was always he. 'but it was not you,' she said to him. 'of course it was i,' he said, smiling at her contradicting him. 'you have been thinking about me every day for all these years; so you can understand i could not help saving you when you were in such great danger.' of course she saw the force of his argument; and then she began to realize that he was right, and that it was he. but this was such infinite bliss that she again awoke. love seemed to fill her whole being. it could not have been more real had she seen and spoken with her beloved. 'why does he never come in real life?' she said, half aloud. 'why does he only come in my dreams?' she did not dare to move, for then love would fly away. it was as if a timid bird had settled on her shoulder, and she was afraid of frightening it away. if she moved, the bird would fly away, and sorrow would overcome her. when at last she really awoke, it was twilight. she must have slept the whole afternoon and evening. at that time of the year it was not dark until after ten o'clock. the violin had ceased playing, and the dalar man had probably gone away. anna stina had not yet come back. she would probably be away the whole night. it did not matter to ingrid; all she wanted was to lie down again and sleep. she was afraid of all the sorrow and despair that would overwhelm her as soon as she awoke. but then she got something new to think about. who could have closed the door? who had spread anna stina's great shawl over her? and who had placed a piece of dry bread beside her on the seat? had he, the goat, done all this for her? for a moment she thought she saw dream and reality standing side by side, trying which could best console her. and the dream stood joyous and smiling, showering over her all the bliss of love to comfort her. but life, poor, hard, and bitter though it was, also brought its kindly little mite to show that it did not mean to be so hard upon her as perhaps she thought. vi ingrid and anna stina were walking through the dark forest. they had been walking for four days, and had slept three nights in the säter huts. ingrid was weak and weary; her face was transparently pale; her eyes were sunken, and shone feverishly. old anna stina now and then secretly cast an anxious look at her, and prayed to god that he would sustain her so that she might not die by the wayside. now and then the old woman could not help looking behind her with uneasiness. she had an uncomfortable feeling that the old man with his scythe came stealthily after them through the forest to reclaim the young girl who, both by the word of god and the casting of earth upon her, had been consecrated to him. old anna stina was little and broad, with a large, square face, which was so intelligent that it was almost good-looking. she was not superstitious--she lived quite alone in the midst of the forest without being afraid either of witches or evil spirits--but as she walked there by the side of ingrid she felt as distinctly as if someone had told her that she was walking beside a being who did not belong to this world. she had had that sensation ever since she had found ingrid lying in her house that monday morning. anna stina had not returned home on the sunday evening, for down at the parsonage the pastor's wife had been taken very ill, and anna stina, who was accustomed to nurse sick people, had stayed to sit up with her. the whole night she had heard the pastor's wife raving about ingrid's having appeared to her; but that the old woman had not believed. and when she returned home the next day and found ingrid, the old woman would at once have gone down to the parsonage again to tell them that it was not a ghost they had seen; but when she had suggested this to ingrid, it had affected her so much that she dared not do it. it was as if the little life which burnt in her would be extinguished, just as the flame of a candle is put out by too strong a draught. she could have died as easily as a little bird in its cage. death was prowling around her. there was nothing to be done but to nurse her very tenderly and deal very gently with her if her life was to be preserved. the old woman hardly knew what to think of ingrid. perhaps she was a ghost; there seemed to be so little life in her. she quite gave up trying to talk her to reason. there was nothing else for it but giving in to her wishes that no one should hear anything about her being alive. and then the old woman tried to arrange everything as wisely as possible. she had a sister who was housekeeper on a large estate in dalarne, and she made up her mind to take ingrid to her, and persuade her sister, stafva, to give the girl a situation at the manor house. ingrid would have to be content with being simply a servant. there was nothing else for it. they were now on their way to the manor house. anna stina knew the country so well that they were not obliged to go by the highroad, but could follow the lonely forest paths. but they had also undergone much hardship. their shoes were worn and in pieces, their skirts soiled and frayed at the bottom, and a branch had torn a long rent in ingrid's sleeve. on the evening of the fourth day they came to a hill from which they could look down into a deep valley. in the valley was a lake, and near the edge of the lake was a high, rocky island, upon which stood a large white building. when anna stina saw the house, she said it was called munkhyttan, and that it was there her sister lived. they made themselves as tidy as they could on the hillside. they arranged the handkerchiefs which they wore on their heads, dried their shoes with moss, and washed themselves in a forest stream, and anna stina tried to make a fold in ingrid's sleeve so that the rent could not be seen. the old woman sighed when she looked at ingrid, and quite lost courage. it was not only that she looked so strange in the clothes she had borrowed from anna stina, and which did not at all fit her, but her sister stafva would never take her into her service, she looked so wretched and pitiful. it was like engaging a breath of wind. the girl could be of no more use than a sick butterfly. as soon as they were ready, they went down the hill to the lake. it was only a short distance. then they came to the land belonging to the manor house. was that a country house? there were large neglected fields, upon which the forest encroached more and more. there was a bridge leading on to the island, so shaky that they hardly thought it would keep together until they were safely over. there was an avenue leading from the bridge to the main building, covered with grass, like a meadow, and a tree which had been blown down had been left lying across the road. the island was pretty enough, so pretty that a castle might very well have been built there. but nothing but weeds grew in the garden, and in the large park the trees were choking each other, and black snakes glided over the green, wet walks. anna stina felt uneasy when she saw how neglected everything was, and went along mumbling to herself: 'what does all this mean? is stafva dead? how can she stand everything looking like this? things were very different thirty years ago, when i was last here. what in the world can be the matter with stafva?' she could not imagine that there could be such neglect in any place where stafva lived. ingrid walked behind her, slowly and reluctantly. the moment she put her foot on the bridge she felt that there were not two walking there, but three. someone had come to meet her there, and had turned back to accompany her. ingrid heard no footsteps, but he who accompanied them appeared indistinctly by her side. she could see there was someone. she became terribly afraid. she was just going to beg anna stina to turn back and tell her that everything seemed so strange here that she dare not go any further. but before she had time to say anything, the stranger came quite close to her, and she recognised him. before, she only saw him indistinctly; now she saw him so clearly that she could see it was the student. it no longer seemed weird and ghost-like that he walked there. it was only strangely delightful that he came to receive her. it was as if it were he who had brought her there, and would, by coming to welcome her, show that it was. he walked with her over the bridge, through the avenue, quite up to the main building. she could not help turning her head every moment to the left. it was there she saw his face, quite close to her cheek. it was really not a face that she saw, only an unspeakably beautiful smile that drew tenderly near her. but if she turned her head quite round to see it properly, it was no longer there. no, there was nothing one could see distinctly. but as soon as she looked straight before her, it was there again, quite close to her. her invisible companion did not speak to her, he only smiled. but that was enough for her. it was more than enough to show her that there was one in the world who kept near her with tender love. she felt his presence as something so real, that she firmly believed he protected her and watched over her. and before this happy consciousness vanished all the despair which her adopted mother's hard words had called forth. ingrid felt herself again given back to life. she had the right to live, as there was one who loved her. and this was why she entered the kitchen at munkhyttan with a faint blush on her cheeks, and with radiant eyes, fragile, weak, and transparent, but sweet as a newly-opened rose. she still went about as if in a dream, and did not know much about where she was; but what surprised her so much that it nearly awakened her was to see a new anna stina standing by the fireplace. she stood there, little and broad, with a large, square face, exactly like the other. but why was she so fine, with a white cap with strings tied in a large bow under her chin, and with a black bombazine dress? ingrid's head was so confused, that it was some time before it occurred to her that this must be miss stafva. she felt that anna stina looked uneasily at her, and she tried to pull herself together and say 'good-day.' but the only thing her mind could grasp was the thought that he had come to her. inside the kitchen there was a small room, with blue-checked covering on the furniture. they were taken into that room, and miss stafva gave them coffee and something to eat. anna stina at once began to talk about their errand. she spoke for a long time; said that she knew her sister stood so high in her ladyship's favour that she left it to her to engage the servants. miss stafva said nothing, but she gave a look at ingrid as much as to say that it would hardly have been left with her if she had chosen servants like her. anna stina praised ingrid, and said she was a good girl. she had hitherto served in a parsonage, but now that she was grown up she wanted really to learn something, and that was why anna stina had brought her to one who could teach her more than any other person she knew. miss stafva did not reply to this remark either. but her glance plainly showed that she was surprised that anyone who had had a situation in a parsonage had no clothes of her own, but was obliged to borrow old anna stina's. then old anna stina began to tell how she lived quite alone in the forest, deserted by all her relatives. and this young girl had come running up the hill many an evening and many an early morning to see her. she had therefore thought and hoped that she could now help her to get a good situation. miss stafva said it was a pity that they had gone such a long way to find a place. if she were a clever girl, she could surely get a situation in some good family in their own neighbourhood. anna stina could now clearly see that ingrid's prospects were not good, and therefore she began in a more solemn vein: 'here you have lived, stafva, and had a good, comfortable home all your life, and i have had to fight my way in great poverty. but i have never asked you for anything before to-day. and now you will send me away like a beggar, to whom one gives a meal and nothing more.' miss stafva smiled a little; then she said: 'sister anna stina, you are not telling me the truth. i, too, come from raglanda, and i should like to know at what peasant's house in that parish grow such eyes and such a face.' and she pointed at ingrid, and continued: 'i can quite understand, anna stina, that you would like to help one who looks like that. but i do not understand how you can think that your sister stafva has not more sense than to believe the stories you choose to tell her.' anna stina was so frightened that she could not say a word, but ingrid made up her mind to confide in miss stafva, and began at once to tell her whole story in her soft, beautiful voice. and ingrid had hardly told of how she had been lying in the grave, and that a dalar man had come and saved her, before old miss stafva grew red and quickly bent down to hide it. it was only a second, but there must have been some cause for it, for from that moment she looked so kind. she soon began to ask full particulars about it; more especially she wanted to know about the crazy man, whether ingrid had not been afraid of him. oh no, he did no harm. he was not mad, ingrid said; he could both buy and sell. he was only frightened of some things. ingrid thought the hardest of all was to tell what she had heard her adopted mother say. but she told everything, although there were tears in her voice. then miss stafva went up to her, drew back the handkerchief from her head, and looked into her eyes. then she patted her lightly on the cheek. 'never mind that, little miss,' she said. 'there is no need for me to know about that. now sister and miss ingrid must excuse me,' she said soon after, 'but i must take up her ladyship's coffee. i shall soon be down again, and you can tell me more.' when she returned, she said she had told her ladyship about the young girl who had lain in the grave, and now her mistress wanted to see her. they were taken upstairs, and shown into her ladyship's boudoir. anna stina remained standing at the door of the fine room. but ingrid was not shy; she went straight up to the old lady and put out her hand. she had often been shy with others who looked much less aristocratic; but here, in this house, she did not feel embarrassed. she only felt so wonderfully happy that she had come there. 'so it is you, my child, who have been buried,' said her ladyship, nodding friendlily to her. 'do you mind telling me your story, my child? i sit here quite alone, and never hear anything, you know.' then ingrid began again to tell her story. but she had not got very far before she was interrupted. her ladyship did exactly the same as miss stafva had done. she rose, pushed the handkerchief back from ingrid's forehead and looked into her eyes. 'yes,' her ladyship said to herself, 'that i can understand. i can understand that he must obey those eyes.' for the first time in her life ingrid was praised for her courage. her ladyship thought she had been very brave to place herself in the hands of a crazy fellow. she _was_ afraid, she said, but she was still more afraid of people seeing her in that state. and he did no harm; he was almost quite right, and then he was so good. her ladyship wanted to know his name, but ingrid did not know it. she had never heard of any other name but the goat. her ladyship asked several times how he managed when he came to do business. had she not laughed at him, and did she not think that he looked terrible--the goat? it sounded so strange when her ladyship said 'the goat.' there was so much bitterness in her voice when she said it, and yet she said it over and over again. no; ingrid did not think so, and she never laughed at unfortunate people. the old lady looked more gentle than her words sounded. 'it appears you know how to manage mad people, my child,' she said. 'that is a great gift. most people are afraid of such poor creatures.' she listened to all ingrid had to say, and sat meditating. 'as you have not any home, my child,' she said, 'will you not stay here with me? you see, i am an old woman living here by myself, and you can keep me company, and i shall take care that you have everything you want. what do you say to it, my child? there will come a time, i suppose,' continued her ladyship, 'when we shall have to inform your parents that you are still living; but for the present everything shall remain as it is, so that you can have time to rest both body and mind. and you shall call me "aunt"; but what shall i call you?' 'ingrid--ingrid berg.' 'ingrid,' said her ladyship thoughtfully. 'i would rather have called you something else. as soon as you entered the room with those star-like eyes, i thought you ought to be called mignon.' when it dawned upon the young girl that here she would really find a home, she felt more sure than ever that she had been brought here in some supernatural manner, and she whispered her thanks to her invisible protector before she thanked her ladyship, miss stafva, and anna stina. * * * * * ingrid slept in a four-poster, on luxurious featherbeds three feet high, and had hem-stitched sheets, and silken quilts embroidered with swedish crowns and french lilies. the bed was so broad that she could lie as she liked either way, and so high that she must mount two steps to get into it. at the top sat a cupid holding the brightly-coloured hangings, and on the posts sat other cupids, which held them up in festoons. in the same room where the bed stood was an old curved chest of drawers inlaid with olive-wood, and from it ingrid might take as much sweetly-scented linen as she liked. there was also a wardrobe containing many gay and pretty silk and muslin gowns that only hung there and waited until it pleased her to put them on. when she awoke in the morning there stood by her bedside a tray with a silver coffee-set and old indian china. and every morning she set her small white teeth in fine white bread and delicious almond-cakes; every day she was dressed in a fine muslin gown with a lace fichu. her hair was dressed high at the back, but round her forehead there was a row of little light curls. on the wall between the windows hung a mirror, with a narrow glass in a broad frame, where she could see herself, and nod to her picture, and ask: 'is it you? is it really you? how have you come here?' in the daytime, when ingrid had left the chamber with the four-poster, she sat in the drawing-room and embroidered or painted on silk, and when she was tired of that, she played a little on the guitar and sang, or talked with the old lady, who taught her french, and amused herself by training her to be a fine lady. but she had come to an enchanted castle--she could not get away from that idea. she had had that feeling the first moment, and it was always coming back again. no one arrived at the house, no one left it. in this big house only two or three rooms were kept in order; in the others no one ever went. no one walked in the garden, no one looked after it. there was only one man-servant, and an old man who cut the firewood. and miss stafva had only two servants, who helped her in the kitchen and in the dairy. but there was always dainty food on the table, and her ladyship and ingrid were always waited upon and dressed like fine ladies of rank. if nothing thrived on the old estate, there was, at any rate, fertile soil for dreams, and even if they did not nurse and cultivate flowers there, ingrid was not the one to neglect her dream-roses. they grew up around her whenever she was alone. it seemed to her then as if red dream-roses formed a canopy over her. round the island where the trees bent low over the water, and sent long branches in between the reeds, and where shrubs and lofty trees grew luxuriantly, was a pathway where ingrid often walked. it looked so strange to see so many letters carved on the trees, to see the old seats and summer-houses; to see the old tumble-down pavilions, which were so worm-eaten that she dared not go into them; to think that real people had walked here, that here they had lived, and longed, and loved, and that this had not always been an enchanted castle. down here she felt even more the witchery of the place. here the face with the smile came to her. here she could thank him, the student, because he had brought her to a home where she was so happy, where they loved her, and made her forget how hardly others had treated her. if it had not been he who had arranged all this for her, she could not possibly have been allowed to remain here; it was quite impossible. she knew that it must be he. she had never before had such wild fancies. she had always been thinking of him, but she had never felt that he was so near her that he took care of her. the only thing she longed for was that he himself should come, for of course he would come some day. it was impossible that he should not come. in these avenues he had left behind part of his soul. * * * * * summer went, and autumn; christmas was drawing near. 'miss ingrid,' said the old housekeeper one day, in a rather mysterious manner, 'i think i ought to tell you that the young master who owns munkhyttan is coming home for christmas. in any case, he generally comes,' she added, with a sigh. 'and her ladyship, who has never even mentioned that she has a son,' said ingrid. but she was not really surprised. she might just as well have answered that she had known it all along. 'no one has spoken to you about him, miss ingrid,' said the housekeeper, 'for her ladyship has forbidden us to speak about him.' and then miss stafva would not say any more. neither did ingrid want to ask any more. now she was afraid of hearing something definite. she had raised her expectations so high that she was herself afraid they would fail. the truth might be well worth hearing, but it might also be bitter, and destroy all her beautiful dreams. but from that day he was with her night and day. she had hardly time to speak to others. she must always be with him. one day she saw that they had cleared the snow away from the avenue. she grew almost frightened. was he coming now? the next day her ladyship sat from early morning in the window looking down the avenue. ingrid had gone further into the room. she was so restless that she could not remain at the window. 'do you know whom i am expecting to-day, ingrid?' the young girl nodded; she dared not depend upon her voice to answer. 'has miss stafva told you that my son is peculiar?' ingrid shook her head. 'he is very peculiar--he--i cannot speak about it. i cannot--you must see for yourself.' it sounded heartrending. ingrid grew very uneasy. what was there with this house that made everything so strange? was it something terrible that she did not know about? was her ladyship not on good terms with her son? what was it, what was it? the one moment in an ecstasy of joy, the next in a fever of uncertainty, she was obliged to call forth the long row of visions in order again to feel that it must be he who came. she could not at all say why she so firmly believed that he must be the son just of this house. he might, for the matter of that, be quite another person. oh, how hard it was that she had never heard his name! it was a long day. they sat waiting in silence until evening came. the man came driving a cartload of christmas logs, and the horse remained in the yard whilst the wood was unloaded. 'ingrid,' said her ladyship in a commanding and hasty tone, 'run down to anders and tell him that he must be quick and get the horse into the stable. quick--quick!' ingrid ran down the stairs and on to the veranda; but when she came out she forgot to call to the man. just behind the cart she saw a tall man in a sheepskin coat, and with a large pack on his back. it was not necessary for her to see him standing curtsying and curtsying to recognise him. but, but----she put her hand to her head and drew a deep breath. how would all these things ever become clear to her? was it for that fellow's sake her ladyship had sent her down? and the man, why did he pull the horse away in such great haste? and why did he take off his cap and salute? what had that crazy man to do with the people of this house? all at once the truth flashed upon ingrid so crushingly and overwhelmingly that she could have screamed. it was not her beloved who had watched over her; it was this crazy man. she had been allowed to remain here because she had spoken kindly of him, because his mother wanted to carry on the good work which he had commenced. the goat--that was the young master. but to her no one came. no one had brought her here; no one had expected her. it was all dreams, fancies, illusions! oh, how hard it was! if she had only never expected him! but at night, when ingrid lay in the big bed with the brightly-coloured hangings, she dreamt over and over again that she saw the student come home. 'it was not you who came,' she said. 'yes, of course it was i,' he replied. and in her dreams she believed him. * * * * * one day, the week after christmas, ingrid sat at the window in the boudoir embroidering. her ladyship sat on the sofa knitting, as she always did now. there was silence in the room. young hede had been at home for a week. during all that time ingrid had never seen him. in his home, too, he lived like a peasant, slept in the men-servants' quarters, and had his meals in the kitchen. he never went to see his mother. ingrid knew that both her ladyship and miss stafva expected that she should do something for hede, that at the least she would try and persuade him to remain at home. and it grieved her that it was impossible for her to do what they wished. she was in despair about herself and about the utter weakness that had come over her since her expectations had been so shattered. to-day miss stafva had just come in to say that hede was getting his pack ready to start. he was not even staying as long as he generally did at christmas, she said with a reproachful look at ingrid. ingrid understood all they had expected from her, but she could do nothing. she sewed and sewed without saying anything. miss stafva went away, and there was again silence in the room. ingrid quite forgot that she was not alone; a feeling of drowsiness suddenly came over her, whilst all her sad thoughts wove themselves into a strange fancy. she thought she was walking up and down the whole of the large house. she went through a number of rooms and salons; she saw them before her with gray covers over the furniture. the paintings and the chandeliers were covered with gauze, and on the floors was a layer of thick dust, which whirled about when she went through the rooms. but at last she came to a room where she had never been before; it was quite a small chamber, where both walls and ceiling were black. but when she came to look more closely at them, she saw that the chamber was neither painted black, nor covered with black material, but it was so dark on account of the walls and the ceiling being completely covered with bats. the whole room was nothing but a huge nest for bats. in one of the windows a pane was broken, so one could understand how the bats had got in in such incredible numbers that they covered the whole room. they hung there in their undisturbed winter sleep; not one moved when she entered. but she was seized by such terror at this sight that she began to shiver and shake all over. it was dreadful to see the quantity of bats she so distinctly saw hanging there. they all had black wings wrapped around them like cloaks; they all hung from the walls by a single long claw in undisturbable sleep. she saw it all so distinctly that she wondered if miss stafva knew that the bats had taken possession of a whole room. in her thoughts she then went to miss stafva and asked her whether she had been into that room and seen all the bats. 'of course i have seen them,' said miss stafva. 'it is their own room. i suppose you know, miss ingrid, that there is not a single old country house in all sweden where they have not to give up a room to the bats?' 'i have never heard that before,' ingrid said. 'when you have lived as long in the world as i have, miss ingrid, you will find out that i am speaking the truth,' said miss stafva. 'i cannot understand that people will put up with such a thing,' ingrid said. 'we are obliged to,' said miss stafva. 'those bats are mistress sorrow's birds, and she has commanded us to receive them.' ingrid saw that miss stafva did not wish to say anything more about that matter, and she began to sew again; but she could not help speculating over who that mistress sorrow could be who had so much power here that she could compel miss stafva to give up a whole room to the bats. just as she was thinking about all this, she saw a black sledge, drawn by black horses, pull up outside the veranda. she saw miss stafva come out and make a low curtsy. an old lady in a long black velvet cloak, with many small capes on the shoulders, alighted from the sledge. she was bent, and had difficulty in walking. she could hardly lift her feet sufficiently to walk up the steps. 'ingrid,' said her ladyship, looking up from her knitting, 'i think i heard mistress sorrow arrive. it must have been her jingle i heard. have you noticed that she never has sledge-bells on her horses, but only quite a small jingle? but one can hear it--one can hear it! go down into the hall, ingrid, and bid mistress sorrow welcome.' when ingrid came down into the front hall, mistress sorrow stood talking with miss stafva on the veranda. they did not notice her. ingrid saw with surprise that the round-backed old lady had something hidden under all her capes which looked like crape; it was put well up and carefully hidden. ingrid had to look very closely before she discovered that they were two large bat's wings which she tried to hide. the young girl grew still more curious and tried to see her face, but she stood and looked into the yard, so it was impossible. so much, however, ingrid did see when she put out her hand to the housekeeper--that one of her fingers was much longer than the others, and at the end of it was a large, crooked claw. 'i suppose everything is as usual here?' she said. 'yes, honoured mistress sorrow,' said miss stafva. 'you have not planted any flowers, nor pruned any trees? you have not mended the bridge, nor weeded the avenue?' 'no, honoured mistress.' 'this is quite as it should be,' said the honoured mistress. 'i suppose you have not had the audacity to search for the vein of ore, or to cut down the forest which is encroaching on the fields?' 'no, honoured mistress.' 'or to clean the wells?' 'no, nor to clean the wells.' 'this is a nice place,' said mistress sorrow; 'i always like being here. in a few years things will be in such a state that my birds can live all over the house. you are really very good to my birds, miss stafva.' at this praise the housekeeper made a deep curtsy. 'how are things otherwise at the house?' said mistress sorrow. 'what sort of a christmas have you had?' 'we have kept christmas as we always do,' said miss stafva. 'her ladyship sits knitting in her room day after day, thinks of nothing but her son, and does not even know that it is a festival. christmas eve we allowed to pass like any other day--no presents and no candles.' 'no christmas tree, no christmas fare?' 'nor any going to church; not so much as a candle in the windows on christmas morning.' 'why should her ladyship honour god's son when god will not heal her son?' said mistress sorrow. 'no, why should she?' 'he is at home at present, i suppose? perhaps he is better now?' 'no, he is no better. he is as much afraid of things as ever.' 'does he still behave like a peasant? does he never go into the rooms?' 'we cannot get him to go into the rooms; he is afraid of her ladyship, as the honoured mistress knows.' 'he has his meals in the kitchen, and sleeps in the men-servants' room?' 'yes, he does.' 'and you have no idea how to cure him?' 'we know nothing, we understand nothing.' mistress sorrow was silent for a moment; when she spoke again there was a hard, sharp ring in her voice: 'this is all right as far as it goes, miss stafva; but i am not quite satisfied with you, all the same.' the same moment she turned round and looked sharply at ingrid. ingrid shuddered. mistress sorrow had a little, wrinkled face, the under part of which was so doubled up that one could hardly see the lower jaw. she had teeth like a saw, and thick hair on the upper lip. her eyebrows were one single tuft of hair, and her skin was quite brown. ingrid thought miss stafva could not see what she saw: mistress sorrow was not a human being; she was only an animal. mistress sorrow opened her mouth and showed her glittering teeth when she looked at ingrid. 'when this girl came here,' she said to miss stafva, 'you thought she had been sent by god. you thought you could see from her eyes that she had been sent by our lord to save him. she knew how to manage mad people. well, how has it worked?' 'it has not worked at all. she has not done anything.' 'no, i have seen to that,' said mistress sorrow. 'it was my doing that you did not tell her why she was allowed to stay here. had she known that, she would not have indulged in such rosy dreams about seeing her beloved. if she had not had such expectations, she would not have had such a bitter disappointment. had disappointment not paralyzed her, she could perhaps have done something for this mad fellow. but now she has not even been to see him. she hates him because he is not the one she expected him to be. that is my doing, miss stafva, my doing.' 'yes; the honoured mistress knows her business,' said miss stafva. mistress sorrow took her lace handkerchief and dried her red-rimmed eyes. it looked as if it were meant for an expression of joy. 'you need not make yourself out to be any better than you are, miss stafva,' she said. 'i know you do not like my having taken that room for my birds. you do not like the thought of my having the whole house soon. i know that. you and your mistress had intended to cheat me. but it is all over now.' 'yes,' said miss stafva, 'the honoured mistress can be quite easy. it is all over. the young master is leaving to-day. he has packed up his pack, and then we always know he is about to leave. everything her ladyship and i have been dreaming about the whole autumn is over. nothing has been done. we thought she might at least have persuaded him to remain at home, but in spite of all we have done for her, she has not done anything for us.' 'no, she has only been a poor help, i know that,' said mistress sorrow. 'but, all the same, she must be sent away now. that was really what i wanted to see her ladyship about.' mistress sorrow began to drag herself up the steps on her tottering legs. at every step she raised her wings a little, as if they should help her. she would, no doubt, much rather have flown. ingrid went behind her. she felt strangely attracted and fascinated. if mistress sorrow had been the most beautiful woman in the world, she could not have felt a greater inclination to follow her. when she went into the boudoir she saw mistress sorrow sitting on the sofa by the side of her ladyship, whispering confidentially with her, as if they were old friends. 'you must be able to see that you cannot keep her with you,' said mistress sorrow impressively. 'you, who cannot bear to see a flower growing in your garden, can surely not stand having a young girl about in the house. it always brings a certain amount of brightness and life, and that would not suit you.' 'no; that is just what i have been sitting and thinking about.' 'get her a situation as lady's companion somewhere or other, but don't keep her here.' she rose to say good-bye. 'that was all i wanted to see you about,' she said. 'but how are you yourself?' 'knives and scissors cut my heart all day long,' said her ladyship. 'i only live in him as long as he is at home. it is worse than usual, much worse this time. i cannot bear it much longer.' . . . ingrid started; it was her ladyship's bell that rang. she had been dreaming so vividly that she was quite surprised to see that her ladyship was alone, and that the black sledge was not waiting before the door. her ladyship had rung for miss stafva, but she did not come. she asked ingrid to go down to her room and call her. ingrid went, but the little blue-checked room was empty. the young girl was going into the kitchen to ask for the housekeeper, but before she had time to open the door she heard hede talking. she stopped outside; she could not persuade herself to go in and see him. she tried, however, to argue with herself. it was not his fault that he was not the one she had been expecting. she must try to do something for him; she must persuade him to remain at home. before, she had not had such a feeling against him. he was not so very bad. she bent down and peeped through the keyhole. it was the same here as at other places. the servants tried to lead him on in order to amuse themselves by his strange talk. they asked him whom he was going to marry. hede smiled; he liked to be asked about that kind of thing. 'she is called grave-lily--don't you know that?' he said. the servant said she did not know that she had such a fine name. 'but where does she live?' 'neither has she home nor has she farm,' hede said. 'she lives in my pack.' the servant said that was a queer home, and asked about her parents. 'neither has she father nor has she mother,' hede said. 'she is as fine as a flower; she has grown up in a garden.' he said all this with a certain amount of clearness, but when he wanted to describe how beautiful his sweetheart was he could not get on at all. he said a number of words, but they were strangely mixed together. one could not follow his thoughts, but evidently he himself derived much pleasure from what he said. he sat smiling and happy. ingrid hurried away. she could not bear it any longer. she could not do anything for him. she was afraid of him. she disliked him. but she had not got further than the stairs before her conscience pricked her. here she had received so much kindness, and she would not make any return. in order to master her dislike she tried in her own mind to think of hede as a gentleman. she wondered how he had looked when he wore good clothes, and had his hair brushed back. she closed her eyes for a moment and thought. no, it was impossible, she could not imagine him as being any different from what he was. the same moment she saw the outlines of a beloved face by her side. it appeared at her left side wonderfully distinct. this time the face did not smile. the lips trembled as if in pain, and unspeakable suffering was written in sharp lines round the mouth. ingrid stopped half-way up the stairs and looked at it. there it was, light and fleeting, as impossible to grasp and hold fast as a sun-spot reflected by the prism of a chandelier, but just as visible, just as real. she thought of her recent dream, but this was different--this was reality. when she had looked a little at the face, the lips began to move; they spoke, but she could not hear a sound. then she tried to see what they said, tried to read the words from the lips, as deaf people do, and she succeeded. 'do not let me go,' the lips said; 'do not let me go.' and the anguish with which it was said! if a fellow-creature had been lying at her feet begging for life, it could not have affected her more. she was so overcome that she shook. it was more heart-rending than anything she had ever heard in her whole life. never had she thought that anyone could beg in such fearful anguish. again and again the lips begged, 'do not let me go!' and for every time the anguish was greater. ingrid did not understand it, but remained standing, filled with unspeakable pity. it seemed to her that more than life itself must be at stake for one who begged like this, that his very soul must be at stake. the lips did not move any more; they stood half open in dull despair. when they assumed this expression she uttered a cry and stumbled. she recognised the face of the crazy fellow as she had just seen it. 'no, no, no!' she said. 'it cannot be so! it must not! it cannot! it is not possible that it is he!' the same moment the face vanished. she must have sat for a whole hour on the cold staircase, crying in helpless despair. but at last hope sprang up in her, strong and fair. she again took courage to raise her head. all that had happened seemed to show that she should save him. it was for that she had come here. she should have the great, great happiness of saving him. * * * * * in the little boudoir her ladyship was talking to miss stafva. it sounded so pitiful to hear her asking the housekeeper to persuade her son to remain a few days longer. miss stafva tried to appear hard and severe. 'of course, i can ask him,' she said; 'but your ladyship knows that no one can make him stay longer than he wants.' 'we have money enough, you know. there is not the slightest necessity for him to go. can you not tell him that?' said her ladyship. at the same moment ingrid came in. the door opened noiselessly. she glided through the room with light, airy steps; her eyes were radiant, as if she beheld something beautiful afar off. when her ladyship saw her she frowned a little. she also felt an inclination to be cruel, to give pain. 'ingrid,' she said, 'come here; i must speak with you about your future.' the young girl had fetched her guitar and was about to leave the room. she turned round to her ladyship. 'my future?' she said, putting her hand to her forehead. 'my future is already decided, you know,' she continued, with the smile of a martyr; and without saying any more she left the room. her ladyship and stafva looked in surprise at each other. they began to discuss where they should send the young girl. but when miss stafva came down to her room she found ingrid sitting there, singing some little songs and playing on the guitar, and hede sat opposite her, listening, his face all sunshine. * * * * * ever since ingrid had recognised the student in the poor crazy fellow, she had no other thought but that of trying to cure him; but this was a difficult task, and she had no idea whatever as to how she should set about it. to begin with, she only thought of how she could persuade him to remain at munkhyttan; and this was easy enough. only for the sake of hearing her play the violin or the guitar a little every day he would now sit patiently from morning till evening in miss stafva's room waiting for her. she thought it would be a great thing if she could get him to go into the other rooms, but that she could not. she tried keeping in her room, and said she would not play any more for him if he did not come to her. but after she had remained there two days, he began to pack up his pack to go away, and then she was obliged to give in. he showed great preference for her, and distinctly showed that he liked her better than others; but she did not make him less frightened. she begged him to leave off his sheepskin coat, and wear an ordinary coat. he consented at once, but the next day he had it on again. then she hid it from him; but he then appeared in the man-servant's skin coat. so then they would rather let him keep his own. he was still as frightened as ever, and took great care no one came too near him. even ingrid was not allowed to sit quite close to him. one day she said to him that now he must promise her something: he must give over curtsying to the cat. she would not ask him to do anything so difficult as give up curtsying to horses and dogs, but surely he could not be afraid of a little cat. yes, he said; the cat was a goat. 'it can't be a goat,' she said; 'it has no horns, you know.' he was pleased to hear that. it seemed as if at last he had found something by which he could distinguish a goat from other animals. the next day he met miss stafva's cat. 'that goat has no horns,' he said; and laughed quite proudly. he went past it, and sat down on the sofa to listen to ingrid playing. but after he had sat a little while he grew restless, and he rose, went up to the cat, and curtsied. ingrid was in despair. she took him by his arm and shook him. he ran straight out of the room, and did not appear until the next day. 'child, child,' said her ladyship, 'you do exactly as i did; you try the same as i did. it will end by your frightening him so that he dare not see you any more. it is better to leave him in peace. we are satisfied with things as they are if he will only remain at home.' there was nothing else for ingrid to do but wring her hands in sorrow that such a fine, lovable fellow should be concealed in this crazy man. ingrid thought again and again, had she really only come here to play her grandfather's tunes to him? should they go on like that all through life? would it never be otherwise? she also told him many stories, and in the midst of a story his face would lighten up, and he would say something wonderfully subtle and beautiful. a sane person would never have thought of anything like it. and no more was needed to make her courage rise, and then she began again with these endless experiments. * * * * * it was late one afternoon, and the moon was just about to rise. white snow lay on the ground, and bright gray ice covered the lake. the trees were blackish-brown, and the sky was a flaming red after the sunset. ingrid was on her way to the lake to skate. she went along a narrow path where the snow was quite trodden down. gunnar hede went behind her. there was something cowed in his bearing that made one think of a dog following its master. ingrid looked tired; there was no brightness in her eyes, and her complexion was gray. as she walked along she wondered whether the day, which was now so nearly over, was content with itself--if it were from joy it had lighted the great flaming red sunset far away in the west. she knew she could light no bonfire over this day, nor over any other day. in the whole month that had passed since she recognised gunnar hede she had gained nothing. and to-day a great fear had come upon her. it seemed to her as if she might perhaps lose her love over all this. she was nearly forgetting the student, only for thinking of the poor fellow. all that was bright and beautiful and youthful vanished from her love. nothing was left but dull, heavy earnest. she was quite in despair as she walked towards the lake. she felt she did not know what ought to be done--felt that she must give it all up. oh, god, to have him walking behind her apparently strong and hale, and yet so helplessly, incurably sick! they had reached the lake, and she was putting on her skates. she also wanted him to skate, and helped him to put on his skates; but he fell as soon as he got on to the ice. he scrambled to the bank and sat down on a stone, and she skated away from him. just opposite the stone upon which gunnar hede was sitting was an islet overgrown with birches and poplars, and behind it the radiant evening sky, which was still flaming red. and the fine, light, leafless tops of the trees stood against the glorious sky with such beauty that it was impossible not to notice it. is it not a fact that one always recognises a place by a single feature? one does not exactly know how even the most familiar spot looks from all sides. and munkhyttan one always knew by the little islet. if one had not seen the place for many years, one would know it again by this islet, where the dark tree-tops were lifted towards the sunset. hede sat quite still, and looked at the islet and at the branches of the trees and at the gray ice which surrounded it. this was the view he knew best of all; there was nothing on the whole estate he knew so well, for it was always this islet that attracted the eye. and soon he was sitting looking at the islet without thinking about it, just as one does with things one knows so well. he sat for a long time gazing. nothing disturbed him, not a human being, not a gust of wind, no strange object. he could not see ingrid; she had skated far away on the ice. a rest and peace fell upon gunnar hede such as one only feels in home surroundings. security and peace came to him from the little islet; it quieted the everlasting unrest that tormented him. hede always imagined he was amongst enemies, and always thought of defending himself. for many years he had not felt that peace which made it possible for him to forget himself. but now it came upon him. whilst gunnar hede was sitting thus and not thinking of anything, he happened mechanically to make a movement as one may do when one finds one's self in accustomed circumstances. as he sat there with the shining ice before him and with skates on his feet, he got up and skated on to the lake, and he thought as little of what he was doing as one thinks of how one is holding fork or spoon when eating. he glided over the ice; it was glorious skating. he was a long way off the shore before he realized what he was doing. 'splendid ice!' he thought. 'i wonder why i did not come down earlier in the day. it is a good thing i was more here yesterday,' he said. 'i will really not waste a single day during the rest of my vacation.' no doubt it was because gunnar hede happened to do something he was in the habit of doing before he was ill that his old self awakened within him. thoughts and associations connected with his former life began to force themselves upon his consciousness, and at the same time all the thoughts connected with his illness sank into oblivion. it had been his habit when skating to take a wide turn on the lake in order to see beyond a certain point. he did so now without thinking, but when he had turned the point he knew he had skated there to see if there was a light in his mother's window. 'she thinks it is time i was coming home, but she must wait a little; the ice is too good.' but it was mostly vague sensations of pleasure over the exercise and the beautiful evening that were awakened within him. a moonlight evening like this was just the time for skating; he was so fond of this peaceful transition from day to night. it was still light, but the stillness of night was already there, the best both of day and of night. there was another skater on the ice; it was a young girl. he was not sure if he knew her, but he skated towards her to find out. no; it was no one he knew, but he could not help making a remark when he passed her about the splendid ice. the stranger was probably a young girl from the town. she was evidently not accustomed to be addressed in this unceremonious manner; she looked quite frightened when he spoke to her. he certainly was queerly dressed; he was dressed quite like a peasant. well, he did not want to frighten her away. he turned off and skated further up the lake; the ice was big enough for them both. but ingrid had nearly screamed with astonishment. he had come towards her skating elegantly, with his arms crossed, the brim of his hat turned up, and his hair thrown back, so that it did not fall over his ears. he had spoken with the voice of a gentleman, almost without the slightest dalar accent. she did not stop to think about it. she skated quickly towards the shore. she came breathless into the kitchen. she did not know how to say it shortly and quickly enough. 'miss stafva, the young master has come home!' the kitchen was empty; neither the housekeeper nor the servants were there. nor was there anybody in the housekeeper's room. ingrid rushed through the whole house, went into rooms where no one ever went. the whole time she cried out, 'miss stafva, miss stafva! the young master has come home!' she was quite beside herself, and went on calling out, even when she stood on the landing upstairs, surrounded by the servants, miss stafva, and her ladyship herself. she said it over and over again. she was too much excited to stop. they all understood what she meant. they stood there quite as much overcome as she was. ingrid turned restlessly from the one to the other. she ought to give explanations and orders, but about what? that she could so lose her presence of mind! she looked wildly questioning at her ladyship. 'what was it i wanted?' the old lady gave some orders in a low, trembling voice. she almost whispered. 'light the candles and make a fire in the young master's room. lay out the young master's clothes.' it was neither the place nor the time for miss stafva to be important. but there was all the same a certain superior ring in her voice as she answered: 'there is always a fire in the young master's room. the young master's clothes are always in readiness for him.' 'ingrid had better go up to her room,' said her ladyship. the young girl did just the opposite. she went into the drawing-room, placed herself at the window, sobbed and shook, but did not herself know that she was not still. she impatiently dried the tears from her eyes, so that she could see over the snowfield in front of the house. if only she did not cry, there was nothing she could miss seeing in the clear moonlight. at last he came. 'there he is! there he is!' she cried to her ladyship. 'he walks quickly! he runs! do come and see!' her ladyship sat quite still before the fire. she did not move. she strained her ears to hear, just as much as the other strained her eyes to see. she asked ingrid to be quiet, so that she could hear how he walked. ah, yes, she would be quiet. her ladyship should hear how he walked. she grasped the window-sill, as if that could help her. 'you _shall_ be quiet,' she whispered, 'so that her ladyship can hear how he walks.' her ladyship sat bending forward, listening with all her soul. did she already hear his steps in the court-yard? she probably thought he would go towards the kitchen. did she hear that it was the front steps that creaked? did she hear that it was the door to the front hall that opened? did she hear how quickly he came up the stairs, two or three steps at a time? had his mother heard that? it was not the dragging step of a peasant, as it had been when he left the house. it was almost more than they could bear, to hear him coming towards the door of the drawing-room. had he come in then, they would no doubt both have screamed. but he turned down the corridor to his own rooms. her ladyship fell back in her chair, and her eyes closed. ingrid thought her ladyship would have liked to die at that moment. without opening her eyes, she put out her hand. ingrid went softly up and took it; the old lady drew her towards her. 'mignon, mignon,' she said; 'that was the right name after all. but,' she continued, 'we must not cry. we must not speak about it. take a stool and come and sit down by the fire. we must be calm, my little friend. let us speak about something else. we must be perfectly calm when he comes in.' half an hour afterwards hede came in; the tea was on the table, and the chandelier was lighted. he had dressed; every trace of the peasant had disappeared. ingrid and her ladyship pressed each other's hands. they had been sitting trying to imagine how he would look when he came in. it was impossible to say what he might say or do, said her ladyship. one never had known what he might do. but in any case they would both be quite calm. a feeling of great happiness had come over her, and that had quieted her. she was resting, free from all sorrow, in the arms of angels carrying her upwards, upwards. but when hede came in, there was no sign of confusion about him. 'i have only come to tell you,' he said, 'that i have got such a headache, that i shall have to go to bed at once. i felt it already when i was on the ice.' her ladyship made no reply. everything was so simple; she had never thought it would be like that. it took her a few moments to realize that he did not know anything about his illness, that he was living somewhere in the past. 'but perhaps i can first drink a cup of tea,' he said, looking a little surprised at their silence. her ladyship went to the tea-tray. he looked at her. 'have you been crying, mother? you are so quiet.' 'we have been sitting talking about a sad story, i and my young friend here,' said her ladyship, pointing to ingrid. 'i beg your pardon,' he said. 'i did not see you had visitors.' the young girl came forward towards the light, beautiful as one would be who knew that the gates of heaven the next moment would open before her. he bowed a little stiffly. he evidently did not know who she was. her ladyship introduced them to each other. he looked curiously at ingrid. 'i think i saw miss berg on the ice,' he said. he knew nothing about her--had never spoken to her before. * * * * * a short, happy time followed. gunnar hede was certainly not quite himself; but those around him were happy in the belief that he soon would be. his memory was partly gone. he knew nothing about certain periods of his life; he could not play the violin; he had almost forgotten all he knew; and his power of thinking was weak; and he preferred neither to read nor to write. but still he was very much better. he was not frightened; he was fond of his mother; he had again assumed the manners and habits of a gentleman. one can easily understand that her ladyship and all her household were delighted. hede was in the best of spirits--bright and joyous all day long. he never speculated over anything, put to one side everything he could not understand, never spoke about anything that necessitated mental exertion, but talked merrily and cheerfully. he was most happy when he was engaged in bodily exercise. he took ingrid out with him sledging and skating. he did not talk much to her, but she was happy to be with him. he was kind to ingrid, as he was to everyone else, but not in the least in love with her. he often wondered about his _fiancée_--wondered why she never wrote. but after a short time that trouble, too, left him. he always put away from him anything that worried him. ingrid thought that he would never get really well by doing like this. he must some time be made to think--to face his own thoughts, which he was afraid of doing now. but she dared not compel him to do this, and there was no one else who dared. if he began to care for her a little, perhaps she might dare. she thought all they now wanted, every one of them, was a little happiness. * * * * * it was just at that time that a little child died at the parsonage at raglanda where ingrid had been brought up; and the grave-digger was about to dig the grave. the man dug the grave quite close to the spot where the previous summer he had dug the grave for ingrid. and when he had got a few feet into the ground he happened to lay bare a corner of her coffin. the grave-digger could not help smiling a little to himself. of course he had heard that the dead girl lying in this coffin had appeared. she was supposed to have unscrewed her coffin-lid on the very day of her funeral, risen from the grave, and appeared at the parsonage. the pastor's wife was not so much liked but that people in the parish rather enjoyed telling this story about her. the grave-digger thought that people should only know how securely the dead were lying in the ground, and how fast the coffin-lids. . . . he interrupted himself in the midst of this thought. on the corner of the coffin which was exposed the lid was not quite straight, and one of the screws was not quite fast. he did not say anything, he did not think anything, but stopped digging and whistled the whole reveille of the vermland regiment--for he was an old soldier. then he thought he had better examine the thing properly. it would never do for a grave-digger to have thoughts about the dead which might come and trouble him during the dark autumn nights. he hastily removed some more earth. then he began to hammer on the coffin with his shovel. the coffin answered quite distinctly that it was empty--empty. half an hour after the grave-digger was at the parsonage. there was no end to the questionings and surmises. so much they were all agreed upon--that the young girl had been in the dalar man's pack. but what had become of her afterwards? anna stina stood at the oven in the parsonage and looked after the baking, for of course there was baking to be done for the new funeral. she stood for a long time listening to all this talk without saying a word. all she took care of was that the cakes were not burnt. she put sheet-tins in and took sheet-tins out, and it was dangerous to approach her as she stood there with the long baker's shovel. but suddenly she took off her kitchen-apron, wiped the worst of the sweat and the soot from her face, and was talking with the pastor in his study almost before she knew how it had come about. after this it was not so very wonderful that one day in march the pastor's little red-painted sledge, ornamented with green tulips, and drawn by the pastor's little red horse, pulled up at munkhyttan. ingrid was of course obliged to go back with the pastor home to her mother. the pastor had come to fetch her. he did not say much about their being glad that she was alive, but one could see how happy he was. he had never been able to forgive himself that they had not been more kind to their adopted daughter. and now he was radiant at the thought that he was allowed to make a new beginning and make everything good for her this time. they did not speak a word about the reason why she had run away. it was of no use bringing that up again so long after. but ingrid understood that the pastor's wife had had a hard time, and had suffered many pangs of conscience, and that they wanted to have her back again in order to be good to her. she felt that she was almost obliged to go back to the parsonage to show that she had no ill-feeling against her adopted parents. they all thought it was the most natural thing that she should go to the parsonage for a week or two. and why should she not? she could not make the excuse that they needed her at munkhyttan. she could surely be away for some weeks without it doing gunnar hede any harm. she felt it was hard, but it was best she should go away, as they all thought it was the right thing. perhaps she had hoped they would ask her not to go away. she took her seat in the sledge with the feeling that her ladyship or miss stafva would surely come and lift her out of it, and carry her into the house again. it was impossible to realize that she was actually driving down the avenue, that she was turning into the forest, and that munkhyttan was disappearing behind her. but supposing it was from pure goodness that they let her go? they thought, perhaps, that youth, with its craving for pleasure, wanted to get away from the loneliness of munkhyttan. they thought, perhaps, she was tired of being the keeper of a crazy man. she raised her hand, and was on the point of seizing the reins and turning the horse. now that she was several miles from the house it struck her that that was why they had let her go. she would have liked so much to have gone back and asked them. in her utter loneliness she felt as if she were groping about in the wild forest. there was not a single human being who answered her or advised her. she received just as much answer from fir and pine, and squirrel and owl, as she did from any human being. it was really a matter of utter indifference to her how they treated her at the parsonage. they were very kind to her, as far as she knew, but it really did not matter. if she had come to a palace full of everything one could most desire, that would likewise have been the same to her. no bed is soft enough to give rest unto one whose heart is full of longing. in the beginning she had asked them every day, as modestly as she could, if they would not let her go home, now that she had had the great happiness of seeing her mother and her brothers and sisters. but the roads were really too bad. she must stay with them until the frost had disappeared. it was not a matter of life and death, they supposed, to go back to that place. ingrid could not understand why it annoyed people when she said she wanted to go back to munkhyttan. but this seemed to be the case with her father and her mother and everybody else in the parish. one had no right, it appeared, to long for any other place in the world, when one was at raglanda. she soon saw it was best not to speak about her going away. there were so many difficulties in the way whenever she spoke about it. it was not enough that the roads were still in the same bad condition; they surrounded her with walls and ramparts and moats. she would knit and weave, and plant out in the forcing-frames. and surely she would not go away until after the large birthday party at the dean's? and she could not think of leaving till after karin landberg's wedding. there was nothing for her to do but to lift her hands in supplication to the spring, and beg it to make haste with its work, beg for sunshine and warmth, beg the gentle sun to do its very best for the great border forest, send small piercing rays between the fir-trees, and melt the snow beneath them. dear, dear sun! it did not matter if the snow were not melted in the valley, if only the snow would vanish from the mountains, if only the forest paths became passable, if only the säter girls were able to go to their huts, if only the bogs became dry, if only it became possible to go by the forest road, which was half the distance of the highroad. ingrid knew one who would not wait for carriage, or ask for money to drive, if only the road through the forest became passable. she knew one who would leave the parsonage some moonlight night, and who would do it without asking a single person's permission. she thought she had waited for the spring before. that everybody does. but now ingrid knew that she had never before longed for it. oh no, no! she had never before known what it was to long. before she had waited for green leaves and anemones, and the song of the thrush and the cuckoo. but that was childishness--nothing more. they did not long for the spring who only thought of what was beautiful. one should take the first bit of earth that peeped through the snow, and kiss it. one should pluck the first coarse leaf of the nettle simply to burn into one that now the spring had come. everybody was very good to her. but although they did not say anything, they seemed to think that she was always thinking of leaving them. 'i can't understand why you want to go back to that place and look after that crazy fellow,' said karin landberg one day. it seemed as if she could read ingrid's thoughts. 'oh, she has given up thinking of that now,' said the pastor's wife, before the young girl had time to answer. when karin was gone the pastor's wife said: 'people wonder that you want to leave us.' ingrid was silent. 'they say that when hede began to improve perhaps you fell in love with him.' 'oh no! not after he had begun to improve,' ingrid said, feeling almost inclined to laugh. 'in any case, he is not the sort of person one could marry,' said her adopted mother. 'father and i have been speaking about it, and we think it is best that you should remain with us.' 'it is very good of you that you want to keep me,' ingrid said. and she was touched that now they wanted to be so kind to her. they did not believe her, however obedient she was. she could not understand what little bird it was that told them about her longing. now her adopted mother had told her that she must not go back to munkhyttan. but even then she could not leave the matter alone. 'if they really wanted you,' she said, 'they would write for you.' ingrid again felt inclined to laugh. that would be the strangest thing of all, should there be a letter from the enchanted castle. she would like to know if her adopted mother thought that the king of the mountain wrote for the maiden who had been swallowed by the mountain to come back when she had gone to see her mother? but if her adopted mother had known how many messages she had received she would probably have been even more uneasy. there came messages to her in her dreams by nights, and there came messages to her in her visions by day. he let ingrid know that he was in need of her. he was so ill--so ill! she knew that he was nearly going out of his mind again, and that she must go to him. if anyone had told her this, she would simply have answered that she knew it. the large star-like eyes looked further and further away. those who saw that look would never believe that she meant to stay quietly and patiently at home. it is not very difficult either to see whether a person is content or full of longing. one only needs to see a little gleam of happiness in the eyes when he or she comes in from work and sits down by the fire. but in ingrid's eyes there was no gleam of happiness, except when she saw the mountain stream come down through the forest, broad and strong. it was that that should prepare the way for her. it happened one day that ingrid was sitting alone with karin landberg, and she began to tell her about her life at munkhyttan. karin was quite shocked. how could ingrid stand such a life? karin landberg was to be married very soon. and she was now at that stage when she could speak of nothing but her lover. she knew nothing but what he had taught her, and she could do nothing without first consulting him. it occurred to her that oluf had said something about gunnar hede which would help to frighten ingrid if she had begun to like that crazy fellow. and then she began to tell her how mad he had really been. for oluf had told her that when he was at the fair last autumn some gentlemen had said that they did not think the goat was mad at all. he only pretended to be in order to attract customers. but oluf had maintained that he was mad, and in order to prove it went to the market and bought a wretched little goat. and then it was plain enough to see that he was mad. oluf had only put the goat in front of him on the counter where his knives and things lay, and he had run away and left both his pack and his wares, and they had all laughed so awfully when they saw how frightened he was. and it was impossible that ingrid could care for anyone who had been so crazy. it was, no doubt, unwise of karin landberg that she did not look at ingrid whilst she told this story. if she had seen how she frowned, she would perhaps have taken warning. 'and you will marry anyone who could do such a thing!' ingrid said. 'i think it would be better to marry the goat himself.' this ingrid said in downright earnest, and it seemed so strange to karin that she, who was always so gentle, should have said anything so unkind, that it quite worried her. for several days she was quite unhappy, because she feared oluf was not what she would like him to be. it simply embittered karin's life until she made up her mind to tell oluf everything; but he was so nice and good, that he quite reassured her. it is not an easy task to wait for the spring in vermland. one can have sun and warmth in the evening, and the next morning find the ground white with snow. gooseberry-bushes and lawns may be green, but the trees of the birch-forest are bare, and seem as if they will never spring out. at whitsuntide there was spring in the air, but ingrid's prayers had been of no avail. not a single säter girl had taken up her abode in the forest, not a fen was dry; it was impossible to go through the forest. on whit-sunday ingrid and her adopted mother went to church. as it was such a great festival, they had driven to church. in olden days ingrid had very much enjoyed driving up to the church in full gallop, whilst people along the roadside politely took off their hats, and those who were standing on the road rushed to the side as if they were quite frightened. but at the present moment she could not enjoy anything. 'longing takes the fragrance from the rose, and the light from the full moon,' says an old proverb. but ingrid was glad for what she heard in church. it did her good to hear how the disciples were comforted in their longing. she was glad that jesus thought of comforting those who longed so greatly for him. whilst ingrid and the rest of the congregation were in church a tall dalar man came walking down the road. he wore a sheepskin coat, and had a large pack on his back, like one who cannot tell winter from summer, or sunday from any other day. he did not go into the church, but stole timidly past the horses that were tied to the railings, and went into the churchyard. he sat down on a grave and thought of all the dead who were still sleeping, and of one of the dead who had awakened to life again. he was still sitting there when the people left the church. karin landberg's oluf was one of the first to leave the church, and when he happened to look across the churchyard he discovered the dalar man. it is hard to say whether it was curiosity or some other motive that prompted him, but he went up to talk to him. he wanted to see if it were possible that he who was supposed to have been cured had become mad again. and it was possible. he told him at once that he sat there waiting for her who was called grave-lily. she was to come and play to him. she played so beautifully that the sun and the stars danced. then karin landberg's oluf told him that she for whom he was waiting was standing outside the church. if he stood up, he could see her. she would, no doubt, be glad to see him. the pastor's wife and ingrid were just getting into the carriage, when a tall dalar man came running up to them. he came at a great pace in spite of all the horses he must curtsy to, and he beckoned eagerly to the young girl. as soon as ingrid saw him she stood quite still. she could not have told whether she was most glad to see him again or most grieved that he had again gone out of his mind; she only forgot everything else in the world. her eyes began to sparkle. in that moment she saw nothing of the poor wretched man. she only felt that she was once again near the beautiful soul of the man for whom she had longed so terribly. there were a great many people about, and they could not help looking at her. they could not take their eyes from her face. she did not move; she stood waiting for him. but those who saw how radiant she was with happiness must have thought that she was waiting for some great and noble man, instead of a poor, half-witted fellow. they said afterwards that it almost seemed as if there were some affinity between his soul and hers--some secret affinity which lay so deeply hidden beneath their consciousness that no human being could understand it. but when hede was only a step or two from ingrid her adopted mother took her resolutely round the waist and lifted her into the carriage. she would not have a scene between the two just outside the church, with so many people present. and as soon as they were in the carriage the man sent his horses off at full gallop. a wild, terrified cry was heard as they drove away. the pastor's wife thanked god that she had got the young girl into the carriage. it was still early in the afternoon when a peasant came to the parsonage to speak with the pastor. he came to speak about the crazy dalar man. he had now gone quite raving mad, and they had been obliged to bind him. what did the pastor advise them to do? what should they do with him? the pastor could give them no other advice but to take him home. he told the peasant who he was, and where he lived. later on in the evening he told ingrid everything. it was best to tell her the truth, and trust to her own common-sense. but when night came it became clear to her that she had not time to wait for the spring. the poor girl set out for munkhyttan by the highroad. she would no doubt be able to get there by that road, although she knew that it was twice as long as the way through the forest. * * * * * it was whit-monday, late in the afternoon. ingrid walked along the highroad. there was a wide expanse of country, with low mountains and small patches of birch forest between the fields. the mountain-ash and the bird-cherry were in bloom; the light, sticky leaves of the aspen were just out. the ditches were full of clear, rippling water which made the stones at the bottom glisten and sparkle. ingrid walked sorrowfully along, thinking of him whose mind had again given way, wondering whether she could do anything for him, whether it was of any use that she had left her home in this manner. she was tired and hungry; her shoes had begun to go to pieces. perhaps it would be better for her to turn back. she could never get to munkhyttan. the further she walked, the more sorrowful she became. she could not help thinking that it could be of no use her coming now that he had gone quite out of his mind. there was no doubt it was too late now; it was quite hopeless to do anything for him. but as soon as she thought of turning back she saw gunnar hede's face close to her cheek, as she had so often seen it before. it gave her new courage; she felt as if he were calling for her. she again felt hopeful and confident of being able to help him. just as ingrid raised her head, looking a little less downcast, a queer little procession came towards her. there was a little horse, drawing a little cart; a fat woman sat in the cart, and a tall, thin man, with long, thin moustaches walked by the side of it. in the country, where no one understood anything about art, mr. and mrs. blomgren always went in for looking like ordinary people. the little cart in which they travelled about was well covered over, and no one could suspect that it only contained fireworks and conjuring apparatus and marionettes. no one could suspect that the fat woman who sat on the top of the load, looking like a well-to-do shopkeeper's wife, was formerly miss viola, who once sprang through the air, or that the man who walked by her side, and looked like a pensioned soldier, was the same mr. blomgren who occasionally, to break the monotony of the journey, took it into his head to turn a somersault over the horse, and play the ventriloquist with thrushes and siskins that sang in the trees by the roadside, so that he made them quite mad. the horse was very small, and had formerly drawn a roundabout, and therefore it would never go unless it heard music. on that account mrs. blomgren generally sat playing the jews'-harp, but as soon as they met anyone, she put it in her pocket, so that no one should discover they were artists, for whom country people have no respect whatever. owing to this they did not travel very fast, but they were not in any hurry either. the blind man, who played the violin, had to walk some little distance behind the others in order not to betray the fact of his belonging to the company. the blind man was led by a little dog; he was not allowed to have a child to lead him, for that would always have reminded mr. and mrs. blomgren of a little girl who was called ingrid. that would have been too sad. and now they were all in the country on account of the spring. for however much money mr. and mrs. blomgren were making in the towns, they felt they _must_ be in the country at that time of the year, for mr. and mrs. blomgren were artists. they did not recognise ingrid, and she went past them without taking any notice of them, for she was in a hurry; she was afraid of their detaining her. but directly afterwards she felt that it was heartless and unkind of her, and turned back. if ingrid could have felt glad about anything, she would have been glad by seeing the old people's joy at meeting her. you may be sure they had plenty to talk about. the little horse turned its head time after time to see what was wrong with the roundabout. strangely enough, it was ingrid who talked the most. the two old people saw at once that she had been crying, and they were so concerned that she was obliged to tell them everything that had happened to her. but it was a relief to ingrid to speak. the old people had their own way of taking things; they clapped their hands when she told them how she had got out of the grave and how she had frightened the pastor's wife. they caressed her and praised her because she had run away from the parsonage. for them nothing was dull or sad, but everything was bright and hopeful. they simply had no standard by which to measure reality, and therefore its hardness could not affect them. they compared everything they heard with the pieces from marionette theatres and pantomimes. of course, one also put a little sorrow and misery into the pantomime, but that was only done to heighten the effect. and, of course, everything would end well. in the pantomimes it always ended well. there was something infectious in all this hopefulness. ingrid knew they did not at all understand how great her trouble was, but it was cheering all the same to listen to them. but they were also of real help to ingrid. they told her that they had had dinner a short time since at the inn at torsäker, and just as they were getting up from the table some peasants came driving up with a man who was mad. mrs. blomgren could not bear to see mad people, and wanted to go away at once, and mr. blomgren had consented. but supposing it was ingrid's madman! and they had hardly said the words before ingrid said that it was very likely, and wanted to set off at once. mr. blomgren then asked his wife in his own ceremonious manner if they were not in the country solely on account of the spring, and if it were not just the same where they went. and old mrs. blomgren asked him equally ceremoniously in her turn if he thought she would leave her beloved ingrid before she had reached the harbour of her happiness. then the old roundabout horse was turned, and conversation grew more difficult, because they again had to play on the jews'-harp. as soon as mrs. blomgren wished to say anything, she was obliged to hand the instrument to mr. blomgren, and when mr. blomgren wanted to speak, he gave it back again to his wife. and the little horse stood still every time the instrument passed from mouth to mouth. the whole time they did their best to comfort ingrid. they related all the fairy tales they had seen represented at the dolls' theatre. they comforted her with the 'enchanted princess,' they comforted her with 'cinderella,' they comforted her with all the fairy tales under the sun. mr. and mrs. blomgren watched ingrid when they saw that her eyes grew brighter. 'artist's eyes,' they said, nodding contentedly to each other. 'what did we say? artist's eyes!' in some incomprehensible manner they had got the idea that ingrid had become one of them, an artist. they thought she was playing a part in a drama. it was a triumph for them in their old age. on they went as fast as they could. the old couple were only afraid that the madman would not be at the inn any longer. but he was there, and the worst of it was, no one knew how to get him away. the two peasants from raglanda who had brought him had taken him to one of the rooms and locked him in whilst they were waiting for fresh horses. when they left him his arms had been tied behind him, but he had somehow managed to free his hands from the cord, and when they came to fetch him he was free, and, beside himself with rage, had seized a chair, with which he threatened to strike anyone who approached him. they could do nothing but beat a hasty retreat and lock the door. the peasants now only waited for the landlord and his men to return and help them to bind him again. all the hope which ingrid's old friends had reawakened within her was, however, not quenched. she quite saw that gunnar hede was worse than he had ever been before, but that was what she had expected. she still hoped. it was not their fairy tales, it was their great love that had given her new hope. she asked the men to let her go to the madman. she said she knew him, and he would not do her any harm; but the peasants said they were not mad. the man in the room would kill anybody who went in. ingrid sat down to think. she thought how strange it was that she should meet mr. and mrs. blomgren just to-day. surely that meant something. she would never have met them if it had not been for some purpose. and ingrid thought of how hede had regained his senses the last time. could she not again make him do something which would remind him of olden days, and drive away his mad thoughts? she thought and thought. * * * * * mr. and mrs. blomgren sat on a seat outside the inn, looking more unhappy than one would have thought was possible. they were not far from crying. ingrid, their 'child,' came up to them with a smile--such a smile as only she could have--and stroked their old, wrinkled cheeks, and said it would please her so much if they would let her see a performance like those she used to see every day in the olden time. it would be such a comfort to her. at first they said no, for they were not at all in proper artist humour, but when she had expended a few smiles upon them they could not resist her. they went to their cart and unpacked their costumes. when they were ready they called for the blind man, and ingrid selected the place where the performance was to be held. she would not let them perform in the yard, but took them into the garden belonging to the inn, for there was a garden belonging to this inn. it was mostly full of beds for vegetables which had not yet come up, but here and there was an apple-tree in bloom. and ingrid said she would like them to perform under one of the apple-trees in bloom. some lads and servant-girls came running when they heard the violin, so there was a small audience. but it was hard work for mr. and mrs. blomgren to perform. ingrid had asked too much of them; they were really much too sad. and it was very unfortunate that ingrid had taken them out into the garden. she had evidently not remembered that the rooms in the inn faced this way. mrs. blomgren was very nearly running away when she heard a window in one of the rooms quickly opened. supposing the madman had heard the music, and supposing he jumped out of the window and came to them? but mrs. blomgren was somewhat reassured when she saw who had opened the window. it was a young gentleman with a pleasant face. he was in shirt-sleeves, but otherwise very decently dressed. his eye was quiet, his lips smiled, and he stroked his hair back from his forehead with his hand. mr. blomgren was working, and was so taken up with the performance that he did not notice anything. mrs. blomgren, who had nothing else to do but kiss her hands in all directions, had time to observe everything. it was astonishing how radiant ingrid suddenly looked. her eyes shone as never before, and her face was so white that light seemed to come from it. and all this radiancy was directed towards the man in the window. he did not hesitate long. he stood up on the window-sill and jumped down to them, and he went up to the blind man and asked him to lend him his violin. ingrid at once took the violin from the blind man and gave it to him. 'play the waltz from "freischütz,"' she said. then the man began to play, and ingrid smiled, but she looked so unearthly that mrs. blomgren almost thought that she would dissolve into a sunbeam, and fly away from them. but as soon as mrs. blomgren heard the man play she knew him again. 'is that how it is?' she said to herself. 'is it he? that was why she wanted to see two old people perform.' * * * * * gunnar hede, who had been walking up and down his room in such a rage that he felt inclined to kill someone, had suddenly heard a blind man playing outside his window, and that had taken him back to an incident in his former life. he could not at first understand where his own violin was, but then he remembered that alin had taken it away with him, and now the only thing left for him to do was to try and borrow the blind man's violin to play himself quiet again; he was so excited. and as soon as he had got the violin in his hand he began to play. it never occurred to him that he could not play. he had no idea that for several years he had only been able to play some poor little tunes. he thought all the time he was in upsala, outside the house with the virginia-creepers, and he expected the acrobats would begin to dance as they had done last time. he endeavoured to play with more life to make them do so, but his fingers were stiff and awkward; the bow would not properly obey them. he exerted himself so much that the perspiration stood on his forehead. at last, however, he got hold of the right tune--the same they had danced to the last time. he played it so enticingly, so temptingly, that it ought to have melted their hearts. but the old acrobats did not begin to dance. it was a long time since they had met the student at upsala; they did not remember how enthusiastic they were then. they had no idea what he expected them to do. gunnar hede looked at ingrid for an explanation why they did not dance. when he looked at her there was such an unearthly radiance in her eyes that in his astonishment he gave up playing. he stood a moment looking round the small crowd. they all looked at him with such strange, uneasy glances. it was impossible to play with people staring at him so. he simply went away from them. there were some apple-pears in bloom at the other end of the garden, so he went there. he saw now that nothing fitted in with the ideas he had just had that alin had locked him in, and that he was at upsala. the garden was too large, and the house was not covered with red creepers. no, it could not be upsala. but he did not mind very much where he was. it seemed to him as if he had not played for centuries, and now he had got hold of a violin. now he would play. he placed the violin against his cheek, and began. but again he was stopped by the stiffness in his fingers. he could only play the very simplest things. 'i shall have to begin at the beginning,' he said. and he smiled and played a little minuet. it was the first thing he had learnt. his father had played it to him, and he had afterwards played it from ear. he saw all at once the whole scene before him, and he heard the words: 'the little prince should learn to dance, but he broke his little leg.' then he tried to play several other small dances. they were some he had played as a school boy. they had asked him to play at the dancing-lessons at the young ladies' boarding-school. he could see the girls dance and swing about, and could hear the dancing-mistress beat the time with her foot. then he grew bolder. he played first violin in one of mozart's quartettes. when he learnt that, he was in the sixth form at the latin school at falun. some old gentlemen had practised this quartette for a concert, but the first violin had been taken ill, and he was asked to take his part, young as he was. he remembered how proud he had been. gunnar hede only thought of getting his fingers into practice when he played these childish exercises. but he soon noticed that something strange was happening to him. he had a distinct sensation that in his brain there was some great darkness that hid his past. as soon as he tried to remember anything, it was as if he were trying to find something in a dark room; but when he played, some of the darkness vanished. without his having thought of it, the darkness had vanished so much that he could now remember his childhood and school life. then he made up his mind to let himself be led by the violin; perhaps it could drive away all the darkness. and so it did, for every piece he played the darkness vanished a little. the violin led him through the one year after the other, awoke in him memories of studies, friends and pleasures. the darkness stood like a wall before him, but when he advanced against it, armed with the violin, it vanished step by step. now and then he looked round to see whether it closed again behind him. but behind him was bright day. the violin came to a series of duets for piano and violin. he only played a bar or two of each. but a large portion of the darkness vanished; he remembered his _fiancée_ and his engagement. he would like to have dwelt a little over this, but there was still much darkness left to be played away. he had no time. he glided into a hymn. he had heard it once when he was unhappy. he remembered he was sitting in a village church when he heard it. but why had he been unhappy? because he went about the country selling goods like a poor pedlar. it was a hard life. it was sad to think about it. the bow went over the strings like a whirlwind, and again cut through a large portion of the darkness. now he saw the fifty-mile forest, the snow-covered animals, the weird shapes, the drifts made of them. he remembered the journey to see his _fiancée_, remembered that she had broken the engagement. all this became clear to him at one time. he really felt neither sorrow nor joy over anything he remembered. the most important thing was that he did remember. this of itself was an unspeakable pleasure. but all at once the bow stopped, as if of its own accord. it would not lead him any further. and yet there was more--much more--that he must remember. the darkness still stood like a solid wall before him. he compelled the bow to go on. and it played two quite common tunes, the poorest he had ever heard. how could his bow have learned such tunes? the darkness did not vanish in the least for these tunes. they really taught him nothing; but from them came a terror which he could not remember having ever felt before--an inconceivable, awful fear, the mad terror of a doomed soul. he stopped playing; he could not bear it. what was there in these tunes--what was there? the darkness did not vanish for them, and the awful thing was, that it seemed to him that when he did not advance against the darkness with the violin and drive it before him, it came gliding towards him to overwhelm him. he had been standing playing, with his eyes half closed; now he opened them and looked into the world of reality. he saw ingrid, who had been standing listening to him the whole time. he asked her, not expecting an answer, but simply to keep back the darkness for a moment: 'when did i last play this tune?' but ingrid stood trembling. she had made up her mind, whatever happened, now he should hear the truth. afraid she was, but at the same time full of courage, and quite decided as to what she meant to do. he should not again escape her, not be allowed to slip away from her. but in spite of her courage she did not dare to tell him straight out that these were the tunes he had played whilst he was out of his mind; she evaded the question. 'that was what you used to play at munkhyttan last winter,' she said. hede felt as if he were surrounded by nothing but mysteries. why did this young girl say '_du_' to him? she was not a peasant girl.[a] her hair was dressed like other young ladies', on the top of the head and in small curls. her dress was home-woven, but she wore a lace collar. she had small hands and a refined face. this face, with the large, dreamy eyes, could not belong to a peasant girl. hede's memory could not tell him anything about her. why did she, then, say '_du_' to him? how did she know that he had played these tunes at home? [a] the peasants in the dalar district used formerly to address everybody by the pronoun _du_ (thou), even when speaking to the king; this custom is now, however, not so general.--i.b. 'what is your name?' he said. 'who are you?' 'i am ingrid, whom you saw at upsala many years ago, and whom you comforted because she could not learn to dance on the tight-rope.' this went back to the time he could partly remember. now he did remember her. 'how tall and pretty you have grown, ingrid!' he said. 'and how fine you have become! what a beautiful brooch you have!' he had been looking at her brooch for some time. he thought he knew it; it was like a brooch of enamel and pearls his mother used to wear. the young girl answered at once. 'your mother gave it to me. you must have seen it before.' gunnar hede put down the violin and went up to ingrid. he asked her almost violently: 'how is it possible--how can you wear her brooch? how is it that i don't know anything about your knowing my mother?' ingrid was frightened. she grew almost gray with terror. she knew already what the next question would be. 'i know nothing, ingrid. i don't know why i am here. i don't know why you are here. why don't i know all this?' 'oh, don't ask me!' she went back a step or two, and stretched out her hands as if to protect herself. 'won't you tell me?' 'don't ask! don't ask!' he seized her roughly by the wrist to compel her to tell the truth. 'tell me! i am in my full senses! why is there so much i can't remember?' she saw something wild and threatening in his eyes. she knew now that she would be obliged to tell him. but she felt as if it were impossible to tell a man that he had been mad. it was much more difficult than she had thought. it was impossible--impossible! 'tell me!' he repeated. but she could hear from his voice that he would not hear it. he was almost ready to kill her if she told him. then she summoned up all her love, and looked straight into gunnar hede's eyes, and said: 'you have not been quite right.' 'not for a long time?' 'i don't quite know--not for three or four years.' 'have i been out of my mind?' 'no, no! you have bought and sold and gone to the fairs.' 'in what way have i been mad?' 'you were frightened.' 'of whom was i frightened?' 'of animals.' 'of goats, perhaps?' 'yes, mostly of goats.' he had stood clutching her by the wrist the whole time. he now flung her hand away from him--simply flung it. he turned away from ingrid in a rage, as if she had maliciously told him an infamous lie. but this feeling gave way for something else which excited him still more. he saw before his eyes, as distinctly as if it had been a picture, a tall dalar man, weighed down by a huge pack. he was going into a peasant's house, but a wretched little dog came rushing at him. he stopped and curtsied and curtsied, and did not dare to go in until a man came out of the house, laughing, and drove the dog away. when he saw this he again felt that terrible fear. in this anguish the vision disappeared, but then he heard voices. they shouted and shrieked around him. they laughed. derision was showered upon him. worst and loudest were the shrill voices of children. one word, one name came over and over again: it was shouted, shrieked, whispered, wheezed into his ear--'the goat! the goat!' and that all meant him, gunnar hede. all that he had lived in. he felt in full consciousness the same unspeakable fear he had suffered whilst out of his mind. but now it was not fear for anything outside himself--now he was afraid of himself. 'it was i! it was i!' he said, wringing his hands. the next moment he was kneeling against a low seat. he laid his head down and cried, cried: 'it was i!' he moaned and sobbed. 'it was i!' how could he have courage to bear this thought--a madman, scorned and laughed at by all? 'ah! let me go mad again!' he said, hitting the seat with his fist. 'this is more than a human being can bear.' he held his breath a moment. the darkness came towards him as the saviour he invoked. it came gliding towards him like a mist. a smile passed over his lips. he could feel the muscles of his face relax, feel that he again had the look of a madman. but that was better. the other he could not bear. to be pointed at, jeered at, scorned, mad! no, it was better to be so again and not to know it. why should he come back to life? everyone must loathe him. the first light, fleeting clouds of the great darkness began to enwrap him. ingrid stood there, seeing and hearing all his anguish, not knowing but that all would soon be lost again. she saw clearly that madness was again about to seize him. she was so frightened, so frightened, all her courage had gone. but before he again lost his senses, and became so scared that he allowed no one to come near him, she would at least take leave of him and of all her happiness. gunnar hede felt that ingrid came and knelt down beside him, laid her arm round his neck, put her cheek to his, and kissed him. she did not think herself too good to come near him, the madman, did not think herself too good to kiss him. there was a faint hissing in the darkness. the mist lifted, and it was as if serpents had raised their heads against him, and now wheezed with anger that they could not reach to sting him. 'do not be so unhappy,' ingrid said. 'do not be so unhappy. no one thinks of the past, if you will only get well.' 'i want to be mad again,' he said. 'i cannot bear it. i cannot bear to think how i have been.' 'yes, you can,' said ingrid. 'no; that no one can forget,' he moaned. 'i was so dreadful! no one can love me.' 'i love you,' she said. he looked up doubtfully. 'you kissed me in order that i should not go out of my mind again. you pity me.' 'i will kiss you again,' she said. 'you say that now because you think i am in need of hearing it.' 'are you in need of hearing that someone loves you?' 'if i am--if i am? ah, child,' he said, and tore himself away from her, 'how can i possibly bear it, when i know that everyone who sees me thinks: "that fellow has been mad; he has gone about curtsying for dogs and cats."' then he began again. he lay crying with his face in his hands. 'it is better to go out of one's mind again. i can hear them shouting after me, and i see myself, and the anguish, the anguish, the anguish----' but then ingrid's patience came to an end. 'yes, that is right,' she cried; 'go out of your mind again. i call that manly to go mad in order to escape a little anguish.' she sat biting her lips, struggling with her tears, and as she could not get the words out quickly enough, she seized him by the shoulder and shook him. she was enraged and quite beside herself with anger because he would again escape her, because he did not struggle and fight. 'what do you care about me? what do you care about your mother? you go mad, and then you will have peace.' she shook him again by the arm. 'to be saved from anguish, you say, but you don't care about one who has been waiting for you all her life. if you had any thought for anyone but yourself, you would fight against this and get well; but you have no thought for others. you can come so touchingly in visions and dreams and beg for help, but in reality you will not have any help. you imagine that your sufferings are greater than anyone else's, but there are others who have suffered more than you.' at last gunnar hede raised his eyes, and looked her straight in the face. she was anything but beautiful at this moment. tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her lips trembled, whilst she tried to get out the words between her sobs. but in his eyes her emotion only made her more beautiful. a wonderful peace came over him, and a great and humble thankfulness. something great and wonderful had come to him in his deepest humiliation. it must be a great love--a great love. he had sat bemoaning his wretchedness, and love came and knocked at his door. he would not merely be tolerated when he came back to life; people would not only with difficulty refrain from laughing at him. there was one who loved him and longed for him. she spoke hardly to him, but he heard love trembling in every single word. he felt as if she were offering him thrones and kingdoms. she told him that whilst he had been out of his mind he had saved her life. he had awakened her from the dead, had helped her, protected her. but this was not enough for her; she would possess him altogether. when she kissed him he had felt a life-giving balm enter his sick soul, but he had hardly dared to think that it was love that made her. but he could not doubt her anger and her tears. he was beloved--he, poor wretched creature! he who had been held in derision by everybody! and before the great and humble bliss which now filled gunnar hede vanished the last darkness. it was drawn aside like a heavy curtain, and he saw plainly before him the region of terror through which he had wandered. but there, too, he had met ingrid; there he had lifted her from the grave; there he had played for her at the hut in the forest; there she had striven to heal him. but only the memory of her came back: the feelings with which she had formerly inspired him now awoke. love filled his whole being; he felt the same burning longing that he had felt in the churchyard at raglanda when she was taken from him. in that region of terror, in that great desert, there had at any rate grown one flower that had comforted him with fragrance and beauty, and now he felt that love would dwell with him forever. the wild flower of the desert had been transplanted into the garden of life, and had taken root and grown and thriven, and when he felt this he knew he was saved; he knew that the darkness had found its master. ingrid was silent. she was tired, as one is tired after hard work; but she was also content, for she felt she had carried out her work in the best possible manner. she knew she had conquered. at last gunnar hede broke the silence. 'i promise you that i will not give in,' he said. 'thank you,' ingrid answered. nothing more was said. gunnar hede thought he would never be able to tell her how much he loved her. it could never be told in words, only shown every day and every hour of his life. _from a swedish_ homestead ii _queens at_ kungahÄlla _queens at_ kungahÄlla _on the_ site _of the great_ kungahÄlla should a stranger who had heard about the old city of kungahälla ever visit the site on the northern river where it once lay, he would assuredly be much surprised. he would ask himself whether churches and fortifications could melt away like snow, or if the earth had opened and swallowed them up. he stands on a spot where formerly there was a mighty city, and he cannot find a street or a landing-stage. he sees neither ruins nor traces of devastating fires; he only sees a country seat, surrounded by green trees and red outbuildings. he sees nothing but broad meadows and fields, where the plough does its work year after year without being hindered either by brick foundations or old pavements. he would probably first of all go down to the river. he would not expect to see anything of the great ships that went to the baltic ports or to distant spain, but he would in all likelihood think that he might find traces of the old ship-yards, of the large boat-houses and landing-stages. he presumes that he will find some of the old kilns where they used to refine salt; he will see the worn-out pavement on the main street that led to the harbour. he will inquire about the german pier and the swedish pier; he would like to see the weeping bridge where the women of kungahälla took leave of their husbands and sons when they went to distant lands, but when he comes down to the river's edge he sees nothing but a forest of waving reeds. he sees a road full of holes leading down to the ferry; he sees a couple of common barges and a little flat-bottomed ferryboat that is taking a peasant cart over to hisingen, but no big ships come gliding up the river. he does not even see any dark hulls lying and rotting at the bottom of the river. as he does not find anything remarkable down at the harbour, he will probably begin to look for the celebrated convent hill. he expects to see traces of the palisading and ramparts which in olden days surrounded it. he is hoping to see the ruins of the high walls and the long cloisters. he says to himself that anyhow there must be ruins of that magnificent church where the cross was kept--that miracle-working cross which had been brought from jerusalem. he thinks of the number of monuments covering the holy hills which rise over other ancient cities, and his heart begins to beat with glad expectation. but when he comes to the old convent hill which rises above the fields, he finds nothing but clusters of murmuring trees; he finds neither walls, nor towers, nor gables perforated with pointed arched windows. garden seats and benches he will find under the shadow of the trees, but no cloisters decorated with pillars, no hewn gravestones. well, if he has not found anything here, he will in any case try to find the old king's hall. he thinks about the large halls from which kungahälla is supposed to have derived its name. it might be that there was something left of the timber--a yard thick--that formed the walls, or of the deep cellars under the great hall where the norwegian kings celebrated their banquets. he thinks of the smooth green courtyard of the king's hall, where the kings used to ride their silver-shod chargers, and where the queens used to milk the golden-horned cows. he thinks of the lofty ladies' bower; of the brewing-room, with its large boilers; of the huge kitchen, where half an ox at a time was placed in the pot, and where a whole hog was roasted on the spit. he thinks of the serfs' house, of the falcon's cages, of the great pantries--house by house all round the courtyard, moss-grown with age, decorated with dragons' heads. of such a number of buildings there must be some traces left, he thinks. but should he then inquire for the old king's hall, he will be taken to a modern country-house, with glass veranda and conservatories. the king's seat has vanished, and with it all the drinking-horns, inlaid with silver, and the shields, covered with skin. one cannot even show him the well-kept courtyard, with its short, close grass, and with narrow paths of black earth. he sees strawberry-beds and hedges of rose-trees; he sees happy children and young girls dancing under apple and pear trees. but he does not see strong men wrestling, or knights playing at ball. perhaps he asks about the great oak on the market place, beneath which the kings sat in judgment, and where the twelve stones of judgment were set up. or about the long street, which was said to be seven miles long! or about the rich merchants' houses, separated by dark lanes, each having its own landing-stage and boathouse down by the river. or about the marie church in the market place, where the seamen brought their offerings of small, full-rigged ships, and the sorrowful, small silver hearts. but there is nothing left to show him of all these things. cows and sheep graze where the long street used to be. rye and barley grow on the market place, and stables and barns stand where people used to flock round the tempting market-stalls. how can he help feeling disappointed? is there not a single thing to be found, he says, not a single relic left? and he thinks perhaps that they have been deceiving him. the great kungahälla can never have stood here, he says. it must have stood in some other place. then they take him down to the riverside, and show him a roughly-hewn stone block, and they scrape away the silver-gray lichen, so that he can see there are some figures hewn in the stone. he will not be able to understand what they represent; they will be as incomprehensible to him as the spots in the moon. but they will assure him that they represent a ship and an elk, and that they were cut in the stone in the olden days to commemorate the foundation of the city. and should he still not be able to understand, they will tell him what is the meaning of the inscription on the stone. _the forest_ queen marcus antonius poppius was a roman merchant of high standing. he traded with distant lands; and from the harbour at ostia he sent well-equipped triremas to spain, to britain, and even to the north coast of germany. fortune favoured him, and he amassed immense riches, which he hoped to leave as an inheritance to his only son. unfortunately, this only son had not inherited his father's ability. this happens, unfortunately, all the world over. a rich man's only son. need one say more? it is, and always will be, the same story. one would almost think that the gods give rich men these incorrigible idlers, these dull, pale, languid fools of sons, to show man what unutterable folly it is to amass riches. when will the eyes of mankind be opened? when will men listen to the warning voice of the gods? young silvius antonius poppius, at the age of twenty, had already tried all the pleasures of life. he was also fond of letting people see that he was tired of them; but in spite of that, one did not notice any diminution in the eagerness with which he sought them. on the contrary, he was quite in despair when a singularly persistent ill-luck began to pursue him, and to interfere with all his pleasures. his numidian horses fell lame the day before the great chariot race of the year; his illicit love affairs were found out; his cleverest cook died from malaria. this was more than enough to crush a man whose strength had not been hardened by exertion and toil. young poppius felt so unhappy that he made up his mind to take his own life. he seemed to think that this was the only way in which he could cheat the god of misfortune who pursued him and made his life a burden. one can understand that an unhappy creature commits suicide in order to escape the persecution of man; but only a fool like silvius antonius could think of adopting such means to flee from the gods. one recalls involuntarily the story of the man who, to escape from the lion, sprang right into its open jaws. young silvius was much too effeminate to choose a bloody death. neither had he any inclination to die from a painful poison. after careful consideration, he resolved to die the gentle death of the waves. but when he went down to the tiber to drown himself he could not make up his mind to give his body to the dirty, sluggish water of the river. for a long time he stood undecided, staring into the stream. then he was seized by the magic charm which lies dreamily over a river. he felt that great, holy longing which fills these never-resting wanderers of nature; he would see the sea. 'i will die in the clear blue sea, through which the sun's rays penetrate right to the bottom,' said silvius antonius. 'my body shall rest upon a couch of pink coral. the foamy waves which i set in motion when i sink into the deep shall be snow-white and fresh; they shall not be like the sooty froth which lies quivering at the river-side.' he immediately hurried home, had his horses harnessed and drove to ostia. he knew that one of his father's ships was lying in the harbour ready to sail. young poppius drove his horses at a furious pace, and he succeeded in getting on board just as the anchor was being weighed. of course he did not think it necessary to take any baggage with him. he did not even trouble to ask the skipper for what place the craft was bound. to the sea they were going, in any case--that was enough for him. nor was it very long before the young suicide reached the goal of his desire. the trirema passed the mouth of the tiber, and the mediterranean lay before silvius antonius, its sparkling waves bathed in sun. its beauty made silvius antonius believe in the poet's assertion that the swelling ocean is but a thin veil which covers the most beautiful world. he felt bound to believe that he who boldly makes his way through this cover will immediately reach the sea-god's palace of pearls. the young man congratulated himself that he had chosen this manner of death. and one could scarcely call it that; it was impossible to believe that this beautiful water could kill. it was only the shortest road to a land where pleasure is not a delusion, leaving nothing but distaste and loathing. he could only with difficulty suppress his eagerness. but the whole deck was full of sailors. even silvius could understand that if he now sprang into the sea the consequence would simply be that one of his father's sailors would quickly spring overboard and fish him out. as soon as the sails were set and the oarsmen were well in swing, the skipper came up to him and saluted him with the greatest politeness. 'you intend, then, to go with me to germany, my silvius?' he said. 'you do me great honour.' young poppius suddenly remembered that this man used never to return from a voyage without bringing him some curious thing or other from the barbarous countries he had visited. sometimes it was a couple of pieces of wood with which the savages made fire; sometimes it was the black horn of an ox, which they used as a drinking-vessel; sometimes a necklace of bear's teeth, which had been a great chief's mark of distinction. the good man beamed with joy at having his master's son on board his ship. he saw in it a new proof of the wisdom of old poppius, in sending his son to distant lands, instead of letting him waste more time amongst the effeminate young roman idlers. young poppius did not wish to undeceive him. he was afraid that if he disclosed his intention the skipper would at once turn back with him. 'verily, galenus,' he said, 'i would gladly accompany you on this voyage, but i fear i must ask you to put me ashore at bajæ. i made up my mind too late. i have neither clothes nor money.' but galenus assured him that that need was soon remedied. was he not upon his father's well-appointed vessel? he should not want for anything--neither warm fur tunic when the weather was cold, or light syrian clothing of the kind that seamen wear when they cruise in fair weather in the friendly seas between the islands. * * * * * three months after their departure from ostia, galenus's trirema rowed in amongst a cluster of rocky islands. neither the skipper nor any of his crew were quite clear as to where they really were, but they were glad to take shelter for a time from the storms that raged on the open sea. one could almost think that silvius antonius was right in his belief that some deity persecuted him. no one on the ship had ever before experienced such a voyage. the luckless sailors said to each other that they had not had fair weather for two days since they left ostia. the one storm had followed upon the other. they had undergone the most terrible sufferings. they had suffered hunger and thirst, whilst they, day and night, exhausted and almost fainting from want of sleep, had had to manage sails and oars. the fact of the seamen being unable to trade had added to their despondency. how could they approach the coast and display their wares on the shore to effect an exchange in such weather? on the contrary, every time they saw the coast appear through the obstinate heavy mist that surrounded them, they had been compelled to put out to sea again for fear of the foam-decked rocks. one night, when they struck on a rock, they had been obliged to throw the half of their cargo into the sea. and as for the other half, they dared not think about it, as they feared it was completely spoiled by the breakers which had rolled over the ship. certain it was that silvius antonius had proved himself not to be lucky at sea either. silvius antonius was still living; he had not drowned himself. it is difficult to say why he prolonged an existence which could not be of any more pleasure to him now than when he first made up his mind to cut it short. perhaps he had hoped that the sea would have taken possession of him without he himself doing anything to bring it about. perhaps his love for the sea had passed away during its bursts of anger; perhaps he had resolved to die in the opal-green perfumed water of his bath. but had galenus and his men known why the young man had come on board, they would assuredly have bitterly complained that he had not carried out his intention, for they were all convinced that it was his presence which had called forth their misfortunes. many a dark night galenus had feared that the sailors would throw him into the sea. more than one of them related that in the terrible stormy nights he had seen dark hands stretching out of the water, grasping after the ship. and they did not think it was necessary to cast lots to find out who it was that these hands wanted to draw down into the deep. both the skipper and the crew did silvius antonius the special honour to think that it was for his sake these storms rent the air and scourged the sea. if silvius during this time had behaved like a man, if he had taken his share of their work and anxiety, then perhaps some of his companions might have had pity upon him as a being who had brought upon himself the wrath of the gods. but the young man had not understood how to win their sympathy. he had only thought of seeking shelter for himself from the wind, and of sending them to fetch furs and rugs from the stores for his protection from the cold. but for the moment all complaints over his presence had ceased. as soon as the storm had succeeded in driving the trirema into the quiet waters between the islands, its rage was spent. it behaved like a sheep-dog that becomes silent and keeps quiet as soon as it sees the sheep on the right way to the fold. the heavy clouds disappeared from the sky; the sun shone. for the first time during the voyage the sailors felt the joys of summer spreading over nature. upon these storm-beaten men the sunshine and the warmth had almost an intoxicating effect. instead of longing for rest and sleep, they became as merry as happy children in the morning. they expected they would find a large continent behind all these rocks and boulders. they hoped to find people, and--who could tell?--on this foreign coast, which had probably never before been visited by a roman ship, their wares would no doubt find a ready sale. in that case they might after all do some good business, and bring back with them skins of bear and elk, and large quantities of white wax and golden amber. whilst the trirema slowly made its way between the rocks, which grew higher and higher and richer with verdure and trees, the crew made haste to decorate it so that it could attract the attention of the barbarians. the ship, which, even without any decoration, was a beautiful specimen of human handiwork, soon rivalled in splendour the most gorgeous bird. recently tossed about by storms and ravaged by tempests, it now bore on its topmast a golden sceptre and sails striped with purple. in the bows a resplendent figure of neptune was raised, and in the stern a tent of many-coloured silken carpets. and do not think the sailors neglected to hang the sides of the ship with rugs, the fringes of which trailed in the water, or to wind the long oars of the ship with golden ribbons. neither did the crew of the ship wear the clothes they had worn during the voyage, and which the sea and the storm had done their best to destroy. they arrayed themselves in white garments, wound purple scarves round their waists, and placed glittering bands in their hair. even silvius antonius roused himself from his apathy. it was as if he was glad of having at last found something to do which he thoroughly understood. he was shaved, had his hair trimmed, and his whole person rubbed over with fragrant scents. then he put on a flowing robe, hung a mantle over his shoulders, and chose from the large casket of jewels which galenus opened for him rings and bracelets, necklaces, and a golden belt. when he was ready he flung aside the purple curtains of the silken tent, and laid himself on a couch in the opening of the tent in order to be seen by the people on the shore. during these preparations the sea became narrower and narrower, and the sailors discovered that they were entering the mouth of a river. the water was fresh, and there was land on both sides. the trirema glided slowly onwards up the sparkling river. the weather was brilliant, and the whole of nature was gloriously peaceful. and how the magnificent merchantman enlivened the great solitude! on both sides of the river primeval forests, high and thick, met their view. pine-trees grew right to the water's edge. the river in its eternal course had washed away the earth from the roots, and the hearts of the seamen were moved with solemn awe at the sight, not only of these venerable trees, but even more by that of the naked roots, which resembled the mighty limbs of a giant. 'here,' they thought, 'man will never succeed in planting corn; here the ground will never be cleared for the building of a city, or even a farmstead. for miles round the earth is woven through with this network of roots, hard as steel. this alone is sufficient to make the dominion of the forest everlasting and unchangeable.' along the river the trees grew so close, and their branches were so entangled, that they formed firm, impenetrable walls. these walls of prickly firs were so strong and high that no fortified city need wish for stronger defences. but here and there there was, all the same, an opening in this wall of firs. it was the paths the wild beasts had made on their way to the river to drink. through these openings the strangers could obtain a glimpse of the interior of the forest. they had never seen anything like it. in sunless twilight there grew trees with trunks of greater circumference than the gate-towers on the walls of rome. there was a multitude of trees, fighting with each other for light and air. trees strove and struggled, trees were crippled and weighed down by other trees. trees took root in the branches of other trees. trees strove and fought as if they had been human beings. but if man or beast moved in this world of trees they must have other modes of making their way than those which the romans knew, for from the ground right up to the top of the forest was a network of stiff bare branches. from these branches fluttered long tangles of gray lichen, transforming the trees into weird beings with hair and beard. and beneath them the ground was covered with rotten and rotting trunks, and one's feet would have sunk into the decayed wood as into melting snow. the forest sent forth a fragrance which had a drowsy effect upon the men on board the ship. it was the strong odour of resin and wild honey that blended with the sickly smell from the decayed wood, and from innumerable gigantic red and yellow mushrooms. there was no doubt something awe-inspiring in all this, but it was also elevating to see nature in all its power before man had yet interfered with its dominion. it was not long before one of the sailors began to sing a hymn to the god of the forest, and involuntarily the whole crew joined in. they had quite given up all thought of meeting human beings in this forest-world. their hearts were filled with pious thoughts; they thought of the forest god and his nymphs. they said to themselves that when pan was driven from the woods of hellas he must have taken refuge here in the far north. with pious songs they entered his kingdom. every time there was a pause in the song they heard a gentle music from the forest. the tops of the fir-trees, vibrating in the noonday heat, sang and played. the sailors often discontinued their song in order to listen, if pan was not playing upon his flute. the oarsmen rowed slower and slower. the sailors gazed searchingly into the golden-green and black-violet water flowing under the fir-trees. they peered between the tall reeds which quivered and rustled in the wash of the ship. they were in such a state of expectation that they started at the sight of the white water-lilies that shone in the dark water between the reeds. and again they sang the song, 'pan, thou ruler of the forest!' they had given up all thoughts of trading. they felt that they stood at the entrance to the dwelling of the gods. all earthly cares had left them. then, all of a sudden, at the outlet of one of the tracks, there stood an elk, a royal deer with broad forehead and a forest of antlers on its horns. there was a breathless silence on the trirema. they stemmed the oars to slacken speed. silvius antonius arose from his purple couch. all eyes were fixed upon the elk. they thought they could discern that it carried something on its back, but the darkness of the forest and the drooping branches made it impossible to see distinctly. the huge animal stood for a long time and scented the air, with its muzzle turned towards the trirema. at last it seemed to understand that there was no danger. it made a step towards the water. behind the broad horns one could now discern more distinctly something light and white. they wondered if the elk carried on its back a harvest of wild roses. the crew gently plied their oars. the trirema drew nearer to the animal, which gradually moved towards the edge of the reeds. the elk strode slowly into the water, put down its feet carefully, so as not to be caught by the roots at the bottom. behind the horns one could now distinctly see the face of a maiden, surrounded by fair hair. the elk carried on its back one of those nymphs whom they had been expectantly awaiting, and whom they felt sure would be found in this primeval world. a holy enthusiasm filled the men on the trirema. one of them, who hailed from sicily, remembered a song which he had heard in his youth, when he played on the flowery plains around syracuse. he began to sing softly: 'nymph, amongst flowers born, arethusa by name, thou who in sheltered wood wanders, white like the moon.' and when the weather-beaten men understood the words, they tried to subdue the storm-like roar in their voices in order to sing: 'nymph, amongst flowers born, arethusa by name.' they steered the ship nearer and nearer the reeds. they did not heed that it had already once or twice touched the bottom. but the young forest maiden sat and played hide-and-seek between the horns. one moment she hid herself, the next she peeped out. she did not stop the elk; she drove it further into the river. when the elk had gone some little distance, she stroked it to make it stop. then she bent down and gathered two or three water-lilies. the men on the ship looked a little foolishly at each other. the nymph had, then, come solely for the purpose of plucking the white water-lilies that rocked on the waters of the river. she had not come for the sake of the roman seamen. then silvius antonius drew a ring from off his finger, sent up a shout that made the nymph look up, and threw her the ring. she stretched out her hand and caught it. her eyes sparkled. she stretched out her hands for more. silvius antonius again threw a ring. then she flung the water-lilies back into the river and drove the elk further into the water. now and again she stopped, but then a ring came flying from silvius antonius, and enticed her further. all at once she overcame her hesitation. the colour rose in her cheeks. she came nearer to the ship without it being necessary to tempt her. the water was already up to the shoulders of the elk. she came right under the side of the vessel. the sailors hung over the gunwales to help the beautiful nymph, should she wish to go on board the trirema. but she saw only silvius antonius, as he stood there, decked with pearls and rings, and fair as the sunrise. and when the young roman saw that the eyes of the nymph were fastened upon him, he leant over even further than the others. they cried to him that he should take care, lest he should lose his balance and fall into the sea. but this warning came too late. it is not known whether the nymph, with a quick movement, drew silvius antonius to her, or how it really happened, but before anyone thought of grasping him, he was overboard. all the same, there was no danger of silvius antonius drowning. the nymph stretched forth her lovely arms and caught him in them. he hardly touched the surface of the water. at the same moment her steed turned, rushed through the water, and disappeared in the forest. and loudly rang the laugh of the wild rider as she carried off silvius antonius. galenus and his men stood for a moment horror-stricken. then some of the men involuntarily threw off their clothes to swim to the shore; but galenus stopped them. 'without doubt this is the will of the gods,' he said. 'now we see the reason why they have brought silvius antonius poppius through a thousand storms to this unknown land. let us be glad that we have been an instrument in their hands; and let us not seek to hinder their will.' the seamen obediently took their oars and rowed down the river, softly singing to their even stroke the song of arethusa's flight. * * * * * when one has finished this story, surely the stranger must be able to understand the inscription on the old stone. he must be able to see both the elk with its many-antlered horns, and the trirema with its long oars. one does not expect that he shall be able to see silvius antonius poppius and the beautiful queen of the primeval forest, for in order to see them he must have the eyes of the relaters of fairy-tales of bygone days. he will understand that the inscription hales from the young roman himself, and that this also applies to the whole of the old story. silvius antonius has handed it down to his descendants word for word. he knew that it would gladden their hearts to know that they sprang from the world-famed romans. but the stranger, of course, need not believe that any of pan's nymphs have wandered here by the river's side. he understands quite well that a tribe of wild men have wandered about in the primeval forest, and that the rider of the elk was the daughter of the king who ruled over these people; and that the maiden who carried off silvius antonius would only rob him of his jewels, and that she did not at all think of silvius antonius himself, scarcely knew, perhaps, that he was a human being like herself. and the stranger can also understand that the name of silvius antonius would have been forgotten long ago in this country had he remained the fool he was. he will hear how misfortune and want roused the young roman, so that from being the despised slave of the wild men he became their king. it was he who attacked the forest with fire and steel. he erected the first firmly-timbered house. he built vessels and planted corn. he laid the foundation of the power and glory of great kungahälla. and when the stranger hears this, he looks around the country with a more contented glance than before. for even if the site of the city has been turned into fields and meadows, and even if the river no longer boasts of busy craft, still, this is the ground that has enabled him to breathe the air of the land of dreams, and shown him visions of bygone days. sigrid storrÄde once upon a time there was an exceedingly beautiful spring. it was the very spring that the swedish queen sigrid storräde summoned the norwegian king olaf trygveson to meet her at kungahälla in order to settle about their marriage. it was strange that king olaf would marry queen sigrid; for although she was fair and well-gifted, she was a wicked heathen, whilst king olaf was a christian, who thought of nothing but building churches and compelling the people to be baptized. but maybe the king thought that god the almighty would convert her. but it was even more strange that when storräde had announced to king olaf's messenger that she would set out for kungahälla as soon as the sea was no longer ice-bound, spring should come almost immediately. cold and snow disappeared at the time when winter is usually at its height. and when storräde made known that she would begin to equip her ships, the ice vanished from the fjords, the meadows became green, and although it was yet a long time to lady-day, the cattle could already be put out to grass. when the queen rowed between the rocks of east gothland into the baltic, she heard the cuckoo's song, although it was so early in the year that one could scarcely expect to hear the lark. and great joy prevailed everywhere when storräde proceeded on her way. all the trolls who had been obliged to flee from norway during king olaf's reign because they could not bear the sound of the church bells came on the rocks when they saw storräde sailing past. they pulled up young birch-trees by the roots and waved them to the queen, and then they went back to their rocky dwellings, where their wives were sitting, full of longing and anxiety, and said: 'woman, thou shalt not be cast down any longer. storräde is now sailing to king olaf. now we shall soon return to norway.' when the queen sailed past kullen, the kulla troll came out of his cave, and he made the black mountain open, so that she saw the gold and silver veins which twisted through it, and it made the queen happy to see his riches. when storräde went past the holland rivers, the nixie came down from his waterfall, swam right out to the mouth of the river, and played upon his harp, so that the ship danced upon the waves. when she sailed past the nidinge rocks, the mermen lay there and blew upon their seashell horns, and made the water splash in frothy pillars. and when the wind was against them, the most loathsome trolls came out of the deep to help storräde's ship over the waves. some lay at the stern and pushed, others took ropes of seaweed in their mouth and harnessed themselves before the ship like horses. the wild heathen, whom king olaf would not allow to remain in the country on account of their great wickedness, came rowing towards the queen's ship, with sails furled, and with their pole-axes raised as if for attack. but when they recognised the queen, they allowed her to pass unhurt, and shouted after her: 'we empty a beaker to thy wedding, storräde.' all the heathen who lived along the coast laid firewood upon their stone altars, and sacrificed both sheep and goats to the old gods, in order that they should aid storräde in her expedition to the norwegian king. when the queen sailed up the northern river, a mermaid swam alongside the ship, stretched her white arm out of the water, and gave her a large clear pearl. 'wear this, storräde,' she said; 'then king olaf will be so bewitched by thy beauty that he will never be able to forget thee.' when the queen had sailed a short distance up the river, she heard such a roar and such a rushing noise that she expected to find a waterfall. the further she proceeded, the louder grew the noise. but when she rowed past the golden isle, and passed into a broad bay, she saw at the riverside the great kungahälla. the town was so large, that as far as she could see up the river there was house after house, all imposing and well timbered, with many outhouses. narrow lanes between the gray wooden walls led down to the river; there were large courtyards before the dwelling-houses, well-laid pathways went from each house down to its boathouse and landing-stage. storräde commanded her men to row quite slowly. she herself stood on the poop of the ship and looked towards the shore. 'never before have i seen the like of this,' she said. she now understood that the roar she had heard was nothing but the noise of the work which went on at kungahälla in the spring, when the ships were being made ready for their long cruises. she heard the smiths hammering with huge sledge-hammers, the baker's shovel clattered in the ovens; beams were hoisted on to heavy lighters with much crashing noise; young men planed oars and stripped the bark from the trees which were to be used for masts. she saw green courtyards, where handmaidens were twining ropes for the seafaring men, and where old men sat mending the gray wadmal sails. she saw the boat-builders tarring the new boats. enormous nails were driven into strong oaken planks. the hulls of the ships were hauled out of the boathouses to be tightened; old ships were done up with freshly-painted dragon-heads; goods were stowed away; people took a hurried leave of each other; heavily-filled ships' chests were carried on board. ships that were ready to sail left the shore. storräde saw that the vessels rowing up the river were heavily laden with herrings and salt, but those making for the open sea were laden high up the masts with costly oak timber, hides, and skins. when the queen saw all this she laughed with joy. she thought that she would willingly marry king olaf in order to rule over such a city. storräde rowed up to the king's landing-stage. there king olaf stood ready to receive her, and when she advanced to meet him he thought that she was the fairest woman he had ever seen. they then proceeded to the king's hall, and there was great harmony and friendship between them. when they went to table storräde laughed and talked the whole time the bishop was saying grace, and the king laughed and talked also, because he saw that it pleased storräde. when the meal was finished, and they all folded their hands to listen to the bishop's prayer, storräde began to tell the king about her riches. she continued doing this as long as the prayer lasted, and the king listened to storräde, and not to the bishop. the king placed storräde in the seat of honour, whilst he sat at her feet; and storräde told him how she had caused two minor kings to be burnt to death for having had the presumption to woo her. the king was glad at hearing this, and thought that all minor kings who had the audacity to woo a woman like storräde should share the same fate. when the bells rang for evensong, the king rose to go to the marie church to pray, as was his wont. but then storräde called for her bard, and he sang the lay of brynhild budles-dotter, who caused sigurd fofnersbane to be slain; and king olaf did not go to church, but instead sat and looked into storräde's radiant eyes, under the thick, black, arched eyebrows; and he understood that storräde was brynhild, and that she would kill him if ever he forsook her. he also thought that she was no doubt a woman who would be willing to burn on the pile with him. and whilst the priests were saying mass and praying in the marie church at kungahälla, king olaf sat thinking that he would ride to valhalla with sigrid storräde before him on the horse. that night the ferryman who conveyed people over the göta river was busier than he had ever been before. time after time he was called to the other side, but when he crossed over there was never anybody to be seen. but all the same he heard steps around him, and the boat was so full that it was nearly sinking. he rowed the whole night backwards and forwards, and did not know what it could all mean. but in the morning the whole shore was full of small footprints, and in the footprints the ferryman found small withered leaves, which on closer examination proved to be pure gold, and he understood they were the brownies and dwarfs who had fled from norway when it became a christian country, and who had now come back again. and the giant who lived in the fortin mountain right to the east of kungahälla threw one big stone after the other at the marie church the whole night through; and had not the giant been so strong that all the stones went too far and fell down at hisingen, on the other side of the river, a great disaster would assuredly have happened. every morning king olaf was in the habit of going to mass, but the day storräde was at kungahälla he thought he had not the time. as soon as he arose, he at once wanted to go down to the harbour, where her ship lay, in order to ask her if she would drink the wedding-cup with him before eventide. the bishop had caused the bells to be rung the whole morning, and when the king left the king's hall, and went across the market place, the church doors were thrown open, and beautiful singing was heard from within. but the king went on as if he had not heard anything. the bishop ordered the bells to be stopped, the singing ceased, and the candles were extinguished. it all happened so suddenly that the king involuntarily stopped and looked towards the church, and it seemed to him that the church was more insignificant than he had ever before thought. it was smaller than the houses in the town; the peat roof hung heavily over its low walls without windows; the door was low, with a small projecting roof covered with fir-bark. whilst the king stood thinking, a slender young woman came out of the dark church door. she wore a red robe and a blue mantle, and she bore in her arms a child with fair locks. her dress was poor, and yet it seemed to the king that he had never before seen a more noble-looking woman. she was tall, dignified, and fair of face. the king saw with emotion that the young woman pressed the child close to her, and carried it with such care, that one could see it was the most precious thing she possessed in the world. as the woman stood in the doorway she turned her gentle face round and looked back, looked into the poor, dark little church with great longing in look and mien. when she again turned round towards the market place there were tears in her eyes. but just as she was about to step over the threshold into the market place her courage failed her. she leant against the doorposts and looked at the child with a troubled glance, as if to say: 'where in all the wide world shall we find a roof over our heads?' the king stood immovable, and looked at the homeless woman. what touched him the most was to see the child, who lay in her arms free from sorrow, stretch out his hand with a flower towards her, as if to win a smile from her. and then he saw she tried to drive away the sorrow from her face and smile at her son. 'who can that woman be?' thought the king. 'it seems to me that i have seen her before. she is undoubtedly a high-born woman who is in trouble.' however great a hurry the king was in to go to storräde, he could not take his eyes away from the woman. it seemed to him that he had seen these tender eyes and this gentle face before, but where, he could not call to mind. the woman still stood in the church door, as if she could not tear herself away. then the king went up to her and asked: 'why art thou so sorrowful?' 'i am turned out of my home,' answered the woman, pointing to the little dark church. the king thought she meant that she had taken refuge in the church because she had no other place to go to. he again asked: 'who hath turned thee out?' she looked at him with an unutterably sorrowful glance. 'dost thou not know?' she asked. but then the king turned away from her. he had no time to stand guessing riddles, he thought. it appeared as if the woman meant that it was he who had turned her out. he did not understand what she could mean. the king went on quickly. he went down to the king's landing-stage, where storräde's ship was lying. at the harbour the queen's servants met the king. their clothes were braided with gold, and they wore silver helmets on their heads. storräde stood on her ship looking towards kungahälla, rejoicing in its power and wealth. she looked at the city as if she already regarded herself as its queen. but when the king saw storräde, he thought at once of the gentle woman who, poor and sorrowful, had been turned out of the church. 'what is this?' he thought. 'it seems to me as if she were fairer than storräde.' when storräde greeted him with smiles, he thought of the tears that sparkled in the eyes of the other woman. the face of the strange woman was so clear to king olaf that he could not help comparing it, feature for feature, with storräde's. and when he did that all storräde's beauty vanished. he saw that storräde's eyes were cruel and her mouth sensual. in each of her features he saw a sin. he could still see she was beautiful, but he no longer took pleasure in her countenance. he began to loathe her as if she were a beautiful poisonous snake. when the queen saw the king come a victorious smile passed over her lips. 'i did not expect thee so early, king olaf,' she said. 'i thought thou wast at mass.' the king felt an irresistible inclination to contradict storräde, and do everything she did not want. 'mass has not yet begun,' he said. 'i have come to ask thee to go with me to the house of my god.' when the king said this he saw an angry look in storräde's eyes, but she continued to smile. 'rather come to me on my ship,' she said, 'and i will show thee the presents i have brought for thee.' she took up a sword inlaid with gold, as if to tempt him; but the king thought all the time that he could see the other woman at her side, and it appeared to him that storräde stood amongst her treasures like a foul dragon. 'answer me first,' said the king, 'if thou wilt go with me to church.' 'what have i to do in thy church?' she asked mockingly. then she saw that the king's brow darkened, and she perceived that he was not of the same mind as the day before. she immediately changed her manner, and became gentle and submissive. 'go thou to church as much as thou likest, even if i do not go. there shall be no discord between us on that account.' the queen came down from the ship and went up to the king. she held in her hand a sword and a mantle trimmed with fur which she would give him. but in the same moment the king happened to look towards the harbour. at some distance he saw the other woman; her head was bowed, and she walked with weary steps, but she still bore the child in her arms. 'what art thou looking so eagerly after, king olaf?' storräde asked. then the other woman turned round and looked at the king, and as she looked at him it appeared to him as if a ring of golden light surrounded her head and that of the child, more beautiful than the crown of any king or queen. then she immediately turned round and walked again towards the town, and he saw her no more. 'what art thou looking so eagerly after?' again asked storräde. but when king olaf now turned to the queen she appeared to him old and ugly, and full of the world's sin and wickedness, and he was terrified at the thought that he might have fallen into her snares. he had taken off his glove to give her his hand; but he now took the glove and threw it in her face instead. 'i will not own thee, foul woman and heathen dog that thou art!' he said. then storräde drew backwards. but she soon regained the command over herself, and answered: 'that blow may prove thy destruction, king olaf trygveson.' and she was white as hél when she turned away from him and went on board her ship. * * * * * next night king olaf had a strange dream. what he saw in his dream was not the earth, but the bottom of the sea. it was a grayish-green field, over which there were many fathoms of water. he saw fish swimming after their prey; he saw ships gliding past on the surface of the water, like dark clouds; and he saw the disc of the sun, dull as a pale moon. then he saw the woman he had seen at the church-door wandering along the bottom of the sea. she had the same stooping gait and the same worn garments as when he first saw her, and her face was still sorrowful. but as she wandered along the bottom of the sea the water divided before her. he saw that it rose into pillars, as if in deep reverence, forming itself into arches, so that she walked in the most glorious temple. suddenly the king saw that the water which surrounded the woman began to change colour. the pillars and the arches first became pale pink; but they soon assumed a darker colour. the whole sea around was also red, as if it had been changed into blood. at the bottom of the sea, where the woman walked, the king saw broken swords and arrows, and bows and spears in pieces. at first there were not many, but the longer she walked in the red water the more closely they were heaped together. the king saw with emotion that the woman went to one side in order not to tread upon a dead man who lay stretched upon the bed of green seaweed. the man, who had a deep cut in his head, wore a coat of mail, and had a sword in his hand. it seemed to the king that the woman closed her eyes so as not to see the dead man. she moved towards a fixed goal without hesitation or doubt. but he who dreamt could not turn his eyes away. he saw the bottom of the sea covered with wreckage. he saw heavy anchors, thick ropes twined about like snakes, ships with their sides riven asunder; golden dragon-heads from the bows of ships stared at him with red, threatening eyes. 'i should like to know who has fought a battle here and left all this as a prey to destruction,' thought the dreamer. everywhere he saw dead men. they were hanging on the ships' sides, or had sunk into the green seaweed. but he did not give himself time to look at them, for his eyes were obliged to follow the woman, who continued to walk onwards. at last the king saw her stop at the side of a dead man. he was clothed in a red mantle, had a bright helmet on his head, a shield on his arm, and a naked sword in his hand. the woman bent over him and whispered to him, as if awaking someone sleeping: 'king olaf! king olaf!' then he who was dreaming saw that the man at the bottom of the sea was himself. he could distinctly see that he was the dead man. as the dead did not move, the woman knelt by his side and whispered into his ear: 'now storräde hath sent her fleet against thee and avenged herself. dost thou repent what thou hast done, king olaf?' and again she asked: 'now thou sufferest the bitterness of death because thou hast chosen me instead of storräde. dost thou repent? dost thou repent?' then at last the dead opened his eyes, and the woman helped him to rise. he leant upon her shoulder, and she walked slowly away with him. again king olaf saw her wander and wander, through night and day, over sea and land. at last it seemed to him that they had gone further than the clouds and higher than the stars. now they entered a garden, where the earth shone as light and the flowers were clear as dewdrops. the king saw that when the woman entered the garden she raised her head, and her step grew lighter. when they had gone a little further into the garden her garments began to shine. he saw that they became, as of themselves, bordered with golden braid, and coloured with the hues of the rainbow. he saw also that a halo surrounded her head that cast a light over her countenance. but the slain man who leant upon her shoulder raised his head, and asked: 'who art thou?' 'dost thou not know, king olaf?' she answered; and an infinite majesty and glory encompassed her. but in the dream king olaf was filled with a great joy because he had chosen to serve the gentle queen of heaven. it was a joy so great that he had never before felt the like of it, and it was so strong that it awoke him. * * * * * when king olaf awoke his face was bathed in tears, and he lay with his hands folded in prayer. astrid i in the midst of the low buildings forming the old castle of the kings at upsala towered the ladies' bower. it was built on poles, like a dovecote. the staircase leading up to it was as steep as a ladder, and one entered it by a very low door. the walls inside were covered with runes, signifying love and longing; the sills of the small loopholes were worn by the maidens leaning on their elbows and looking down into the courtyard. old hjalte, the bard, had been a guest at the king's castle for some time, and he went up every day to the ladies' bower to see princess ingegerd, and talk with her about olaf haraldsson, the king of norway, and every time hjalte came ingegerd's bondwoman astrid sat and listened to his words with as much pleasure as the princess. and whilst hjalte talked, both the maidens listened so eagerly that they let their hands fall in their laps and their work rest. anyone seeing them would not think much spinning or weaving could be done in the ladies' bower. no one would have thought that they gathered all hjalte's words as if they were silken threads, and that each of his listeners made from them her own picture of king olaf. no one could know that in their thoughts they wove the bard's words each into her own radiant picture. but so it was. and the princess's picture was so beautiful that every time she saw it before her she felt as if she must fall on her knees and worship it. for she saw the king sitting on his throne, crowned and great; she saw a red, gold-embroidered mantle hanging from his shoulders to his feet. she saw no sword in his hand, but holy writings; and she also saw that his throne was supported by a chained troll. his face shone for her, white like wax, surrounded by long, soft locks, and his eyes beamed with piety and peace. oh, she became nearly afraid when she saw the almost superhuman strength that shone from that pale face. she understood that king olaf was not only a king, she saw that he was a saint, and the equal of the angels. but quite different was the picture which astrid had made of the king. the fair-haired bondwoman, who had experienced both hunger and cold and suffered much hardship, but who all the same was the one who filled the ladies' bower with merriment and laughter, had in her mind an entirely different picture of the king. she could not help that every time she heard him spoken about she saw before her the wood-cutter's son who at eventide came out of the wood with the axe over his shoulder. 'i can see thee--i can see thee so well,' astrid said to the picture, as if it were a living being. 'tall thou art not, but broad of shoulders and light and agile, and because thou hast walked about in the dark forest the whole long summer day thou takest the last few steps in one spring, and laughest when thou reachest the road. then thy white teeth shine, and thy hair flies about, and that i love to see. i can see thee; thou hast a fair, ruddy face and freckles on thy nose, and thou hast blue eyes, which become dark and stern in the deep forest; but when thou comest so far that thou seest the valley and thy home, they become light and gentle. as soon as thou seest thine own hut down in the valley, thou raisest thy cap for a greeting, and then i see thy forehead. is not that forehead befitting a king? should not that broad forehead be able to wear both crown and helmet?' but however different these two pictures were, one thing is certain: just as much as the princess loved the holy picture she had conjured forth, so did the poor bondwoman love the bold swain whom she saw coming from the depths of the forest to meet her. and had hjalte the bard been able to see these pictures he would have assuredly praised them both. he would assuredly have said that they both were like the king. for that is king olaf's good fortune, he would have been sure to say, that he is a fresh and merry swain at the same time that he is god's holy warrior. for old hjalte loved king olaf, and although he had wandered from court to court he had never been able to find his equal. 'where can i find anyone to make me forget olaf haraldsson?' he was wont to say. 'where shall i find a greater hero?' hjalte the bard was a rough old man and severe of countenance. old as he was, his hair was still black, he was dark of complexion, and his eyes were keen, and his song had always tallied with his appearance. his tongue never uttered other words than those of strife; he had never made other lays than songs of war. old hjalte's heart had hitherto been like the stony waste outside the wood-cutter's hut; it had been like a rocky plain, where only poor ferns and dry mugworts could grow. but now hjalte's roving life had brought him to the court at upsala, and he had seen the princess ingegerd. he had seen that she was the noblest of all the women he had met in his life--in truth, the princess was just as much fairer than all other women as king olaf was greater than all other men. then the thought suddenly arose within hjalte that he would try to awaken love between the swedish princess and the norwegian king. he asked himself why she, who was the best amongst women, should not be able to love king olaf, the most glorious amongst men? and after that thought had taken root in hjalte's heart he gave up making his stern war-songs. he gave up trying to win praise and honour from the rough warriors at the court of upsala, and sat for many hours with the women in the ladies' bower, and one would never have thought that it was hjalte who spoke. one would never have believed that he possessed such soft and fair and gentle words which he now used in speaking about king olaf. no one would have known hjalte again; he was entirely transformed ever since the thought of the marriage had arisen within him. when the beautiful thought took root in hjalte's soul, it was as if a blushing rose, with soft and fragrant petals, had sprung up in the midst of a wilderness. * * * * * one day hjalte sat with the princess in the ladies' bower. all the maidens were absent except astrid. hjalte thought that now he had spoken long enough about olaf haraldsson. he had said all the fair words he could about him, but had it been of any avail? what did the princess think of the king? then he began to lay snares for the princess to find out what she thought of king olaf. 'i can see from a look or a blush,' he thought. but the princess was a high-born lady; she knew how to conceal her thoughts. she neither blushed nor smiled, neither did her eyes betray her. she would not let hjalte divine what she thought. when the bard looked into her noble face he was ashamed of himself. 'she is too good for anyone to take her by stealth,' he said; 'one must meet her in open warfare.' so hjalte said straight out: 'daughter of a king, if olaf haraldsson asked thee in marriage of thy father, what wouldst thou answer?' then the young princess's face lit up, as does the face of a man when he reaches the mountain-top and discovers the ocean. without hesitation she replied at once: 'if he be such a king and such a christian as thou sayest, hjalte, then i consider it would be a great happiness.' but scarcely had she said this before the light faded from her eyes. it was as if a cloud rose between her and the beautiful far-off vision. 'oh, hjalte,' she said, 'thou forgettest one thing. king olaf is our enemy. it is war and not wooing we may expect from him.' 'do not let that trouble thee,' said hjalte. 'if thou only wilt, all is well. i know king olaf's mind in this matter.' the bard was so glad that he laughed when he said this; but the princess grew more and more sorrowful. 'no,' she said, 'neither upon me nor king olaf does it depend, but upon my father, oluf skötkonung, and you know that he hates olaf haraldsson, and cannot bear that anyone should even mention his name. never will he let me leave my father's house with an enemy; never will he give his daughter to olaf haraldsson.' when the princess had said this, she laid aside all her pride and began to lament her fate. 'of what good is it that i have now learnt to know olaf haraldsson,' she said, 'that i dream of him every night, and long for him every day? would it not have been better if thou hadst never come hither and told me about him?' when the princess had spoken these words, her eyes filled with tears; but when hjalte saw her tears, he lifted his hand fervent and eager. 'god wills it,' he cried. 'ye belong to one another. strife must exchange its red mantle for the white robe of peace, that your happiness may give joy unto the earth.' when hjalte had said this, the princess bowed her head before god's holy name, and when she raised it, it was with a newly awakened hope. * * * * * when old hjalte stepped through the low door of the ladies' bower, and went down the narrow open corridor, astrid followed him. 'hjalte,' she cried, 'why dost thou not ask me what i would answer if olaf haraldsson asked for my hand?' it was the first time astrid had spoken to hjalte; but hjalte only cast a hurried glance at the fair bondwoman, whose golden hair curled on her temples and neck, who had the broadest bracelets and the heaviest ear-rings, whose dress was fastened with silken cords, and whose bodice was so embroidered with pearls that it was as stiff as armour, and went on without answering. 'why dost thou only ask princess ingegerd?' continued astrid. 'why dost thou not also ask me? dost thou not know that i, too, am the svea-king's daughter? dost thou not know,' she continued, when hjalte did not answer, 'that although my mother was a bondwoman, she was the bride of the king's youth? dost thou not know that whilst she lived no one dared to remind her of her birth? oh, hjalte, dost thou not know that it was only after she was dead, when the king had taken to himself a queen, that everyone remembered that she was a bondwoman? it was first after i had a stepmother that the king began to think i was not of free birth. but am i not a king's daughter, hjalte, even if my father counts me for so little, that he has allowed me to fall into bondage? am i not a king's daughter, even if my stepmother allowed me to go in rags, whilst my sister went in cloth of gold? am i not a king's daughter, even if my stepmother has allowed me to tend the geese and taste the whip of the slave? and if i am a king's daughter, why dost thou not ask me whether i will wed olaf haraldsson? see, i have golden hair that shines round my head like the sun. see, i have sparkling eyes; i have roses in my cheeks. why should not king olaf woo me?' she followed hjalte across the courtyard all the way to the king's hall; but hjalte took no more heed of her words than a warrior clad in armour heeds a boy throwing stones. he took no more notice of her words than if she had been a chattering magpie in the top of a tree. * * * * * no one must think that hjalte contented himself with having won ingegerd for his king. the next day the old icelander summoned up his courage and spoke to oluf skötkonung about olaf haraldsson. but he hardly had time to say a word; the king interrupted him as soon as he mentioned the name of his foe. hjalte saw that the princess was right. he thought he had never before seen such bitter hatred. 'but that marriage will take place all the same,' said hjalte. 'it is the will of god--the will of god.' and it really seemed as if hjalte were right. two or three days later a messenger came from king olaf of norway to make peace with the swedes. hjalte sought the messenger, and told him that peace between the two countries could be most firmly established by a marriage taking place between princess ingegerd and olaf haraldsson. the king's messenger hardly thought that old hjalte was the man to incline a young maiden's heart to a stranger; but he thought, all the same, that the plan was a good one; and he promised hjalte that he would lay the proposal of the marriage before king oluf skötkonung at the great winter ting. immediately afterwards hjalte left upsala. he went from farm to farm on the great plain; he went far into the forests; he went even to the borders of the sea. he never met either man or woman without speaking to them about olaf haraldsson and princess ingegerd. 'hast thou ever heard of a greater man or of a fairer woman?' he said. 'it is assuredly the will of god that they shall wander through life together.' hjalte came upon old vikings, who wintered at the seashore, and who had formerly carried off women from every coast. he talked to them about the beautiful princess until they sprang up and promised him, with their hand on the hilt of their sword, that they would do what they could to help her to happiness. hjalte went to stubborn old peasants who had never listened to the prayers of their own daughters, but had given them in marriage as shrewdness, family honour, and advantage required, and he spoke to them so wisely about the peace between the two countries and the marriage that they swore they would rather deprive the king of his kingdom than that this marriage should not come to pass. but to the young women hjalte spoke so many good words about olaf haraldsson that they vowed they would never look with kindly eyes at the swain who did not stand by the norwegian king's messenger at the ting and help to break down the king's opposition. thus hjalte went about talking to people until the winter ting should assemble, and all the people, along snow-covered roads, proceeded to the great ting hills at upsala. when the ting was opened, the eagerness of the people was so great that it seemed as if the stars would fall down from the sky were this marriage not decided upon. and although the king twice roughly said 'no' both to the peace and to the wooing, it was of no avail. it was of no avail that he would not hear the name of king olaf mentioned. the people only shouted: 'we will not have war with norway. we will that these two, who by all are accounted the greatest, shall wander through life together.' what could old oluf skötkonung do when the people rose against him with threats, strong words, and clashing of shields? what was he to do when he saw nothing but swords lifted and angry men before him? was he not compelled to promise his daughter away if he would keep his life and his crown? must he not swear to send the princess to kungahälla next summer to meet king olaf there? in this way the whole people helped to further ingegerd's love. but no one helped astrid to the attainment of her happiness; no one asked her about her love. and yet it lived--it lived like the child of the poor fisherman's widow, in want and need; but all the same it grew, happily and hopefully. it grew and thrived, for in astrid's soul there were, as at the sea, fresh air and light and breezy waves. ii in the rich city of kungahälla, far away at the border, was the old castle of the kings. it was surrounded by green ramparts. huge stones stood as sentinels outside the gates, and in the courtyard grew an oak large enough to shelter under its branches all the king's henchmen. the whole space inside the ramparts was covered with long, low wooden houses. they were so old that grass grew on the ridges of the roofs. the beams in the walls were made from the thickest trees of the forest, silver-white with age. in the beginning of the summer olaf haraldsson came to kungahälla, and he gathered together in the castle everything necessary for the celebration of his marriage. for several weeks peasants came crowding up the long street, bringing gifts: butter in tubs, cheese in sacks, hops and salt, roots and flour. after the gifts had been brought to the castle, there was a continual procession of wedding guests through the street. there were great men and women on side-saddles, with a numerous retinue of servants and serfs. then came hosts of players and singers, and the reciters of the sagas. merchants came all the way from venderland and gardarike, to tempt the king with bridal gifts. when these processions for two whole weeks had filled the town with noise and bustle they only awaited the last procession, the bride's. but the bridal procession was long in coming. every day they expected that she would come ashore at the king's landing-stage, and from there, headed by drum and fife, and followed by merry swains and serious priests, proceed up the street to the king's castle. but the bride's procession came not. when the bride was so long in coming, everybody looked at king olaf to see if he were uneasy. but the king always showed an undisturbed face. 'if it be the will of god,' the king said, 'that i shall possess this fair woman, she will assuredly come.' and the king waited, whilst the grass fell for the scythe, and the cornflowers blossomed in the rye. the king still waited when the flax was pulled up, and the hops ripened on the poles. he was still waiting, when the bramble blackened on the mountain-side, and the nip reddened on the naked branch of the hawthorn. * * * * * hjalte had spent the whole summer at kungahälla waiting for the marriage. no one awaited the arrival of the princess more eagerly than he did. he assuredly awaited her with greater longing and anxiety than even king olaf himself. hjalte no longer felt at his ease with the warriors in the king's hall. but lower down the river there was a landing-stage where the women of kungahälla were wont to assemble to see the last of their husbands and sons, when they sailed for distant lands. here they were also in the habit of gathering during the summer, to watch for the vessels coming up the river, and to weep over those who had departed. to that bridge hjalte wended his way every day. he liked best to be amongst those who longed and sorrowed. never had any of the women who sat waiting at weeping bridge gazed down the river with more anxious look than did hjalte the bard. no one looked more eagerly at every approaching sail. sometimes hjalte stole away to the marie church. he never prayed for anything for himself. he only came to remind the saints about this marriage, which must come to pass, which god himself had willed. most of all hjalte liked to speak with king olaf haraldsson alone. it was his greatest happiness to sit and tell him of every word that had fallen from the lips of the king's daughter. he described her every feature. 'king olaf,' he said to him, 'pray to god that she may come to thee. every day i see thee warring against ancient heathendom which hides like an owl in the darkness of the forest, and in the mountain-clefts. but the falcon, king olaf, will never be able to overcome the owl. only a dove can do that, only a dove.' the bard asked the king whether it was not his desire to vanquish all his enemies. was it not his intention to be alone master in the land? but in that he would never succeed. he would never succeed until he had won the crown which hjalte had chosen for him, a crown so resplendent with brightness and glory that everyone must bow before him who owned it. and last of all he asked the king if he were desirous of gaining the mastery over himself. but he would never succeed in overcoming the wilfulness of his own heart if he did not win a shield which hjalte had seen in the ladies' bower at the king's castle at upsala. it was a shield from which shone the purity of heaven. it was a shield which protected from all sin and the lusts of the flesh. * * * * * but harvest came and they were still waiting for the princess. one after the other the great men who had come to kungahälla for the marriage festivities were obliged to depart. the last to take his leave was old hjalte the bard. it was with a heavy heart he set sail, but he was obliged to return to his home in distant iceland before christmas came. old hjalte had not gone further than the rocky islands outside the mouth of the northern river before he met a galley. he immediately ordered his men to stop rowing. at the first glance he recognised the dragon-headed ship belonging to princess ingegerd. without hesitation hjalte told his men to row him to the galley. he gave up his place at the rudder to another, and placed himself with joyous face at the prow of the boat. 'it will make me happy to behold the fair maiden once more,' the bard said. 'it gladdens my heart that her gentle face will be the last i shall see before sailing for iceland.' all the wrinkles had disappeared from hjalte's face when he went on board the dragon-ship. he greeted the brave lads who plied the oars as friendlily as if they were his comrades, and he handed a golden ring to the maiden, who, with much deference, conducted him to the women's tent in the stern of the ship. hjalte's hand trembled when he lifted the hangings that covered the entrance to the tent. he thought this was the most beautiful moment of his life. 'never have i fought for a greater cause,' he said. 'never have i longed so eagerly for anything as this marriage.' but when hjalte entered the tent, he drew back a step in great consternation. his face expressed the utmost confusion. he saw a tall, beautiful woman. she advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. but the woman was not ingegerd. hjalte's eyes looked searchingly round the narrow tent to find the princess. he certainly saw that the woman who stood before him was a king's daughter. only the daughter of a king could look at him with such a proud glance, and greet him with such dignity. and she wore the band of royalty on her forehead, and was attired like a queen. but why was she not ingegerd? hjalte angrily asked the strange woman: 'who art thou?' 'dost thou not know me, hjalte? i am the king's daughter, to whom thou hast spoken about olaf haraldsson.' 'i have spoken with a king's daughter about olaf haraldsson, but her name was ingegerd.' 'ingegerd is also my name.' 'thy name can be what thou likest, but thou art not the princess. what is the meaning of all this? will the svea-king deceive king olaf?' 'he will not by any means deceive him. he sends him his daughter as he has promised.' hjalte was not far from drawing his sword to slay the strange woman. he had his hand already on the hilt, but he bethought himself it was not befitting a warrior to take the life of a woman. but he would not waste more words over this impostor. he turned round to go. the stranger with gentle voice called him back. 'where art thou going, hjalte? dost thou intend to go to kungahälla to report this to olaf haraldsson?' 'that is my intention,' answered hjalte, without looking at her. 'why, then, dost thou leave me, hjalte? why dost thou not remain with me? i, too, am going to kungahälla.' hjalte now turned round and looked at her. 'hast thou, then, no pity for an old man?' he said. 'i tell thee that my whole mind is set upon this marriage. let me hear the full measure of my misfortune. is princess ingegerd not coming?' then the princess gave over fooling hjalte. 'come into my tent and sit down,' she said, 'and i will tell thee all that thou wouldest know. i see it is of no use to hide the truth from thee.' then she began to tell him everything: 'the summer was already drawing to a close. the blackcock's lively young ones had already strong feathers in their cloven tails and firmness in their rounded wings; they had already begun to flutter about amongst the close branches of the pine-forest with quick, noisy strokes. 'it happened one morning that the svea-king came riding across the plain; he was returning from a successful chase. there hung from the pommel of his saddle a shining blue-black blackcock, a tough old fellow, with red eyebrows, as well as four of his half-grown young ones, which on account of their youth were still garbed in many-coloured hues. and the king was very proud; he thought it was not every man's luck to make such a bag with falcon and hawk in one morning. 'but that morning princess ingegerd and her maidens stood at the gates of the castle waiting for the king. and amongst the maidens was one, astrid by name; she was the daughter of the svea-king just as much as ingegerd, although her mother was not a free woman, and she was therefore treated as a bondmaiden. and this young maiden stood and showed her sister how the swallows gathered in the fields and chose the leaders for their long journey. she reminded her that the summer was soon over--the summer that should have witnessed the marriage of ingegerd--and urged her to ask the king why she might not set out on her journey to king olaf; for astrid wished to accompany her sister on the journey. she thought that if she could but once see olaf haraldsson, she would have pleasure from it all her life. 'but when the svea-king saw the princess, he rode up to her. '"look, ingegerd," he said, "here are five blackcocks hanging from my saddle. in one morning i have killed five blackcocks. who dost thou think can boast of better luck? have you ever heard of a king making a better capture?" 'but then the princess was angered that he who barred the way for her happiness should come so proudly and praise his own good luck. and to make an end of the uncertainty that had tormented her for so many weeks, she replied: '"thou, father, hast with great honour killed five blackcocks, but i know of a king who in one morning captured five other kings, and that was olaf haraldsson, the hero whom thou hast selected to be my husband." 'then the svea-king sprang off his horse in great fury, and advanced towards the princess with clenched hands. '"what troll hath bewitched thee?" he asked. "what herb hath poisoned thee? how hath thy mind been turned to this man?" 'ingegerd did not answer; she drew back, frightened. then the king became quieter. '"fair daughter," he said to her, "dost thou not know how dear thou art to me? how should i, then, give thee to one whom i cannot endure? i should like my best wishes to go with thee on thy journey. i should like to sit as guest in thy hall. i tell thee thou must turn thy mind to the kings of other lands, for norway's king shall never own thee." 'at these words the princess became so confused that she could find no other words than these with which to answer the king: '"i did not ask thee; it was the will of the people." 'the king then asked her if she thought that the svea-king was a slave, who could not dispose of his own offspring, or if there were a master over him who had the right to give away his daughters. '"will the svea-king be content to hear himself called a breaker of oaths?" asked the princess. 'then the svea-king laughed aloud. '"do not let that trouble thee. no one shall call me that. why dost thou question about this, thou who art a woman? there are still men in my council; they will find a way out of it." 'then the king turned towards his henchmen who had been with him to the chase. '"my will is bound by this promise," he said to them. "how shall i be released from it?" 'but none of the king's men answered a word; no one knew how to counsel him. 'then oluf skötkonung became very wrath; he became like a madman. '"so much for your wisdom," he shouted again and again to his men. "i will be free. why do people laud your wisdom?" 'whilst the king raged and shouted, and no one knew how to answer him, the maiden astrid stepped forward from amongst the other women and made a proposal. 'hjalte must really believe her when she told him that it was only because she found it so amusing that she could not help saying it, and not in the least because she thought it could really be done. '"why dost thou not send me?" she had said. "i am also thy daughter. why dost thou not send me to the norwegian king?" 'but when ingegerd heard astrid say these words, she grew pale. '"be silent, and go thy way!" she said angrily. "go thy way, thou tattler, thou deceitful, wicked thing, to propose such a shameful thing to my father!" 'but the king would not allow astrid to go. on the contrary! on the contrary! he stretched out his arms and drew her to his breast. he both laughed and cried, and was as wild with joy as a child. '"oh," he shouted, "what an idea! what a heathenish trick! let us call astrid ingegerd, and entrap the king of norway into marrying her. and afterwards when the rumour gets abroad that she is born of a bondwoman, many will rejoice in their hearts, and olaf haraldsson will be held in scorn and derision." 'but then ingegerd went up to the king, and prayed: "oh, father, father! do not do this thing. king olaf is dear at heart to me. surely thou wilt not grieve me by thus deceiving him." 'and she added that she would patiently do the bidding of her royal father, and give up all thought of marriage with olaf haraldsson, if he would only promise not to do him this injury. 'but the svea-king would not listen to her prayers. he turned to astrid and caressed her, just as if she were as beautiful as revenge itself. '"thou shalt go! thou shalt go soon--to-morrow!" he said. "all thy dowry, thy clothes, my dear daughter, and thy retinue, can all be collected in great haste. the norwegian king will not think of such things; he is too taken up with joy at the thought of possessing the high-born daughter of the svea-king." 'then ingegerd understood that she could hope for no mercy. and she went up to her sister, put her arm round her neck, and conducted her to the hall. here she placed her in her own seat of honour, whilst she herself sat down on a low stool at her feet. and she said to astrid that from henceforth she must sit there, in order to accustom herself to the place she should take as queen. for ingegerd did not wish that king olaf should have any occasion to be ashamed of his queen. 'then the princess sent her maidens to the wardrobes and the pantries to fetch the dowry she had chosen for herself. and she gave everything to her sister, so that astrid should not come to norway's king as a poor bondwoman. she had also settled which of the serfs and maidens should accompany astrid, and at last she made her a present of her own splendid galley. '"thou shalt certainly have my galley," she said. "thou knowest there are many good men at the oars. for it is my will that thou shalt come well dowered to norway's king, so that he may feel honoured with his queen." 'and afterwards the princess had sat a long time with her sister, and spoken with her about king olaf. but she had spoken of him as one speaks of the saints of god, and not of kings, and astrid had not understood many of her words. but this much she did understand--that the king's daughter wished to give astrid all the good thoughts that dwelt in her own heart, in order that king olaf might not be so disappointed as her father wished. and then astrid, who was not so bad as people thought her, forgot how often she had suffered for her sister's sake, and she wished that she had been able to say, "i will not go!" she had also spoken to her sister about this wish, and they had cried together, and for the first time felt like sisters. 'but it was not astrid's nature to allow herself to be weighed down by sorrow and scruples. by the time she was out at sea she had forgotten all her sorrow and fear. she travelled as a princess, and was waited upon as a princess. for the first time since her mother's death she was happy.' when the king's beautiful daughter had told hjalte all this she was silent for a moment, and looked at him. hjalte had sat immovable whilst she was speaking, but the king's daughter grew pale when she saw the pain his face betrayed. 'tell me what thou thinkest, hjalte,' she exclaimed. 'now, we are soon at kungahälla. how shall i fare there? will the king slay me? will he brand me with red-hot irons, and send me back again? tell me the truth, hjalte.' but hjalte did not answer. he sat and talked to himself without knowing it. astrid heard him murmur that at kungahälla no one knew ingegerd, and that he himself had but little inclination to turn back. but now hjalte's moody face fell upon astrid, and he began to question her. she had wished, had she not, that she could have said 'no' to this journey. when she came to kungahälla, the choice lay before her. what did she, then, mean to do! would she tell king olaf who she was? this question caused astrid not a little embarrassment. she was silent for a long while, but then she began to beg hjalte to go with her to kungahälla and tell the king the truth. she told hjalte that her maidens and the men on board her ship had been bound to silence. 'and what i shall do myself i do not know,' she said. 'how can i know that? i have heard all thou hast told ingegerd about olaf haraldsson.' when astrid said this she saw that hjalte was again lost in thought. she heard him mutter to himself that he did not think she would confess how things were. 'but i must all the same tell her what awaits her,' he said. then hjalte rose, and spoke to her with the utmost gravity. 'let me tell thee yet another story, astrid, about king olaf, which i have not told thee before: 'it was at the time when king olaf was a poor sea-king, when he only possessed a few good ships and some faithful warriors, but none of his forefathers' land. it was at the time when he fought with honour on distant seas, chastised vikings and protected merchants, and aided christian princes with his sword. 'the king had a dream that one night an angel of god descended to his ship, set all the sails, and steered for the north. and it seemed to the king that they had not sailed for a longer time than it takes the dawn to extinguish a star before they came to a steep and rocky shore, cut up by narrow fjords and bordered with milk-white breakers. but when they reached the shore the angel stretched out his hand, and spoke in his silvery voice. it rang through the wind, which whistled in the sails, and through the waves surging round the keel. '"thou, king olaf," were the angel's words, "shalt possess this land for all time." 'and when the angel had said this the dream was over.' hjalte now tried to explain to astrid that like as the dawn tempers the transition from dark night to sunny day, so god had not willed that king olaf should at once understand that the dream foretold him of superhuman honour. the king had not understood that it was the will of god that he from a heavenly throne should reign forever and ever over norway's land, that kings should reign and kings should pass away, but holy king olaf should continue to rule his kingdom for ever. the king's humility did not let him see the heavenly message in its fulness of light, and he understood the words of the angel thus--that he and his seed should forever rule over the land the angel had shown him. and inasmuch as he thought he recognised in this land the kingdom of his forefathers, he steered his course for norway, and, fortune helping him, he soon became king of that land. 'and thus it is still, astrid. although everything indicates that in king olaf dwells a heavenly strength, he himself is still in doubt, and thinks that he is only called to be an earthly king. he does not yet stretch forth his hand for the crown of the saints. but now the time cannot be far distant when he must fully realize his mission. it cannot be far distant.' and old hjalte went on speaking, whilst the light of the seer shone in his soul and on his brow. 'is there any other woman but ingegerd who would not be rejected by olaf haraldsson and driven from his side when he fully understands the words of the angel, that he shall be norway's king for all time? is there anyone who can, then, follow him in his holy walk except ingegerd?' and again hjalte turned to astrid and asked with great severity: 'answer me now and tell me whether thou wilt speak the truth to king olaf?' astrid was now sore afraid. she answered humbly: 'why wilt thou not go with me to kungahälla? then i shall be compelled to tell everything. canst thou not see, hjalte, that i do not know myself what i shall do? if it were my intention to deceive the king, could i not promise thee all thou wishest? all that i needed was to persuade thee to go on thy way. but i am weak; i only asked thee to go with me.' but hardly had she said this before she saw hjalte's face glow with fierce wrath. 'why should i help thee to escape the fate that awaits thee?' he asked. and then he said that he did not think he had any cause to show her mercy. he hated her for having sinned against her sister. the man that she would steal, thief as she was, belonged to ingegerd. even a hardened warrior like hjalte must groan with pain when he thought of how ingegerd had suffered. but astrid had felt nothing. in the midst of all that young maiden's sorrow she had come with wicked and cruel cunning, and had only sought her own happiness. woe unto astrid! woe unto her! hjalte had lowered his voice; it became heavy and dull; it sounded to astrid as if he were murmuring an incantation. 'it is thou,' he said to her, 'who hast destroyed my most beautiful song.' for the most beautiful song hjalte had made was the one in which he had joined the most pious of all women with the greatest of all men. 'but thou hast spoiled my song,' he said, 'and made a mockery of it; and i will punish thee, thou child of hél. i will punish thee; as the lord punisheth the tempter who brought sin into his world, i will punish thee. but do not ask me,' he continued, 'to protect thee against thine own self. i remember the princess, and how she must suffer through the trick thou playest on king olaf. for her sake thou shalt be punished, just as much as for mine. i will not go with thee to betray thee. that is my revenge, astrid. i will not betray thee. go thou to kungahälla, astrid; and if thou dost not speak of thine own accord, thou wilt become the king's bride. but then, thou serpent, punishment shall overtake thee! i know king olaf, and i know thee. thy life shall be such a burden that thou wilt wish for death every day that passes.' when hjalte had said this he turned away from her and went his way. astrid sat a long time silent, thinking of what she had heard. but then a smile came over her face. he forgot, did old hjalte, that she had suffered many trials, that she had learnt to laugh at pain. but happiness, happiness, that she had never tried. and astrid rose and went to the opening of the tent. she saw the angry bard's ship. she thought that far, far away she could see iceland, shrouded in mist, welcoming her much-travelled son with cold and darkness. iii a sunny day late in the harvest, not a cloud in the sky; a day when one thinks the fair sun will give to the earth all the light she possesses! the fair sun is like a mother whose son is about to set out for a far-off land, and who, in the hour of the leave-taking, cannot take her eyes from the beloved. in the long valley where kungahälla lies there is a row of small hills covered with beech-wood. and now at harvest-time the trees have garbed themselves in such splendid raiment that one's heart is gladdened. one would almost think that the trees were going a-wooing. it looks as if they had clothed themselves in gold and scarlet to win a rich bride by their splendour. the large island of hisingen, on the other side of the river, had also adorned itself. but hisingen is covered with golden-white birch-trees. at hisingen the trees are clad in light colours, as if they are little maidens in bridal attire. but up the river, which comes rushing down towards the ocean as proudly and wildly as if the harvest rain had filled it with frothy wine, there passes the one ship after the other, rowing homewards. and when the ships approach kungahälla they hoist new white sails, instead of the old ones of gray wadmal; and one cannot help thinking of old fairy-tales of kings' sons who go out seeking adventures clothed in rags, but who throw them off when they again enter the king's lofty hall. but all the people of kungahälla have assembled at the landing-stages. old and young are busy unloading goods from the ships. they fill the storehouses with salt and train-oil, with costly weapons, and many-coloured rugs. they haul large and small vessels on to land, they question the returned seamen about their voyage. but suddenly all work ceases, and every eye is turned towards the river. right between the big merchant vessels a large galley is making its way, and people ask each other in astonishment who it can be that carries sails striped with purple and a golden device on the prow; they wonder what kind of ship it can be that comes flying over the waves like a bird. they praise the oarsmen, who handle the oars so evenly that they flash along the sides of the ship like an eagle's wings. 'it must be the swedish princess who is coming,' they say. 'it must be the beautiful princess ingegerd, for whom olaf haraldsson has been waiting the whole summer and harvest.' and the women hasten down to the riverside to see the princess when she rows past them on her way to the king's landing-stage. men and boys run to the ships, or climb the roofs of the boathouses. when the women see the princess standing in gorgeous apparel, they begin to shout to her, and to greet her with words of welcome; and every man who sees her radiant face tears his cap from his head and swings it high in the air. but on the king's landing-stage stands king olaf himself, and when he sees the princess his face beams with gladness, and his eyes light up with tender love. and as it is now so late in the year that all the flowers are faded, the young maidens pluck the golden-red autumnal leaves from the trees and strew them on the bridge and in the street; and they hasten to deck their houses with the bright berries of the mountain-ash and the dark-red leaves of the poplar. the princess, who stands high on the ship, sees the people waving and greeting her in welcome. she sees the golden-red leaves over which she shall walk, and foremost on the landing-stage she sees the king awaiting her with smiles. and the princess forgets everything she would have said and confessed. she forgets that she is not ingegerd, she forgets everything except the one thing, that she is to be the wife of olaf haraldsson. * * * * * one sunday olaf haraldsson was seated at table, and his beautiful queen sat by his side. he was talking eagerly with her, resting his elbow on the table, and turning towards her, so that he could see her face. but when astrid spoke the king lowered his eyes in order not to think of anything but her lovely voice, and when she had been speaking for a long time he began to cut the table with his knife without thinking of what he was doing. all king olaf's men knew that he would not have done this if he had remembered that it was sunday; but they had far too great a respect for king olaf to venture to remind him that he was committing a sin. the longer astrid talked, the more uneasy became his henchmen. the queen saw that they exchanged troubled glances with each other, but she did not understand what was the matter. all had finished eating, and the food had been removed, but king olaf still sat and talked with astrid and cut the top of the table. a whole little heap of chips lay in front of him. then at last his friend björn, the son of ogur from selö, spoke. 'what day is it to-morrow, eilif?' he asked, turning to one of the torch-bearers. 'to-morrow is monday,' answered eilif in a loud and clear voice. then the king lifted his head and looked up at eilif. 'dost thou say that to-morrow is monday?' he asked thoughtfully. without saying another word, the king gathered up all the chips he had cut off the table into his hand, went to the fireplace, seized a burning coal, and laid it on the chips, which soon caught fire. the king stood quite still and let them burn to ashes in his hand. then all the henchmen rejoiced, but the young queen grew pale as death. 'what sentence will he pronounce over me when he one day finds out my sin,' she thought, 'he who punishes himself so hardly for so slight an offence?' * * * * * agge from gardarike lay sick on board his galley in kungahälla harbour. he was lying in the narrow hold awaiting death. he had been suffering for a long time from pains in his foot, and now there was an open sore, and in the course of the last few hours it had begun to turn black. 'thou needest not die, agge,' said lodulf from kunghälla, who had come on board to see his sick friend. 'dost thou not know that king olaf is here in the town, and that god, on account of his piety and holiness, has given him power to heal the sick? send a message to him and ask him to come and lay his hand upon thee, and thou wilt recover.' 'no, i cannot ask help from him,' answered agge. 'olaf haraldsson hates me because i have slain his foster-brother, reor the white. if he knew that my ship lay in the harbour, he would send his men to kill me.' but when lodulf had left agge and gone into the town, he met the young queen, who had been in the forest gathering nuts. 'queen,' lodulf cried to her, 'say this to king olaf: "agge from gardarike, who has slain thy foster-brother, lies at the point of death on his ship in the harbour."' the young queen hastened home and went immediately up to king olaf, who stood in the courtyard smoothing the mane of his horse. 'rejoice, king olaf!' she said. 'agge from gardarike, who slew thy foster-brother, lies sick on his ship in the harbour and is near death.' olaf haraldsson at once led his horse into the stable; then he went out without sword or helmet. he went quickly down one of the narrow lanes between the houses until he reached the harbour. there he found the ship which belonged to agge. the king was at the side of the sick man before agge's men thought of stopping him. 'agge,' said king olaf, 'many a time i have pursued thee on the sea, and thou hast always escaped me. now thou hast been struck down with sickness here in my city. this is a sign to me that god hath given thy life into my hands.' agge made no answer. he was utterly feeble, and death was very near. olaf haraldsson laid his hands upon his breast and prayed to god. 'give me the life of this mine enemy,' he said. but the queen, who had seen the king hasten down to the harbour without helmet and sword, went into the hall, fetched his weapons and called for some of his men. then she hurried after him down to the ship. but when she stood outside the narrow hold, she heard king olaf praying for the sick man. astrid looked in and saw the king and agge without betraying her presence. she saw that whilst the king's hands rested upon the forehead and breast of the dying man, the deathly pallor vanished from his face; he began to breathe lightly and quietly; he ceased moaning, and at last he fell into a sound sleep. astrid went softly back to the king's castle. she dragged the king's sword after her along the road. her face was paler than the dying man's had been. her breathing was heavy, like that of a dying person. * * * * * it was the morning of all saints' day, and king olaf was ready to go to mass. he came out of the king's hall and went across the courtyard towards the gateway. several of the king's henchmen stood in the courtyard to accompany him to mass. when the king came towards them, they drew up in two rows, and the king passed between them. astrid stood in the narrow corridor outside the women's room and looked down at the king. he wore a broad golden band round his head, and was attired in a long mantle of red velvet. he went very quietly, and there was a holy peace over his face. astrid was terrified to see how much he resembled the saints and kings that were carved in wood over the altar in the marie church. at the gateway stood a man in a broad-brimmed hat, and wearing a big mantle. when the king approached him he threw off his mantle, lifted a drawn sword, which he had hidden under it, and rushed at the king. but when he was quite close to him, the mild and gentle glance of the king fell upon him, and he suddenly stopped. he let his sword fall to the ground, and fell on his knees. king olaf stood still, and looked at the man with the same clear glance; the man tried to turn his eyes away from him, but he could not. at last he burst into tears and sobs. 'oh, king olaf! king olaf!' he moaned. 'thine enemies sent me hither to slay thee; but when i saw thy saintly face my sword fell from my hand. thine eyes, king olaf, have felled me to the ground.' astrid sank upon her knees where she stood. 'oh god, have mercy upon me, a sinner!' she said. 'woe unto me, because by lying and deceit i have become the wife of this man.' iv on the evening of all saints' day the moon shone bright and clear. the king had gone the round of the castle, had looked into stables and barns to see that all was well; he had even been to the house where the serfs dwelt to ascertain if they were well looked after. when he went back to the king's hall, he saw a woman with a black kerchief over her head stealing towards the gateway. he thought he knew her, and therefore followed her. she went out of the gateway, over the market place, and stole down the narrow lanes to the river. olaf haraldsson went after her as quietly as he could. he saw her go on to one of the landing-stages, stand still, and look down into the water. she stretched out her arms towards heaven, and, with a deep sigh, she went so near the edge that the king saw she meant to spring into the river. the king approached her with the noiseless steps which a life full of danger had taught him. twice the woman lifted her foot to make the spring, but she hesitated. before she could make a new attempt, king olaf had his arm round her waist and drew her back. 'thou unhappy one!' he said. 'thou wouldest do that which god hath prohibited.' when the woman heard his voice she held her hands before her face as if to hide it. but king olaf knew who she was. the rustle of her dress, the shape of her head, the golden rings on her arms had already told him that it was the queen. the first moment astrid had struggled to free herself, but she soon grew quiet, and tried to make the king believe that she had not intended to kill herself. 'king olaf, why dost thou secretly come behind a poor woman who hath gone down to the river to see how she is mirrored in the water? what must i think of thee?' astrid's voice sounded composed and playful. the king stood silent. 'thou hast frightened me so that i nearly fell into the river,' astrid said. 'didst thou think, perhaps, that i would drown myself?' the king answered: 'i know not what to believe; god will enlighten me.' astrid laughed and kissed him. 'what woman would take her life who is as happy as i am? doth one take one's life in paradise?' 'i do not understand it,' said king olaf, in his gentle manner. 'god will enlighten me. he will tell me if it be through any fault of mine that thou wouldest commit so great a sin.' astrid went up to him and stroked his cheek. the reverence she felt for king olaf had hitherto deterred her from showing him the full tenderness of her love. now she threw her arms passionately around him and kissed him countless times. then she began to speak to him in gentle, bird-like tones. 'wouldest thou know how truly my heart clings to thee?' she said. she made the king sit down on an overturned boat. she knelt down at his feet. 'king olaf,' she said, 'i will no longer be queen. she who loves as greatly as i love thee cannot be a queen. i wish thou wouldest go far into the forest, and let me be thy bondwoman. then i should have leave to serve thee every day. then i would prepare thy food, make thy bed, and watch over thy house whilst thou slept. none other should have leave to serve thee, except i. when thou returnest from the chase in the evening, i would go to meet thee, and kneel before thee on the road and say: "king olaf, my life is thine." and thou wouldest laugh, and lower thy spear against my breast, and say: "yes, thy life is mine. thou hast neither father nor mother; thou art mine, and thy life is mine."' as astrid said this, she drew, as if in play, king olaf's sword out of its sheath. she laid the hilt in the king's hand, but the point she directed towards her own heart. 'say these words to me, king olaf,' she said, 'as if we were alone in the forest, and i were thy bondwoman. say: "thy life is mine."' 'thy life is god's,' said the king. astrid laughed lightly. 'my life is thine,' she repeated, in the tenderest voice, and the same moment king olaf felt that she pressed the point of the sword against her breast. but the king held the sword with a firm hand, even when in play. he drew it to him before astrid had time to do herself any harm. and he sprang up. for the first time in his life he trembled from fear. the queen would die at his hand, and she had not been far from attaining her wish. at the same moment he had an inspiration, and he understood what was the cause of her despair. 'she has committed a sin,' he thought. 'she has a sin upon her conscience.' he bent down over astrid. 'tell me in what manner thou hast sinned,' he said. astrid had thrown herself down on the rough planks of the bridge, crying in utter despair. 'no one free from guilt would weep like this,' thought the king. 'but how can the honourable daughter of the king have brought such a heavy burden upon her?' he asked himself. 'how can the noble ingegerd have a crime upon her conscience?' 'ingegerd, tell me how thou hast sinned,' he asked again. but astrid was sobbing so violently that she could not answer, but instead she drew off her golden arm and finger rings, and handed them to the king with averted face. the king thought how unlike this was to the gentle king's daughter of whom hjalte had spoken. 'is this hjalte's ingegerd that lies sobbing at my feet?' he thought. he bent down and seized astrid by the shoulder. 'who are thou? who art thou?' he said, shaking her arm. 'i see that thou canst not be ingegerd. who art thou?' astrid was still sobbing so violently that she could not speak. but in order to give the king the answer he asked for, she let down her long hair, twisted a lock of it round her arms, and held them towards the king, and sat thus bowed and with drooping head. the king thought: 'she wishes me to understand that she belongs to those who wear chains. she confesses that she is a bondwoman.' a thought again struck the king; he now understood everything. 'has not the svea-king a daughter who is the child of a bondwoman?' he asked suddenly. he received no answer to this question either, but he heard astrid shudder as if from cold. king olaf asked still one more question. 'thou whom i have made my wife,' he said, 'hast thou so low a mind that thou wouldest allow thyself to be used as a means of spoiling a man's honour? is thy mind so mean that thou rejoicest when his enemies laugh at his discomfiture?' astrid could hear from the king's voice how bitterly he suffered under the insult that had been offered him. she forgot her own sufferings, and wept no more. 'take my life,' she said. a great temptation came upon king olaf. 'slay this wicked bondwoman,' the old adam said within him. 'show the svea-king what it costs to make a fool of the king of norway.' at that moment olaf haraldsson felt no love for astrid. he hated her for having been the means of his humiliation. he knew everybody would think it right when he returned evil for evil, and if he did not avenge this insult, he would be held in derision by the bards, and his enemies would no longer fear him. he had but one wish: to slay astrid, to take her life. his anger was so violent that it craved for blood. if a fool had dared to put his fool's cap upon his head, would he not have torn it off, torn it to pieces, thrown it on the ground, trampled upon it? if he now laid astrid a bloody corpse upon her ship, and sent her back to her father, people would say of king olaf that he was a worthy descendant of harald haarfager. but king olaf still held his sword in his hand, and under his fingers he felt the hilt, upon which he had once had inscribed: 'blessed are the peacemakers,' 'blessed are the meek,' 'blessed are the merciful.' and every time he, in this hour of anguish, grasped his sword firmly in order to slay astrid, he felt these words under his hand. he thought he could feel every letter. he remembered the day when he had first heard these words. 'this i will write in letters of gold on the hilt of my sword,' he had said, 'so that the words may burn in my hand every time i would swing my sword in fury, or for an unjust cause.' he felt that the hilt of the sword now burnt in his hand. king olaf said aloud to himself: 'formerly thou wert the slave of many lusts; now thou hast but one master, and that is god.' with these words he put back the sword into its sheath, and began to walk to and fro on the bridge. astrid remained lying in the same position. king olaf saw that she crouched in fear of death every time he went past her. 'i will not slay thee,' he said; but his voice sounded hard from hatred. king olaf continued for awhile to walk backwards and forwards on the bridge; then he went up to astrid, and asked her in the same hard voice what her real name was, and that she was able to answer him. he looked at this woman whom he had so highly treasured, and who now lay at his feet like a wounded deer--he looked down upon her as a dead man's soul looks with pity at the poor body which was once its dwelling. 'oh, thou my soul,' said king olaf, 'it was there thou dwelt in love, and now thou art as homeless as a beggar.' he drew nearer to astrid, and spoke as if she were no longer living or could hear what he said. 'it was told me that there was a king's daughter whose heart was so pure and holy that she endued with peace all who came near her. they told me of her gentleness, that he who saw her felt as safe as a helpless child does with its mother, and when the beautiful woman who now lies here came to me, i thought that she was ingegerd, and she became exceeding dear to me. she was so beautiful and glad, and she made my own heavy thoughts light. and did she sometimes act otherwise than i expected the proud ingegerd to do, she was too dear to me to doubt her; she stole into my heart with her joyousness and beauty.' he was silent for a time, and thought how dear astrid had been to him and how happiness had with her come to his house. 'i could forgive her,' he said aloud. 'i could again make her my queen, i could in love take her in my arms; but i _dare_ not, for my soul would still be homeless. ah, thou fair woman,' he said, 'why dost lying dwell within thee? with thee there is no security, no rest.' the king went on bemoaning himself, but now astrid stood up. 'king olaf, do not speak thus to me,' she said; 'i will rather die. understand, i am in earnest.' then she tried to say a few words to excuse herself. she told him that she had gone to kungahälla not with the intention of deceiving him, but in order to be a princess for a few weeks, to be waited upon like a queen, to sail on the sea. but she had intended to confess who she was as soon as she came to kungahälla. there she expected to find hjalte and the other great men who knew ingegerd. she had never thought of deceiving him when she came, but an evil spirit had sent all those away who knew ingegerd, and then the temptation had come to her. 'when i saw thee, king olaf,' she said, 'i forgot everything to become thine, and i thought i would gladly suffer death at thine hand had i but for one day been thy wife.' king olaf answered her: 'i see that what was deadly earnest to me was but a pastime to thee. never hast thou thought upon what it was to come and say to a man: "i am she whom thou most fervently desirest; i am that high-born maiden whom it is the greatest honour to win." and then thou art not that woman; thou art but a lying bondwoman.' 'i have loved thee from the first moment i heard thy name,' astrid said softly. the king clenched his hand in anger against her. 'know, astrid, that i have longed for ingegerd as no man has ever longed for woman. i would have clung to her as the soul of the dead clings to the angel bearing him upwards. i thought she was so pure that she could have helped me to lead a sinless life.' and he broke out into wild longings, and said that he longed for the power of the holy ones of god, but that he was too weak and sinful to attain to perfection. 'but the king's daughter could have helped me,' he said; 'she the saintly and gentle one would have helped me. oh, my god,' he said, 'whichever way i turn i see sinners, wherever i go i meet those who would entice me to sin. why didst thou not send me the king's daughter, who had not a single evil thought in her heart? her gentle eye would have found the right path for my foot. whenever i strayed from it her gentle hand would have led me back.' a feeling of utter helplessness and the weariness of despair fell upon olaf haraldsson. 'it was this upon which i had set my hopes,' he said--'to have a good woman at my side, not to wander alone amongst wickedness and sin forever. now i feel that i must succumb; i am unable to fight any longer. have i not asked god,' he exclaimed, 'what place i shall have before his face? to what hast thou chosen me, thou lord of souls? is it appointed unto me to become the equal of apostles and martyrs? but now, astrid, i need ask no longer; god hath not been willing to give me that woman who should have assisted me in my wandering. now i know that i shall never win the crown of the saints.' the king was silent in inconsolable despair; then astrid drew nearer to him. 'king olaf,' she said, 'what thou now sayest both hjalte and ingegerd have told me long ago, but i would not believe that thou wert more than a good and brave knight and noble king. it is only now that i have lived under thy roof that my soul has begun to fear thee. i have felt that it was worse than death to appear before thee with a lie upon my lips. never have i been so terrified,' astrid continued, 'as when i understood that thou wast a saint. when i saw thee burn the chips in thine hand, when i saw sickness flee at thy bidding, and the sword fall out of thine enemy's hand when he met thee, i was terrified unto death when i saw that thou wast a saint, and i resolved to die before thou knewest that i had deceived thee.' king olaf did not answer. astrid looked up at him; she saw that his eyes were turned towards heaven. she did not know if he had heard her. 'ah,' she said, 'this moment have i feared every day and every hour since i came hither. i would have died rather than live through it.' olaf haraldsson was still silent. 'king olaf,' she said, 'i would gladly give my life for thee; i would gladly throw myself into the gray river so that thou shouldst not live with a lying woman at thy side. the more i saw of thy holiness the better i understood that i must go from thee. a saint of god cannot have a lying bondwoman at his side.' the king was still silent, but now astrid raised her eyes to his face; then she cried out, terror-stricken: 'king olaf, thy face shines.' whilst astrid spoke, god had shown king olaf a vision. he saw all the stars of heaven leave their appointed places, and fly like swarming bees about the universe. but suddenly they all gathered above his head and formed a radiant crown. 'astrid,' said he, with trembling voice, 'god hath spoken to me. it is true what thou sayest. i shall become a saint of god.' his voice trembled from emotion, and his face shone in the night. but when astrid saw the light that surrounded his head, she arose. for her the last hope had faded. 'now i will go,' she said. 'now thou knowest whom thou art. thou canst never more bear me at thy side. but think gently of me. without joy or happiness have i lived all my life. in rags have i gone; blows have i endured. forgive me when i am gone. my love has done thee no harm.' when astrid in silent despair crossed over the bridge, olaf haraldsson awoke from his ecstasy. he hastened after her. 'why wilt thou go?' he said. 'why wilt thou go?' '_must_ i not go from thee when thou art a saint?' she whispered scarcely audibly. 'thou shalt not go. now thou canst remain,' said king olaf. 'before, i was a lowly man and must fear all sin; a poor earthly king was i, too poor to bestow on thee my grace; but now all the glory of heaven has been given to me. art thou weak? i am the lord's knight. dost thou fall? i can lift thee up. god hath chosen me, astrid. thou canst not harm me, but i can help thee. ah! what am i saying? in this hour god hath so wholly and fully shed the riches of his love in my heart that i cannot even see thou hast done wrong.' gently and tenderly he lifted up the trembling form, and whilst lovingly supporting her, who was still sobbing and who could hardly stand upright, he and astrid went back to the king's castle. _from a swedish_ homestead iii _old_ agnete _old_ agnete an old woman went up the mountain-path with short, tripping steps. she was little and thin. her face was pale and wizened, but neither hard nor furrowed. she wore a long cloak and a quilled cap. she had a prayer-book in her hand and a sprig of lavender in her handkerchief. she lived in a hut far up the high mountain where no trees could grow. it was lying quite close to the edge of a broad glacier, which sent its river of ice from the snow-clad mountain peak into the depths of the valley. there she lived quite alone. all those who had belonged to her were dead. it was sunday, and she had been to church. but whatever might be the cause, her going there had not made her happy, but sorrowful. the clergyman had spoken about death and the doomed, and that had affected her. she had suddenly begun to think of how she had heard in her childhood that many of the doomed were tormented in the region of eternal cold on the mountain right above her dwelling. she could remember many tales about these wanderers of the glaciers--these indefatigable shadows which were hunted from place to place by the icy mountain winds. all at once she felt a great terror of the mountain, and thought that her hut was dreadfully high up. supposing those who moved about invisibly there wandered down the glaciers! and she who was quite alone! the word 'alone' gave to her thoughts a still sadder turn. she again felt the full burden of that sorrow which never left her. she thought how hard it was to be so far away from human beings. 'old agnete,' she said aloud to herself, as she had got into the habit of doing in the lonely waste, 'you sit in your hut and spin, and spin. you work and toil all the hours of the day so as not to perish from hunger. but is there anyone to whom you give any pleasure by being alive? is there anyone, old agnete? if any of your own were living----yes, then, perhaps, if you lived nearer the village, you might be of some use to somebody. poor as you are, you could neither take dog nor cat home to you, but you could probably now and then give a beggar shelter. you ought not to live so far away from the highroad, old agnete. if you could only once in a while give a thirsty wayfarer a drink, then you would know that it was of some use your being alive.' she sighed, and said to herself that not even the peasant women who gave her flax to spin would mourn her death. she had certainly striven to do her work honestly and well, but no doubt there were many who could have done it better. she began to cry bitterly, when the thought struck her that his reverence, who had seen her sitting in the same place in church for so many, many years, would perhaps think it a matter of perfect indifference whether she was dead or not. 'it is as if i were dead,' she said. 'no one asks after me. i would just as well lie down and die. i am already frozen to death from cold and loneliness. i am frozen to the core of the heart, i am indeed. ah me! ah me!' she said, now she had been set a-thinking; 'if there were only someone who really needed me, there might still be a little warmth left in old agnete. but i cannot knit stockings for the mountain goats, or make the beds for the marmots, can i? i tell thee,' she said, stretching our her hands towards heaven, 'something thou must give me to do, or i shall lay me down and die.' at the same moment a tall, stern monk came towards her. he walked by her side because he saw that she was sorrowful, and she told him about her troubles. she said that her heart was nearly frozen to death, and that she would become like one of the wanderers on the glacier if god did not give her something to live for. 'god will assuredly do that,' said the monk. 'do you not see that god is powerless here?' old agnete said. 'here there is nothing but an empty, barren waste.' they went higher and higher towards the snow mountains. the moss spread itself softly over the stones; the alpine herbs, with their velvety leaves, grew along the pathway; the mountain, with its rifts and precipices, its glaciers and snow-drifts, towered above them, weighing them down. then the monk discovered old agnete's hut, right below the glacier. 'oh,' he said, 'is it there you live? then you are not alone there; you have company enough. only look!' the monk put his thumb and first finger together, held them before old agnete's left eye, and bade her look through them towards the mountain. but old agnete shuddered and closed her eyes. 'if there is anything to see up there, then i will not look on any account,' she said. 'the lord preserve us! it is bad enough without that.' 'good-bye, then,' said the monk; 'it is not certain that you will be permitted to see such a thing a second time.' old agnete grew curious; she opened her eyes and looked towards the glacier. at first she saw nothing remarkable, but soon she began to discern things moving about. what she had taken to be mist and vapour, or bluish-white shadows on the ice, were multitudes of doomed souls, tormented in the eternal cold. poor old agnete trembled like an aspen leaf. everything was just as she had heard it described in days gone by. the dead wandered about there in endless anguish and pain. most of them were shrouded in something long and white, but all had their faces and their hands bared. they could not be counted, there was such a multitude. the longer she looked, the more there appeared. some walked proud and erect, others seemed to dance over the glacier; but she saw that they all cut their feet on the sharp and jagged edges of the ice. it was just as she had been told. she saw how they constantly huddled close together, as if to warm themselves, but immediately drew back again, terrified by the deathly cold which emanated from their bodies. it was as if the cold of the mountain came from them, as if it were they who prevented the snow from melting and made the mist so piercingly cold. they were not all moving; some stood in icy stoniness, and it looked as if they had been standing thus for years, for ice and snow had gathered around them so that only the upper portion of their bodies could be seen. the longer the little old woman gazed the quieter she grew. fear left her, and she was only filled with sorrow for all these tormented beings. there was no abatement in their pain, no rest for their torn feet, hurrying over ice sharp as edged steel. and how cold they were! how they shivered! how their teeth chattered from cold! those who were petrified and those who could move, all suffered alike from the snarling, biting, unbearable cold. there were many young men and women; but there was no youth in their faces, blue with cold. it looked as if they were playing, but all joy was dead. they shivered, and were huddled up like old people. but those who made the deepest impression on her were those frozen fast in the hard glacier, and those who were hanging from the mountain-side like great icicles. then the monk removed his hand, and old agnete saw only the barren, empty glaciers. here and there were ice-mounds, but they did not surround any petrified ghosts. the blue light on the glacier did not proceed from frozen bodies; the wind chased the snowflakes before it, but not any ghosts. still old agnete was certain that she had really seen all this, and she asked the monk: 'is it permitted to do anything for these poor doomed ones?' he answered: 'when has god forbidden love to do good or mercy to solace?' then the monk went his way, and old agnete went to her hut and thought it all over. the whole evening she pondered how she could help the doomed who were wandering on the glaciers. for the first time in many years she had been too busy to think of her loneliness. next morning she again went down to the village. she smiled, and was well content. old age was no longer so heavy a burden. 'the dead,' she said to herself, 'do not care so much about red cheeks and light steps. they only want one to think of them with a little warmth. but young people do not trouble to do that. oh no, oh no. how should the dead protect themselves from the terrible coldness of death did not old people open their hearts to them? when she came to the village shop she bought a large package of candles, and from a peasant she ordered a great load of firewood; but in order to pay for it she had to take in twice as much spinning as usual. towards evening, when she got home again, she said many prayers, and tried to keep up her courage by singing hymns. but her courage sank more and more. all the same, she did what she had made up her mind to do. she moved her bed into the inner room of her hut. in the front room she made a big fire and lighted it. in the window she placed two candles, and left the outer door wide open. then she went to bed. she lay in the darkness and listened. yes, there certainly was a step. it was as if someone had come gliding down the glacier. it came heavily, moaning. it crept round the hut as if it dared not come in. close to the wall it stood and shivered. old agnete could not bear it any longer. she sprang out of bed, went into the outer room and closed the door. it was too much; flesh and blood could not stand it. outside the hut she heard deep sighs and dragging steps, as of sore, wounded feet. they dragged themselves away further and further up the icy glacier. now and again she also heard sobs; but soon everything was quiet. then old agnete was beside herself with anxiety. 'you are a coward, you silly old thing,' she said. 'both the fire and the lights, which cost so much, are burning out. shall it all have been done in vain because you are such a miserable coward?' and when she had said this she got out of bed again, crying from fear, with chattering teeth, and shivering all over; but into the other room she went, and the door she opened. again she lay and waited. now she was no longer frightened that they should come. she was only afraid lest she had scared them away, and that they dared not come back. and as she lay there in the darkness she began to call just as she used to do in her young days when she was tending the sheep. 'my little white lambs, my lambs in the mountains, come, come! come down from rift and precipice, my little white lambs!' then it seemed as if a cold wind from the mountain came rushing into the room. she heard neither step nor sob, only gusts of wind that came rushing along the walls of the hut into the room. and it sounded as if someone were continually saying: 'hush, hush! don't frighten her! don't frighten her! don't frighten her!' she had a feeling as if the outside room was so overcrowded that they were being crushed against the walls, and that the walls were giving way. sometimes it seemed as if they would lift the roof in order to gain more room. but the whole time there were whispers: 'hush, hush! don't frighten her! don't frighten her!' then old agnete felt happy and peaceful. she folded her hands and fell asleep. in the morning it seemed as if the whole had been a dream. everything looked as usual in the outer room; the fire had burnt out, and so had the candles. there was not a vestige of tallow left in the candlesticks. as long as old agnete lived she continued to do this. she spun and worked so that she could keep her fire burning every night. and she was happy because someone needed her. then one sunday she was not in her usual seat in the church. two peasants went up to her hut to see if there was anything the matter. she was already dead, and they carried her body down to the village to bury it. when, the following sunday, her funeral took place, just before mass, there were but few who followed, neither did one see grief on any face. but suddenly, just as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, a tall, stern monk came into the churchyard, and he stood still and pointed to the snow-clad mountains. then they saw the whole mountain-ridge shining in a red light as if lighted with joy, and round it wound a procession of small yellow flames, looking like burning candles. and these flames numbered as many as the candles which old agnete had burned for the doomed. then people said: 'praise the lord! she whom no one mourns here below has all the same found friends in the solitude above.' _from a swedish_ homestead iv _the fisherman's_ ring _the fisherman's_ ring during the reign of the doge gradenigos there lived in venice an old fisherman, cecco by name. he had been an unusually strong man, and was still very strong for his age, but lately he had given up work and left it to his two sons to provide for him. he was very proud of his sons, and he loved them--ah, signor, how he loved them! fate had so ordered it that their bringing up had been almost entirely left to him. their mother had died early, and so cecco had to take care of them. he had looked after their clothes and cooked their food; he had sat in the boat with needle and cotton and mended and darned. he had not cared in the least that people had laughed at him on that account. he had also, quite alone, taught them all it was necessary for them to know. he had made a couple of able fishermen of them, and taught them to honour god and san marco. 'always remember,' he said to them, 'that venice will never be able to stand in her own strength. look at her! has she not been built on the waves? look at the low islands close to land, where the sea plays amongst the seaweed. you would not venture to tread upon them, and yet it is upon such foundation that the whole city rests. and do you not know that the north wind has strength enough to throw both churches and palaces into the sea? do you not know that we have such powerful enemies, that all the princes in christendom cannot vanquish them? therefore you must always pray to san marco, for in his strong hands rests the chains which hold venice suspended over the depths of the sea.' and in the evening, when the moon shed its light over venice, greenish-blue from the sea-mist; when they quietly glided up the canale grande and the gondolas they met were full of singers; when the palaces shone in their white splendour, and thousands of lights mirrored themselves in the dark waters--then he always reminded them that they must thank san marco for life and happiness. but oh, signor! he did not forget him in the daytime either. when they returned from fishing and glided over the water of the lagoons, light-blue and golden; when the city lay before them, swimming on the waves; when the great ships passed in and out of the harbour, and the palace of the doges shone like a huge jewel-casket, holding all the world's treasure--then he never forgot to tell them that all these things were the gift of san marco, and that they would all vanish if a single venetian were ungrateful enough to give up believing in and adoring him. then, one day, the sons went out fishing on the open sea, outside lido. they were in company with several others, had a splendid vessel, and intended being away several days. the weather was fine, and they hoped for a goodly haul. they left the rialto, the large island where the city proper lies, one early morning, and as they passed through the lagoons they saw all the islands which, like fortifications, protect venice against the sea, appear through the mist of the morning. there were la gindecca and san giorgio on the right, and san michele, muracco and san lazzaro on the left. then island followed upon island in a large circle, right on to the long lido lying straight before them, and forming, as it were, the clasp of this string of pearls. and beyond lido was the wide, infinite sea. when they were well at sea, some of them got into a small boat and rowed out to set their nets. it was still fine weather, although the waves were higher here than inside the islands. none of them, however, dreamt of any danger. they had a good boat and were experienced men. but soon those left on the vessel saw that the sea and the sky suddenly grew darker in the north. they understood that a storm was coming on, and they at once shouted to their comrades, but they were already too far away to hear them. the wind first reached the small boat. when the fishermen suddenly saw the waves rise around them, as herds of cattle on a large plain arise in the morning, one of the men in the boat stood up and beckoned to his comrades, but the same moment he fell backwards into the sea. immediately afterwards a wave came which raised the boat on her bows, and one could see how the men, as it were, were shaken from off their seats and flung into the sea. it only lasted a moment, and everything had disappeared. then the boat again appeared, keel upwards. the men in the vessel tried to reach the spot, but could not tack against the wind. it was a terrific storm which came rushing over the sea, and soon the fishermen in the vessel had their work set to save themselves. they succeeded in getting home safely, however, and brought with them the news of the disaster. it was cecco's two sons and three others who had perished. ah me! how strangely things come about! the same morning cecco had gone down to the rialto to the fish-market. he went about amongst the stands and strutted about like a fine gentleman because he had no need to work. he even invited a couple of old lido fishermen to an asteri and stood them a beaker of wine. he grew very important as he sat there and bragged and boasted about his sons. his spirits rose high, and he took out the zecchine--the one the doge had given him when he had saved a child from drowning in canale grande. he was very proud of this large gold coin, carried it always about him, and showed it to people whenever there was an opportunity. suddenly a man entered the asteri and began to tell about the disaster, without noticing that cecco was sitting there. but he had not been speaking long before cecco threw himself over him and seized him by the throat. 'you do not dare to tell me that they are dead!' he shrieked--'not my sons!' the man succeeded in getting away from him, but cecco for a long time went on as if he were out of his mind. people heard him shout and groan; they crowded into the asteri--as many as it could hold--and stood round him in a circle as if he were a juggler. cecco sat on the floor and moaned. he hit the hard stone floor with his fist, and said over and over again: 'it is san marco, san marco, san marco!' 'cecco, you have taken leave of your senses from grief,' they said to him. 'i knew it would happen on the open sea,' cecco said; 'outside lido and malamocco, there, i knew it would happen. there san marco would take them. he bore them a grudge. i have feared it, boy. yes,' he said, without hearing what they said to quiet him, 'they once laughed at him, once when we were lying outside lido. he has not forgotten it; he will not stand being laughed at.' he looked with confused glances at the bystanders, as if to seek help. 'look here, beppo from malamocca,' he said, stretching out his hand towards a big fisherman, 'don't you believe it was san marco?' 'don't imagine any such thing, cecco.' 'now you shall hear, beppo, how it happened. you see, we were lying out at sea, and to while away the time i told them how san marco had come to venice. the evangelist san marco was first buried in a beautiful cathedral at alexandria in egypt. but the town got into the possession of unbelievers, and one day the khalifa ordered that they should build him a magnificent palace at alexandria, and take some columns from the christian churches for its decoration. but just at that time there were two venetian merchants at alexandria who had ten heavily-laden vessels lying in the harbour. when these men entered the church where san marco was buried and heard the command of the khalifa, they said to the sorrowful priests: "the precious body which you have in your church may be desecrated by the saracens. give it to us; we will honour it, for san marco was the first to preach on the lagoon, and the doge will reward you." and the priests gave their consent, and in order that the christians of alexandria should not object, the body of another holy man was placed in the evangelist's coffin. but to prevent the saracens from getting any news of the removal of the body, it was placed at the bottom of a large chest, and above it were packed hams and smoked bacon, which the saracens could not endure. so when the custom-house officers opened the lid of the chest, they at once hurried away. the two merchants, however, brought san marco safely to venice; you know, beppo, that this is what they say.' 'i do, cecco.' 'yes; but just listen now,' and cecco half arose, and in his fear spoke in a low voice. 'something terrible now happened. when i told the boys that the holy man had been hidden underneath the bacon, they burst out laughing. i tried to hush them, but they only laughed the louder. giacomo was lying on his stomach in the bows, and pietro sat with his legs dangling outside the boat, and they both laughed so that it could be heard far out over the sea.' 'but, cecco, surely two children may be allowed to laugh.' 'but don't you understand that is where they have perished to-day--on the very spot? or can you understand why they should have lost their lives on that spot?' now they all began to talk to him and comfort him. it was his grief which made him lose his senses. this was not like san marco. he would not revenge himself upon two children. was it not natural that when a boat was caught in a storm this would happen on the open sea and not in the harbour? surely his sons had not lived in enmity with san marco. they had heard them shout, '_eviva san marco!_' as eagerly as all the others, and had he not protected them to this very day. he had never, during the years that had passed, shown any sign of being angry with them. 'but, cecco,' they said, 'you will bring misfortune upon us with your talk about san marco. you, who are an old man and a wise man, should know better than to raise his anger against the venetians. what are we without him?' cecco sat and looked at them bewildered. 'then you don't believe it?' 'no one in his senses would believe such a thing.' it looked as if they had succeeded in quieting him. 'i will also try not to believe it,' he said. he rose and walked towards the door. 'it would be too cruel, would it not?' he said. 'they were too handsome and too brave for anyone to hate them; i will not believe it.' he went home, and in the narrow street outside his door he met an old woman, one of his neighbours. 'they are reading a mass in the cathedral for the souls of the dead,' she said to cecco, and hurried away. she was afraid of him; he looked so strange. cecco took his boat and made his way through the small canals down to riva degli schiavoni. there was a wide view from there; he looked towards lido and the sea. yes, it was a hard wind, but not a storm by any means; there were hardly any waves. and his sons had perished in weather like this! it was inconceivable. he fastened his boat, and went across the piazetta and the market place into san marco. there were many people in the church, and they were all kneeling and praying in great fear; for it is much more terrible for the venetians, you know, than any other people when there is a disaster at sea. they do not get their living from vineyards or fields, but they are all, everyone of them, dependent on the sea. whenever the sea rose against any one of them they were all afraid, and hurried to san marco to pray to him for protection. as soon as cecco entered the cathedral he stopped. he thought of how he had brought his little sons there, and taught them to pray to san marco. 'it is he who carries us over the sea, who opens the gates of byzance for us and gives us the supremacy over the islands of the east,' he said to them. out of gratitude for all this the venetians had built san marco the most beautiful temple in the world, and no vessel ever returned from a foreign port without bringing a gift for san marco. then they had admired the red marble walls of the cathedral and the golden mosaic ceiling. it was as if no misfortune could befall a city that had such a sanctuary for her patron saint. cecco quickly knelt down and began to pray, the one _paternoster_ after the other. it came back, he felt. he would send it away by prayers. he would not believe anything bad about san marco. but it had been no storm at all. and so much was certain, that even if the saint had not sent the storm, he had, in any case, not done anything to help cecco's sons, but had allowed them to perish as if by accident. when this thought came upon him he began to pray; but the thought would not leave him. and to think that san marco had a treasury in this cathedral full of all the glories of fairyland! to think that he had himself prayed to him all his life, and had never rowed past the piazetta without going into the cathedral to invoke him! surely it was not by a mere accident that his sons had to-day perished on the sea! oh, it was miserable for the venetians to have no one better to depend upon! just fancy a saint who revenged himself upon two children--a patron saint who could not protect against a gust of wind! he stood up, and he shrugged his shoulders, and disparagingly waved his hand when he looked towards the tomb of the saint in the chancel. a verger was going about with a large chased silver-gilt dish, collecting gifts for san marco. he went from the one person to the other, and also came to cecco. cecco drew back as if it were the evil one himself who handed him the plate. did san marco ask for gifts from him? did he think he deserved gifts from him? all at once he seized the large golden zecchine he had in his belt, and flung it into the plate with such violence that the ring of it could be heard all over the church. it disturbed those who were praying, and made them turn round. and all who saw cecco's face were terrified; he looked as if he were possessed of evil spirits. cecco immediately left the church, and at first felt it as a great relief that he had been revenged upon the saint. he had treated him as one treats a usurer who demands more than he is entitled to. 'take this too,' one says, and throws his last gold piece in the fellow's face so that the blood runs down over his eyes. but the usurer does not strike again--simply stoops and picks up the zecchine. so, too, had san marco done. he had accepted cecco's zecchine, having first robbed him of his sons. cecco had made him accept a gift which had been tendered with such bitter hatred. would an honourable man have put up with such treatment? but san marco was a coward--both cowardly and revengeful. but he was not likely to revenge himself upon cecco. he was, no doubt, pleased and thankful he had got the zecchine. he simply accepted it and pretended that it had been given as piously as could be. when cecco stood at the entrance, two vergers quickly passed him. 'it rises--it rises terribly!' the one said. 'what rises?' asked cecco. 'the water in the crypt. it has risen a foot in the last two or three minutes.' when cecco went down the steps, he saw a small pool of water on the market place close to the bottom step. it was sea-water, which had splashed up from the piazetta. he was surprised that the sea had risen so high, and he hurried down to the riva, where his boat lay. everything was as he had left it, only the water had risen considerably. it came rolling in broad waves through the five sea-gates; but the wind was not very strong. at the riva there were already pools of sea-water, and the canals rose so that the doors in the houses facing the water had to be closed. the sky was all gray like the sea. it never struck cecco that it might grow into a serious storm. he would not believe any such thing. san marco had allowed his sons to perish without cause. he felt sure this was no real storm. he would just like to see if it would be a storm, and he sat down beside his boat and waited. then suddenly rifts appeared in the dull-gray clouds which covered the sky. the clouds were torn asunder and flung aside, and large storm-clouds came rushing, black like warships, and from them scourging rain and hail fell upon the city. and something like quite a new sea came surging in from lido. ah, signor! they were not the swan-necked waves you have seen out there, the waves that bend their transparent necks and hasten towards the shore, and which, when they are pitilessly repulsed, float away again with their white foam-hair dispersed over the surface of the sea. these were dark waves, chasing each other in furious rage, and over their tops the bitter froth of the sea was whipped into mist. the wind was now so strong that the seagulls could no longer continue their quiet flight, but, shrieking, were thrust from their course. cecco soon saw them with much trouble making their way towards the sea, so as not to be caught by the storm and flung against the walls. hundreds of pigeons on san marco's square flew up, beating their wings, so that it sounded like a new storm, and hid themselves away in all the nooks and corners of the church roof. but it was not the birds alone that were frightened by the storm. a couple of gondolas had already got loose, and were thrown against the shore, and were nearly shattered. and now all the gondoliers came rushing to pull their boats into the boathouses, or place them in shelter in the small canals. the sailors on the ships lying in the harbour worked with the anchor-chains to make the vessels fast, in order to prevent them drifting on to the shore. they took down the clothes hanging up to dry, pulled their long caps well over their foreheads, and began to collect all the loose articles lying about in order to bring them below deck. outside canale grande a whole fishing-fleet came hurrying home. all the people from lido and malamocco who had sold their goods at the rialto were rushing homewards, before the storm grew too violent. cecco laughed when he saw the fishermen bending over their oars and straining themselves as if they were fleeing from death itself. could they not see that it was only a gust of wind? they could very well have remained and given the venetian women time to buy all their cattle, fish, and crabs. he was certainly not going to pull his boat into shelter, although the storm was now violent enough for any ordinary man to have taken notice of it. the floating bridges were lifted up high and cast on to the shore, whilst the washerwomen hurried home shrieking. the broad-brimmed hats of the signors were blown off into the canals, from whence the street-boys fished them out with great glee. sails were torn from the masts, and fluttered in the air with a cracking sound; children were knocked down by the strong wind; and the clothes hanging on the lines in the narrow streets were torn to rags and carried far away. cecco laughed at the storm--a storm which drove the birds away, and played all sorts of pranks in the street, like a boy. but, all the same, he pulled his boat under one of the arches of the bridge. one could really not allow what that wind might take it into its head to do. in the evening cecco thought that it would have been fun to have been out at sea. it would have been splendid sailing with such a fresh wind. but on shore it was unpleasant. chimneys were blown down; the roofs of the boathouses were lifted right off; it rained tiles from the houses into the canals; the wind shook the doors and the window-shutters, rushed in under the open loggias of the palaces and tore off the decorations. cecco held out bravely, but he did not go home to bed. he could not take the boat home with him, so it was better to remain and look after it. but when anyone went by and said that it was terrible weather he would not admit it. he had experienced very different weather in his young days. 'storm!' he said to himself--'call this a storm? and they think, perhaps, that it began the same moment i threw the zecchine to san marco. as if he can command a real storm!' when night came the wind and the sea grew still more violent, so that venice trembled in her foundations. doge gradenigo and the gentlemen of the high council went in the darkness of the night to san marco to pray for the city. torch-bearers went before them, and the flames were spread out by the wind, so that they lay flat, like pennants. the wind tore the doge's heavy brocade gown, so that two men were obliged to hold it. cecco thought this was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen--doge gradenigo going himself to the cathedral on account of this bit of a wind! what would those people have done if there had been a real storm? the waves beat incessantly against the bulwarks. in the darkness of the night it was as if white-headed wresters sprang up from the deep, and with teeth and claws clung fast to the piles to tear them loose from the shore. cecco fancied he could hear their angry snorts when they were hurled back again. but he shuddered when he heard them come again and again, and tear in the bulwarks. it seemed to him that the storm was far more terrible in the night. he heard shouts in the air, and that was not the wind. sometimes black clouds came drifting like a whole row of heavy galleys, and it seemed as if they advanced to make an assault on the city. then he heard distinctly someone speaking in one of the riven clouds over his head. 'things look bad for venice now,' it said from the one cloud. 'soon our brothers the evil spirits will come and overthrow the city.' 'i am afraid san marco will not allow it to happen,' came as a response from the other cloud. 'san marco has been knocked down by a venetian, so he lies powerless, and cannot help anyone,' said the first. the storm carried the words down to old cecco, and from that moment he was on his knees, praying san marco for grace and forgiveness. for the evil spirits had spoken the truth. it did indeed look bad for venice. the fair queen of the isles was near destruction. a venetian had mocked san marco, and therefore venice was in danger of being carried away by the sea. there would be no more moonlight sails or her sea and in her canals, and no more barcaroles would be heard from her black gondolas. the sea would wash over the golden-haired signoras, over the proud palaces, over san marco, resplendent with gold. if there was no one to protect these islands, they were doomed to destruction. before san marco came to venice it had often happened that large portions of them had been washed away by the waves. at early dawn san marco's church bells began to ring. people crept to the church, their clothes being nearly torn off them. the storm went on increasing. the priests had resolved to go out and adjure the storm and the sea. the main doors of the cathedral were opened, and the long procession streamed out of the church. foremost the cross was carried, then came the choir-boys with wax candles, and last in the procession were carried the banner of san marco and the sacred host. but the storm did not allow itself to be cowed; on the contrary, it was as if it wished for nothing better to play with. it upset the choir-boys, blew out the wax candles, and flung the baldachin, which was carried over the host, on to the top of the doge's palace. it was with the utmost trouble that they saved san marco's banner, with the winged lion, from being carried away. cecco saw all this, and stole down to his boat moaning loudly. the whole day he lay near the shore, often wet by the waves and in danger of being washed into the sea. the whole day he was praying incessantly to god and san marco. he felt that the fate of the whole city depended upon his prayers. there were not many people about that day, but some few went moaning along the riva. all spoke about the immeasurable damage the storm had wrought. one could see the houses tumbling down on the murano. it was as if the whole island were under water. and also on the rialto one or two houses had fallen. the storm continued the whole day with unabated violence. in the evening a large multitude of people assembled at the market place and the piazetta, although these were nearly covered with water. people dared not remain in their houses, which shook in their very foundations. and the cries of those who feared disaster mingled with the lamentations of those whom it had already overtaken. whole dwellings were under water; children were drowned in their cradles. the old and the sick had been swept with the overturned houses into the waves. cecco was still lying and praying to san marco. oh, how could the crime of a poor fisherman be taken in such earnest? surely it was not his fault that the saint was so powerless! he would let the demons take him and his boat; he deserved no better fate. but not the whole city!--oh, god in heaven, not the whole city! 'my sons!' cecco said to san marco. 'what do i care about my sons when venice is at stake! i would willingly give a son for each tile in danger of being blown into the canal if i could keep them in their place at that price. oh, san marco, each little stone of venice is worth as much as a promising son.' at times he saw terrible things. there was a large galley which had torn itself from its moorings and now came drifting towards the shore. it went straight against the bulwark, and struck it with the ram's head in her bows, just as if it had been an enemy's ship. it gave blow after blow, and the attack was so violent that the vessel immediately sprang a leak. the water rushed in, the leak grew larger, and the proud ship went to pieces. but the whole time one could see the captain and two or three of the crew, who would not leave the vessel, cling to the deck and meet death without attempting to escape it. the second night came, and cecco's prayers continued to knock at the gate of heaven. 'let me alone suffer!' he cried. 'san marco, it is more than a man can bear, thus to drag others with him to destruction. only send thy lion and kill me; i shall not attempt to escape. everything that thou wilt have me give up for the city, that will i willingly sacrifice.' just as he had uttered these words he looked towards the piazetta, and he thought he could no longer see san marco's lion on the granite pillar. had san marco permitted his lion to be overthrown? old cecco cried. he was nearly giving up venice. whilst he was lying there he saw visions and heard voices all the time. the demons talked and moved to and fro. he heard them wheeze like wild beasts every time they made their assaults on the bulwarks. he did not mind them much; it was worse about venice. then he heard in the air above him the beating of strong wings; this was surely san marco's lion flying overhead. it moved backwards and forwards in the air; he saw and yet he did not see it. then it seemed to him as if it descended on riva degli schiavoni, where he was lying, and prowled about there. he was on the point of jumping into the sea from fear, but he remained sitting where he was. it was no doubt he whom the lion sought. if that could only save venice, then he was quite willing to let san marco avenge himself upon him. then the lion came crawling along the ground like a cat. he saw it making ready to spring. he noticed that it beat its wings and screwed its large carbuncle eyes together till they were only small fiery slits. then old cecco certainly did think of creeping down to his boat and hiding himself under the arch of the bridge, but he pulled himself together and remained where he was. the same moment a tall, imposing figure stood by his side. 'good-evening, cecco,' said the man; 'take your boat and row me across to san giorgio maggiore.' 'yes, signor,' immediately replied the old fisherman. it was as if he had awakened from a dream. the lion had disappeared, and the man must be somebody who knew him, although cecco could not quite remember where he had seen him before. he was glad to have company. the terrible heaviness and anguish that had been over him since he had revolted against the saint suddenly vanished. as to rowing across to san giorgio, he did not for a moment think that it could be done. 'i don't believe we can even get the boat out,' he said to himself. but there was something about the man at his side that made him feel he must do all he possibly could to serve him; and he did succeed in getting out the boat. he helped the stranger into the boat and took the oars. cecco could not help laughing to himself. 'what are you thinking about? don't go out further in any case,' he said. 'have you ever seen the like of these waves? do tell him that it is not within the power of man.' but he felt as if he could not tell the stranger that it was impossible. he was sitting there as quietly as if he were sailing to the lido on a summer's eve. and cecco began to row to san giorgio maggiore. it was a terrible row. time after time the waves washed over them. 'oh, stop him!' cecco said under his breath; 'do stop the man who goes to sea in such weather! otherwise he is a sensible old fisherman. do stop him!' now the boat was up a steep mountain, and then it went down into a valley. the foam splashed down on cecco from the waves that rushed past him like runaway horses, but in spite of everything he approached san giorgio. 'for whom are you doing all this, risking boat and life?' he said. 'you don't even know whether he can pay you. he does not look like a fine gentleman. he is no better dressed than you are.' but he only said this to keep up his courage, and not to be ashamed of his tractability. he was simply compelled to do everything the man in the boat wanted. 'but in any case not right to san giorgio, you foolhardy old man,' he said. 'the wind is even worse there than at the rialto.' but he went there, nevertheless, and made the boat fast whilst the stranger went on shore. he thought the wisest thing he could do would be to slip away and leave his boat, but he did not do it. he would rather die than deceive the stranger. he saw the latter go into the church of san giorgio. soon afterwards he returned, accompanied by a knight in full armour. 'row us now to san nicolo in lido,' said the stranger. 'ay, ay,' cecco thought; 'why not to lido?' they had already, in constant anguish and death, rowed to san giorgio; why should they not set out for lido? and cecco was shocked at himself that he obeyed the stranger even unto death, for he now actually steered for the lido. being now three in the boat, it was still heavier work. he had no idea how he should be able to do it. 'you might have lived many years yet,' he said sorrowfully to himself. but the strange thing was that he was not sorrowful, all the same. he was so glad that he could have laughed aloud. and then he was proud that he could make headway. 'he knows how to use his oars, does old cecco,' he said. they laid-to at lido, and the two strangers went on shore. they walked towards san nicolo in lido, and soon returned accompanied by an old bishop, with robe and stole, crosier in hand, and mitre on head. 'now row out to the open sea,' said the first stranger. old cecco shuddered. should he row out to the sea, where his sons perished? now he had not a single cheerful word to say to himself. he did not think so much of the storm, but of the terror it was to have to go out to the graves of his sons. if he rowed out there, he felt that he gave the stranger more than his life. the three men sat silently in the boat as if they were on watch. cecco saw them bend forward and gaze into the night. they had reached the gate of the sea at lido, and the great storm-ridden sea lay before them. cecco sobbed within himself. he thought of two dead bodies rolling about in these waves. he gazed into the water for two familiar faces. but onward the boat went. cecco did not give in. then suddenly the three men rose up in the boat; and cecco fell upon his knees, although he still went on holding the oars. a big ship steered straight against them. cecco could not quite tell whether it was a ship or only drifting mist. the sails were large, spread out, as it were, towards the four corners of heaven; and the hull was gigantic, but it looked as if it were built of the lightest sea-mist. he thought he saw men on board and heard shouting; but the crew were like deep darkness, and the shouting was like the roar of the storm. however it was, it was far too terrible to see the ship steer straight upon them, and cecco closed his eyes. but the three men in the boat must have averted the collision, for the boat was not upset. when cecco looked up the ship had fled out to sea, and loud wailings pierced the night. he rose, trembling to row further. he felt so tired that he could hardly hold the oars. but now there was no longer any danger. the storm had gone down, and the waves speedily laid themselves to rest. 'now row us back to venice,' said the stranger to the fisherman. cecco rowed the boat to lido, where the bishop went on shore, and to san giorgio, where the knight left them. the first powerful stranger went with him all the way to the rialto. when they had landed at riva degli schiavoni he said to the fisherman: 'when it is daylight thou shalt go to the doge and tell him what thou hast seen this night. tell him that san marco and san giorgio and san nicolo have to-night fought the evil spirits that would destroy venice, and have put them to flight.' 'yes, signor,' the fisherman answered, 'i will tell everything. but how shall i speak so that the doge will believe me?' then san marco handed him a ring with a precious stone possessed of a wonderful lustre. 'show this to the doge,' he said, 'then he will understand that it brings a message from me. he knows my ring, which is kept in san marco's treasury in the cathedral.' the fisherman took the ring, and kissed it reverently. 'further, thou shalt tell the doge,' said the holy man, 'that this is a sign that i shall never forsake venice. even when the last doge has left palazzo ducali i will live and preserve venice. even if venice lose her islands in the east and the supremacy of the sea, and no doge ever again sets out on the bucintoro, even then i will preserve the city beautiful and resplendent. it shall always be rich and beloved, always be lauded and its praises sung, always a place of joy for men to live in. say this, cecco, and the doge will not forsake thee in thine old age.' then he disappeared; and soon the sun rose above the gate of the sea at torcello. with its first beautiful rays it shed a rosy light over the white city and over the sea that shone in many colours. a red glow lay over san giorgio and san marco, and over the whole shore, studded with palaces. and in the lovely morning radiant venetian ladies came out on to the loggias and greeted with smiles the rising day. venice was once again the beautiful goddess, rising from the sea in her shell of rose-coloured pearl. beautiful as never before, she combed her golden hair, and threw the purple robe around her, to begin one of her happiest days. for a transport of bliss filled her when the old fisherman brought san marco's ring to the doge, and she heard how the saint, now, and until the end of time, would hold his protecting hand over her. _from a swedish_ homestead v _santa_ caterina _of_ siena _santa_ caterina _of_ siena at santa caterina's house in siena, on a day towards the end of april, in the week when her fête is being celebrated, people come to the old house in the street of the dyers, to the house with the pretty loggia and with the many small chambers, which have now been converted into chapels and sanctuaries, bringing bouquets of white lilies; and the rooms are fragrant with incense and violets. walking through these rooms, one cannot help thinking that it is just as if she were dead yesterday, as if all those who go in and out of her home to-day had seen and known her. but, on the other hand, no one could really think that she had died recently, for then there would be more grief and tears, and not only a quiet sense of loss. it is more as if a beloved daughter had been recently married, and had left the parental home. look only at the nearest houses. the old walls are still decorated as if for a fête. and in her own home garlands of flowers are still hanging beneath the portico and loggia, green leaves are strewn on the staircase and the doorstep, and large bouquets of flowers fill the rooms with their scent. she cannot possibly have been dead five hundred years. it looks much more as if she had celebrated her marriage, and had gone away to a country from which she would not return for many years, perhaps never. are not the houses decorated with nothing but red table-cloths, red trappings, and red silken banners, and are there not stuck red-paper roses in the dark garlands of oak-leaves? and the hangings over the doors and the windows, are they not red with golden fringes? can one imagine anything more cheerful? and notice how the old women go about in the house and examine her small belongings. it is as if they had seen her wear that very veil and that very shirt of hair. they inspect the room in which she lived, and point to the bedstead and the packets of letters, and they tell how at first she could not at all learn to write, but that it came to her all at once without her having learnt it. and only look at her writing--how good and distinct! and then they point to the little bottle she used to carry at her belt, so as always to have a little medicine at hand in case she met a sick person, and they utter a blessing over the old lantern she held in her hand when she went and visited the sick in the long weary nights. it is just as if they would say: 'dear me--dear me! that our little caterina benincasa should be gone, that she will never come any more and look after us old people!' and they kiss her picture, and take a flower from the bouquets to keep as a remembrance. it looks as if those who were left in the home had long ago prepared themselves for the separation, and tried to do everything possible to keep alive the memory of the one who had gone away. see, there they have painted her on the wall; there is the whole of her little history represented in every detail. there she is when she cut off her beautiful long hair so that no man could ever fall in love with her, for she would never marry. oh dear--oh dear! how much ridicule and scoffing she had suffered on that account! it is dreadful to think how her mother tormented her and treated her like a servant, and made her sleep on the stone floor in the hall, and would not give her any food, all because of her being so obstinate about that hair. but what was she to do when they continually tried to get her married--she who would have no other bridegroom than christ? and there she is when she was kneeling in prayer, and her father coming into the room without her knowing it saw a beautiful white dove hovering over her head whilst she was praying. and there she is on that christmas eve when she had gone secretly to the madonna's altar in order the more fully to rejoice over the birth of the son of god, and the beautiful madonna leaned out of her picture and handed the child to her that she might be allowed to hold it for a moment in her arms. oh, what a joy it had been for her! oh dear, no; it is not at all necessary to say that our little caterina benincasa is dead. one need only say that she has gone away with the bridegroom. in her home one will never forget her pious ways and doings. all the poor of siena come and knock at her door because they know that it is the marriage-day of the little virgin, and large piles of bread lie in readiness for them as if she were still there. they have their pockets and baskets filled; had she herself been there, she could not have sent them away more heavily laden. she who had gone away had left so great a want that one almost wonders the bridegroom had the heart to take her away with him. in the small chapels which have been arranged in every corner of the house they read mass the whole day, and they invoke the bride and sing hymns in her praise. 'holy caterina,' they say, 'on this the day of thy death, which is thine heavenly wedding-day, pray for us!' 'holy caterina, thou who hadst no other love but christ, thou who in life wert his affianced bride, and who in death wast received by him in paradise, pray for us!' 'holy caterina, thou radiant heavenly bride, thou most blessed of virgins, thou whom the mother of god exalted to her son's side, thou who on this day wast carried by angels to the kingdom of glory, pray for us!' * * * * * it is strange how one comes to love her, how the home and the pictures and the love of the old and the poor seem to make her living, and one begins to wonder how she really was, whether she was only a saint, only a heavenly bride, and if it is true that she was unable to love any other than christ. and then comes to one's mind an old story which warmed one's heart long ago, at first quite vague and without shape, but whilst one is sitting there under the loggia in the festively decorated home and watching the poor wander away with their full baskets, and hearing the subdued murmur from the chapels, the story becomes more and more distinct, and suddenly it is vivid and clear. * * * * * nicola tungo was a young nobleman of perugia, who often came to siena on account of the races. he soon found out how badly siena was governed, and often said, both at the festive gatherings of the great and when he sat drinking in the inns, that siena ought to rise against the signoria and procure other rulers. the signoria had not been in power for more than half a year; they did not feel particularly firm in their office, and did not like the perugian stirring up the people. in order promptly to put a stop to it, they had him imprisoned, and after a short trial he was sentenced to death. he was placed in a cell in the palazzo publico whilst preparations were being made for his execution, which was to take place the next morning in the market place. at first he was strangely affected. to-morrow he would no more wear his green velvet doublet and his beautiful sword; he would no more walk down the street in his cap with the ostrich-feather and attract the glances of the young maidens, and he had a feeling of painful disappointment that he would never ride the new horse which he bought yesterday, and which he had only tried once. suddenly he called the gaoler, and asked him to go to the gentlemen of the signoria and tell them that he could not possibly allow himself to be killed; he had no time. he had far too much to do. life could not do without him. his father was old, and he was the only son; it was through his descendants that the family should be continued. it was he who should give away his sisters in marriage, he who should build the new palace, he who should plant the new vineyard. he was a strong young man; he did not know what sickness was, had nothing but life in his veins. his hair was dark and his cheeks red. he could not realize that he should die. when he thought of their wanting to take him away from pleasure and dancing, and the carnival, and from the races next sunday, and from the serenade he was going to sing to the beautiful giulietta lombardi, he became furiously angry, and his wrath was roused against the councillors as though they were thieves and robbers. the scoundrels--the scoundrels that would take his life from him! but as time went on his longings grew deeper; he longed for air and water and heaven and earth. he felt he would not mind being a beggar by the wayside; he would gladly suffer sickness and hunger and cold if only he were allowed to live. he wished that everything might die with him, that nothing would be left when he was gone; that would have been a great consolation. but that people should go to the market place and buy and sell, and that the women would fetch water from the well, and that the children would run in the streets the next day and all days, and that he would not be there to see, that he could not bear. he envied not only those who could live in luxury and pleasure, and were happy; he envied quite as much the most miserable cripple. what he wanted was life, solely life. then the priests and the monks came to see him. it made him almost happy, for now he had someone upon whom he could wreak his anger. he first allowed them to talk a little. it amused him to hear what they had to say to a man so deeply wronged as he was, but when they said that he ought to rejoice that he was permitted to leave this life and gain the bliss of heaven in the fulness of his youth, then he started up and poured forth his wrath upon them. he scoffed at god and the joys of heaven--he did not want them. he would have life, and the world, and its pomps and vanities. he regretted every day in which he had not revelled in earthly enjoyment; he regretted every temptation he had resisted. god need not trouble himself in the least about him; he felt no longing for his heaven. the priests continued to speak; he seized one of them by the throat, and would have killed him had not the gaoler thrown himself between them. they now bound and gagged him, and then preached to him; but as soon as he was allowed to speak he raged as before. they talked to him for many hours, but they saw that it was of no avail. when they could think of nothing else to do, one of them suggested they should send for the young caterina benincasa, who had shown great power in subduing defiant spirits. when the perugian heard the name he suddenly ceased his abuse. in truth, it pleased him. it was something quite different, having to do with a young, beautiful maiden. 'by all means send for the maiden,' he said. he knew that she was the young daughter of a dyer, and that she went about alone and preached in the lanes and streets of the town. some thought she was mad, others said that she had visions. for him she might, anyhow, be better company than these dirty monks, who made him completely beside himself. the monks then went their way, and he was alone. shortly afterwards the door was again opened, but if she for whom they had sent had really entered the cell, she must have walked with very light footsteps, for he heard nothing. he lay on the floor just as he had thrown himself down in his great anger; now he was too tired to raise himself, or make a movement, or even to look up. his arms were tied together with ropes, which cut deep into his flesh. he now felt that someone began to loosen his bands; a warm hand touched his arm, and he looked up. beside him lay a little figure in the white dress of the dominicans, with head and neck so shrouded in a white veil that there was not more of her face to be seen than of that of a knight in helmet and closed visor. she did not look so meek by any means; she was evidently a little annoyed. he heard her murmur something about the gaolers who had tightened the bands. it did not appear as if she had come for any other purpose than these knots. she was only taken up with loosening them so that they did not hurt. at last she had to bite in them, and then she succeeded. she untied the cord with a light hand, and then took the little bottle which was suspended from her belt and poured a few drops upon the chafed skin. he lay the whole time and looked at her, but she did not meet his glance; it appeared as if she could think of nothing else but what she had between her hands. it was as if nothing were further from her thoughts than that she was there to prepare him for death. he felt so exhausted after his passion, and at the same time so quieted by her presence, that he only said: 'i think i will sleep.' 'it is a great shame that they have not given you any straw,' she said. for a moment she looked about undecided. then she sat down upon the floor, and placed his head in her lap. 'are you better now?' she said. never in his whole life had he felt such a rest. yet sleep he could not, but he lay and looked up in her face, which was like wax, and transparent. such eyes he had never seen before. they were always looking far, far away, gazing into another world, whilst she sat quite motionless, so as not to disturb his sleep. 'you are not sleeping, nicola tungo,' she said, and looked uneasy. 'i cannot sleep,' he replied, 'because i am wondering who you can be.' 'i am a daughter of luca benincasa the dyer, and his wife lapa,' she said. 'i know that,' he said, 'and i also know that you go about and preach in the streets. and i know that you have attired yourself in the dress of a nun, and have taken the vows of chastity. but yet i don't know who you are.' she turned her head away a little. then she said, whispering like one who confesses her first love: 'i am the bride of christ.' he did not laugh. on the contrary, he felt quite a pang in his heart, as from jealousy. 'oh, christ!' he said, as if she had thrown herself away. she heard that his tone was contemptuous, but she thought he meant that she had spoken too presumptuously. 'i do not understand it myself,' she said, 'but so it is.' 'is it an imagination or a dream?' he said. she turned her face towards him. the blood rose red behind the transparent skin. he saw suddenly that she was fair as a flower, and she became dear to him. he moved his lips as if to speak, but at first no sound came. 'how can you expect me to believe that?' he said defiantly. 'is it not enough for you that i am here in the prison with you?' she asked, raising her voice. 'is it any pleasure for a young girl like me to go to you and other evil-doers in their gloomy dungeons? is it usual for a woman to stand and preach at the street corners as i do, and to be held in derision? do i not require sleep as other people? and yet i must rise every night and go to the sick in the hospitals. am i not timid as other women? and yet i must go to the high-born gentlemen at their castles and reason with them, i must go to the plague-smitten, i must see all vice and sin. when have you seen another maiden do all this? but i am obliged to do it.' 'poor thing!' he said, and stroked her hand gently--'poor thing!' 'for i am not braver, or wiser, or stronger than others,' she said. 'it is just as hard for me as for other maidens. you can see that. i have come here to speak with you about your soul, but i do not at all know what i shall say to you.' it was strange how reluctantly he would allow himself to be convinced. 'you may be mistaken all the same,' he said. 'how do you know that you can call yourself the bride of christ?' her voice trembled, and it was as if she should tear out her heart when she replied: 'it began when i was quite young; i was not more than six years old. it was one evening when i was walking with my brother in the meadow below the church of the dominicans, and just as i looked up at the church i saw christ sitting on a throne, surrounded by all his power and glory. he was attired in shining white garments like the holy father in rome. his head was surrounded by all the splendour of paradise, and around him stood pietro paolo and the evangelist giovanni. and whilst i gazed upon him my heart was filled with such a love and holy joy that i could hardly bear it. he lifted his hand and blessed me, and i sank down on the meadow, and was so overcome with bliss, that my brother had to take me in his arms and shake me. and ever since that time, nicola tungo, i have loved jesus as a bridegroom.' he again objected. 'you were a child then. you had fallen asleep in the meadow and were dreaming.' 'dreaming?' she repeated. 'have i been dreaming all the time i have seen him? was it a dream when he came to me in the church in the likeness of a beggar and asked for alms? then i was wide awake, at any rate. and do you think that for the sake of a dream only i could have borne all the worries i have had to bear as a young girl because i would not marry?' nicola went on contradicting her because he could not bear the thought that her heart was filled with love to another. 'but even if you do love christ, maiden, how do you know that he loves you?' she smiled her very happiest smile and clapped her hands like a child. 'now you shall hear,' she said. 'now i will tell you the most important of all. it was the last night before lent. it was after my parents and i had been reconciled, and i had obtained their permission to take the vow of chastity and wear the dress of a nun, although i continued to live in their house; and it was night, as i told you, the last night of the carnival, when everybody turns night into day. there were fêtes in every street. on the walls of the big palaces hung balconies like cages, completely covered with silken hangings and banners, and filled with noble ladies. i saw all their beauty by the light of the red torches in their bronze-holders, the one row over the other quite up to the roof; and in the gaily decorated streets there was a train of carriages, with golden towers, and all the gods and goddesses, and all the virtues and beauties went by in a long procession. and everywhere there was such a play of masks and so much merriment that i am sure that you, sir, have never taken part in anything more gay. and i took refuge in my chamber, but still i heard laughter from the street, and never before have i heard people laugh like that; it was so clear and bell-like that everyone was obliged to join in it. and they sang songs which, i suppose, were wicked, but they sounded so innocent, and caused such pleasure, that one's heart trembled. then, in the middle of my prayers, i suddenly began to wonder why i was not out amongst them, and the thought fascinated and tempted me, as if i were dragged along by a runaway horse; but never before have i prayed so intensely to christ to show me what was his will with me. suddenly all the noise ceased, a great and wonderful silence surrounded me, and i saw a great meadow, where the mother of god sat amongst the flowers, and on her lap lay the child jesus, playing with lilies. but i hurried thither in great joy, and knelt before the child, and was at the same moment filled with peace and quietness, and then the holy child placed a ring on my finger, and said to me, "know, caterina, that to-day i celebrate my betrothal with thee, and bind thee to me by the strongest faith."' 'oh, caterina!' the young perugian had turned himself on the floor, so that he could bury his face in her lap. it was as if he could not bear to see how radiant she was whilst she was speaking, and now her eyes became bright as stars. a shadow of pain passed over him. for whilst she spoke a great sorrow had sprung up in his heart. this little maiden, this little white maiden, he could never win. her love belonged to another; it could never be his. it was of no use even to tell her that he loved her; but he suffered; his whole being groaned in love's agony. how could he bear to live without her? it almost became a consolation to remember that he was sentenced to death. it was not necessary for him to live and do without her. then the little woman beside him sighed deeply, and came back from the joys of heaven in order to think of poor human beings. 'i forgot to speak to you about your soul,' she said. then, he thought: 'this burden, at any rate, i can lighten for her.' 'sister caterina,' he said, 'i do not know how it is, but heavenly consolation has come to me. in god's name i will prepare for death. now you may send for the priests and monks; now i will confess to them. but one thing you must promise me before you go: you must come to me to-morrow, when i shall die, and hold my head between your hands as you are doing now.' when he said this she burst into tears, from a great feeling of relief, and an unspeakable joy filled her. 'how happy you must be, nicola tungo!' she said. 'you will be in paradise before i am;' and she stroked his face gently. he said again: 'you will come to me to-morrow in the market place? perhaps i shall otherwise be afraid; perhaps i cannot otherwise die with steadfastness. but when you are there i shall feel nothing but joy, and all fear will leave me.' 'you do not seem to me any more as a poor mortal,' she said, 'but as a dweller of paradise. you appear to me radiant with life, surrounded by incense. bliss comes to me from you, who shall so soon meet my beloved bridegroom. be assured i shall come.' she then led him to confession and the communion. he felt the whole time as if he were asleep. all the fear of death and the longing for life had passed away from him. he longed for the morning, when he should see her again; he thought only of her, and of the love with which she had inspired him. death seemed to him now but a slight thing compared with the pain of the thought that she would never love him. the young maiden did not sleep much during the night, and early in the morning she went to the place of execution, to be there when he came. she invoked jesu, mother, marie, and the holy caterina of egypt, virgin and martyr, incessantly with prayers to save his soul. incessantly she repeated: 'i will that he shall be saved--i will, i will.' but she was afraid that her prayers were unavailing, for she did not feel any longer that ecstasy which had filled her the evening before; she only felt an infinite pity for him who should die. she was quite overcome with grief and sorrow. little by little the market place filled with people. the soldiers marched up, the executioner arrived, and much noise and talking went on around her; but she saw and heard nothing. she felt as if she were quite alone. when nicola tungo arrived, it was just the same with him. he had no thought for all the others, but saw only her. when he saw at the first glance that she was entirely overcome with sorrow, his face beamed, and he felt almost happy. he called loudly to her: 'you have not slept much this night, maiden?' 'no,' she said; 'i have watched in prayer for you; but now i am in despair, for my prayers have no power.' he knelt down before the block, and she knelt so that she could hold his head in her hands. 'now i am going to your bridegroom, caterina.' she sobbed more and more. 'i can comfort you so badly,' she said. he looked at her with a strange smile. 'your tears are my best comfort.' the executioner stood with his sword drawn, but she bade him with a movement stand on one side, for she would speak a few words with the doomed man. 'before you came,' she said, 'i laid my head down on the block to try if i could bear it; and then i felt that i was still afraid of death, that i do not love jesus enough to be willing to die in this hour; and i do not wish you to die either, and my prayers have no power.' when he heard this he thought: 'had i lived i should have won her'; and he was glad he should die before he had succeeded in drawing the radiant heavenly bride down to earth. but when he had laid his head in her hands, a great consolation came to them both. 'nicola tungo,' she said, 'i see heaven open. the angels descend to receive your soul.' a wondering smile passed over his face. could what he had done for her sake make him worthy of heaven? he lifted his eyes to see what she saw; the same moment the sword fell. but caterina saw the angels descend lower and lower, saw them lift his soul, saw them carry it to heaven. * * * * * all at once it seemed so natural that caterina benincasa has lived all these five hundred years. how could one forget that gentle little maiden, that great loving heart? again and again they must sing in her praise, as they are now singing in the small chapels: 'pia mater et humilis, naturæ memor fragilis, in hujus vitæ fluctibus nos rege tuis precibus. quem vidi, quem amavi, in quem credidi, quem dilexi, ora pro nobis. ut digni efficiamur promessionibus christi! santa caterina, ora pro nobis!'[b] [b] pious and gentle mother, thou who knowest our weak nature, guide us by thy prayers through this life's vicissitudes. thou, whom i saw and loved, in whom i believed and whom i adored, pray for us, that we may be worthy of christ's promises. holy caterina, pray for us! _from a swedish_ homestead vi _the empress's_ money-chest _the empress's_ money-chest the bishop had summoned father verneau to appear before him. it was on account of a somewhat unpleasant matter. father verneau had been sent to preach in the manufacturing districts around charleroi, but he had arrived there in the midst of a strike, when the workmen were rather excited and unmanageable. he informed the bishop that he had immediately on his arrival in the black country received a letter from one of the leaders of the men to the effect that they were quite willing to hear him preach, but if he ventured to mention the name of god either directly or indirectly, there would be a disturbance in the church. 'and when i went up into the pulpit and saw the congregation to whom i should preach,' said the father, 'i felt no doubt but that the threat would be carried out.' father verneau was a little dried-up monk. the bishop looked down upon him as being of a lower order. such an unshaven, not too clean monk, with the most insignificant face, was, of course, a coward. he was, probably, also afraid of the bishop. 'i have been informed,' said the bishop, 'that you carried out the workmen's wishes. but i need not point out----' 'monseigneur,' interrupted father verneau in all humility, 'i thought the church, if possible, would avoid everything that might lead to a disturbance.' 'but a church that dare not mention the name of god----' 'has monseigneur heard my sermon?' the bishop walked up and down the floor to calm himself. 'you know it by heart, of course?' he said. 'of course, monseigneur.' 'let me hear it, then, as it was delivered, father verneau, word for word, exactly as you preached it.' the bishop sat down in his arm-chair. father verneau remained standing. '"citizens and citizenesses," he began in the tone of a lecturer. the bishop started. 'yes, that is how they will be addressed, monseigneur.' 'never mind, father verneau, only proceed.' the bishop shuddered slightly; these two words had suddenly shown him the whole situation. he saw before him this gathering of the children of the black country, to whom father verneau had preached. he saw many wild faces, many rags, much coarse merriment. he saw these people for whom nothing had been done. '"citizens and citizenesses," began father verneau afresh, "there is in this country an empress called maria theresa. she is an excellent ruler, the best and wisest belgium has ever had. other rulers, my fellow-citizens, other rulers have successors when they die, and lose all power over their people. not so the great empress maria theresa. she may have lost the throne of austria and hungary; brabant and limburg may now be under other rulers, but not her good province of west flanders. in west flanders, where i have lived the last few years, no other ruler is known to this very day than maria theresa. we know king leopold lives in brussels, but that has nothing to do with us. it is maria theresa who still reigns here by the sea, more especially in the fishing villages. the nearer one gets to the sea, the mightier becomes her power. neither the great revolution, nor the empire, nor the dutch have had the power to overthrow her. how could they? they have done nothing for the children of the sea that can compare with what she has done. but what has she not done for the people on the dunes! what an invaluable treasure, my fellow-citizens, has she not bestowed upon them! '"about one hundred and fifty years ago, in the early part of her reign, she made a journey through belgium. she visited brussels and bruges, she went to liege and louvain, and when she had at last seen enough of large cities and profusely ornamented town-halls, she went to the coast to see the sea and the dunes. '"it was not a very cheering sight for her. she saw the ocean, so vast and mighty that no man can fight against it. she saw the coast, helpless and unprotected. there lay the dunes, but the sea had washed over them before, and might do so again. there were also dams, but they had fallen down and were neglected. '"she saw harbours filled with sand; she saw marshes overgrown with rushes and weeds; she saw, below the dunes, fishing-huts ravaged by the wind--huts looking as if they had been thrown there, a prey for the sea; she saw poor old churches that had been moved away from the sea, lying between quicksands and lyme-grass, in desolate wastes. '"the great empress sat a whole day by the sea. she was told all about the floods and the towns that had been washed away; she was shown the spot where a whole district had sunk under the sea; she was rowed out to the place where an old church stood at the bottom of the sea; and she was told about all the people who had been drowned, and of all the cattle that had been lost, the last time the sea had overflowed the dunes. '"the whole day through the empress sat thinking: 'how shall i help these poor people on the dunes? i cannot forbid the sea to rise and fall; i cannot forbid it to undermine the shore; nor can i stay the storm, or prevent it from upsetting the fishermen's boats; and still less can i lead the fish into their nets, or transform the lyme-grass into nutritious wheat. there is no monarch in the world so mighty that he can help these poor people in their need.' '"the next day it was sunday, and the empress heard mass at blankenberghe. all the people from dunkirk to sluis had come to see her. but before mass the empress went about and spoke with the people. '"the first person she addressed was the harbour-master from nieuport. 'what news is there from your town?' asked the empress. 'nothing new,' answered the harbour-master, 'except that cornelis aertsen's boat was upset in the storm yesterday; and we found him this morning riding on the keel.' 'it was a good thing his life was saved,' said the empress. 'well, i don't know,' said the harbour-master, 'for he was out of his mind when he came on shore.' 'was it from fear?' asked the empress. 'yes,' said the harbour-master; 'it is because we in nieuport have nothing to depend upon in the hour of need. cornelis knew that his wife and his small children would starve to death if he perished; and it was this thought, i suppose, that drove him out of his mind.' 'then that is what you need here on the dunes--something to depend upon?' 'yes, that is it,' said the harbour-master. 'the sea is uncertain, the harvest is uncertain, the fishing and the earnings are uncertain. something to depend upon, that is what we need.' '"the empress then went on, and the next she spoke to was the priest from heyst. 'what news from heyst?' said she to him. 'nothing new,' he answered, 'except that jacob van ravesteyn has given up making ditches in the marshes, and dredging the harbour, and attending to the lighthouses, and all other useful work he had to do.' 'how is that?' said the empress. 'he has inherited a sum of money,' said the priest; 'but it was less than he had expected.' 'but now he has something certain,' said the empress. 'yes,' said the priest; 'but now he has got the money he dare not venture to do anything great for fear it will not be sufficient.' 'it is something infinitely great, then, that is needed to help you at heyst?' said the empress. 'it is,' said the priest; 'there is infinitely much to do. and nothing can be done until we know that we have something infinitely great to fall back upon.' '"the empress then went on until she came to the master-pilot from middelkerke, whom she began to question about the news from his town. 'i do not know of anything new,' said the master-pilot, 'but that ian van der meer has quarrelled with luca neerwinden.' 'indeed!' said the empress. 'yes, they have found the cod-bank they have both been looking for all their lives. they had heard about it from old people, and they had hunted for it all over the sea, and they have been the best of friends the whole time, but now they have found it they have fallen out.' 'then it would have been better if they had never found it?' said the empress. 'yes,' answered the master-pilot, 'it would indeed have been better.' 'so, then, that which is to help you in middelkerke,' said the empress, 'must be hidden so well that no one can find it?' 'just so,' said the master-pilot; 'well hidden it must be, for if anyone should find it, there would be nothing but quarrelling and strife over it, or else it would be all spent, and then it would be of no further use.' '"the empress sighed, and felt she could do nothing. '"she then went to mass, and the whole time she knelt and prayed that power might be given her to help the people. and--you must excuse me, citizens--when the mass was finished, it had become clear to her that it was better to do a little than to do nothing. when all the people had come out of the church, she stood on the steps in order to address them. '"no man or woman of west flanders will ever forget how she looked. she was beautiful, like an empress, and she was attired like an empress. she wore her crown and her ermine mantle, and held the sceptre in her hand. her hair was dressed high and powdered, and a string of large pearls was entwined amongst the curls. she wore a robe of red silk, which was entirely covered with flemish lace, and red, high-heeled shoes, with large diamond buckles. that is how she appears, she who to this day still reigns over our west flanders. '"she spoke to the people of the coast, and told them her will. she told them of how she had thought of every way in which to help them. she said that they knew she could not compel the sea to quietness or chain the storm, that she could not lead the fish-shoals to the coast, or transform the lyme-grass into wheat; but what a poor mortal could do for them, that should be done. '"they all knelt before her whilst she spoke. never before had they felt such a gentle and motherly heart beat for them. the empress spoke to them in such a manner about their hard and toilsome life that tears came into their eyes over her pity. '"but now the empress said she had decided to leave with them her imperial money-chest, with all the treasures which it contained. that should be her gift to all those who lived on the dunes. that was the only assistance she could render them, and she asked them to forgive her that it was so poor; and the empress herself had tears in her eyes when she said this. '"she now asked them if they would promise and swear not to use any of the treasure until the need amongst them was so great that it could not become any greater. next, if they would swear to leave it as an inheritance for their descendants, if they did not require it themselves. and, lastly, she asked every man singly to swear that he would not try to take possession of the treasure for his own use without having first asked the consent of all his fellow-fishermen. '"if they were willing to swear? that they all were. and they blessed the empress and cried from gratitude. and she cried and told them that she knew that what they needed was a support that would never fail them, a treasure that could never be exhausted, and a happiness that was unattainable, but that she could not give them. she had never been so powerless as here on the dunes. '"my fellow-citizens, without her knowing it, solely by force of the royal wisdom with which this great queen was endowed, the power was given her to attain far more than she had intended, and it is therefore one can say that to this day she reigns over west flanders. '"what a happiness, is it not, to hear of all the blessings which have been spread over west flanders by the empress's gift! the people there have now something to depend upon which they needed so badly, and which we all need. however bad things may be, there is never any despair. '"they have told me at the dunes what the empress's money-chest is like. they say it is like the holy shrine of saint ursula at bruges, only more beautiful. it is a copy of the cathedral at vienna, and it is of pure gold; but on the sides the whole history of the empress is depicted in the whitest alabaster. on the small side-towers are the four diamonds which the empress took from the crown of the sultan of turkey, and in the gable are her initials inlaid with rubies. but when i ask them whether they have seen the money-chest, they reply that shipwrecked sailors when in peril always see it swimming before them on the waves as a sign that they shall not be in despair for their wives and children, should they be compelled to leave them. but they are the only ones who have seen the treasure, otherwise no one has been near enough to count it. and you know, citizens, that the empress never told anyone how great it was. but if any of you doubt how much use it has been and is, then i will ask you to go to the dunes and see for yourself. there has been digging and building ever since that time, and the sea now lies cowed by bulwarks and dams, and no longer does harm. and there are green meadows inside the dunes, and there are flourishing towns and watering-places near the shore. but for every lighthouse that has been built, for every harbour that has been deepened, for every ship of which the keel has been laid, for every dam that has been raised, they have always thought: 'if our own money should not be sufficient, we shall receive help from our gracious empress maria theresa.' but this has been but a spur to them: their own money has always sufficed. '"you know, also, that the empress did not say where the treasure was. was not this well considered, citizens? there is one who has it in his keeping, but only, when all are agreed upon dividing it, will he who keeps the treasure come forward and reveal where it is. therefore one is certain that neither now nor in the future will it be unfairly divided. it is the same for all. everyone knows that the empress thinks as much of him as of his neighbour. there can be no strife or envy amongst the people of the dunes as there is amongst other men, for they all share alike in the treasure."' the bishop interrupted father verneau. 'that is enough,' he said. 'how did you continue?' 'i said,' continued the monk, 'that it was very bad the good empress had not also come to charleroi. i pitied them because they did not own her money-chest. considering the great things they had to accomplish, considering the sea which they had to tame, the quicksands which they had to bind, considering all this, i said to them surely there was nothing they needed so much.' 'and then?' asked the bishop. 'one or two cabbages, your eminence, a little hissing; but then i was already out of the pulpit. that was all.' 'they had understood that you had spoken to them about the providence of god?' the monk bowed. 'they had understood that you would show them that the power which they deride because they do not see it must be kept hidden? that it will be abused immediately it assumes a visible form? i congratulate you, father verneau.' the monk retired towards the door, bowing. the bishop followed him, beaming benevolently. 'but the money-chest--do they still believe in it at the dunes?' 'as much as ever, monseigneur.' 'and the treasure--has there ever been a treasure?' 'monseigneur, i have sworn.' 'but for me,' said the bishop. 'it is the priest at blankenberghe, who has it in his keeping. he allowed me to see it. it is an old wooden chest with iron mountings.' 'and?' 'and at the bottom lie twenty bright maria theresa gold pieces.' the bishop smiled, but became grave at once. 'is it right to compare such a wooden chest with god's providence?' 'all comparisons are incomplete, monseigneur; all human thoughts are vain.' father verneau bowed once again, and quietly withdrew from the audience-room. _from a swedish_ homestead vii _the_ peace _of_ god _the_ peace _of_ god once upon a time there was an old farmhouse. it was christmas-eve, the sky was heavy with snow, and the north wind was biting. it was just that time in the afternoon when everybody was busy finishing their work before they went to the bath-house to have their christmas bath. there they had made such a fire that the flames went right up the chimney, and sparks and soot were whirled about by the wind, and fell down on the snow-decked roofs of the outhouses. and as the flames appeared above the chimney of the bath-house, and rose like a fiery pillar above the farm, everyone suddenly felt that christmas was at hand. the girl that was scrubbing the entrance floor began to hum, although the water was freezing in the bucket beside her. the men in the wood-shed who were cutting christmas logs began to cut two at a time, and swung their axes as merrily as if log-cutting were a mere pastime. an old woman came out of the pantry with a large pile of cakes in her arms. she went slowly across the yard into the large red-painted dwelling-house, and carried them carefully into the best room, and put them down on the long seat. then she spread the tablecloth on the table, and arranged the cakes in heaps, a large and a small cake in each heap. she was a singularly ugly old woman, with reddish hair, heavy drooping eyelids, and with a peculiar strained look about the mouth and chin, as if the muscles were too short. but being christmas-eve, there was such a joy and peace over her that one did not notice how ugly she was. but there was one person on the farm who was not happy, and that was the girl who was tying up the whisks made of birch twigs that were to be used for the baths. she sat near the fireplace, and had a whole armful of fine birch twigs lying beside her on the floor, but the withes with which she was to bind the twigs would not keep knotted. the best room had a narrow, low window, with small panes, and through them the light from the bath-house shone into the room, playing on the floor and gilding the birch twigs. but the higher the fire burned the more unhappy was the girl. she knew that the whisks would fall to pieces as soon as one touched them, and that she would never hear the last of it until the next christmas fire was lighted. just as she sat there bemoaning herself, the person of whom she was most afraid came into the room. it was her master, ingmar ingmarson. he was sure to have been to the bath-house to see if the stove was hot enough, and now he wanted to see how the whisks were getting on. he was old, was ingmar ingmarson, and he was fond of everything old, and just because people were beginning to leave off bathing in the bath-houses and being whipped with birch twigs, he made a great point of having it done on his farm, and having it done properly. ingmar ingmarson wore an old coat of sheep's-skin, skin trousers, and shoes smeared over with pitch. he was dirty and unshaven, slow in all his movements, and came in so softly that one might very well have mistaken him for a beggar. his features resembled his wife's features and his ugliness resembled his wife's ugliness, for they were relations, and from the time the girl first began to notice anything she had learned to feel a wholesome reverence for anybody who looked like that; for it was a great thing to belong to the old family of the ingmars, which had always been the first in the village. but the highest to which a man could attain was to be ingmar ingmarson himself, and be the richest, the wisest, and the mightiest in the whole parish. ingmar ingmarson went up to the girl, took one of the whisks, and swung it in the air. it immediately fell to pieces; one of the twigs landed on the christmas table, another on the big four-poster. 'i say, my girl,' said old ingmar, laughing, 'do you think one uses that kind of whisk when one takes a bath at the ingmar's, or are you very tender, my girl?' when the girl saw that her master did not take it more seriously than that, she took heart, and answered that she could certainly make whisks that would not go to pieces if she could get proper withes to bind them with. 'then i suppose i must try to get some for you, my girl,' said old ingmar, for he was in a real christmas humour. he went out of the room, stepped over the girl who was scouring the floor, and remained standing on the doorstep, to see if there were anyone about whom he could send to the birch-wood for some withes. the farm hands were still busy cutting yule logs; his son came out of the barn with the christmas sheaf; his two sons-in-law were putting the carts into the shed so that the yard could be tidy for the christmas festival. none of them had time to leave their work. the old man then quietly made up his mind to go himself. he went across the yard as if he were going into the cowshed, looked cautiously round to make sure no one noticed him, and stole along outside the barn where there was a fairly good road to the wood. the old man thought it was better not to let anyone know where he was going, for either his son or his sons-in-law might then have begged him to remain at home, and old people like to have their own way. he went down the road, across the fields, through the small pine-forest into the birch-wood. here he left the road, and waded in the snow to find some young birches. about the same time the wind at last accomplished what it had been busy with the whole day: it tore the snow from the clouds, and now came rushing through the wood with a long train of snow after it. ingmar ingmarson had just stooped down and cut off a birch twig, when the wind came tearing along laden with snow. just as the old man was getting up the wind blew a whole heap of snow in his face. his eyes were full of snow, and the wind whirled so violently around him that he was obliged to turn round once or twice. the whole misfortune, no doubt, arose from ingmar ingmarson being so old. in his young days a snowstorm would certainly not have made him dizzy. but now everything danced round him as if he had joined in a christmas polka, and when he wanted to go home he went in the wrong direction. he went straight into the large pine-forest behind the birch-wood instead of going towards the fields. it soon grew dark, and the storm continued to howl and whirl around him amongst the young trees on the outskirts of the forest. the old man saw quite well that he was walking amongst fir-trees, but he did not understand that this was wrong, for there were also fir-trees on the other side of the birch-wood nearest the farm. but by-and-by he got so far into the forest that everything was quiet and still--one could not feel the storm, and the trees were high with thick stems--then he found out that he had mistaken the road, and would turn back. he became excited and upset at the thought that he _could_ lose his way, and as he stood there in the midst of the pathless wood he was not sufficiently clear-headed to know in which direction to turn. he first went to the one side and then to the other. at last it occurred to him to retrace his way in his own footprints, but darkness came on, and he could no longer follow them. the trees around him grew higher and higher. whichever way he went, it was evident to him that he got further and further into the forest. it was like witchcraft and sorcery, he thought, that he should be running about the woods like this all the evening and be too late for the bathing. he turned his cap and rebound his garter, but his head was no clearer. it had become quite dark, and he began to think that he would have to remain the whole night in the woods. he leant against a tree, stood still for a little, and tried to collect his thoughts. he knew this forest so well, and had walked in it so much, that he ought to know every single tree. as a boy he had gone there and tended sheep. he had gone there and laid snares for the birds. in his young days he had helped to fell trees there. he had seen old trees cut down and new ones grow up. at last he thought he had an idea where he was, and fancied if he went that and that way he must come upon the right road; but all the same, he only went deeper and deeper into the forest. once he felt smooth, firm ground under his feet, and knew from that, that he had at last come to some road. he tried now to follow this, for a road, he thought, was bound to lead to some place or other; but then the road ended at an open space in the forest, and there the snowstorm had it all its own way; there was neither road nor path, only drifts and loose snow. then the old man's courage failed him; he felt like some poor creature destined to die a lonely death in the wilderness. he began to grow tired of dragging himself through the snow, and time after time he sat down on a stone to rest; but as soon as he sat down he felt he was on the point of falling asleep, and he knew he would be frozen to death if he did fall asleep, therefore he tried to walk and walk; that was the only thing that could save him. but all at once he could not resist the inclination to sit down. he thought if he could only rest, it did not matter if it did cost him his life. it was so delightful to sit down that the thought of death did not in the least frighten him. he felt a kind of happiness at the thought that when he was dead the account of his whole life would be read aloud in the church. he thought of how beautifully the old dean had spoken about his father, and how something equally beautiful would be sure to be said about him. the dean would say that he had owned the oldest farm in the district, and he would speak about the honour it was to belong to such a distinguished family, and then something would be said about responsibility. of course there was responsibility in the matter; that he had always known. one must endure to the very last when one was an ingmar. the thought rushed through him that it was not befitting for him to be found frozen to death in the wild forest. he would not have that handed down to posterity; and he stood up again and began to walk. he had been sitting so long that masses of snow fell from his fur coat when he moved. but soon he sat down again and began to dream. the thought of death now came quite gently to him. he thought about the whole of the funeral and all the honour they would show his dead body. he could see the table laid for the great funeral feast in the large room on the first floor, the dean and his wife in the seats of honour, the justice of the peace, with the white frill spread over his narrow chest; the major's wife in full dress, with a low silk bodice, and her neck covered with pearls and gold; he saw all the best rooms draped in white--white sheets before the windows, white over the furniture; branches of fir strewn the whole way from the entrance-hall to the church; house-cleaning and butchering, brewing and baking for a fortnight before the funeral; the corpse on a bier in the inmost room; smoke from the newly-lighted fires in the rooms; the whole house crowded with guests; singing over the body whilst the lid of the coffin was being screwed on; silver plates on the coffin; twenty loads of wood burned in a fortnight; the whole village busy cooking food to take to the funeral; all the tall hats newly ironed; all the corn-brandy from the autumn drunk up during the funeral feast; all the roads crowded with people as at fair-time. again the old man started up. he had heard them sitting and talking about him during the feast. 'but how did he manage to go and get frozen to death?' asked the justice of the peace. 'what could he have been doing in the large forest?' and the captain would say that it was probably from christmas ale and corn-brandy. and that roused him again. the ingmars had never been drunkards. it should never be said of him that he was muddled in his last moments. and he began again to walk and walk; but he was so tired that he could scarcely stand on his legs. it was quite clear to him now that he had got far into the forest, for there were no paths anywhere, but many large rocks, of which he knew there were none lower down. his foot caught between two stones, so that he had difficulty in getting it out, and he stood and moaned. he was quite done for. suddenly he fell over a heap of fagots. he fell softly on to the snow and branches, so he was not hurt, but he did not take the trouble to get up again. he had no other desire in the world than to sleep. he pushed the fagots to one side and crept under them as if they were a rug; but when he pushed himself under the branches he felt that underneath there was something warm and soft. this must be a bear, he thought. he felt the animal move, and heard it sniff; but he lay still. the bear might eat him if it liked, he thought. he had not strength enough to move a single step to get out of its way. but it seemed as if the bear did not want to harm anyone who sought its protection on such a night as this. it moved a little further into its lair, as if to make room for its visitor, and directly afterwards it slept again with even, snorting breath. * * * * * in the meantime there was but scanty christmas joy in the old farm of the ingmars. the whole of christmas-eve they were looking for ingmar ingmarson. first they went all over the dwelling-house and all the outhouses. they searched high and low, from loft to cellar. then they went to the neighbouring farms and inquired for ingmar ingmarson. as they did not find him, his sons and his sons-in-law went into the fields and roads. they used the torches which should have lighted the way for people going to early service on christmas morning in the search for him. the terrible snowstorm had hidden all traces, and the howling of the wind drowned the sound of their voices when they called and shouted. they were out and about until long after midnight, but then they saw that it was useless to continue the search, and that they must wait until daylight to find the old man. at the first pale streak of dawn everybody was up at ingmar's farm, and the men stood about the yard ready to set out for the wood. but before they started the old housewife came and called them into the best room. she told them to sit down on the long benches; she herself sat down by the christmas table with the bible in front of her and began to read. she tried her best to find something suitable for the occasion, and chose the story of the man who was travelling from jerusalem to jericho, and fell among thieves. she read slowly and monotonously about the unfortunate man who was succoured by the good samaritan. her sons and sons-in-law, her daughters and daughters-in-law, sat around her on the benches. they all resembled her and each other, big and clumsy, with plain, old-fashioned faces, for they all belonged to the old race of the ingmars. they had all reddish hair, freckled skin, and light-blue eyes with white eyelashes. they might be different enough from each other in some ways, but they had all a stern look about the mouth, dull eyes, and heavy movements, as if everything were a trouble to them. but one could see that they all, every one of them, belonged to the first people in the neighbourhood, and that they knew themselves to be better than other people. all the sons and daughters of the house of ingmar sighed deeply during the reading of the bible. they wondered if some good samaritan had found the master of the house and taken care of him, for all the ingmars felt as if they had lost part of their own soul when a misfortune happened to anyone belonging to the family. the old woman read and read, and came to the question: 'who was neighbour unto him that fell amongst thieves?' but before she had read the answer the door opened and old ingmar came into the room. 'mother, here is father,' said one of the daughters; and the answer, that the man's neighbour was he who had shown mercy unto him, was never read. * * * * * later in the day the housewife sat again in the same place, and read her bible. she was alone; the women had gone to church, and the men were bear-hunting in the forest. as soon as ingmar ingmarson had eaten and drunk, he took his sons with him and went out to the forest; for it is every man's duty to kill a bear wherever and whenever he comes across one. it does not do to spare a bear, for sooner or later it will get a taste for flesh, and then it will spare neither man nor beast. but after they were gone a great feeling of fear came over the old housewife, and she began to read her bible. she read the lesson for the day, which was also the text for the pastor's sermon; but she did not get further than this: 'peace on earth, goodwill towards men.' she remained sitting and staring at these words with her dull eyes, now and again sighing deeply. she did not read any further, but she repeated time after time in her slow, drawling voice, 'peace on earth, goodwill towards men.' the eldest son came into the room just as she was going to repeat the words afresh. 'mother!' he said softly. she heard him, but did not take her eyes from the book whilst she asked: 'are you not with the others in the forest?' 'yes,' said he, still more softly, 'i have been there.' 'come to the table,' she said, 'so that i can see you.' he came nearer, but when she looked at him she saw that he was trembling. he had to press his hands hard against the edge of the table in order to keep them still. 'have you got the bear?' she asked again. he could not answer; he only shook his head. the old woman got up and did what she had not done since her son was a child. she went up to him, laid her hand on his arm, and drew him to the bench. she sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. 'tell me now what has happened, my boy.' the young man recognised the caress which had comforted him in bygone days when he had been in trouble and unhappy, and he was so overcome that he began to weep. 'i suppose it is something about father?' she said. 'it is worse than that,' the son sobbed. 'worse than that?' the young man cried more and more violently; he did not know how to control his voice. at last he lifted his rough hand, with the broad fingers, and pointed to what she had just read: 'peace on earth. . . .' 'is it anything about that?' she asked. 'yes,' he answered. 'is it anything about the peace of christmas?' 'yes.' 'you wished to do an evil deed this morning?' 'yes.' 'and god has punished us?' 'god has punished us.' so at last she was told how it had happened. they had with some trouble found the lair of the bear, and when they had got near enough to see the heap of fagots, they stopped in order to load their guns. but before they were ready the bear rushed out of its lair straight against them. it went neither to the right nor to the left, but straight for old ingmar ingmarson, and struck him a blow on the top of the head that felled him to the ground as if he had been struck by lightning. it did not attack any of the others, but rushed past them into the forest. * * * * * in the afternoon ingmar ingmarson's wife and son drove to the dean's house to announce his death. the son was spokesman, and the old housewife sat and listened with a face as immovable as a stone figure. the dean sat in his easy-chair near his writing-table. he had entered the death in the register. he had done it rather slowly; he wanted time to consider what he should say to the widow and the son, for this was, indeed, an unusual case. the son had frankly told him how it had all happened, but the dean was anxious to know how they themselves looked at it. they were peculiar people, the ingmars. when the dean had closed the book, the son said: 'we wanted to tell you, sir, that we do not wish any account of father's life to be read in church.' the dean pushed his spectacles over his forehead and looked searchingly at the old woman. she sat just as immovable as before. she only crumpled the handkerchief a little which she held in her hand. 'we wish to have him buried on a week day,' continued the son. 'indeed!' said the dean. he could hardly believe his own ears. old ingmar ingmarson to be buried without anyone taking any notice of it! the congregation not to stand on railings and mounds in order to see the display when he was being carried to the grave! 'there will not be any funeral feast. we have let the neighbours know that they need not think of preparing anything for the funeral.' 'indeed, indeed!' said the dean again. he could think of nothing else to say. he knew quite well what it meant for such people to forego the funeral feast. he had seen both widows and fatherless comforted by giving a splendid funeral feast. 'there will be no funeral procession, only i and my brothers.' the dean looked almost appealingly at the old woman. could she really be a party to all this? he asked himself if it could be her wishes to which the son had given expression. she was sitting there and allowing herself to be robbed of what must be dearer to her than gold and silver. 'we will not have the bells rung, or any silver plates on the coffin. mother and i wish it to be done in this way, but we tell you all this, sir, in order to hear, sir, if you think we are wronging father.' now the old woman spoke: 'we should like to hear if your reverence thinks we are doing father a wrong.' the dean remained silent, and the old woman continued, more eagerly: 'i must tell your reverence that if my husband had sinned against the king or the authorities, or if i had been obliged to cut him down from the gallows, he should all the same have had an honourable funeral, as his father before him, for the ingmars are not afraid of anyone, and they need not go out of their way for anybody. but at christmas god has made peace between man and beast, and the poor beast kept god's commandment, whilst we broke it, and therefore we now suffer god's punishment; and it is not becoming for us to show any ostentatious display.' the dean rose and went up to the old woman. 'what you say is right,' he said, 'and you shall follow the dictates of your own conscience.' and involuntarily he added, perhaps most to himself: 'the ingmars are a grand family.' the old woman straightened herself a little at these words. at that moment the dean saw in her the symbol of her whole race. he understood what it was that had made these heavy, silent people, century after century, the leaders of the whole parish. 'it behooves the ingmars to set the people a good example,' she said. 'it behooves us to show that we humble ourselves before god.' _from a swedish_ homestead viii _a_ story _from_ halstanÄs _a_ story _from_ halstanÄs in olden times there stood by the roadside an old country-house called halstanäs. it comprised a long row of red-painted houses, which were of low structure, and right behind them lay the forest. close to the dwelling-house was a large wild cherry-tree, which showered its black fruit over the red-tiled roof. a bell under a small belfry hung over the gable of the stables. just outside the kitchen-door was a dovecote, with a neat little trelliswork outside the holes. from the attic a cage for squirrels was hanging; it consisted of two small green houses and a large wheel, and in front of a big hedge of lilacs stood a long row of beehives covered with bark. there was a pond belonging to the farm, full of fat carp and slim water-snakes; there was also a kennel at the entrance; there were white gates at the end of the avenue, and at the garden walks, and in every place where they could possibly have a gate. there were big lofts with dark lumber-rooms, where old-fashioned uniforms and ladies' head-gear a hundred years old were stored away; there were large chests full of silk gowns and bridal finery; there were old pianos and violins, guitars and bassoons. in bureaus and cabinets were manuscript songs and old yellow letters; on the walls of the entrance-hall hung guns, pistols and hunting-bags; on the floor were rugs, in which patches of old silken gowns were woven together with pieces of threadbare cotton curtains. there was a large porch, where the deadly nightshade summer after summer grew up a thin trelliswork; there were large, yellow front-doors, which were fastened with bolts and catches; the hall was strewn with sprigs of juniper, and the windows had small panes and heavy wooden shutters. one summer old colonel beerencreutz came on a visit to this house. it is supposed to have been the very year after he left ekeby. at that time he had taken rooms at a farm at svartsjö, and it was only on rare occasions that he went visiting. he still had his horse and gig, but he scarcely ever used them. he said that he had grown old in earnest now, and that home was the best place for old people. beerencreutz was also loath to leave the work he had in hand. he was weaving rugs for his two rooms--large, many-coloured rugs in a rich and strangely-thought-out pattern. it took him an endless time, because he had his own way of weaving, for he used no loom, but stretched his wool from the one wall to the other right across the one room. he did this in order to see the whole rug at one time; but to cross the woof and afterwards bring the threads together to a firm web was no easy matter. and then there was the pattern, which he himself thought out, and the colours which should match. this took the colonel more time than anyone would have imagined; for whilst beerencreutz was busy getting the pattern right, and whilst he was working with warp and woof, he often sat and thought of god. our lord, he thought, was likewise sitting at a loom, still larger, and with an even more peculiar pattern to weave. and he knew that there must be both light and dark shades in that weaving. but beerencreutz would at times sit and think so long about this, until he fancied he saw before him his own life and the life of the people whom he had known, and with whom he had lived, forming a small portion of god's great weaving; and he seemed to see that piece so distinctly that he could discern both outlines and colouring. and if one asked beerencreutz what the pattern in his work really meant, he would be obliged to confess that it was the life of himself and his friends which he wove into the rug as a faint imitation of what he thought he had seen represented on god's loom. the colonel, however, was accustomed to pay a little visit to some old friends every year just after midsummer. he had always liked best to travel through the country when the fields were still scented with clover, and blue and yellow flowers grew along the roadside in two long straight rows. this year the colonel had hardly got to the great highroad before he met his old friend ensign von Örneclou. and the ensign, who was travelling about all the year round, and who knew all the country houses in värmland, gave him some good advice. 'go to halstanäs and call upon ensign vestblad,' he said to the colonel. 'i can only tell you, old man, i don't know a house in the whole country where one fares better.' 'what vestblad are you speaking about?' asked the colonel. 'i suppose you don't mean the old ensign whom the major's wife showed the door?' 'the very man,' said the ensign. 'but vestblad is not the same man he was. he has married a fine lady--a real stunning woman, colonel--who has made a man of him. it was a wonderful piece of good luck for vestblad that such a splendid girl should take a fancy to him. she was not exactly young any longer; but no more was he. you should go to halstanäs, colonel, and see what wonders love can work.' and the colonel went to halstanäs to see if Örneclou spoke the truth. he had, as a matter of fact, now and then wondered what had become of vestblad; in his young days he had kicked so recklessly over the traces that even the major's wife at ekeby could not put up with him. she had not been able to keep him at ekeby more than a couple of years before she was obliged to turn him out. vestblad had become such a heavy drinker that a cavalier could hardly associate with him. and now Örneclou declared that he owned a country house, and had made an excellent match. the colonel consequently went to halstanäs, and saw at the first glance that it was a real old country-seat. he had only to look at the avenue of birches with all the names cut on the fine old trees. such birches he had only seen at good old country-houses. the colonel drove slowly up to the house, and every moment his pleasure increased. he saw lime hedges of the proper kind, so close that one could walk on the top of them, and there were a couple of terraces with stone steps so old that they were half buried in the ground. when the colonel drove past the pond, he saw indistinctly the dark carp in the yellowish water. the pigeons flew up from the road flapping their wings; the squirrel stopped its wheel; the watch-dog lay with its head on its paws, wagging its tail, and at the same time faintly growling. close to the porch the colonel saw an ant-hill, where the ants, unmolested, went to and fro--to and fro. he looked at the flower-beds inside the grass border. there they grew, all the old flowers: narcissus and pyrola, sempervivum and marigold; and on the bank grew small white daisies, which had been there so long that they now sowed themselves like weeds. beerencreutz again said to himself that this was indeed a real old country-house, where both plants and animals and human beings throve as well as could be. when at last he drove up to the front-door he had as good a reception as he could wish for, and as soon as he had brushed the dust off him he was taken to the dining-room, and he was offered plenty of good old-fashioned food--the same old cakes for dessert that his mother used to give him when he came home from school; and any so good he had never tasted elsewhere. beerencreutz looked with surprise at ensign vestblad. he went about quiet and content, with a long pipe in his mouth and a skull-cap on his head. he wore an old morning-coat, which he had difficulty in getting out of when it was time to dress for dinner. that was the only sign of the bohemian left, as far as beerencreutz could see. he went about and looked after his men, calculated their wages, saw how things were getting on in the fields and meadows, gathered a rose for his wife when he went through the garden, and he indulged no longer in either swearing or spitting. but what astonished the colonel most of all was the discovery that old ensign vestblad kept his books. he took the colonel into his office and showed him large books with red backs. and those he kept himself. he had lined them with red ink and black ink, written the headings with large letters, and put down everything, even to a stamp. but ensign vestblad's wife, who was a born lady, called beerencreutz cousin, and they soon found out the relationship between them; and they talked all their relatives over. at last beerencreutz became so intimate with mrs. vestblad that he consulted her about the rug he was weaving. it was a matter of course that the colonel should stay the night. he was taken to the best spare room to the right of the hall and close to his host's bedroom, and his bed was a large four-poster, with heaps of eiderdowns. the colonel fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, but awoke later on in the night. he immediately got out of bed and went and opened the window-shutters. he had a view over the garden, and in the light summer night he could see all the gnarled old apple-trees, with their worm-eaten leaves, and with numerous props under the decayed branches. he saw the large wild apple-tree, which in the autumn would give barrels of uneatable fruit; he saw the strawberries, which had just begun to ripen under their profusion of green leaves. the colonel stood and looked at it as if he could not afford to waste his time in sleeping. outside his window at the peasant farm where he lived all he could see was a stony hill and a couple of juniper-bushes; and it was natural that a man like beerencreutz should feel more at home amongst well-trimmed hedges and roses in bloom. when in the quiet stillness of the night one looks out upon a garden, one often has a feeling that it is not real and natural. it can be so still that one can almost fancy one's self in the theatre; one imagines that the trees are painted and the roses made of paper. and it was something like this the colonel felt as he stood there. 'it cannot be possible,' he thought, 'that all this is real. it can only be a dream.' but then a few rose-leaves fell softly to the ground from the big rose-tree just outside his window, and then he realized that everything was genuine. everything was real and genuine; both day and night the same peace and contentment everywhere. when he went and laid down again he left the window-shutters open. he lay in the high bed and looked time after time at the rose-tree; it is impossible to describe his pleasure in looking at it. he thought what a strange thing it was that such a man as vestblad should have this flower of paradise outside his window. the more the colonel thought of vestblad the more surprised he became that such a foal should end his days in such a stable. he was not good for much at the time he was turned away from ekeby. who would have thought he would have become a staid and well-to-do man? the colonel lay and laughed to himself, and wondered whether vestblad still remembered how he used to amuse himself in the olden days when he was living at ekeby. on dark and stormy nights he used to rub himself over with phosphorus, mount a black horse, and ride over the hills to the ironworks, where the smiths and the workmen lived; and if anyone happened to look out of his window and saw a horseman shining with a bluish-white light tearing past, he hastened to bar and bolt everywhere, saying it was best to say one's prayers twice that night, for the devil was abroad. oh yes, to frighten simple folks by such tricks was a favourite amusement in olden days; but vestblad had carried his jokes further than anyone else the colonel knew of. an old woman on the parish had died at viksta, which belonged to ekeby. vestblad happened to hear about this. he also heard that the corpse had been taken from the house and placed in a barn. at night vestblad put on his fiery array, mounted his black horse, and rode to the farmstead; and people there who were about had seen a fiery horseman ride up to the barn, where the corpse lay, ride three times round it and disappear through the door. they had also seen the horseman come out again, ride three times round the house and then disappear. but in the morning, when they went into the barn to see the corpse, it was gone, and they thought the devil had been there and carried her off. this supposition had been enough for them. but a couple of weeks later they found the body, which had been thrown on to a hay-loft in the barn, and then there was a great outcry. they found out who the fiery horseman was, and the peasants were on the watch to give vestblad a good hiding. but the major's wife would not have him at her table or in her house any longer; she packed his knapsack and asked him to betake himself elsewhere. and vestblad went out into the world and made his fortune. a strange feeling of uneasiness came over the colonel as he lay in bed. he felt as if something were going to happen. he had hardly realized before what an ugly story it was. he had no doubt even laughed at it at the time. they had not been in the habit of taking much notice of what happened to a poor old pauper in those days; but, great god! how furious one would have been if anybody had done that to one's own mother! a suffocating feeling came over the colonel; he breathed heavily. the thought of what vestblad had done appeared so vile and hateful to him, it weighed him down like a nightmare. he was half afraid of seeing the dead woman, of seeing her appear from behind the bed. he felt as if she must be quite near. and from the four corners of the room the colonel heard terrible words: 'god will not forgive it! god has never forgotten it!' the colonel closed his eyes, but then he suddenly saw before him god's great loom, where the web was woven with the fates of men; and he thought he saw ensign vestblad's square, and it was dark on three sides; and he, who understood something about weaving and patterns, knew that the fourth side would also have to be covered with the dark shade. it could not be done in any other way, otherwise there would be a mistake in the weaving. a cold sweat broke out on his forehead; it seemed to him that he looked upon what was the hardest and the most immovable in all the world. he saw how the fate which a man has worked out in his past life will pursue him to the end. and to think there were actually people who thought they could escape it! escape it! escape! all was noted and written down; the one colour and the one figure necessitated the other, and everything came about as it was bound to come about. suddenly colonel beerencreutz sat up in bed; he would look at the flowers and the roses, and think that perhaps our lord could forget after all. but at the moment beerencreutz sat up in bed the bedroom door opened, and one of the farm-labourers--a stranger to him--put his head in and nodded to the colonel. it was now so light that the colonel saw the man quite distinctly. it was the most hideous face he had ever seen. he had small gray eyes like a pig, a flat nose, and a thin, bristly beard. one could not say that the man looked like an animal, for animals have nearly always good faces, but still, he had something of the animal about him. his lower jaw projected, his neck was thick, and his forehead was quite hidden by his rough, unkempt hair. he nodded three times to the colonel, and every time his mouth opened with a broad grin; and he put out his hand, red with blood, and showed it triumphantly. up to this moment the colonel had sat up in bed as if paralyzed, but now he jumped up and was at the door in two steps. but when he reached the door, the fellow was gone and the door closed. the colonel was just on the point of raising the alarm, when it struck him that the door must be fastened on the inside, on his side, as he had himself locked it the night before; and on examining it, he found that it had not been unlocked. the colonel felt almost ashamed to think that in his old age he had begun to see ghosts. he went straight back to bed again. when the morning came, and he had breakfasted, the colonel felt still more ashamed. he had excited himself to such an extent that he had trembled all over and perspired from fear. he said not a word about it. but later on in the day he and vestblad went over the estate. as they passed a labourer who was cutting sods on a bank beerencreutz recognised him again. it was the man he had seen in the night. he recognised feature for feature. 'i would not keep that man a day longer in my service, my friend,' said beerencreutz, when they had walked a short distance. and he told vestblad what he had seen in the night. 'i tell you this simply to warn you, in order that you may dismiss the man.' but vestblad would not; he was just the man he would not dismiss. and when beerencreutz pressed him more and more, he at last confessed that he would not do anything to the man, because he was the son of an old pauper woman who had died at viksta close to ekeby. 'you no doubt remember the story?' he added. 'if that's the case, i would rather go to the end of the world than live another day with that man about the place,' said beerencreutz. an hour after he left, and was almost angry that his warning was not heeded. 'some misfortune will happen before i come here again,' said the colonel to vestblad, as he took leave. next year, at the same time, the colonel was preparing for another visit to halstanäs. but before he got so far, he heard some sad news about his friends. as the clock struck one, a year after the very night he had slept there, ensign vestblad and his wife had been murdered in their bedroom by one of their labourers--a man with a neck like a bull, a flat nose, and eyes like a pig. _from a swedish_ homestead ix _the_ inscription _on the_ grave _the_ inscription _on the_ grave nowadays no one ever takes any notice of the little cross standing in the corner of svartsjö churchyard. people on their way to and from church go past it without giving it a glance. this is not so very wonderful, because it is so low and small that clover and bluebells grow right up to the arms of the cross, and timothy-grass to the very top of it. neither does anyone think of reading the inscription which stands on the cross. the white letters are almost entirely washed out by the rain, and it never occurs to anyone to try and decipher what is still left, and try to make it out. but so it has not always been. the little cross in its time has been the cause of much surprise and curiosity. there was a time when not a person put his foot inside svartsjö churchyard without going up to look at it. and when one of the old people from those days now happens to see it, a whole story comes back to him of people and events that have been long forgotten. he sees before him the whole of svartsjö parish in the lethargic sleep of winter, covered by even white snow, quite a yard deep, so that it is impossible to discern road or pathway, or to know where one is going. it is almost as necessary to have a compass here as at sea. there is no difference between sea and shore. the roughest ground is as even as the field which in the autumn yielded such a harvest of oats. the charcoal-burner living near the great bogs might imagine himself possessed of as much cultivated land as the richest peasant. the roads have left their secure course between the gray fences, and are running at random across the meadows and along the river. even on one's own farm one may lose one's way, and suddenly discover that on one's way to the well one has walked over the spirea-hedge and round the little rose-bed. but nowhere is it so impossible to find one's way as in the churchyard. in the first place, the stone wall which separates it from the pastor's field is entirely buried under the snow, so with that it is all one; and secondly, the churchyard itself is only a simple large, white plain, where not even the smallest unevenness in the snow-cover betrays the many small mounds and tufts of the garden of the dead. on most of the graves are iron crosses, from which hang small, thin hearts of tin, which the summer wind sets in motion. these little hearts are now all hidden under the snow, and cannot tinkle their sad songs of sorrow and longing. people who work in the towns have brought back with them to their dead wreaths with flowers of beads and leaves of painted tin; and these wreaths are so highly treasured that they are kept in small glass cases on the graves. but now all this is hidden and buried under the snow, and the grave that possesses such an ornament is in no way more remarkable than any of the other graves. one or two lilac bushes raise their heads above the snow-cover, but their little stiff branches look so alike, that it is impossible to tell one from the other, and they are of no use whatever to anyone trying to find his way in the churchyard. old women who are in the habit of going on sundays to visit their graves can only get a little way down the main walk on account of the snow. there they stand, trying to make out where their own grave lies--is it near that bush, or that?--and they begin to long for the snow to melt. it is as if the one for whom they are sorrowing has gone so far away from them, now that they cannot see the spot where he lies. there are also a few large gravestones and crosses that are higher than the snow, but they are not many; and as these are also covered with snow, they cannot be distinguished either. there is only one pathway kept clear in the churchyard. it is the one leading from the entrance to the small mortuary. when anyone is to be buried the coffin is carried into the mortuary, and there the pastor reads the service and casts the earth upon the coffin. it is impossible to place the coffin in the ground as long as such a winter lasts. it must remain standing in the mortuary until god sees fit to thaw the earth, and the ground can be digged and made ready. * * * * * just when the winter was at its hardest, and the churchyard quite inaccessible, a child died at sander's, the ironmaster at lerum ironworks. the ironworks at lerum were large, and sander, the ironmaster, was a great man in that part of the country. he had recently had a family grave made in the churchyard--a splendid grave, the position of which one could not easily forget, although the snow had laid its thick carpet over it. it was surrounded by heavy, hewn stones, with a massive chain between them, and in the middle of the grave stood a huge granite block, with their name inscribed upon it. there was only the one word 'sander,' engraved in large letters, but it could be seen over the whole churchyard. but now that the child was dead, and was to be buried, the ironmaster said to his wife: 'i will not allow this child to lie in my grave.' one can picture them both at that moment. it was in their dining-room at lerum. the ironmaster was sitting at the breakfast-table alone, as was his wont. his wife, ebba sander, was sitting in a rocking-chair at the window, from where she had a wide view of the lake, with its small islands covered with birches. she had been weeping, but when her husband said this, her eyes became immediately dry. her little figure seemed to shrink from fear, and she began to tremble. 'what do you say? what are you saying?' she asked, and her voice sounded as if she were shivering from cold. 'i object to it,' he said. 'my father and my mother lie there, and the name "sander" stands on the stone. i will not allow that child to lie there.' 'oh,' she said, still trembling, 'is that what you have been thinking about? i always did think that some day you would have your revenge.' he threw down his serviette, rose from the table, and stood before her, broad and big. it was not his intention to assert his will with many words, but she could see, as he stood there, that nothing could make him change his mind. stern, immovable, obstinate he was from top to toe. 'i will not revenge myself,' he said, 'only i will not have it.' 'you speak as if it were only a question of removing him from one bed to the other,' she said. 'he is dead. it does not matter to him where he lies, i suppose; but for me it is ruin, you know.' 'i have also thought of that,' he said, 'but i cannot.' when two people have been married, and have lived together for some years, they do not require many words to understand one another. she knew it would be quite useless to try and move him. 'why did you forgive me, then?' she said, wringing her hands. 'why did you let me stay with you as your wife and promise to forgive me?' he knew that he would not do her any harm. it was not his fault that he had now reached the limit of his forbearance. 'say to people what you like,' he said; 'i shall not say anything. you can say, if you like, that there is water in the vault, or that there is only room for father and mother and you and me.' 'and you imagine that they will believe that!' 'well, you must manage that as best you can.' he was not angry; she knew that he was not. it was only as he said: on that point he could not give way. she went further into the room, put her hands at the back of her head, and sat gazing out of the window without saying anything. the terrible thing is that so much happens to one in life over which one has no control, and, above all, that something may spring up within one's self over which one is entirely powerless. some years ago, when she was already a staid married woman, love came to her; and what a love--so violent that it was quite impossible for her to resist. was not the feeling which now mastered her husband--was not that, after all, a desire to be revenged? he had never been angry with her. he forgave her at once when she came and confessed her sin. 'you have been out of your senses,' he said, and allowed her to remain with him at lerum as if nothing had happened. but although it is easy enough to say one forgives, it may be hard to do so, especially for one whose mind is slow and heavy, who ponders over but never forgets or gives vent to his feelings. whatever he may say, and however much he may have made up his mind, something is always left within his heart which gnaws and longs to be satisfied with someone else's suffering. she had always had a strange feeling that it would have been better for her if he had been so enraged that he had struck her. then, perhaps, things could have come right between them. all these years he had been morose and irritable, and she had become frightened. she was like a horse between the traces. she knew that behind her was one who held a whip over her, even if he did not use it; and now he had used it. he had not been able to refrain any longer. and now it was all over with her. those who were about her said they had never seen such sorrow as hers. she seemed to be petrified. the whole time before the funeral it was as if there were no real life in her. one could not tell if she heard what was said to her, if she had any idea who was speaking to her. she did not eat; it was as if she felt no hunger. she went out in the bitterest cold; she did not feel it. but it was not grief that petrified her--it was fear. it never struck her for a moment to stay at home on the day of the funeral. she must go to the churchyard, she must walk in the funeral procession--must go there, feeling that all who were present expected that the body would be laid in the family vault of the sanders. she thought she would sink into the ground at all the surprise and scorn which would rise up against her when the grave-digger, who headed the procession, led the way to an out-of-the-way grave. an outburst of astonishment would be heard from everybody, although it was a funeral procession: 'why is the child not going to be buried in the sanders' family vault?' thoughts would go back to the vague rumours which were once circulated about her. 'there must have been something in them, after all,' people will whisper to each other. and before the mourners left the churchyard she would be condemned and lost. the only thing for her to do was to be present herself. she would go there with a quiet face, as if everything was as it ought to be. then, perhaps, they might believe what she said to explain the matter. . . . her husband went with her to the church; he had looked after everything, invited people, ordered the coffin, and arranged who should be the bearers. he was kind and good now that he had got his own way. it was on a sunday. the service was over, and the mourners had assembled outside the porch, where the coffin was standing. the bearers had placed the white bands over their shoulders; all people of any position had joined in the procession, as did also many of the congregation. she had a feeling as if they had all gathered together in order to accompany a criminal to the scaffold. how they would all look at her when they came back from the funeral! she was there to prepare them for what was to happen, but she had not been able to utter a single word. she felt quite unable to speak quietly and sensibly. there was only one thing she wanted: to scream and moan so violently and loudly that it could be heard all over the churchyard; and she had to bite her lips so as not to cry out. the bells commenced to ring in the tower, and the procession began to move. now all these people would find it out without the slightest preparation. oh, why had she not spoken in time? she had to restrain herself to the utmost from shouting out and telling them that they must not go to the grave with the dead child. those who are dead are dead and gone. why should her whole life be spoiled for the sake of this dead child? they could put him in the earth, where they liked, only not in the churchyard. she had a confused idea that she would frighten them away from the churchyard; it was risky to go there; it was plague-smitten; there were marks of a wolf in the snow; she would frighten them as one frightens children. she did not know where they had digged the child's grave. she would know soon enough, she thought; and when the procession entered the churchyard, she glanced around the snow-covered ground to see where there was a new grave; but she saw neither path nor grave--nothing but the white snow. and the procession advanced towards the small mortuary. as many as possibly could pressed into the building and saw the earth cast on to the coffin. there was no question whatever about this or that grave. no one found out that the little one which was now laid to rest was never to be taken to the family vault. had she but thought of that, had she not forgotten everything else in her fear and terror, then she need not have been afraid, not for a single moment. 'in the spring,' she thought, 'when the coffin has to be placed in the ground, there will probably be no one there except the grave-digger; everybody will think that the child is lying in the sanders' vault.' and she felt that she was saved. she sank down sobbing violently. people looked at her with sympathy. 'how terribly she felt it!' they said. but she herself knew that she cried like one who has escaped from a mortal danger. a day or two after the funeral she was sitting in the twilight in her accustomed place in the dining-room, and as it grew darker she caught herself waiting and longing. she sat and listened for the child; that was the time when he always used to come in and play with her. why did he not come that day? then she started. 'oh, he is dead, he is dead!' the next day she sat again in the twilight, and longed for him, and day by day this longing grew. it grew as the light does in the springtime, until at last it filled all the hours both of day and night. it almost goes without saying that a child like hers was more loved after death than whilst it was living. while it was living its mother had thought of nothing but regaining the trust and the love of her husband. and for him the child could never be a source of happiness. it was necessary to keep it away from him as much as possible; and the child had often felt he was in the way. she, who had failed in and neglected her duty, would show her husband that she was worth something after all. she was always about in the kitchen and in the weaving-room. where could there be any room, then, for the little boy? but now, afterwards, she remembered how his eyes could beg and beseech. in the evening he liked so much to have her sitting at his bedside. he said he was afraid to lie in the dark; but now it struck her that that had probably only been an excuse to get her to stay with him. she remembered how he lay and tried not to fall asleep. now she knew that he kept himself awake in order that he might lie a little longer and feel his hand in hers. he had been a shrewd little fellow, young as he was. he had exerted all his little brain to find out how he could get a little share of her love. it is incomprehensible that children can love so deeply. she never understood it whilst he was alive. it was really first now that she had begun to love the child. it was first now that she was really impressed by his beauty. she would sit and dream of his big, strange eyes. he had never been robust and ruddy like most children, but delicate and slender. but how sweet he had been! he seemed to her now as something wonderfully beautiful--more and more beautiful for every day that went. children were indeed the best of all in this world. to think that there were little beings stretching out their hands to everybody, and thinking good of all; that never ask if a face be plain or pretty, but are equally willing to kiss either, loving equally old and young, rich and poor. and yet they were real little people. for every day that went she was drawn nearer and nearer to the child. she wished that the child had been still alive; but, on the other hand, she was not sure that in that case she would have been drawn so near to it. at times she was quite in despair at the thought that she had not done more for the child whilst he was alive. that was probably why he had been taken from her, she thought. but it was not often that she sorrowed like this. earlier in life she had always been afraid lest some great sorrow should overtake her, but now it seemed to her that sorrow was not what she had then thought it to be. sorrow was only to live over and over again through something which was no more. sorrow in her case was to become familiar with her child's whole being, and to seek to understand him. and that sorrow had made her life so rich. what she was most afraid of now was that time would take him from her and wipe out the memory of him. she had no picture of him; perhaps his features little by little would fade for her. she sat every day and tried to think how he looked. 'do i see him exactly as he was?' she said. week by week, as the winter wore away, she began to long for the time when he would be taken from the mortuary and buried in the ground, so that she could go to his grave and speak with him. he should lie towards the west, that was the most beautiful, and she would deck the grave with roses. there should also be a hedge round the grave, and a seat where she could sit often and often. people would perhaps wonder at it; but they were not to know that her child did not lie in the family grave; and they were sure to think it strange that she placed flowers on an unknown grave and sat there for hours. what could she say to explain it? sometimes she thought that she could, perhaps, do it in this way: first she would go to the big grave and place a large bouquet of flowers on it, and remain sitting there for some time, and afterwards she would steal away to the little grave; and he would be sure to be content with the little flower she would secretly give him. but even if he were satisfied with the one little flower, could she be? could she really come quite near to him in this way? would he not notice that she was ashamed of him? would he not understand what a disgrace his birth had been to her? no, she would have to protect him from that. he must only think that the joy of having possessed him weighed against all the rest. at last the winter was giving way. one could see the spring was coming. the snow-cover began to melt, and the earth to peep out. it would still be a week or two before the ground was thawed, but it would not be long now before the dead could be taken away from the mortuary. and she longed--she longed so exceedingly for it. could she still picture to herself how he looked? she tried every day; but it was easier when it was winter. now, when the spring was coming, it seemed as if he faded away from her. she was filled with despair. if she were only soon able to sit by his grave and be near to him again, then she would be able to see him again, to love him. would he never be laid in his little grave? she must be able to see him again, see him through her whole life; she had no one else to love. at last all her fears and scruples vanished before this great longing. she loved, she loved; she could not live without the dead! she knew now that she could not consider anybody or anything but him--him alone. and when the spring came in earnest, when mounds and graves once again appeared all over the churchyard, when the little hearts of the iron crosses again began to tinkle in the wind, and the beaded wreaths to sparkle in their glass cases, and when the earth at last was ready to receive the little coffin, she had ready a black cross to place on his grave. on the cross from arm to arm was written in plain white letters, 'here rests my child,' and underneath, on the stem of the cross, stood her name. she did not mind that the whole world would know how she had sinned. other things were of no consequence to her; all she thought about was that she would now be able to pray at the grave of her child. _from a swedish_ homestead x _the_ brothers _the_ brothers it is very possible that i am mistaken, but it seems to me that an astonishing number of people die this year. i have a feeling that i cannot go down the street without meeting a hearse. one cannot help thinking about all those who are carried to the churchyard. i always feel as if it were so sad for the dead who have to be buried in towns. i can hear how they moan in their coffins. some complain that they have not had plumes on the hearse; some count up the wreaths, and are not satisfied; and then there are some who have only been followed by two or three carriages, and who are hurt by it. the dead ought never to know and experience such things; but people in towns do not at all understand how they ought to honour those who have entered into eternal rest. when i really think over it i do not know any place where they understand it better than at home in svartsjö. if you die in the parish of svartsjö you know you will have a coffin like that of everyone else--an honest black coffin which is like the coffins in which the country judge and the local magistrate were buried a year or two ago. for the same joiner makes all the coffins, and he has only one pattern; the one is made neither better nor worse than the other. and you know also, for you have seen it so many times, that you will be carried to the church on a waggon which has been painted black for the occasion. you need not trouble yourself at all about any plumes. and you know that the whole village will follow you to the church, and that they will drive as slowly and as solemnly for you as for a landed proprietor. but you will have no occasion to feel annoyed because you have not enough wreaths, for they do not place a single flower on the coffin; it shall stand out black and shining, and nothing must cover it; and it is not necessary for you to think whether you will have a sufficiently large number of people to follow you, for those who live in your town will be sure to follow you, every one. nor will you be obliged to lie and listen if there is lamenting and weeping around your coffin. they never weep over the dead when they stand on the church hill outside svartsjö church. no, they weep as little over a strong young fellow who falls a prey to death just as he is beginning to provide for his old people as they will for you. you will be placed on a couple of black trestles outside the door of the parish room, and a whole crowd of people will gradually gather round you, and all the women will have handkerchiefs in their hands. but no one will cry; all the handkerchiefs will be kept tightly rolled up; not one will be applied to the eyes. you need not speculate as to whether people will shed as many tears over you as they would over others. they would cry if it were the proper thing, but it is not the proper thing. you can understand that if there were much sorrowing over one grave, it would not look well for those over whom no one sorrowed. they know what they were about at svartsjö. they do as it has been the custom to do there for many hundred years. but whilst you stand there, on the church hill, you are a great and important personage, although you receive neither flowers nor tears. no one comes to church without asking who you are, and then they go quietly up to you and stand and gaze at you; and it never occurs to anyone to wound the dead by pitying him. no one says anything but that it is well for him that it is all over. it is not at all as it is in a town, where you can be buried any day. at svartsjö you must be buried on a sunday, so that you can have the whole parish around you. there you will have standing near your coffin both the girl with whom you danced at the last midsummer night's festival and the man with whom you exchanged horses at the last fair. you will have the schoolmaster who took so much trouble with you when you were a little lad, and who had forgotten you, although you remembered him so well; and you will have the old member of parliament who never before thought it worth his while to bow to you. this is not as in a town, where people hardly turn round when you are carried past. when they bring the long bands and place them under the coffin, there is not one who does not watch the proceedings. you cannot imagine what a churchwarden we have at svartsjö. he is an old soldier, and he looks like a field-marshal. he has short white hair and twisted moustaches, and a pointed imperial; he is slim and tall and straight, with a light and firm step. on sundays he wears a well-brushed frock-coat of fine cloth. he really looks a very fine old gentleman, and it is he who walks at the head of the procession. then comes the verger. not that the verger is to be compared with the churchwarden. it is more than probable that his sunday hat is too large and old-fashioned; as likely as not he is awkward--but when is a verger not awkward? then you come next in your coffin, with the six bearers, and then follow the clergyman and the clerk and the town council and the whole parish. all the congregation will follow you to the churchyard, you may be sure of that. but i will tell you something: all those who follow you look so small and poor. they are not fine town's-people, you know--only plain, simple svartsjö folk. there is only one who is great and important, and that is you in your coffin--you who are dead. the others the next day will have to resume their heavy and toilsome work. they will have to live in poor old cottages and wear old, patched clothes; the others will always be plagued and worried, and dragged down and humbled by poverty. those who follow you to your grave become far more sad by looking at the living than by thinking of you who are dead. you need not look any more at the velvet collar of your coat to see if it is not getting worn at the edges; you need not make a special fold of your silk handkerchief to hide that it is beginning to fray; you will never more be compelled to ask the village shopkeeper to let you have goods on credit; you will not find out that your strength is failing; you will not have to wait for the day when you must go on the parish. while they are following you to the grave everyone will be thinking that it is best to be dead--better to soar heavenwards, carried on the white clouds of the morning--than to be always experiencing life's manifold troubles. when they come to the wall of the churchyard, where the grave has been made, the bands are exchanged for strong ropes, and people get on to the loose earth and lower you down. and when this has been done the clerk advances to the grave and begins to sing: 'i walk towards death.' he sings the hymn quite alone; neither the clergyman nor any of the congregation help him. but the clerk must sing; however keen the north wind and however glaring the sun which shines straight in his face, sing he does. the clerk, however, is getting old now, and he has not much voice left; he is quite aware that it does not sound as well now as formerly when he sang people into their graves; but he does it all the same--it is part of his duty. for the day, you understand, when his voice quite fails him, so that he cannot sing any more, he must resign his office, and this means downright poverty for him. therefore the whole gathering stands in apprehension while the old clerk sings, wondering whether his voice will last through the whole verse. but no one joins him, not a single person, for that would not do; it is not the custom. people never sing at a grave at svartsjö. people do not sing in the church either, except the first hymn on christmas day morning. still, if one listened very attentively, one could hear that the clerk does not sing alone. there really is another voice, but it sounds so exactly the same that the two voices blend as if they were only one. the other who sings is a little old man in a long, coarse gray coat. he is still older than the clerk, but he gives out all the voice he has to help him. and the voice, as i have told you, is exactly the same kind as the clerk's; they are so alike one cannot help wondering at it. but when one looks closer, the little gray old man is also exactly like the clerk; he has the same nose and chin and mouth, only somewhat older, and, as it were, more hardly dealt with in life. and then one understands that the little gray man is the clerk's brother; and then one knows why he helps him. for, you see, things have never gone well with him in this world, and he has always had bad luck; and once he was made a bankrupt, and brought the clerk into his misfortunes. he knows that it is his fault that his brother has always had to struggle. and the clerk, you know, has tried to help him on to his legs again, but with no avail, for he has not been one of those one can help. he has always been unfortunate; and then, he has had no strength of purpose. but the clerk has been the shining light in the family; and for the other it has been a case of receiving and receiving, and he has never been able to make any return at all. great god! even to talk of making any return--he who is so poor! you should only see the little hut in the forest where he lives. he knows that he has always been dull and sad, only a burden--only a burden for his brother and for others. but now of late he has become a great man; now he is able to give some return. and that he does. now he helps his brother, the clerk, who has been the sunshine and life and joy for him all his days. now he helps him to sing, so that he may keep his office. he does not go to church, for he thinks that everyone looks at him because he has no black sunday clothes; but every sunday he goes up to the church to see whether there is a coffin on the black trestles outside the parish room; and if there is one he goes to the grave, in spite of his old gray coat, and helps his brother with his pitiful old voice. the little old man knows very well how badly he sings; he places himself behind the others, and does not push forward to the grave. but sing he does; it would not matter so much if the clerk's voice should fail on one or other note, his brother is there and helps him. at the churchyard no one laughs at the singing; but when people go home and have thrown off their devoutness, then they speak about the service, and then they laugh at the clerk's singing--laugh both at his and his brother's. the clerk does not mind it, it is the same to him; but his brother thinks about it and suffers from it; he dreads the sunday the whole week, but still he comes punctually to the churchyard and does his duty. but you in your coffin, you do not think so badly of the singing. you think that it is good music. is it not true that one would like to be buried in svartsjö, if only for the sake of that singing? it says in the hymn that life is but a walk towards death, and when the two old men sing this--the two who have suffered for each other during their whole life--then one understands better than ever before how wearisome it is to live, and one is so entirely satisfied with being dead. and then the singing stops, and the clergyman throws earth on the coffin and says a prayer over you. then the two old voices sing: 'i walk towards heaven.' and they do not sing this verse any better than the former; their voices grow more feeble and querulous the longer they sing. but for you a great and wide expanse opens, and you soar upwards with tremulous joy, and everything earthly fades and disappears. but still the last which you hear of things earthly tells of faithfulness and love. and in the midst of your trembling flight the poor song will awake memories of all the faithfulness and love you have met with here below, and this will bear you upwards. this will fill you with radiance and make you beautiful as an angel. the end. [illustration] the country life press garden city, n. y. transcriber's note: in this latin- text version: text in italics is marked with underscores, e.g. _italics_ text in small capitals is shown in upper-case. hyphenation is inconsistent, for example sheepskin, sheep-skin and sheep's-skin all occur. these have been left as printed. on page "... and the nip reddened on the naked branch of the hawthorn" has been left as printed, however the original swedish talks of nyponet (rosehip) and törnbuskens (rosehip and thornbush), rather than nip and hawthorn. changes that have been made are: page from: then i feel that i must speak to: then i feel that i must speak. page from: the newly-buried birl to: the newly-buried girl page from: the everlasting unrest that tormened him to: the everlasting unrest that tormented him page from: why had be been unhappy? to: why had he been unhappy? page from: found friends in the solitude above to: found friends in the solitude above. page from: guilietta lombardi to: giulietta lombardi page from: the snow had laid its thinck carpet to: the snow had laid its thick carpet